by Sean Michael
"You will know then as well, my dear.” Bertoli's voice grew progressively huskier and ended on a moan.
Dent shook his head, grinned, fingers wrapping around Bertoli's cock.
"Oh, you are spoiling me, Dent, when it is I who should be spoiling you.” Despite his protests, Bertoli's hips pushed, sending the long cock sliding through Dent's fingers.
"Hush, Bertoli.” He smiled, stroked harder, enjoying it.
The laughter was surprised, delighted. “Did you just hush me?"
"I did."
Bertoli's laughter got louder, then shifted into a moan. “Oh, don't stop. Hush all you want, just don't stop."
"Uh-huh. Hush.” He snorted, tugging harder, faster. He thought for a moment Bertoli was going to choke, the way he was trying to moan and laugh at the same time.
Suddenly, Bertoli gave a breathless cry and then heat splashed over Dent's hand, washed away by the water. Oh, that was just right. Rich and real. He approved.
Bertoli leaned against him, let him support the lean length of his body for a few moments before drawing back. “Your turn, my dear."
"So fair. It's a good quality."
Predictably, Bertoli laughed. “I'm not sure fairness enters into it. Touching you, making you come ... these are things that bring me much pleasure."
"You're killing the romance.” His lips quirked and he hid his smile in Bertoli's shoulder.
Bertoli's giggles were sweet, the hand wrapping around his prick sweeter still.
"And I'm out of roses, as well."
"Shame. You should contact Kestrel. He'll fix you right up."
It was great, hearing that laughter when he expected to.
Bertoli's fingers slid down to fondle his balls, eyes watching him. He shivered, hips rocking away as those fingers stroked the spot where the ring had held him earlier.
"Oh, you do remember it then.” Bertoli's fingers returned to stroke the spot again.
"R ... remember what?” He didn't remember anything. Damnit.
Fingers wrapped around his prick, right where the ring had been, squeezed.
"Bertoli!” He arched, pulled away, just throbbing.
The man followed him, fingers sliding on his prick, his balls, not letting him get away.
He leaned up, begging for a kiss. This wasn't a scene. This was just morning.
The kiss was given, Bertoli moaning into his mouth, beginning to stroke his cock to get him off. Oh. Yes. Better. He started moving, rocking into that touch. He'd thought of this, again and again.
Bertoli's free hand slid around to his back, holding him close to the gaunt body as the kisses continued.
"Uh-huh. I want.” He bit and licked at Bertoli's lips, so close.
"What do you want, my dear?” The hand around his prick moved faster, tugged harder.
He wanted more. He wanted Bertoli. He wanted to come. “Yes."
"I could do anything to you and you would love it.” Bertoli laughed softly, thumb sliding slickly across his slit.
Dent bit into the thin shoulder. “Hush."
A shudder went through Bertoli, even as laughter sounded. “Make me."
He turned his head, took Bertoli's mouth in a fierce kiss, drinking that laughter down. The hand on his cock sped, found the rhythm he needed, he loved. In only a few strokes he was arching, shooting, come spraying between them in a rush. Bertoli took control of the kiss, stretching the pleasure out, hand keeping him coming and coming. He arched, muscles tight, heart pounding furiously as he jerked and shivered, caught in the pleasure.
Bertoli finally let his mouth and his cock go, laughing softly, face flushed with pleasure. “Ah ... so lovely in your pleasure. So very lovely."
Dent shook his head. He wasn't lovely. He was strong. Not loved. No. Not lovely.
Bertoli smacked his ass. “Are you calling me a liar?"
Oh, that stung. Tingled. “Aren't you supposed to be hushing?"
Bertoli giggled. “No. That was during the lovemaking. And only because you were hushing me."
"Breakfast?” Dent stretched, winked, reached for a towel.
"You're changing the subject,” chuckled Bertoli, stepping out and holding out his arms, clearly waiting to be dried.
He swatted Bertoli with the towel, drying and teasing all at once. That laugh just filled the bathroom, making it seem airy and bright, making the morning seem special. He wrapped a towel around his waist, his stomach growling, grumbling, making it clear it was time for food.
