THE VELVET GLOVE: VOLUME THREE

Sean Michael

Torquere Press

www.torquerepress.com

First published in www.torquerepress.com, 2008

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Fuck.
Just.
Fuck.
“Come on, Kes. Clear the hallways for me. We don’t want a panic.” Mal held the sub’s

head, the white-white hair wet with sweat, eyes rolled back into the kid’s head. The kid was
breathing, but that was it.

The Top who’d been working with the kid was pacing, eyes wringing. “Mal? What

happened? What’s wrong with him? Check the security tapes, I didn’t hurt him. I swear.”

“Relax. You didn’t raise any alarms, Garret. It wasn’t you. We’ll get him to the Doc.”

Fuck.

Fuck.
“All clear, Mal. Herc’s on his way to speak to the Top, smooth things there. Where do

you need me? There or at the Doc’s?”

“Come here.” He stood, the kid weighing nothing in his arms. He headed out, hurrying to

the freight lift, speaking into his earpiece. “Doc, I’ll be there in three. You’d better be ready for
me.”

“The place is cleared out, Mal and I’ve pulled his file. There isn’t anything unusual here.”

Doc was new, just with them three months, and hadn’t done the initial intake meeting with the
boy, Ghost.

“Well, there’s something unusual here. He’s non-responsive, still. He’s breathing, but

that’s it.” The lift door opened. “Somebody open the door.”

Doc himself opened the door for him, ushering him over to a bed. Immediately, Doc was

examining Ghost, checking his eyes, his pulse. “What happened in the scene, Mal? What went
wrong?”

Mal clicked the control room number. “Pipe the last hour’s worth of vid to Meds. Now.”
He looked over at the Doc. “I’m not sure. It was pretty standard—the sub was bound,

gagged, safeword button in reach. The top was using a paddle—no blood was drawn, his ass was
pretty red, but no serious bruises. No blows to the head. No breath play. No blood play.” Damn it
all to the seventh layer of hell.

“Have you had problems with this boy before?” Doc’s long fingers stroked the sub’s

face.

“No. Not ever. I did a few sessions with him—he’s extremely quiet, never safe worded.”

He pulled up Ghost’s file. “He’s got a reputation for being distant, being unemotional. He’s
extremely obedient. Handles pain well.”

Doc listened to Ghost’s lungs and heart, examined his mouth. “There’s barely even any

marks from where he was gagged and look at his wrists—again, just barest marks. Nothing was
too tight. Help me turn him over.”

“Of course.” They flipped the boy easily, his ass red, but not unreasonably so. The pale

hair slid to one side, a dark birthmark on the boy’s nape marring the white skin.

Doc looked closely at the paddled ass. Shaking his head. “The skin’s not even broken.”
The birthmark was examined along with the spine. Doc even looked at the sub’s feet and

hands, checking the nails carefully.

“Well I can’t find anything. I’ll pull blood and run tests. Run an ECG. The next step is to

get a machine that’ll track his brainwaves. That’s going to take a day at least to get here and it’s
going to be expensive. You want me to order it now? Or wait?”

“Get it in here. We take care of our boys, Doc. If he’s sick? You make him better. I’m

taking him off the active roster. He’s yours now, until further notice.” He didn’t need subs
turning into vegetables on the tables. Shit. Herc was going to have his ass in a sling.

Doc nodded. “I’ll order anything I think I need then, send the paperwork to you.” A

gentle hand patted Mal’s arm. “He’ll get the best care possible and if he can be brought out of
this, he will be, I promise you that.”

Mal nodded. “Keep me informed. If you need anything, I’ll arrange it. I’m going to go do

some damage control upstairs. Good luck.”

He didn’t even wait for Doc to answer, just headed out. Maybe he’d get a job tending bar

somewhere.

Somewhere quiet.
Somewhere quiet and smoky and leatherless.
Well, maybe not leatherless …

* * * * * *

Trip took blood from the still form and sent it to the lab by courier. He phoned it in first,

letting them know they were willing to pay extra for speed. He went over Ghost again,
examining him closely.

For all intents and purposes, the boy was asleep. The ECG came back normal. His

heartbeat was normal, his lungs were clear. A close examination of the boy’s skin revealed no
needle marks, no punctures or wounds. The blood work would reveal if drugs were involved, but
if they were, they hadn’t been administered through a vein.

Ghost was a pretty lad. Small and pale, with almost shockingly white hair. From what

Mal said he was a good sub, if unemotional.

It was a puzzle.
Trip loved puzzles.
He supposed that made him seem ghoulish, even for a doctor.
He called the med suppliers, arranging for a brainwave scanner. In the end he purchased

it, which guaranteed him delivery within a few hours and it wasn’t really that much more than
the rental would have been. Then he sat down to go through the tape of the session, to see if they
yielded him any clues.

The session started normally enough, Ghost stripping silently and standing by the wall,

the top fastening cuffs to wrists and ankles. There was little if any discussion, just a straight-
forward paddling, Ghost’s face relaxed, peaceful.

Then it got a little weird.

The top started talking, started going on about another man who had either passed away

or left him, it really wasn’t clear. As the top grew more agitated, the speed of the blows
increased—still completely within reason, but increasing. Ghost’s face though, mirrored the
agitation on the top’s, his eyes filled with tears, his cheeks flushed.

Trip was pretty sure it wasn’t from the beating either, but from the pain the top was

communicating. Ghost obviously felt bad for the man, was picking up on the upset. He could see
the session becoming more and more intense until finally Ghost’s eyes rolled back in his head
and he passed out. Only one more blow fell, the top realizing almost immediately that there was
something wrong with the boy.

Interesting.
He went back to the boy, making sure he was warm enough and that there was no change.
The boy’s eyes were open, pale green and unfocused, staring up at the ceiling.
“Ghost?” he called softly to the boy, taking one limp hand.
The eyes didn’t move, but the boy took a deep, quick breath, slowly releasing it.
“You’re in the med office. I’m Doctor Marker. Can you hear me?”
Another breath, but nothing else. He wasn’t sure if it was a sign or a coincidence.
“You … passed out during a scene. Do you remember the scene? You were bound,

gagged, Garrett was paddling your ass. And a pretty ass it is, too,” he added with a soft smile.

