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[15 Feb 2008|10:09pm] |
The only thing that saved Dove from breaking his own fingers was Damon's faster reflexes.
"You hit that wall, you're fucked." Damon held onto his arm until Dove nodded, staring at the cement exterior walls of the club. Then he let go, easy, and Dove took off at a near run, not able to walk fast enough to get away from the fucking hell that was Not A Nice Place.
Damon followed-Dove knew he would. Not because he was Dove's boy, or was some hanger on, but because Damon knew that there was danger in Dove's eye and blood was going to flow somewhere. Damon was the safety net, there to keep Dove from beating some poor fucker into unconsciousness.
Fucking goddamn Simon and that fucking goddamn whore bitch.
"Dove. This way."
Dove snapped his head around and looked where Damon was pointing. Looked like just another alley to him. "Why?" he snapped. He was shaking, needing so badly to fly apart at the seams.
Damon tilted his head and walked to Dove, standing close. "Because you need, yeah? Shack's got a place down here."
That stopped Dove cold. Between the two of them they knew a lot of dealers, but Shack was the only one Damon ever talked about, and then it was only to say that he was the only guy Damon had ever heard of who insisted on giving out fresh needles with his shit.
"Why?" Dove asked again.
Damon shook his head, not saying no, just exasperated. "You're not going back to the club tonight, and I'm not going to let you mug anyone. So you need an outlet." But his eyes were sad, and his arms were twitching, like he wanted to lash out himself.
Dove walked down the alley slowly, not believing this. Not believing any of it, really. Not Damon, not Tracy, not Simon. But mostly not this. He stopped at the end of the alley and sat on an overturned box.
Damon leaned on the wall across from him and waited.
It was cold. Too early in the morning for the heat of the last day to have lingered, the wind blowing right across them, down the alley. Papers flipped and cart wheeled and Dove watched them without seeing.
"I don't want to get high," Dove finally said.
Damon didn't say anything.
"It's just…too much, you know? Too much, too soon and I can't take anything more or I'll go insane." He looked at the ground, the filth that surrounded them, and waited for Damon to say something.
He didn't, but he did come and lean on the wall next to Dove.
"It's like…moving in with you. You say I'm yours, I say I'm a whore. But then I'm living with you. And I'm making money at the club, but then Tracy's there. Can deal with that, except she's in with Macy and sooner or later he's gonna show up and he's going to…hurt me again. Or kill me. And he won't make it fast. So I want an out. I don't want to trick, I don't want to deal, I just want to make some money." He looked up at Damon and waited again.
"You're not a whore."
"Yeah, I am."
"Don't have to be."
"Bullshit. Maybe I don't have to take money to let guys suck me off, but flogging? Flogging and fucking? Still whoring. And it's what I'm good at. What I need, sometimes. Most times. Needed it tonight, thought it was a fucking gift when Simon showed up-he takes it like no one else, takes and takes and pulls the crap out of me. But no, he wanted the fucking bitch."
Dove stood up and raged, everything coming back full force. He kicked the boxes and screamed, anger and something else making him dance as he hurled abuse at the walls around him, kicking at the filth and the garbage.
Fuck him. Just fuck him all to hell.
"It's who he is," Damon yelled when Dove was in full swing. "He's not yours."
"Fuck you! I know that-I know him, I know me. I'm nothing to him, just an arm and a cock, and that's the way it is. You think he's more to me than a body?"
"Yeah. And so do you." Damon reached out and pushed Dove into the wall, crowding close. "And if you think he doesn't know something like that, you better think again."
Dove stared into Damon's eyes, trying to deny it, trying to hate, trying to keep himself angry. But he couldn't. Damon looked like he was cutting his own liver out.
"I don't love him," Dove said softly.
"I know," Damon said, just as quietly. "And he sure as fuck doesn't love you. But you give each other something no one else can."
"Not Tracy, apparently," Dove snorted. "Did you see that? She took him out, but she didn't pull him back. She just fucking left him, broken and not right. She fucking took the easy way out and didn't do what he needed. I've seen her do better-it was on purpose, 'cause of me."
Damon nodded, his eyes haunted. Dove knew part of Damon had wanted to take care of Simon's back-probably for Jay's benefit-but Dove hadn't really given him the choice.
Dove kept his eyes locked on Damon's, calmer, but still not easy in his skin. "He comes in, telling me we should charge for shows. Shit." He took a deep breath and kept talking, like he was telling a story. Just kept talking, hoping to hell the words would burn away some of the need in his gut. "We're fucking amazing together, and he's right. We'll make a ton of cash-and it'll get me out of Not A Nice Place, away from the bitch and Macy. So we set it up."
"You'll get into The Chamber," Damon said, his voice sure.
Dove winced. "We did. We're up there next week."
Damon looked puzzled. "You didn't tell me."
Dove sighed and looked away, trying to ease away from the way Damon's body kept him at the wall. "Thursday. If Simon's still up for it, after tonight."
Damon stared at him for a moment and let him slide away. "Okay. I'll…well, I can always trade shifts back, I guess. No way they'll let me in The Chamber, and I don't want to see, anyway."
"I'm sorry," Dove said, meaning it. "I didn't know they'd want Thursday when I set it up."