Bertoli stroked his belly. “Come, my dear. You need to eat. And that will give us some time to talk, yes?” Bertoli took his arm and let him believe he was leading them both to the kitchen.
He followed easily, feeling relaxed for the first time in years.
Food was put into the heater and a moment later dished out onto one plate, Bertoli waiting for him to sit and then perching in his lap. It was somewhat awkward, Bertoli so tall and gaunt, but he was given a soft smile that seemed to say “make it work."
It wasn't terrible, actually. In fact, he enjoyed being able to touch, to feel Bertoli on his thighs.
Bertoli picked up a slice of fruit and fed it to him, fingers sliding along his lips. He licked Bertoli's fingers clean, moaned a little. “Good."
"Such a sensual man.” Bertoli grabbed a small slice of pastry, slipped it between his lips. “Why did you decide to come here? I mean, to the Glove, to begin with."
"Hercules is a friend of mine. He invited me.” He offered Bertoli a bite of something sweet and tart all at once.
The man's mouth opened for him, tongue sliding against the pads of his fingers as the fruit was taken. “Oh!” Dent cried, surprised by the touch.
Bertoli laughed. “Oh, that was a lovely choice.” A bite of the same was offered to him. “And why did you choose to take on the little subs instead of looking for a top?"
He nipped at those long fingers. “Because I didn't want a top."
"What made you so sure?"
"How did you know you weren't a sub?"
"I just knew.” Bertoli lifted his hand. “However. I'd spent three months training with Mal. Then I knew."
"So, I know."
Bertoli laughed, and this time it felt more like it had to start with, like Bertoli was laughing at him. “Without any testing? Without ever seeing what it was like from the other side?"
He shrugged and took another bite of the sweet-tart fruit, enjoying it. “I didn't have much time."
"So you don't know.” Bertoli gave him a wink and popped yet another piece of the fruit into his mouth. “Or at least you didn't."
"I know I don't want Mal."
Bertoli threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, Dent. I do enjoy you so."
"Glad to be an amusement, you ass.” He pinched Bertoli's buttocks.
Bertoli sobered and gave him an arch look. “Don't pinch me, my dear. I do not like it."
"Don't laugh at me, then. I don't like that."
"I wasn't laughing at you, Dent. You made me laugh with what you said. The truth of it, the way you circumvented the answer. It amused me. As you meant it to."
"Are we going to fight now? If we are, I'd really prefer to finish eating first."
"I don't want to fight with you, Dent, but you insist on refusing to see my laughter as an expression of joy and happiness.” Bertoli stood. “I am no longer hungry. You may finish your meal, and then I expect you to join me in the room with the table."
"Expect all you want. I haven't even been to my rooms yet.” He hadn't even unpacked. Gods, what was he doing here?
"Go if you must, Dent. You will be back.” Bertoli bent to look him in the eye. “It might not be what you want, but only I have what you need."
Yeah, but what did he have for Lutrell? He needed to have his clothes cleaned and make some arrangements. He had work to do.
Dent leaned in, took a single, chaste kiss. “Thank you for the rest."
Then he turned and headed back to his life.
Chapter Fi
ve
Lutrell came up from his fiftieth lap and pulled himself out of the pool with a sigh. He just wasn't enjoying his swimming as much as he used to.
The fact was, he wasn't enjoying much like he used to. And really, it was his own fault. He knew better than to fall in love with, much less to get to know and like the clients. They came to him for a particular purpose, and many were ashamed of their need. They thought those needs strange and perverse. It wasn't easy being the Master of the perverse in this place built upon perversity.
But he was good at what he did, and his clients left satisfied, and, if he'd done it right, no longer ashamed of their needs. It was, after all, just another need, like whipping or binding or body-mods. Just not as common or as well-known.
They would come to him. He would do his thing. They would leave happy and satisfied. Many returned for regular sessions, others never did or only came back occasionally. It didn't matter to him. He loved what he did, took great joy in it and was pleased to have a place in which to do it.