That got him a slow, slow blink. Okay. His patient was trying to respond. Excellent.
“One blink for yes, two for no, all right, Ghost?”
Those white lashes closed again.
“Wonderful.”
He stroked the boy’s hand. “You’re in the med office. Do you understand?”
He got a long pause. Then another blink. Another deep breath.
“Did the top give you anything before the scene started?”
Two blinks. Okay, that was a no.
“I was watching the scene on the security tapes. At one point the top started talking to

you. Was he talking about someone that you knew?”

Two blinks, these slower, more hesitant.
He pulled his chair over, sitting close, one hand on the boy’s chest, the other holding

Ghost’s hand. “It was what he was saying that upset you though, was it not?”

Two more blinks and a deep shaky breath. Surprising.
He frowned, running the tape over in his memory. There had to be a link, it was only

when the top started talking that Ghost looked anything but peaceful and content.

“Do you know why you passed out?”
He got one blink and this time, those eyes stayed closed.
“Okay, Ghost. You can rest now, I won’t push you. Are you hungry?”
He got no response, Ghost as quiet and still as the dead.
Sighing, he checked the boy’s pulse and went to write up a report to Mal.

* * * * * *

Man, this morning came close on the night before. Hercules had been amazing—leaving

him with his back on fire, cock bound tight, ass plugged and a promise of that hand buried. Oh.
Oh, man. Focus.

Work.
Work.

Mal worked through his paperwork, drinking his caff and making sure things were in

order.

His commlink beeped, Doc’s voice sounding. “Mal? When you’ve got a moment, I’d like

to update you on Ghost. I have a few questions as well.”

“Excellent. Do you need me there or can you meet me in my office?”
“I’d rather not leave the boy.”
“I’ll be there shortly.” Because of course, what he wanted to do was walk across the

fucking club and then take the lift and all the while feeling Hercules’ touch on him.

The thought made him warm, built a little fire in the pit of his belly. Well, he wanted to

feel Hercules’ touch. It was the non-Hercules, walking/lift/waiting thing that sucked wet, hairy
rocks.

Big ones.
Huge.
Moldy.
The thoughts amused him all the way to the Medical unit.
Doc Marker met him at the door. “Come on in. I have some interesting stuff to share with

you.”

“Really? I’m listening.” He followed the quiet, tall man, intrigued.
“Ghost woke up for a few minutes last night. We were able to communicate—I asked

questions and he blinked in reply.” Doc led him over to the desk, indicating a chair in front of it.

He sat, refusing to sit gingerly or carefully or any of the other ly-ways another man

would sit. He sat. (And if every nerve in his body squeaked like new cheese, well too bad.)

Doc sat in a chair across from him and turned a monitor toward him. “This is the data

from the brainwave activity on Ghost. It’s … unusual.”

He looked at the seemingly-random patterns, and then shrugged. “They don’t mean a

thing to me, Doc. Explain.”

“There’s nothing ‘wrong’ per se, but compared to the ‘normal’ patterns? There’s about

twice as much brain activity in Ghost than say you or I. I think that extra activity accounts for
his … well, for lack of a better word coma.”

“So, what caused the extra activity and how do you get rid of it?” Please say Ghost isn’t a

psychopathic axe murderer.

“I’m not sure, but Ghost knows. He told me last night that he knows why he passed out

and then he … well, he passed out again.”

One of his eyebrows went up, a touch of anger lighting. “He knew, yet there was nothing

in his medical profile to show it?” Oh, he was going to kick the kid’s ass for lying. Maybe kick
him out.

“No, there’s nothing here. That’s one reason why I wanted to have you down here. The

only things I can find in my database are unconfirmed and speculation. They’re all pretty
strange. ESP and telekinesis. Empaths. Psychics. That kind of thing. Do you have any reason to
believe Ghost is any of these?”

“Hold on, let me check his records.” He tapped into the files, searching. “Brought in

almost two years ago. Hawk sponsored him. That’s it.”

He pinged Hawk, the man would be on transport to the plant.
“Yeah?”
“Hawk. Mal. You remember Ghost?”
“Sure. Sweet. Quiet. Kinda creepy.”

Mal rolled his eyes. “Why’d you sponsor him?”
“Hmm? Oh, the kid’s da worked for the plant. Was when Statar was in office. All the

seers were shipped off-world. Guy wanted his son safe. Kid was willing. There a problem?”

He counted to ten.
Twice.
Slowly.
“Hawk, didn’t you think that was important for us to know?”
“Huh? No. Man, everybody knows the seers are myths. That’s just racism. And, like I

said, at the time, they were getting screwed with.”

“Maybe not entirely myths,” murmured the Doc. He leaned over the commlink. “Hawk,

Doc Marker here. You never saw the boy exhibit anything strange?”

“Exhibit? No. I mean, we didn’t play much. He was so distant, so cold. I need more

response than that. I … Uh … I think he’s the one who refuses the work the main floor? Only
private appointment?”

Mal checked, nodded to the Doc.
Doc continued questioning Hawk. “If he has some sort of psychic ability that would

make sense. So you’ve always found him to be closed off, Hawk? Can you remember any time
when he was emotionally responsive?”

“No. No, I … Wait. There was once, we were going from one place to another and a pair

was fighting—I mean, going toe to toe, and the poor kid freaked on me, wouldn’t listen,
backpedaled and everything.”

“Empath.” Doc shrugged and nodded. “It could be. It was when the top got emotional

that Ghost’s behavior changed. He went from peaceful to crying and agitated and the more
intense it got, the more emotional he got.”

Mal sighed, rubbed his forehead. “Okay, thanks, Hawk. I’ll talk with you tonight.”
He clicked the commlink closed and groaned. “Fuck. If you’re right, Doc, we can’t keep

him here, not freaking out when things get heavy …”

“Well not as a club sub. That doesn’t mean there won’t be someone who’ll want to take

him on …”

He arched an eyebrow. “An emotionally distant sub who freaks out when things get

intense. He sounds like a gem. Honestly, Doc, he needs to be somewhere where the goal isn’t
intense sessions. I mean, can you imagine? Feeling all these people coming and wanting and
being distant? Creepy.”

Doc gave him a look. “That kind of thinking is what had the seers tossed off planet in the

first place. I’m not saying it would be easy or that he’s everyone’s cup of tea, but he has a talent
that could be used to good effect and he’s a beautiful boy. I imagine he’s just looking for a little
corner of peace.” Doc tapped his datapad. “He might not even understand what’s happening to
him.”

Mal shook his head. “He’s your baby right now. When you release him? It’ll be up to the

big boss. I don’t want to desert the kid, but I can’t have him loose in the general subs.” Not a
chance.