Damon, at least, didn't lie and say it was okay. It wasn't. They didn't really have plans, but Damon hadn't made much a secret about wanting to spend Dove's eighteenth birthday with him.
"Let's go," Damon said suddenly.
"Where?"
"Dancing."
Dove nodded and took Damon's hand as they walked out of the alley. They danced for hours, drinking and making out in dark corners, screaming until dawn, then staggering home in the early half light.
When they tumbled onto the bed, tearing at clothes and biting each other's shoulders, Dove whimpered. He needed, he needed, he wanted and needed and bled for it.
"Fuck me," he whispered. "Christ, Damon, I need you. Take care of me."
Damon bit harder and did what Dove needed, because that's what he always did. Dove could count on it.
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Simon was, in his own way, an impulsive boy. If he got an idea he usually acted on it right away. If he didn't, it usually disappeared. Sometimes, though, it hung around at the edges of his brain, poking him at odd moments until he let it have its way.
Which was the only way he could explain what he was doing at Not a Nice Place, looking for Dove but not wanting to be flogged.
He'd had an idea. And it wouldn't leave him alone.
He asked for Dove, no he didn't want to be put on the boy's list, he just wanted to talk to him, and oh, while he was here, a beer would be nice.
The guy behind the bar passed him the beer willingly enough, but didn't seem too hopeful about locating Dove. "Haven't seen him in a while, but I just got here a few minutes ago. I'll ask around."
Simon nodded and sat, drinking his beer. It was almost gone when an arm slid around his waist and white blond hair fell over his shoulder. "Looking for me, Simon?" Dove whispered. "Wanna play?"
"Well hey there, pretty bird." Simon grinned. "Looking for you, yeah. Got an idea won't leave me the hell alone. Sit." He patted the empty stool next to him. "Talk now, maybe play later."
Dove raised an eyebrow at him. "Huh. Not what I was expecting, but okay." Dove's arm left him and the blonde took the stool, waving over the bartender. "Jack." Then he turned to Simon, his eyes clear and intent. "What's on your mind?"
"A paying audience." Simon had a sudden memory of those eyes looking up at him, dark with need. Business first, he reminded himself. "You and me, up there." He gestured vaguely at the stage. "Charge admission for the show, make it something special. Have people come watch you flog me, watch me come." He grinned wider. "What d'you reckon, pretty bird? Think they'd pack the place to watch us together?"
Dove raised his eyebrow again. "You want to charge people to watch?" Dove looked away before Simon could reply, his eyes narrowing. He tossed back his shot as soon as it was in front of him, his neck extended. "Think it would work?" he asked, not looking at Simon.
"You think everyone here's just here just to get flogged, or have their boy flogged? People wanna watch, luv, just like they wanna be watched. 'S why there's places like this, like the Dungeons. You throw up a stage, people expect a show."
Simon remembered something Jay had told him about Damon - that Damon came to watch Dove. He waved the bartender over and asked for another beer while he thought about whether or not to mention it.
"Dunno what the going rate is," he went on. "Dungeon North charges admission and they want you to have a membership. Charge a bit more for a set time period if there's something special going on." He resisted the urge to lick Dove's neck to get the boy to look at him, and instead he said "People pay good money just to watch you, pretty bird. Reckon you're worth shelling out for. And me, well, I brought 'em in all over the world." Yeah, it was a naked boast, but Simon liked to think it was true.
Dove grinned, still not looking at him. "People talk about us, you know. Last time was worth a week of it."
Someone let out a whoop behind them and Dove's head spun around, hair fanning out behind him. "Let's go for a walk," he said, hand landing on Simon's thigh.
Simon turned to look at what was so important it made Dove's lips press into a thin line and his eyes turn hard. It took him a moment to pick her out, but once a big hairy bloke moved out of the way she was hard to miss.
Tall and sleek, she had the attention of most of the club as she stood talking to the whipping master. Black leather skirt, just long enough to cover her ass, black leather vest - lots of leather. Boots, arm band, and the cat in her hand. She turned her head and stared around the room, her blood red lips suddenly curving up when she looked their way. Simon saw her mouth 'Dove', and the hand on his leg tightened.
Oh, this was interesting.
"Give us a minute, yeah?" Simon said to Dove, his eyes on this new girl. "Didn't know you had a new dom. She any good?" He was honestly curious about the woman and wanted to see how she worked, but Dove didn't like her, that was pretty clear, or at least didn't want to watch her, and she knew that. She was playing with him. And Simon was intrigued.
Dove scowled, but he stayed where he was, one hand on Simon, barely sitting on the stool. "Yeah, she's good. Her name's Tracy."
Simon waited for more, but apparently that was it. He drank his beer and let Dove's hand stay where it was while he watched Tracy walk across the stage. She was still looking at Dove, a half smirk on her face.
"Let's play," she said loudly, finally looking around the room. Then she stepped to the back of the stage while a man was bound at the front. It was simple, really, not unlike the way Simon preferred it - arms out, legs held apart. The guy wasn't much to look at, but he had a raging boner already. And he wore a full face mask.
When he was bound Tracy went to him and they had their talk; Simon knew the questions, but he was surprised when Tracy got the pump bottle of lube out.
Dove said something under his breath, his hand moving slightly on Simon's thigh, but Simon missed it. He would have asked what was what, but then it started.
Dove was right - she was good.