Which brought him back to his recent lack of enjoyment. He hadn't laughed in ... well, it might have been days.
Lutrell wrapped his towel around his waist and pulled on a tunic to cover himself—he knew he scared a few of the sweet little subs with his gauntness and wasn't in the mood to tease them with it—and headed for the lift. He just didn't have the heart to share the change room with people today.
He kicked himself mentally as he made his way down the corridor. Really, this was quite enough of this. Just because he'd grown to have feelings for Dent didn't mean the man owed him anything. Heavens, it wasn't like Dent even wanted to be with him. The man came merely to assuage his needs, ones that he wished he didn't have, then left to pretend they didn't exist, that Lutrell himself didn't exist.
Lutrell knew this. He knew that wishing things were otherwise, and falling in ... growing fond of Dent was a stupid thing to do.
Lutrell was not a stupid man. Nor was he as crazy as some—and he wouldn't name names, even in his own thoughts—might think.
So, he decided, he would stop torturing himself with what could not be. Yes, Dent had touched him, physically and emotionally, and no one had done either in quite some time. Yes, the man had come back, and would come back again, Lutrell was sure of it, but this was not for Lutrell himself, but for the needs that haunted Dent so.
He resolved that today he would laugh again, he would find something he could take joy in, and he would forget about clients caring for him, touching him, seeing him. Those things were not his and they never had been.
With that settled in his mind, he pulled off his tunic. He would tease the timid ones with his strangeness. And he would call Mal and tell him it was time for one or two of those same subs to experience his specialty. He was sure Mal could find at least one who would be interested.
His comm rang, startling him.
He had to search for it because he wasn't wearing his pants, only carrying them, and by the time he'd dropped all his clothes and his towel once, he was giggling, just a little, at himself.
He finally rescued the comm from his pants pocket and spoke into it. “Lutrell."
"Mal. I want you in my office. Now."
Oh, dear. That didn't sound very promising. Mal's mood might impede his effort to find his joy again. “I will be right there,” he replied nevertheless, turning the comm off.
The lift arrived and he grabbed his clothes and stepped in, pulling his pants on as quickly as possible, as he only had a couple of stories to travel. He tugged on his tunic, trying to figure out what to do with his towel, and as he knocked on Mal's door wondered idly why that tone had been used with him. Had he missed an appointment in his moping? No, he thought not. He was meticulous about such things.
Kestrel opened the door, ushered him in, nearly vibrating. “Come in. Come in. Mal, he's here. Come in. Sit."
Mal stalked in, looking as serious as Lutrell'd ever seen him. “Lutrell. We have a serious problem."
Kestrel and Mal. Oh dear.
What bothered him the most was that he hadn't an inkling what this could be about. Surely if he was doing something to warrant both Kestrel and Mal calling him in, he would have some clue.
He sat and cleared his throat, schooling his features to keep the worry from them. “Yes?"
Mal leaned on the corner of his desk. “We received a comm this morning from a major corporation regarding the kidnapping and ransom of one of our members."
"That's terrible,” Lutrell gasped. He couldn't figure out what it had to do with him, though. Oh, surely they all might be informed of such a thing, but he had been singled out and he couldn't ... oh. “Not Dent,” he murmured, stomach suddenly in his throat.
Kestrel's hand covered his, squeezed. “I'm sorry. They're bringing him here as soon as he's been freed."
He blinked and then blinked again, not sure what to say, what to do. There was a part of him that was panicking. If he never saw Dent again it would be hard and a shame, but he could deal with that, live with it. As long as it was because Dent had chosen to stay away. If anything happened to the man...
He took a breath. “So his company has agreed to ransom him then?"
Mal nodded. “They've been in negotiation for over four weeks. They'll either come to an agreement or the authorities will become involved."
"Four weeks?” Oh, his poor Dent. “He's going to need special care when he gets out,” Lutrell realized. “Who knows what they've done to him?"
Mal nodded. “That's why we called you down. I want your schedule cleared for as long as it takes. The boss says the vids of Dent in captivity that they've shared as proof of life are ... troublesome. He'll be your project, Lutrell. Nothing else."