“No, that would be a mistake, I think. Not to worry, Mal. As you said, he’s my problem

now.” Doc got up and shook his hand. “I assume you’d like me to keep you apprised of the
situation?”

“Yes, please. I like to keep tabs.” He stood, just hiding his shiver. Right. One problem

down, thirty thousand to go.

Then he could go upstairs.

* * * * * *

Ghost could feel them, two of them, like butterflies fluttering at the edges of his mind—

one an odd mixture of ice and fire, the other strong and sure, curious. Feral? No. Yet, yes.

Oh, he didn’t want to wake up. He didn’t. He’d made a mistake. He knew he had and he

didn’t know how to fix it, how to stop. How to make things right.

It was so much easier to sleep.
To float.
To hide.
The ice and fire disappeared, leaving only the strong one.
He was quiet, gentle against Ghost’s mind.
“Ghost? You need to wake.”
But he didn’t want to.
Really.
Really, really.
The quiet man’s touch was very gentle on his skin and there was a touch of worry mixed

into the curiosity now. He sighed and tried to open his eyes; worry felt scratchy against him.

“Nobody is going to hurt you, Ghost. I won’t let that happen.”
The light was bright, but only for a moment, only long enough for the voice to whisk it

away. He blinked, licked his lips, tried to remember what he was doing.

“There you are, Ghost. Can you speak today?”
He blinked over to look at that voice, licking his lips again.
“You can see today, that’s good.” Something was held to his lips. “Drink.”
Oh. Oh.
Oh, he was thirsty. The liquid was cool and sweet, went down easy, eased bits he didn’t

know were dry.

“I didn’t want to risk even an IV drip until I knew what was wrong with you.” A gentle

hand slid along his cheek. “Now that you’re conscious we can rehydrate you the old-fashioned
way, hmm?”

He nodded, cheek rubbing against the touch. “Th … thank you. More?”
“Yes, but gently, slowly or you’ll bring it all back up again.”
He took another drink, shaking as it hit his belly. “I … Am I in trouble?” He didn’t want

to be in trouble. Really.

“No. Well.” The man shrugged, but there was no worry there. “Mal won’t let you back

into the general sub pool, but there will not be any punishment.”

“I’ll have to go?” He closed his eyes, sighing softly, not as scared as he thought he’d be.

He liked it here, liked the people, liked his rooms, liked his bed and his soft clothes.

“That’s one option. There are others. I’m going to need some honest answers from you

though.”

He almost opened his eyes again, but it was easier to nod in the darkness, to feel safe.
“What is the nature of your ability?”
“Ability?” He tilted his head, confused. “I’m a sub.”
“The reason why you passed out, Ghost. What happened?”
“It hurt. My head felt as if it would crack open. I did not expect it, I couldn’t escape it.”

Everything had gone from red to black, waves of sorrow and pain and anger beating against him.

“You can feel people’s emotions? Read their thoughts?” His head was stroked.
He shook his head. “I can’t read anyone’s mind. I can’t. I just … I see people sometimes

and sometimes, if I forget to be careful, it … it’s too big.”

Too big.
Scary.
“See them how, Ghost? I don’t mean to be pushy, but if I’m taking you in, I need to know

what I’m getting into.”

“How? Taking me in? I don’t …” He opened his eyes, looked at the tall man. “You’re all

curious and warm, like a cat, sinuous. Feral, but not. Your worry is rough, like a cat’s tongue.”

He got a warm smile and a chuckle. “A cat, hmm? You can feel my emotions, then?”
“If I say yes, will you make me go?”
“No. I do not plan to make you go unless you aren’t honest with me.”
He nodded, eyes filling with tears. “I can. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to.” He tried not to and

managed not to, most of the time. But sometimes, when things got too big, he couldn’t help it.

“I know, Ghost, I know.” The warm hands smoothed his hair back from his face. “Has

anyone ever helped you? Taught you how to shield yourself?”

“A little. Mother told me to stay away from people. Stay far away from them in my

head.” He curled in the sheets, ashamed. “I sometimes can’t. I sometimes … forget.”

“Yes, I imagine it can be hard. Especially if your defenses are already down and things

get heavy, intense.” There was no judgment coming from the tall cat man.

He nodded, eyes watching. “I … It’s so big. It was so big. Like drowning. I couldn’t

make it stop.”

“Is it still like drowning or is it easier now?” Care came from the man, sliding with the

curiosity, making it warm.

“Easier. Easier. You are … gentle. Warm.”
“Hmm … and that’s me and not just you under more control?”
“I …” He shrugged, unsure. “There was someone here earlier. Someone feeling of fire

and ice.”

“I’ll have to do some research. Perhaps I’m like a … shield?” The man shook his head. “I

don’t know, Ghost, but I won’t throw you out. I have rooms for you here and possibly a job
assisting me on occasion.”

He was drifting off, blinking slowly. “I have rooms. With the other subs.”
“Mal won’t let you stay there anymore, Ghost. Let me give you a home, no strings

attached, until you are feeling up to making decisions for yourself.”

“But …” He felt tears slide down his cheeks and he pulled away, wrapped his heart in

layer upon layer of cotton wool, forcing himself into silence. “You are very kind. Very. Thank
you.”

“Shh, shh, it’ll all work out, Ghost. You’ll see.”
He closed his eyes, letting his breath slow, letting himself slip away.
Yes. Yes, he’d see.

* * * * * *

Trip stood next to Ghost for a long time after the boy went back to sleep, fingers stroking

the white hair back off the pale face. Ghost was quite lovely and his ability was frankly
intriguing. Trip had a thousand questions. He was going to have to find a balance between
satisfying his curiosity and overwhelming the lad.

He also didn’t want Ghost to feel like Trip was giving the young man a place to stay just

so that he could poke and prod and ask his questions. Ghost could stay even if he never answered
another question.

It was another client coming in that finally drew him away from Ghost, one of Tap’s boys

needing a few stitches after a cooking mishap involving a butcher’s knife and a slab of meat. The
boy, Rags, was brought down by one of the other subs, the two of them fussing and worried and
just the cutest things.

Trip cleaned the cut, stitched it and sent the boys back to Tap with firm instructions not to

get the wound dirty or to pull the stitches out doing anything strenuous. The boys had looked at
each other and giggled madly when he’d said that.