The longer she worked the more Simon realized what the lube was probably for. He hadn't been fucked by a woman with a strap-on in a long time, and never by a woman who'd just flayed the skin off his back. He wondered if she was as good a fuck as Dove.
He wondered why it was so important to him that he find out.
His hand unconsciously fell on Dove's thigh, just as Dove's was digging into his, and he started gently kneading the muscle. Almost made him hard to watch this girl. It did make him hard to think of Dove watching him.
"You're right," he said, leaning close to Dove. "She's good. Tell you this, though - you're prettier."
"Fucking right I am," Dove growled at him. But he moved a little closer and the hand on Simon's thigh moved up to his balls. "She's a bitch, Simon. Good arm, yeah. She'd make you hurt - you can see that, and I can't tell you different. But that piece of plastic she's gonna shove in his ass? Nowhere near as good as my cock."
"How many strap-ons fucked you, pretty bird?" Simon grinned. "Ever had a girl knew what she was doing? Won't deny you make me scream, and there's no substitute for a good thick cock, but sometimes, you get someone good, can come just as hard."
No question - Simon was coming back for this girl. Just to see the look on Dove's face. Just to prove to himself that this sharp blond boy wasn't everything, wasn't the only person who could give him what he needed.
Although right now, with that hand on his thigh brushing his balls, Simon couldn't think of anyone else who could satisfy this particular hunger.
But business first.
"Right," he said, tearing his eyes from the stage to look at Dove. "About this show, you and me. You interested?"
Dove's eyes glittered. "Fuck, yes." The hand on his thigh twisted a little, cupping his balls for a moment before moving away entirely as Dove stood up. "Where you want to play, Simon? Here? Somewhere else? There's a place up town a bit, private club. Like nasty stuff, but it's more in line with what you're talking about - not anybody can get on the stage, it's a set program. But here is... well, here."
Dove was standing close now, not leaving, just pressing close. He leaned over Simon a bit to order another drink, pausing on his way back to lick Simon's ear. Behind them someone came with a long groan.
"Mmm...." Simon closed his eyes briefly as Dove licked his ear. "We have to get someone down here to watch us, then. See what we can do. Get them to ask us to play there. Could make some good money, you and me." He leaned back a bit, sideways, into Dove. He was at least half-hard now, wanting. He didn't need the cat, but maybe the crop, light enough to mark or maybe bruise, not hard enough to bleed. Something so he could pay his money to feel that cock inside him.
"Tell you what, pretty bird. You know the place. Get someone down to watch us, tell them you want on their program. We'll give 'em a show they won't forget, yeah? But right now" - he turned, lifted his head so he could see Dove's face, so Dove could see his - "wanna put myself on your list. Little crop, lotta fucking. No blood, just a bruise."
Dove grinned at him, satisfaction and anticipation warring. "Want to feel me, Simon? Make you ache just a little and ride you hard? Can do that." And then he was gone, before Simon could say anything. Simon watched Dove make his way through the tables to the master.
Seemed the pretty bird had an ache of his own.
Simon watched Tracy finish up, almost but not quite as an afterthought. Dove might be able to ignore her in the face of playing, but not Simon. He didn't want to. She'd dropped the cat and was fucking the client hard; Simon wished he could see the guy's face.
But then one hand with long red nails wrapped around the sub's prick and he was coming, spurting all over the floor with a scream.
And he didn't have to see the guy's face. The scream and the way he shot were enough.
Yeah, some girls knew what to do with it.
He got up, adjusted himself, and went to make sure his name was on Dove's list. He had another beer while he waited. He idly watched the guy on stage get taken down, watched Tracy leave. He watched the crowd. He tried to imagine Dove's face if he came back to have Tracy flog him. It would be a big fuck-you to the blond boy - You're not mine, pretty bird, and I'm sure as fuck not yours.
Ah, but now the master was coming for him and Simon was stripping off his clothes and letting them tie his arms apart on the stage, and he was getting ready for the crop, getting ready for Dove, and yeah, he was hard, so what? He needed it right now. Later he'd need something - and someone - else.
Dove stepped up with a small grin, his eyes still bright. His shirt was gone and his pants were undone, his cock as hard as Simon's. "Ready?" He didn't wait for a reply, just showed Simon the crop and stroked it suggestively, then asked, "Safe word the same?"
Simon nodded sharply. "Keener."
Dove looked at the master who announced it to the room and stepped back, out of the line of sight. Simon looked out at the audience, behind the lights; he could make out a few faces, and they seemed to be watching him and Dove as intently as they had Tracy.
"Gonna fuck you hard, Simon?" Dove hissed, walking behind him.
"Every time. Make it sting."
And Dove did.
He was just as good at this as he was with the cat. Simon wouldn't have thought Dove could have a gentle touch, not after having experienced the strength in that arm, but with the crop he was almost... soft. Maybe it was just in comparison, because he still made it sting, made it sing, made Simon ache.
He listened to the slap of the crop on his ass and thighs, and he watched the crowd, as much as he could see beyond the lights, and he moaned, because it wasn't that he needed to be marked and bruised, it was just that he needed something for his money.
Not that he was complaining, but he was so hard he was in pain, his cock straining and leaking, the muscles in his arms and shoulders crying from the stretch, the skin of his ass and thighs tight and hot. It was up to Dove - Dove was in charge here - but Simon wished the boy could see how ready he was, how badly and how hard he needed to be fucked.