Kestrel squeezed Lutrell's hand. “I'll help you get anything you need. Do you want to move to Dent's rooms?"
He shook off Kestrel's hand and stood, staring down at Mal and Kestrel. “Troublesome? What do you mean by troublesome? What have they done to him?"
"He's thin, drugged. He's been beaten and subjected to burns and shocks. He's been bound for long periods and he has two rather serious cuts—one on his thigh, one on his shoulder."
Lutrell shook his head, horrified. “We were just starting electrical shock for pleasure the last time he was with me...” He started to pace, the words echoing in his head. Oh, this was going to set Dent right back to the beginning. Perhaps they might never get him back to the point where he could accept what he truly needed without safewording.
And then there was the just immediate physical damage. Dent would need to regain weight, perhaps go through withdrawal from whatever drugs he'd been given, heal from the cuts, from the burns ... oh, his poor, dear man.
Lutrell had no idea what walls Dent would have put up to protect his psyche from what was being done to him, how thick the layers were that he would need to peel back just to get the man back to “normal."
"How often did he stay in his rooms here? Would they be familiar and comfortable to him, Kestrel? Does he have mementos, holos, things that make it his?"
"He slept here regularly. His personal effects were delivered, but never unpacked. They're still in storage."
"Then we'll stay in my quarters. If there's nothing in his rooms that means home and safety to him, then it would be easier if I were completely at home. And he knows he needs only to say his safeword with me and everything will stop and refocus on him, no matter if it is a scene or merely a breakfast he can't deal with."
He held his hand out to take the datapad Kestrel passed to him and started making a list. “I will need all new medical supplies. More blankets. The kitchen to be kept stocked with all his favorites, and a few of mine, but I want the staff to be invisible. As far as Dent will know there will only be he and I, at least for the first while that will be important. I don't want any well-wishers calling. He won't be in a place to receive them. Please have all calls routed through someone else, Kestrel. Messages may be taken. He will eventually be please
d to hear them all, I am sure."
He fixed them each with a sharp look. “That includes Hercules. I know he's the boss, and a friend of Dent's, but this is a special circumstance. I will file regular reports when Dent sleeps, so that you may know of his progress, but I must be autonomous in his care."
Mal nodded. “Hercules is aware of the situation. It's your call. The moment we know anything so will you."
"If he wants to see anyone, I will let you know, but unless he asks, I want to remain isolated with him.” Lutrell closed his eyes and took a breath. “They will get him out alive, yes?"
Kestrel patted his hand. “They will. They must. Come now, Lutrell. I'll help you get ready, yes? Make sure everything's set for Dent to come home to us."
"Yes. Yes, thank you. And you, Mal. I'm glad you thought of me to take care of him. I ... He's...” He wasn't sure what to say. “We were just beginning our work together."
"He'll be home soon and you'll be busy.” Mal offered him a hand. “If you need anything, you know where we are."
He shook Mal's hand firmly. “Yes. Yes, thank you. I will take care of him. I will be with him until he is well again. I swear it."
"No one else can do what you can. Go. Ready yourself."
"Thank you. I hope to hear that he is on his way soon."
Lutrell left, clutching his towel to him, mind already consumed with how he would help the man he loved.
Yes. Loved.
* * * *
It was another week before he got the call. Dent had been rescued and would arrive within the hour.
Finally.
Lutrell had spent the first few days preparing, making sure his rooms were stocked with anything they could possibly need. He'd spent the last few fretting, worrying. What if Dent couldn't be reached? What if Dent refused to stay with him? What if Dent recovered but never wanted to see him again? What if he couldn't help Dent because of the kinds of torture Dent had been subjected to?
The thoughts went round and round his head, chasing each other and driving him crazy.
At last he could put all that behind him and focus on what was actually needed. He turned the temperature monitor up, knowing that Dent liked it a little warmer than he did. He made sure there were soft, warm blankets everywhere, along with pillows and bottles of water. He placed all the sharp kitchen implements in a locked drawer and his bladed medical instruments in a locked panel in the playroom.