Then he ran another scan of Ghost’s brainwaves. The unusual activity had settled some,

though it was still outside the “normal” pattern. On a hunch he ran his own, finding that he too
had activity outside the norm, though not to the same extent as Ghost.

He would have to test someone else to draw a true “normal” rather than relying on the

patterns that came with the instruction manual, but what he was seeing supported the theory he
was ruminating on.

That Ghost was empathic was becoming difficult to deny, and it wouldn’t take much

testing to confirm that. What he wondered was if he was not slightly empathic himself, hence the
outside the norm brainwave patterns he was displaying and Ghost’s sensing something feral in
him. Never having been taught in any way to use empathic powers, he supposed that any ability
he had in that might be very raw. Or perhaps he was more of a … ground for want of a better
word. A dampener, or filter between Ghost and the rest of the world.

It would explain why he was so drawn to Ghost, why he felt an affinity for him, and also

why the boy seemed calmed by his presence.

He left a message asking Mal to come in for a personal update—the man would make an

excellent “normal” brainwave graph for him he was sure and he wanted to fly his idea to the man
in person rather than over a commlink. Trip always did better in face to face meetings. Another
tick for the yes, he was partly empathic column.

Then he pulled up the database and started reading everything he could find on the seers,

empaths and other psychic phenomena.

The Seers were a group of people from a tiny planet in the Helian Circle—quiet,

peaceful, apparently the ancient culture had had strict rules against anger, fury, even passion. The
people had been colonized by a number of others, slowly diluting the bloodline, leaving most
without any specific talents—sometimes generations would pass without an empath being born.

They were all persecuted though, no matter whether they had any gifts or not and it was

not surprising that to find that a lot of those descended from the Seers hid their heritage. So it
was quite within the realm of possibility that he had some of the bloodline in him.

Fascinating.
The skills were popularly discounted as myth and legends, stories to frighten children,

and the Seers—officially called the Violari—were treated much as the Romani on Old Terra.
Little pockets of families forced to travel from place to place, doing random labor.

It was a shame, really; there was so much their abilities could be used for. Like what he

hoped to have Ghost do with him. If Mal let him.

There was a knock on the door, and then Mal appeared, eyes cool and calculating as

always. “You had news for me?”

“I do. And a favor. I’d like to do a brainscan on you; it isn’t painful and will only take a

few moments of your time.” He knew better than to waste Mal’s time beating around the bush.

“Of course. Where? Did Ghost wake up?”
“Right where you are is fine.” He put the sensors on Mal’s head and turned the machine

on. “He did. He’s an empath. He’d been taught the rudiments of how to block, but when the top
became emotional, especially given how intense the session had become, well it overwhelmed
him and he was … overloaded.”

“Well, why this scene? Why not any of the others he’s done? What was special?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe Ghost was tired, maybe the tops don’t usually talk to

him and it broke his concentration, maybe the emotions were just that intense.”

“So, he’s not going back into rotation.” Mal sighed. “I have to admit, Doc, I was hoping

you were going to give me better news.”

“No, I’m not going to recommend he not go back into rotation. I’ve got something else in

mind for him.”

One eyebrow arched. “Oh? Do tell.”
“I think he could help me here in Med office. As an empath.” It was a radical idea, he

knew, but it made perfect sense.

“As an …” Mal shook his head, frowned. “I don’t follow. How would you use him?”
He sat on the edge of his desk and leaned forward, meeting Mal’s eyes. “He’s an empath.

He could help me know if people were hurting, were being honest or were lying, needed
something more from me but were afraid to ask. There’s any number of scenarios where an
empath could aid a doctor.”

“Is that ethical? Is he ethical? I wouldn’t want anyone in my head uninvited, Doc.”
He shook his head. “That’s not how it works. Ghost acts as a … receiver for emotions.

He doesn’t invade anyone’s mind and he can’t pick up thoughts, only emotions. And it’s not like
I’d hide him or anything.”

“So … I’m upset, angry, he gets angry, too?”
“No, he only feels the emotions; he can control it unless it’s extremely intense. And here

with me it would be different—he wouldn’t be alone, it wouldn’t be as intense and I’d be here if
there was a problem.” He leaned in a little closer. “It makes sense, Mal. It could be very useful to
me and this way we don’t kick him onto the street. I’ll put him up and I’ll be responsible for
him.”

Mal’s eyes went suddenly sharp. “Why, Doctor … Are you saying you’ll … claim him?”
He leaned back, folded his arms across his chest. “I suppose that’s one way of putting it.”
“Is that how you’re playing it then?” Mal grinned, the first pleased expression he’d ever

seen on the man. “Fine. Ghost is yours. I’ll sign everything over and contact HR.”

He glowered. Damn the man anyway. “He’ll need a salary.”
“You’ll have to talk with Hercules.” Oh, that sorry bastard.
“And here I thought you were his right hand man.”
“I am.” The smile widened. “Did you get your tests, Doc?”
“No, actually, I need a few more minutes, to make sure the baseline is just right.” He

smiled back.

Mal actually laughed, the sound low and rich. “Oh, you are a good one.”
“That would be why you hired me, wouldn’t it?”
“No. I hired you because you’re talented. We’ll become friends because you’re a smart

ass.”

He chuckled and turned off the machine, removing the sensors from Mal’s head. “You’re

a cipher, Mal, but I like you.”

“Is my brain working?” Mal grinned over.
“Despite all evidence to the contrary, the machine says it is.” He gave Mal a wink and put

the read out in his folder. Mal’s results matched the normal sample within acceptable parameters.

It was quite exciting.
“Excellent. Now we know. I am the sane one.” Mal chuckled and stood. “Would you like

Ghost’s personal items delivered here?”

“They can go to my rooms.” And if there was one snicker he was going to delay Mal for

longer even if he had to drug him.

No snicker, but a definite smirk. “Of course, Doc. Do you need any equipment from the

training rooms installed?”

“Presumptuous pup. No.” He shook his head. That was his business. His and Ghost’s.
Malachi chuckled. “I’ll have his things sent and I’ll speak to Hercules regarding his

salary.”

He inclined his head. “Thank you, Mal.”
“Anytime.” Mal headed toward the door, then stopped, looked back. “If you want me to

reserve a playroom for you at any point, just let me know …”

“Bitch.” He chuckled and shook head. “I’m sure you’re busy.”
“Yeah, but there’s always time to tease a friend.” Mal winked and left, leaving him with

his boy.