"I know," Dove said behind him. "Know what you need. Know how long to make you wait." And maybe he could read minds.
Simon moaned again, but tried to stifle it; no way was he going to beg for it, he wasn't going to play that game. But he could hear Dove breathing, fast and hard and he knew Dove was ready too, almost past ready. The crop fell on his ass once more and then hit the floor in front of him with a clatter and he heard Dove's gasp as the rasp of a zipper sounded.
Slick fingers, two, maybe three, pushing in and then they were gone and Dove's hand was on his hip, pulling him back, impaling him on Dove's cock. Fuck, he was big, hard and long and just fucking right, stretching and filling him.
"Oh fucking shit," Dove gasped. "Tight. Fuck, Simon..."
"Harder," Simon gasped, "fucking hell.... Can't hold it, gonna come - "
So soon, and without even being touched, he was crying out and shooting hard on the stage.
"Jesus Christ!" Dove slammed into him again and again, panting in his ear. "Fuck, now, now, now!" Dove froze, his teeth biting down on Simon's shoulder as his cock throbbed in Simon's ass.
Oh Christ, if he hadn't just shot his load he'd be hard again. "Get me down," Simon panted. "Gonna fucking fall right over."
Fall over or pass out, and how the hell did Dove DO that? Guys out in the audience had come in their hands, Simon could hear the groans. Bloody hell, if that fancy club wanted him and Dove on the program, they'd fucking clean up. Make so much money he could send Jay to college.
Dove groaned and pulled out, and instantly there were hands at Simon's wrists, and Dove was back to take his weight while the cuffs were undone.
"Back room, Simon. Now. Shit, I don't know if I can walk any further than that." Dove was still breathing hard, his cock only just tucked into his pants which weren't even done up all the way.
Simon nodded, though he didn't need bandaging - there was a cot there and he could stretch out for a few minutes. Dove somehow got them down the short hall and into the room, though Simon could feel his legs trembling. They fell in the door together and sprawled on the narrow mattress, half on top of each other.
"Jesus Christ, Dove," Simon said, trying to catch his breath. "Oughta come back for that more often. Fucking amazing." He could feel it on the tip of his tongue - "I love the way you fuck me" - but he'd never say it. Collapsed on the cot with this boy who made him scream, who reminded him so much of himself when he was that age - something tickled the back of Simon's brain -
He wriggled around, grabbed Dove's chin, and kissed him hard. Teeth nipping, tongue pushing, fingers digging into Dove's jaw until he was out of breath and had to pull away.
"Gonna make so much fucking money," he gasped, and let his head fall forward against Dove's neck. That white-blond hair tickled his nose. He could fall asleep here. He'd leave it up to Dove to leave.
Dove nodded, one arm curing around him, holding him there. "I'll talk to some people. Get someone here in a week or so." Dove shifted slightly, curling around him briefly. Then he sighed and kissed Simon's hair. "I gotta go. Now. I stay and... well."
Dove peeled away and stood up, fastening his pants as he looked down at him. "See you, Simon." Then he bent down and kissed Simon as hard as Simon had kissed him.
"Soon, pretty bird." Simon stretched, grinned, and closed his eyes. He'd take a nap and then go home, and the next time he felt the itch, he'd come back for Tracy. He loved what Dove did to him, but he was starting to think that might be a problem.
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He liked the boots.
So, he'd fallen asleep, and when Damon got home from work in the morning they'd had breakfast and gone to bed, where Dove had fucked Damon into damn near unconsciousness before they'd fallen asleep. It was supper time when they woke up, so they ate again, and showered, and messed around until Damon went back to work.
Dove'd planned to go out himself, but as Damon left he'd shoved a sheaf of papers into Dove's hands.
"What the fuck is this?" Dove asked, holding the papers like they were snakes.
"You got bored with Harry Potter, yeah? Try reading this shit. And out loud, it's easier to get the words right if you hear them."
"Fuck off," Dove said mildly, tossing them onto the table. "Where'd you get it, anyway?"
Damon grinned. "One of the accountants left his browser open when he went home last night. I was dumping garbage pails and took a look. Printed out some nice stories for you."
Dove raised an eyebrow and Damon grinned again, then walked out the door, off to work.
Dove tried ignoring the papers, but he was nothing if not curious. He got a beer and the first three sheets, then flopped on the couch, grudgingly reading the words out loud, one at a time. He wasn't really paying attention to the content much, just trying to get the feel of the letters again, forcing them to blend together into something recognizable.
But the words weren't hard at all, and within a couple of paragraphs he was reading faster, the words starting to flow. Maybe there was something to this practice shit after all. He went back to the beginning and read it again, listening to the content this time, relaxing a little as he realized he'd likely be able to read most of the three pages without frustration settling in.
That feeling fled half way down the first page, but it wasn't the words that threatened to frustrate him. Or rather, not the letters. The words themselves, though-the story-that just might.
Damon printed him porn. Filthy, naughty, nasty porn. Dove stopped reading out loud at the end of the first page, started reading a little slower, to make sure of the words. Sometimes he'd skip back to make sure of what was happening, but he never stopped. Not until the end of the third page and then it was only to get the rest.