Fire and ice … it was a good description for Mal, though he suspected most only saw the

ice.

He made a few notes on Ghost’s file, put the brainscans all together in his safe and went

to check on his patient.

Ghost was sitting up, face still and distant, eyes open and watching. “Hello, Doctor.”
“Why don’t you call me Trip?” He took Ghost’s wrist and counted his pulse, admitting to

himself it was an excuse to touch.

“Okay.” Ghost nodded, hair sliding against him. “Can I go back to my rooms now, Trip?

Am I well?”

“Do you remember our talk earlier? You’re no longer in the sub pool? Mal is moving

your things to my rooms. Ringing any bells?”

Ghost took a deep breath, and then nodded, giving him a quiet smile. “Yes. I remember.

I’m sorry. I had hoped you would find I was well.”

“You aren’t sick, Ghost. But your abilities mean you can’t work in the sub pool because

eventually it would happen again.” He pushed the lovely white hair back off Ghost’s face.

“I have a place for you though.”
“You … you want me?” Ghost lifted his face toward the touch.
“Yes, Ghost. I do.” In more ways than one.
“I will attempt to be what you need … Sir? Trip?” Those fine green eyes shone at him,

curious and clear.

“You can call me whichever you’re more comfortable with. I like Trip though.”
“I do, too.” He almost got a smile. “What should I do now?”
“Well. Are you hungry? Would you like to have dinner with me?”
Ghost nodded. “I am hungry. It feels like it’s been days.”

“Where would be more comfortable, Ghost? In the club or in my—our—rooms?” The

poor boy’s whole world was about to be rearranged and he was still obviously confused and
frightened about what had happened.

Those eyes went wide. “Your rooms. Please. I … I don’t go into the public floors. It’s in

my contract.”

Of course Ghost didn’t. He hadn’t been thinking. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to

overwhelm you or make you feel like you were being forced to eat with me.”

Ghost nodded, stood with the sheet draped around him gracefully. “I would like to eat

with you, please.”

“Excellent.” He held his arm out for the boy. “Your things should have been brought

down by now. We’ll take the service elevator so that your unusual dress won’t raise eyebrows.”

A cool, soft hand wrapped around his arm. “Thank you, Trip. You are very considerate.”
“It’s my pleasure, Ghost.”
He palmed the lock on their way out and then took Ghost home with as little fanfare as

possible. Luckily the corridors were empty and he entertained the boy with an amusing story or
two about his first days working for a club on a lunar base before he even knew what the lifestyle
was.

Trip discovered that Ghost had a lovely laugh and that the boy moved with grace,

matching his rhythm almost immediately.

“Shall we test Mal’s efficiency?” he asked Ghost with a grin as they arrived at their

rooms. “Let’s see if your palm touch opens the door.”

Ghost chuckled, reaching out and grinning as the door slid open. “Very efficient.”
“Damn, I was hoping to tease him. Oh, well, I’m sure he’ll give me plenty of

opportunity.” He gave Ghost a wink and led the boy into his new home. “The kitchen and
playroom are to the left, the sitting room, bathroom and two bedrooms are to the right. My room
is the first door—the bigger room. You may have the other. Call down to Kestrel for anything
you need, you can even change the bed if you wish, it’s your space. Your stuff should already be
there. How about you get dressed while I order us some supper?”

Ghost nodded and moved silently down the hall, disappearing behind the second door.
He should have asked what the boy liked to eat, but the kitchen probably had the boy’s

likes and dislikes programmed in. He called down.

“Yes?” came the growl, Moffat, the head chef himself answering the link.
“Short handed?” he asked casually after identifying himself.
“You know it. Stupid little pricks—I can’t even beat their asses when they show back up.

They like that too much!” Moffat laughed, proving he was less irked than he would have anyone
believe.

“What magic are you concocting tonight, Moffat?”
“Lamb in a fruit glaze with veal and pork stuffing. My special salad and a creme brule

with fresh raspberry sauce for dessert.”

“Sounds wonderful.”
“Of course it does—everything I concoct is wonderful, Doc.”
He chuckled. It was one of the reasons why Moffat was such a good cook—that

confidence behind the meat cleaver.

“One of the boys who used to live in the general sub quarters has been moved here—

Ghost. Do you have him on file?”

“If he was in the sub quarters, I will.”

“Amend the file, he’s staying here now. Will the boy eat meat?”
Moffat grunted. “Hold on a sec. Basil! Get your lazy ass over here. How in all the moons

of Jupiter do I put changes into this?” There was another grunt. “You still there, Doc or did this
infernal thing cut you off?”

“I’m still here.” He was lucky it wasn’t a vidlink, he wouldn’t have been able to hide his

amusement.

It turned out he hadn’t done such a good job even without any vid. “Don’t you be

laughing at me or I’ll lace your food with weevil poison. The boy’s got a number of veg and fruit
dishes listed here as favorites, but there’s no restrictions.”

“Then send up two of everything on tonight’s evening meal special and a bottle of ice-

wine.” He wished Moffat a good evening and went to change out of his scrubs and into a pair of
lounge pants and a comfortable shirt.

By the time he came back out into the common room, Ghost was waiting, dressed in icy

pale blues and purples, hair drawn back in the severest of plaits. Trip could see why another
would find Ghost to be distant, to find the purposeful calm unpleasant.

It didn’t bother him though. Indeed, he thought that Ghost was probably a very peaceful

companion and he imagined that the drama that some of the subs seemed to live for would be
happily absent.

“I’ve ordered a meal. I thought we could take it here in the sitting room. The kitchen

knows to send up all the utensils and crockery. I am not a cook.”

“No. You’re a physician. Would you like me to prepare you a cocktail?”
“I would,” he replied, enjoying Ghost’s company and, if he were honest, being pampered.
Ghost nodded and moved to the bar, calling up his preferences quickly. “Would you

prefer a blue pilan or a Velusin apertif, Trip?”

“You choose. And please, join me in one.”
He received a simple nod and then two pilans were brought over, tart and cool, garnished

with a bit of berry. Perfect.

He patted the couch next to him in invitation. “How are you feeling?”
Ghost sat carefully, sipping the drink with a curious look. “I … I’m not sure. Oh,

physically? I’m fine. A touch hungry, but that’s it.”

“I didn’t mean just physically, Ghost, though I’m pleased you are feeling better.” He

reached out to slide a stray hair back behind Ghost’s ear, fingers drawn the boy’s skin.