He'd done all that shit, and watched most of it, but he hadn't read it; had no idea the words could make him hard, make him so fucking horny he jerked off twice in an hour and a half.
By the time he fell asleep he'd made it half way through the pile, and when Damon came home he found him on the couch, still naked, with a dream induced hard on.
Dove didn't even wait until Damon was naked before he started reading out loud to him. They got through less than two pages before Dove was all over Damon, fucking him hard and deep.
So he stayed another day.
The third night, though, he was ready to get out, blow off some steam and look at something other then the walls, the paper and his own cock. He dressed and was almost to the door before he thought better of just leaving. He went back to the kitchen and hunted around, eventually coming up with a pencil and a take out menu.
"I'll be back soon. D."
It was the closest he'd ever come to conceding that Damon should know he'd be back. That he thought about what Damon would think.
Vaguely unsettled, but not willing to simply leave, he headed out, making his way back to his place. He stopped to talk to a few people here and there, standing on Jimmy's corner and scaring tricks away until Jimmy got pissed and told him to take a hike. He laughed and walked another block, then spotted Spider and bummed a smoke.
"Been to the club lately?" Spider asked.
"Nope. Been about a week. Why?"
"You should stop in." Spider grinned, showing two broken teeth. "New player hanging out, causing a stir."
Dove couldn't have cared less, so he just kept walking until he got to his building and in, up the stairs to his door. Which was standing open.
"Ah, fuck," he hissed. Dove nudged the door open with his boot, hand going into his pocket for his knife. Light spilled out, so he opened the door wide and stared.
Chev was sitting on the middle of his mattress, looking at him mildly. "Hey, Dove."
Dove stepped into his room and looked around. "What the fuck?" he said. "Where's all my shit? What are you doing in here?"
Chev shrugged. "You ain't been around. We figured you moved on, your room was up for grabs."
Dove stared at him. "The fucking door was locked. What did you do, kick the door in? You know the rules-we damage the place, we lose it. You dumb shit." He was still looking around, looking for his things.
"Nah, just popped the lock. No stress."
"No stress? It's my fucking room! Where's my-"
Chev waived his hand. "You got a lease, asshole? You weren't around. And the only stuff in here was the mattress, three t-shirts, and pile of magazines. And some fucking kids book."
Dove blinked and did a fast inventory of his gear. He'd been keeping his toys-the whip, the crop, the other shit-at Damon's for ages, since they'd started fucking on a regular basis. Just more secure there. His leather pants and other pair of boots were there, too, and some more clothes.
Dove had never really had much, but still it was a little stunning to realize how little was really his. Even more stunning to realize that apparently he'd been living with Damon for a while now without knowing it.
Suddenly he really needed a drink.
He fished his key out of his pocket and dropped it on the floor, then turned and left.
Less than half an hour later he wandered into the Razor's Edge, and then right back out again as the jerk behind the bar spotted him and pointed to the door. Once upon a time he could get away with a beer and a game of pool in there, but lately they'd really tightened up on underage drinking. Or maybe they were just trying to keep the street kids out; Dove didn't care. All that mattered was that he'd been tossed before he got a beer and the twins in the back booth weren't doing anything exciting this time.
With a curse he decided to try up town, but a voice called his name as he hit the end of the block and he turned to see Rex waving him back.
"Can't get in, man," Dove called to him.
"Not that. C'mere!"
Dove sighed and started walking back, cursing out whoever'd made Rex's ID. Rex was only nineteen, but his ID said twenty-one and it was a good one. Had to be, Rex looked about thirteen if he tried-made a killing with the perv trade.
"What?" he said when he was close enough not to bellow. "Just need a drink, Rex."
Rex nodded. "C'mon then. We'll go to the club."
Dove shook his head. "No way. I don't want to play, just want to drink, and when I walk in there it's like a zoo. Don't want the hassle."
Rex bit his lip. "That's why you should go, Dove," he said seriously. "New top making big noise there. Got a good arm."
Dove rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Fine. Let's go. Maybe people will shut the fuck up about it."
Rex grinned and took off, little ass wiggling. Dove sighed again. Kid had far too much energy. Maybe he had some of it to sell. He tucked the idea away as an option if the club was a total bust.
When they got there, Rex disappeared almost immediately, working his way through the crowd and the music to his personal court in the back corner. Boy like him could make a fortune sucking cocks while guys got off on the show.
Dove took his time. He waved off the master, said he wasn't there to play, and wandered. It was only just past two, still early, and the club was only starting to come alive. There was the usual mix of people, pretty typical of Not A Nice Place. It wasn't a gay club, really, just had a reputation for anything goes and being a safety zone if you liked to get whipped and fucked. It also wasn't really strictly a show club, and wasn't solely a venue for making your own scene if you didn't happen to have a dungeon at home.
It was eclectic, really. People could come with their own toys, their own master or slave, and pay to use the stage. Or they could come with their partner and use the club's toys. Or they could come solo, find their match in the crowd and take it from there.
The club only actually employed six people to work the scenes, aside from the whipping master. Those six were paid a wage, plus tips from the clients, and everyone seemed happy with that. Then there were the freelances, people like Dove.
Dove had started as just one of the crowd, but people started asking to be put on his list, so the master had taken him aside one day and made him an offer. He let them make the list for him if he was interested in playing, they took care of the toys, the clean up and provided the lube and condoms. He got tested for everything regularly and took sixty percent of what they charged for him.
No brainer to Dove's way of thinking. He'd make more solo, but not for long. People liked to know he was testing, that the club would take him on and make his list. Plus they charged a fuck of a lot for his arm, after they'd seen him play a few times.
The only thing Dove didn't do was women. He'd flog a man until he came, until he bled, until he begged for mercy and came within a breath of his safe word. But there was no power on Earth that would let Dove flog a woman.
There were several women in the bar that night, he noticed as he made his way to the bar. Not unusual, really. There were often female slaves, their Master's showing them off and playing with them on the main stage. Didn't bother Dove any, just not his thing. Once in a while there'd be a Dominatrix in as well, her boy toy on a leash or something. Again, didn't bother Dove, but it did make him roll his eyes a little.
The club actually employed a Dominatrix; Lacey worked four nights a week and was in constant demand. It was amazing how many guys wanted to be topped hard by a blue haired scary chick. Almost as many as wanted to be flogged by a guy, apparently. Lacey made her money and grinned, and when the lights came up and the club emptied she'd kick back and sing John Lennon songs as they drank a last beer.
Dove liked Lacey.
What Dove didn't like was the way the leather clad Amazon bitch across the bar was looking at him. Hungry eyes, a weird green that he could see even in the dim light, and short black hair.
"Who's that?" he asked Skunk when he came with another bottle.
"Wondered when you'd show," Skunk said. "That, my friend, is our newest top. Her name's Tracy, and she's getting a lot of action. She's got a--"
"Strong arm. I heard." Dove dismissed both Skunk and Tracy, turning around to face the crowd. Jesus, what a waste of time. No way was she any sort of threat to him-he did gay guys, bi guys, guys in the closet, guys who wanted a man to take them out of themselves. No one that wanted a girl, for fucks sake. If they wanted tits they went for Lacey.
He saw her come around the corner of the bar and waited. She was prowling, he could tell from her hips, her breasts, the way she scoped him. Stupid bitch was hunting him. Oh well, at least it was entertaining.
He ignored her, watching another guy go to the master for a fast conversation, the master shaking his head and pointing to Dove, saying no. Not on a list tonight. Sorry. Dove shrugged when the master glared at him. He didn't want to play. Didn't need it.
Then he thought about the fact that he didn't have a room anymore and frowned.
"Too pretty to look like that," she purred, sliding onto the stool next to him.
Dove looked at her finally. Usual dom leather, from pointy breasts to pointy heels. Skank whore in black leather so shiny she glowed. It suited.
"Why so unhappy?" she asked moving closer. "Need to take your mind off something?"
Now, that was just pathetic. What the hell did this bitch think she was doing? Word was out that she was all that, and here she was coming onto him like a ten dollar hooker. He raised an eyebrow at her, finally seeing the look in her eyes.
She was playing with him. She knew who he was, what he did, and she was playing games.
"Fuck off," he said mildly. "Go play somewhere else."
She bared her teeth at him, but didn't move. "Want to watch me, kiddo? See how the adults play?"
Dove laughed before he could stop himself. "Go for it, baby. Try not to fall off your shoes."
She smiled at him, eyes cold, assessing. "How old are you?" she asked suddenly.
Dove grinned. "Gonna bust me for drinking underage?"
"Nope. Just wondered how many guys would want you if they knew you weren't legal."
"Oh please. My list would fucking double with the pervs who want kiddie ass. Don't be a dumb cunt."
She smiled at him and stood up. "I think I'm due on stage. Don't go away, I have a message for you later." Then she was gone.
Dove shook his head and ordered another beer. She was scary looking and scary stupid. Bad combination. He pondered what she meant about a message and figured if someone really wanted him they could find him. Or at least another way to get to him.
The lights went up on the main stage and Dove watched as some trick was bound. Naked, he was bent over slightly, holding onto a bar for support, his legs spread by steel cuffs with a rod between them. Tracy stepped up on the stage, bull whip in hand, and the people in the audience shifted as one in the their seats.
Tracy had shed a layer of clothes, was now in a leather corset with black leather short shorts and black stockings. Her boots were over her knees, and the heels had to be four inches. She looked oddly butch and fem at the same time, her hair only a couple of inches long, her eyes heavy lidded and surrounded by black. Her mouth and nails were, of course, whore red.
Dove snorted in disgust. Poser.
The master announced the safe word and Tracy stepped back, then it began. It took Dove less than four strokes to sit up straighter, less than a dozen to know she was good. Damn good.
When the trick came it was with a scream and a black dildo up his ass, Tracy driving him and at least four people in the audience over the edge.
Dove had never been so far from hard before in his life.
Tracy walked straight to him as soon as she'd handed the whip over for cleaning. Skunk passed her a bottle of water without her asking and she stood right in front of Dove, taller, more assured.
"Macy says hi," she said. Then she turned and walked away.
Dove stared at her, his gut clenching. Nothing scared Dove, ever. Nothing could, there wasn't anything that anyone could do to him that was worse than what he'd been through.
But Macy scared him.
He left the club, was halfway to his place before he remembered he didn't have a place. The thought of going to Damon's was enough to make him start hunting for a warehouse. He couldn't just go there, expect Damon to take him in, tell him he'd lost his room, that some psycho with a strong arm was taking his job, that he needed he needed he needed.