Ghost’s face tilted, pressed into his touch. So soft, so responsive—odd, as responsive

wasn’t something people usually used in conjunction with Ghost, according to his file.

“I’ve been doing some research, Ghost. Trying to learn more about your empathy so that

I might help you.”

“Help me? Are you … Do you want to turn it off?” Ghost leaned away a bit, took another

sip of his drink.

“Not at all. In fact I was hoping to use it.” He frowned. “No, I don’t mean to use you, I

mean to help you use it. I want you to find control that doesn’t rely on trying to repress it.”

“Oh.” There was a long silence, then he received a smile—warm and real and arousing,

beautiful. “I would like that.”

His breath caught. Oh. Oh, what secrets this boy his behind his quiet demeanor.
“I believe that you could assist me greatly with your talents, give our med office a real

leading edge.”

“I like being a help. I didn’t mean to scare anyone before. Honest.”

“I know. And it won’t happen again because I know what to look for and you’ll be

working with me.”

There was a knock at the door. “Ah, our dinner has arrived.”
Ghost stood and went to the door, allowing the servers in.
The boys went wide-eyed at the sight of Ghost and Ghost’s face went emotionless,

completely cool as the long, fine fingers moved to arrange the flatware like Ghost wanted it.

Trip dismissed the boys with a wave, hiding his smile, knowing the entire club would

have heard of Ghost’s new status before the evening was over.

Ghost served him flawlessly, making sure his cushion was comfortable, filling his glass.

It was amazing, the way Ghost anticipated his wants. He waited until the lad was sitting next to
him before he began to eat.

Ghost ate quietly, careful to watch for his needs and answer them. It was comfortable,

companionable and he found himself enjoying his meal more than he had any in a long time.
And, as good as Moffat’s cooking was, he didn’t believe the food had anything to do with it.

They didn’t talk very much, but Ghost seemed happy, pleasant and quiet beside him,

eating with a fair appetite.

When they were done but for their desserts, he reached for his bowl of creme brule and

took a spoonful, holding the utensil out to feed Ghost. Ghost’s eyes went wide, lips parting for
the sweet. The boy really was lovely. He leaned close, watching as Ghost’s lips closed over the
spoon. He pulled the silverware slowly from Ghost’s mouth, warmth blooming in his belly from
the sight.

Those green eyes closed, a soft moan sounding. “Oh …”
Suddenly he very much wanted to kiss Ghost and his breath left him with a whoosh. He

leaned closer still, tongue sliding along Ghost’s lower lip. Ghost whimpered softly, lips parting,
eyes opening.

“You don’t have to,” he whispered. “It is not a condition of your staying here with me.”

He would not force Ghost into anything. Never.

“I know. I … I can feel you. I’m sorry.” Ghost’s fingers stroked his face.
“You’re sorry because you don’t feel the same way?” And he barely knew Ghost, that

thought shouldn’t make his heart ache so. He usually did not fall so quickly. He usually didn’t
fall at all.

Ghost frowned. “No. I’m … I’m not supposed to, right? I lost my job, my rooms, all for

feeling. It’s hard not to feel you. Harder than anyone else.”

“You have permission to feel me. Always.”
“Always?” Ghost looked stunned, hands beginning to reach for him. “I do?”
He held open his arms, wanting to gather Ghost close, but needing the boy to make the

first move himself—he didn’t have Ghost’s empathy, he couldn’t feel Ghost’s emotions. “You
do, Ghost. I don’t wish to hide from you or make you hide yourself and your ability from me.”

Ghost gave a soft cry, and then pushed into his arms, eyes going distant for a second

before that focus snapped onto him. “Trip!”

“Ghost,” he whispered, lips covering the boy’s.
Ghost opened to him, moaning softly, hands holding his head. He kissed Ghost softly,

tongue pushing gently in and then teasing its way back out of the boy’s mouth.

“Oh. You want me. I can feel you, rubbing against my mind and purring.” Ghost grinned

and licked his bottom lip. “I like this.”

“I want to rub against more than just your mind.” He grinned back.

Oh, that got him another rich, surprised laugh, the sound oddly … unused.
He lay back on the couch, bringing Ghost down with him, the boy’s weight light, easy.
“This is different than what I’ve done here.” Ghost nuzzled his chest. “This isn’t my job.”
“No, this isn’t your job, Ghost. I want you; I think you can tell that. And if you want me,

too, we can make love. You don’t have to at all. It isn’t your job or your duty or anything like
that.” He slid his hand down along Ghost’s braid and slowly undoing it.

“Oh …” Ghost moaned, stretching into the touch. “I want to make love. I want to feel the

whole time. Oh, yes. The whole time.”

He spread the white hair out along Ghost’s back. “Sounds good, does it?”
Ghost nodded, soft white hair pouring around him. “I haven’t ever. I’m so curious.”
“Never? Oh, you poor boy.” How awful. No wonder Ghost was always so distant and

cold. “Feel all you want, please.”

Ghost moaned, lips sliding against his own, tongue flicking out to tease. He opened his

mouth, letting Ghost in, welcoming him in. Ghost tasted him, soft, sweet purrs pushing into his
lips and making him ache. The more pleasure he felt, the more Ghost moved, the more sounds
came. Even though he couldn’t feel Ghost’s pleasure, it was clear how much pleasure the boy
was experiencing and it made his own increase.

Those hands moved with sure, trained motions, looking for more response, more

pleasure. He arched and pushed into the touches, gasping and moaning whenever a Ghost found
sensitive spots.

Ghost slid downward, lips brushing his fingers, his wrists as his pants were opened. His

breath started to come faster, cock hard, pushing out as his pants were opened. It had been a long
time since he’d indulged in anything but self-pleasure as the need arose. This was almost
overwhelming.

A soft whimper sounded, Ghost’s hands wrapping around his shaft, tongue sliding over

the tip. He keened, the noise strange in his own ears, ripped from his throat by the feelings that
that shot through him. Ghost took him into that hot mouth, humming around him, making him
throb. His hands moved to Ghost’s head, fingers sliding through the long hair, holding on tight as
he flew.

He was taken in deep, Ghost swallowing around the head of his cock.
“Ghost!” He shouted, curling up around the long braid.
Ghost pulled at him, tongue and lips and throat maddening. His fingers twisted against

Ghost’s hair, whimpers coming from him. A soft cry sounded, Ghost’s motions slowing.