So he walked and cursed and looked around for a party, tried to score, and when he wound up back at the club he was ready to play.
===========================================================================================
Dove and Damon, The Aftermath
Follows Dove's Game Epilogue
Damon waited until Dove was in the shower before getting out bed. He'd more or less dragged Dove back to the apartment, taking advantage of his…well, of his advantage. Wasn't often that he had the upper hand with Dove. They'd tumbled through the door, already tearing at clothes, and didn't really make it all the way to undressed before rubbing off on each other.
But now Dove was in the shower and he'd cool down, start to think. Damon didn't want to be naked, in bed, when Dove came out. The way Damon figured it, things could only go two ways. Dove would leave, saying he'd be back soon and then he'd not come around for a week or more if at all, or Dove would get all geared up and just leave, looking for a party.
Damon had pushed, so Dove would push back.
He'd not been really sure he had a breaking point when it came to Dove and what he did. Then Simon had turned up again, and off stage, and Damon found his limit.
It wasn't so much that it was Simon. Not really. It was that Dove had taken it that one step too far. Damon knew Dove tricked, knew how he lived. The club, the drugs, the stealing…he knew it and accepted it.
But Damon wasn't about to let the guy he loved pay someone else to fuck him. Even if it was Simon. So what had he done? Slammed Dove into a wall, pulled him off in the street and said the words.
Damon sighed and reached for his jeans, pulling them on as he walked into the kitchen. He needed a drink, something strong and burning, something not unlike the cheap whiskey Dove favoured when he was upset and angry. So that's what he got.
He heard the water shut off in the bathroom and started to estimate time elapsing. If it was ten minutes then Dove was braiding his hair up and getting dressed, ready to leave. Nice and easy.
But it was well past that when the bathroom door opened and Dove went into the spare room, followed by the sounds of clothes being tossed around and muffled curses as Dove looked for something. Damon finished his drink as Dove headed back across the hall into the bathroom.
Going out, then. Looking for a party, and getting dressed to play. Dove always did shove back hard.
"Your mine," Damon had said in the street. And he whispered it again, as he poured another drink, knowing that if Dove left like this he wouldn't be back.
Damon was still standing in the kitchen, ankles crossed in front of him, when Dove came out of the bathroom.
His hair was loose and flowing, almost dry, but not quite, the white blond still dark at the ends. The ends were curling, he'd hate that when it was dry. Dove had on his black leather pants, low slung and undone, the leather clinging to his hips as he strode in, hair flying, strands wrapping around his arms. His eyes were intent, rimmed in black, the khole line thick and smudged just so. He looked stunning.
And he was hard, the head of his cock pushing out of his pants.
Damon stood straighter, setting the glass down on the counter beside him. "Going out?"
"No." Dove reached him, his hands going to Damon's shoulder and pushing him down, hard. Damon fell to his knees, his own shaft growing and filling at the unexpected show of dominance. "Going in," Dove growled.
Damon licked his lips, mouth opening as Dove pulled his cock out, not letting Dove play anymore games. Swiftly he wrapped a hand around the base of Dove's erection, his mouth already taking him in.
Dove was huge, Damon had never been able to take him all the way in like this. He didn't hope to try, just prayed Dove wouldn't choke him as he started to thrust. Hand and mouth worked together, wet and sliding as Damon sucked. His own prick twitched hard when Dove tangled his hands in Damon's hair, fucking his mouth in long deep strokes that were almost too much, but never quite too rough.
They were noisy. There were no words, just sounds; Dove's gasps as Damon pressed into the slit at the tip of his cock, a long groan from Damon as Dove's fingers tightened. It was fast and messy, wet and hot, and when Dove's cock swelled further Damon pulled back, bringing him off by hand.
Damon's hips snapped against nothing and he came in his pants when Dove's spunk coated his chest.
They sank to the floor, Dove not even bothering to keep his hair away from the mess. He'd need another shower.
"You're staying, then?" Damon asked.
Dove looked at him, one hand rubbing his belly, the other sliding over Damon's thigh. "Don't get it," he said softly. "Don't understand how or why…"
Damon shrugged. "Just is. Just do."
Dove shook his head and closed his eyes. "I'm a whore, Damon. Can't promise you anything. Can't even say I'll stay away from Simon. He comes into the club or whatever-it's money, man. That's what I do."
"I know," Damon said. He did. "Not asking you to change."
Dove opened his eyes. "Don't think I can."
"I think you can. I think you will. But I'm not going to demand it. Dove-you're who you are and that's what I want. You today, you next year."
Dove shook his head again. "You're cracked."
"You staying?"
"Yeah. I'm staying."
===========================================================================================
"Hey," Damon said cheerfully. Best to start off on a happy note.
"Hey. How've you been?" Dove dipped the corner of his toast in the runny egg yolk and chewed, still looking at his plate.
"All right. Been looking for you for a couple of days."
Dove gave him a quick look, just a flash of eyes before he returned to his eggs. "Yeah? I ain't been hiding. Just…around."
"I know. Wrong place, wrong time. Ran into Rex and Spider last night, a few others."
"Party?"
"Nah, just out. Said you put on a good show last week, people are still talking about it."
That earned him a grin and one eyebrow up. "I always put on a good show," Dove said. He looked like he was thinking for a few seconds and then asked, "Which night?"
Perfect opening. "Five days ago. Crop."
Dove nodded slowly, giving him another flicker of his eyes. "Simon."
"Ah." Damon had known it had to be Simon, not just because they'd said it was a blonde with a ring in his cock, but because they said Dove was into it, was tight and fluid-had wanted it as much as the toy had. Had to be Simon.
Dove poked at his eggs some more, but seemed to be done eating. Damon drank his coffee, waiting to see if either of them was going to say anything about Simon, about the scene at his place more than a week ago, about anything.
Dove finally turned to look at him. "You still pissed at me?"
"Nope. Mind you, you do it again, I will be. Again."
Dove smiled, and it almost reached his eyes. His hand moved to Damon's thigh, stroking high up. "Right. No getting high at your place. Got it. Wanna go somewhere?"
Damon nodded before he thought about it. He was usually willing to go wherever Dove wanted to; the club, his apartment, the alley behind the club-didn't matter. But this time it did.
"Yeah. But I want to know who you were with at your place first." And that was the hard one to get out, the one they never ever talked about. He knew Dove fucked other guys-he'd seen it, on stage. Knew about the tricks, knew Dove had been with Simon in San Fransico. But they never talked about it. Dove never asked him about other guys-not that there were many-and he never asked Dove. Unwritten rules.
Dove's hand was gone from his leg, the blonde head turned away, looking out the grimy window.
"Dove?"
"Why do you want to know?" Not 'when', or 'no', or 'none of your business'. Just the one question Damon wasn't sure he could answer.
He thought about it. Damon knew how he felt about it, knew what he'd felt when Spider started talking about how fucking noisy they were, how Dove had sounded. He knew he was hurt and pissed, but he wasn't sure he could say why, could explain it to Dove. He looked around the diner and tried to find words that wouldn't make him look pathetic, like a clingy, demanding, insecure prick. Then he realized it didn't matter. If Dove didn't get it they were done anyway. He could only take so much.
"Look at me," he said softly.
Dove turned to face him, the pretty face half pissed off and mostly petulant, defensive.
Damon kept his voice even. "You don't take tricks to your place. So you were fucking someone you know. And I want to know who-want to know what the fuck is going on. 'Cause I watch you work, watch you with guys, and that's…sometimes good, sometimes not. But if you're fucking someone else outside of that I want to know. Want to know where I stand. I won't be just another ass for you."
Dove's eyes widened and he swore under his breath. If Damon hadn't have had him trapped in the booth he would have taken off, Damon was sure. As it was it took him a few moments to stop looking murderous.
Dove drained his coffee cup and set it down on the table, lining it up precisely with his plate. "Was a trick. Sort of," he said.
Damon blinked. From what he'd heard Dove was pretty vocal, and it had been more than once-definitely outside of the way he usually handled people who paid him. "Really?"
"Yeah." But Dove wasn't meeting his eyes.
"Fuck, Dove. You're lying to me." He stood up and buttoned his coat. "I'm gone. See ya around."
"Wait!" Dove stood up, dragging his jacket behind him. "Talk to you outside, yeah?"
Damon knew he should just go, get blasted somewhere and forget all about it, forget Dove and trying to help, forget getting tangled up with someone who couldn't love him back. But he was nothing if not a masochistic bastard, and he wanted to know, so he stood outside and waited until Dove got his jacket on and led him down the street.
"So?" he asked when they'd gone two blocks without speaking.
Dove sighed and leaned against a wall, fishing through his pockets for a cigarette. "Was Simon. But-"
"Jesus." Damon hadn't expected that all, his first thought being that something must have happened to Jay. Not good. Fuck. He was still trying to sort that out when he realized Dove was still talking.
"-came up here and stayed most of the night. You were mad, and I needed, so I played with Simon. And yeah, I'd do it again, but it was business, right? Not like we were fucking 'cause we're messing around on you and Jay or anything."
Dove's eyes were firmly fixed on a point to the left of Damon. There was a lie in there somewhere, but Damon was still trying to figure out what he'd just said, and he could feel the lie sliding right past him, intangible and slithery.
"He paid you to fuck him?"
"No."
Damon blinked. "You said business-"
"I fucking paid him, all right? Two hundred dollars, he sucked me off and nailed me to the fucking mattress. Twice." Dove pushed off from the wall and started walking.
Damon let him get half a block before going after him. He reached out and grabbed him by the collar, turning him around and pulling his head back by his hair. "You idiot," he growled. He kissed Dove hard, one hand holding him in the place, the other working at fastenings. Dove kissed him back, already humping his thigh, pushing him up against a building.
Damon moved, giving as good as he got, whispering in Dove's ear. "He's not for you, Dove. He's taken and not for you. You play your games, flog him, whatever. I don't fucking care if you whip him senseless twice a month and fuck him on that goddamn stage. But if you ever go after him outside of the club you'll regret it. Hear me?"
Dove shuddered and swore, hands going to Damon's hips. "He's-"
"Not for you," Damon growled. "You aren't for him. You're mine."
Dove threw back his head and came, eyes wide. "Fuck!"
Damon waited until Dove's breathing slowed then stepped back from the wall. "Come on. You're coming home."
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