“Sorry,” he murmured, forcing his hands to loosen their hold. “It’s been awhile.”
“It’s so big.” Ghost nodded, cheeks flushed and damp.
“Yes. Yes. Big.” He stroked Ghost’s cheeks, a shiver of pleasure going through him.
Another nod and Ghost’s head bent back toward his cock, lips parted.
“Wait,” he murmured. “We could both do this.”
Pale green eyes met his and Ghost shook his head. “It’s too big. I can’t think if you, if we

both …”

“All right. But I’ll do you after,” he promised.
“You won’t have to, Trip.” His cock was taken in deep, Ghost pulling hard, making him

scream.

He pushed up with his hips, unable to stop, the pleasure almost unbearable. Ghost drew

the pleasure higher and higher, hands tugging him in deeper. With a shout he came hard, the
pleasure more than he had ever felt before.

Ghost rested against his thighs, breath coming quick and light, face hidden by the pale

hair.

Trip petted the sweet face. Oh. Oh. “That was amazing.”
“Thank you.” Ghost nodded, then slowly pulling away, eyes wet.
“Wait. Stop. What’s wrong? What have I done?” Oh, please, he hadn’t meant to hurt the

boy.

“Nothing bad. Nothing. I swear. I …” He got a sweet, sad little smile. “I’ll never be able

to do this again and not feel. Never.”

“Well, as I told you, you could always feel me, that shouldn’t be a problem.”
Ghost nodded and stepped away. “Yes.”
He frowned, reaching out. “Ghost? What’s wrong?”
“I …” Ghost’s eyes filled with tears. “I … I can feel you in me. Vibrating. Wanting. I can

feel you.”

“And you don’t want that. I’m sorry.” Damn it, he’d tried to make sure this was

consensual, to make sure that Ghost didn’t feel he had to and now the boy was upset.

Ghost grew more pale, shivering. “I … I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t know how

to let you go. I’m sorry. I’ll …” The boy stepped back again, tripping over the table and falling,
dishes flying as Ghost panicked.

He was on his feet immediately, helping Ghost up, holding the boy close. “Shh. Shh.

Please, Ghost. You don’t have to do anything. You don’t have to do anything at all.”

“Have to? Have to? I don’t understand. Do you understand? Are you hearing me?”
Something was definitely wrong and he wasn’t sure what it was. “I don’t think so. I want

to understand, Ghost, but I don’t think I do.”

“You. I can feel you. In me. So long, there wasn’t anything. No feeling. None if I could

help it. And you’re inside me now. I can feel you, bouncing inside me, because I let you in and I
don’t know what to do now.”

“Oh.” He pet Ghost gently. “Enjoy it?” he suggested softly. “Unless … you don’t want

me there?”

Tear-filled eyes lifted to look at him. “I want you. I do, but you have to be good.”
“I’m not being good?” He hadn’t felt this inept since he’d first started med school.
Ghost looked at him, frustration clear. “Inside me. You’re in me, bouncing and bouncing

and bouncing and I can feel you now. I used to feel my Gran, but she didn’t bounce in me.”

“I can try meditating?” He closed his eyes and took some deep breaths and tried to

think … un-bouncy thoughts.

He felt Ghost slowly relax, breath slowing. “Oh. Oh, thank you. You wanted so big. I’d

never felt anything so big. I’ve never brought someone in on purpose and it went so big so fast.”

“I’m sorry, Ghost. I never meant to hurt you.”
“I know.” Ghost nodded. “I know you didn’t. I didn’t know you would. I don’t know if it

did. Hurt, I mean. It was just … Like I couldn’t breathe. Like everything was too much, but I
couldn’t wrap myself away and leave you on the outside and that’s weird.”

“Am I still inside you?” he asked. He was going to have to do more research, dig deeper.

He wouldn’t hurt Ghost again, not if he could help it.

Ghost nodded, brought their foreheads together. “Can’t you feel it, too? You’re in me,

quiet and still, a sleeping tiger.”

“I wish I could. Maybe in time.” He kissed Ghost softly.
Ghost’s lips opened again, body melting against him, hips rocking gently.

“Oh yes,” he murmured. “Your turn.”
“I get a turn?” Ghost moaned, watching his eyes.
“Yes.” He slowly went to his knees, working to open Ghost’s pants.
“Oh … Oh, tops don’t … You shouldn’t, Trip. I …” Ghost’s cock was long and thin and

hard, wet tipped, the scent of arousal heady.

“I’m inside you, Ghost. Can’t you feel that I want to do this?” He leaned forward, licking

at the tip.

“Yes!” Ghost arched, hands on his shoulders, pale skin going to pink.
He nuzzled the sweet cock, rubbing his cheeks against it like a cat.
“Yes. Yes, Trip. That’s how you feel inside my head.” Ghost’s voice was raw, shocked.
“Is it good?” he asked, nuzzling Ghost’s balls in their velvety sacs and then licking at the

base of Ghost’s cock.

“Yes …” Ghost’s head was thrown back, throat working.
“Good.”
It was great, knowing he was making Ghost feel good. Had anyone ever asked the boy

before? Cared? Not that subs were badly treated here, but if he had a reputation for being
unemotional …

He took Ghost’s cock in his mouth and slowly went down on it.
“Oh …” Ghost gasped, fingers tight on his shoulders.
He hummed around the silky flesh. Ghost tasted good and he tried not to let it get him too

excited, tried to stay calm so he didn’t … well bounce inside the boy. This was for Ghost. Soft
little cries filled the air, so quiet, so full of need they made him ache.

Trip cupped Ghost’s balls in one hand, handling them gently as he sucked the hard flesh

in his mouth. His head bobbed up and down, and he swallowed every time the tip of Ghost’s
cock hit the back of his throat.

“I … Is it … Is it supposed to feel this way? Like you can’t breathe? Like you’re in warm

water?”

Was it possible that no one hand ever done anything at all like this for Ghost? Ever?
Not wanting to stop he tried to “feel” his answer at Ghost. He concentrated on how good

it was to be doing it and thought “yes” really hard.

“Yes!” Ghost’s hips began to move, the flavor strong in his mouth as the drops began to

slide out, rich and hot.

He relaxed, hands wrapping around Ghost’s hips, encouraging the movements and he

pulled more and more of Ghost’s need into himself. It didn’t take any time before Ghost was
moving with him, calling his name, coming in salty-sweet bursts on his tongue.

Trip swallowed it all down and then slowly let Ghost’s prick slide from his mouth,

nuzzling it again, almost purring like the big cat Ghost kept telling him he was.

Ghost’s eyes were closed, breath coming fast, hands trembling on his shoulders. “Oh …”
He looked up into the pale eyes. “You okay, Ghost?”
“I … I think so. I want to sit down. With you. Okay?”
He smiled. “Okay.” Yes, it was more than okay. He helped Ghost get out of his clothes

properly and then went to the couch, pulling the boy into his arms, softly stroking Ghost’s back.
Ghost curled in, moaning as the slender body relaxed, went boneless.

It was peaceful and good. He’d never been able to live with anyone for very long before

as he’d always found always having someone around to be hard work, but with Ghost, it was
easy to just be.

It might have been frightening for Ghost and annoying to Mal, but he had a feeling

Ghost’s ‘breakdown’ was going to prove a boon to him.

* * * * * *

He slept and slept and slept, warm and floating and easy deep inside.
When he woke, he kept his eyes closed, just listening to Trip breathe. It was dark, late.

Quiet. Trip was relaxed, emotions easy and peaceful where they wrapped around him. Such a
luxury, a forbidden pleasure, to feel and feel and feel without being ashamed.

Ghost reached out, hands sliding up Trip’s belly, careful, gentle. Trip purred stretching

against him like a cat. His giggle escaped him, and he scritched, so lightly. A tiger. His own
tiger.

Trip rubbed against him and then stilled. “Mmm … Ghost?”
He pulled his hand back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Oops.
Trip took his hand and brought it back to his belly. “Don’t be sorry. And don’t stop?”
“Oh. Okay.” He started touching again, feeling the whole time, listening to the pretty

sounds Trip made.

“Feel’s good,” Trip whispered. “Can you feel?”
Ghost nodded, mouth opened, distracted. Yes. Yes, he could feel Trip inside him—

purring, sliding, nuzzling, beginning to pace.

Trip’s fingers slid over his belly, stroking, copying his movements.
“Oh …” He stretched, legs sliding against Trip’s, fingers stroking Trip’s throat.
Trip’s purrs got louder, Trip beginning to move against him. Ghost shivered, lost in the

sensations, in the feelings, touching the tiger in his head. Trip’s mouth covered his, lips warm,
tongue hot, wet, sliding into him. His eyes opened, hands wrapping around Trip’s shoulders,
gasping.

“This okay?” Trip asked, hands sliding over his skin, pleasure and need and desire

pushing into his mind.

“Yes. I can feel you.” He stretched, pushed into Trip’s hands.
“Mmm, I can feel you, too.”
“You can?” Ghost laughed, hands petting, caught inside the touches.
“Yeah. Skin’s so soft and you’re so happy, like butterflies.” Trip froze suddenly. “Ghost.

I can feel you.”

“Yes. Yes, you said. I can feel you.” He stilled, looking close, waiting.
“Your happiness, it’s like butterfly wings inside me.”
He giggled and nodded. “This is good. Butterflies are pretty.”
Trip laughed. “It’s stronger for you, isn’t it?”
“You’re a tiger, a big cat, roaming and growling and nuzzling.”
“It doesn’t hurt, does it? Your butterflies don’t hurt me—they feel good.”
He blushed, leaned close to whisper. “You … It … It’s exciting and safe and strong.”
“Oh … Ghost.” Trip purred and kissed him, mouth hard, emotions spiking.
He opened wide—lips and mind both, the feelings between them sharp and heady, his

cock hard and aching where it rubbed against Trip.

“You’re amazing.” Trip slipped between his legs, sliding against him.
Ghost was vibrating and hot, inside and out, body thrumming. He arched up, rubbing

against Trip, knees spread and raised, offering.

Trip moaned, nuzzled his neck a moment and whispered. “I’ll be right back.” Then Trip

got up and hightailed it out of the sitting room.

Ghost giggled, the image in his head one of a tiger batting butterflies.
Trip was back really soon, holding a tube up triumphantly. “It’s in a medical wrapper

rather than a sexual one, but it’s the same stuff.”

Oh, that made him laugh harder, tickled and happy and pleased. He’d never been so

happy, so easy.

“That’s a great laugh you’ve got, Ghost.” Trip climbed back on the couch, settling

between his legs. “And a good look on you.”

“You make me happy.” He spread wide, exposing himself easily.
“And you make me happy, Ghost.”
Trip bent and placed a kiss on the inside of his thigh and then the tip of his cock and then

one slick, warm finger slid into his body. Oh … He pressed down against the intrusion, moaning
softly. Most people didn’t want to fuck him, most people he wasn’t comfortable with them
touching him so close, but this? He wanted.

Trip moaned. “Your butterfly wings just got slow and sensuous. This is intoxicating,

feeling your pleasure like this. Even if it isn’t strong like how you feel things.”

“Oh, you can feel me …” Magic. This was magic.
“It seems I can.” Trip smiled down at him and then brought their lips together, the kiss

deep and long.

It was like sinking and sinking and sinking, all wrapped up in pleasure and heat and Trip.

Trip pushed another finger into him, stretching him gently, fingertips finding his gland and
sliding across it.

He gasped and arched, head tossing with sensation. “Can I ask for more? I don’t know

your rules, Trip …”

“Ask, Ghost. You can always ask, you can always refuse.”
Another finger slipped into him, Trip’s fingertips brushing his gland again and again.

Everything slowed, the world all pleasure and lightning and gasping and Trip and he couldn’t
focus anymore. Trip was moaning, kissing him, loving him body and mind.

He was lost and he finally stopped fighting for sense and just felt—wrapping himself

inside pleasure.

“Oh Ghost! Yes!’
Trip’s fingers disappeared, but the sensations didn’t fade, instead they increased as Trip’s

cock pushed in deep. Heat poured through him, filled him, stretched him. A low, needy cry
echoed as his body squeezed and held tight. Trip’s kisses soothed him, slid over his cheeks and
his nose and his lips. “Easy, my butterfly, easy. We’ll take it slowly; you’ll get what you need.”

Oh.
He reached for that calm, that peace inside the wild pleasure, needing it. Trip’s forehead

was resting against his breastbone, Trip’s breath slowing, becoming controlled.

It eased him and he could see again, hands petting Trip’s hair. “I … I’m here.”
Trip groaned and raised his head, eyes smiling at him. “Good. Because I need to move.”
Ghost nodded, relieved, hips trying to shift on their own. “Oh. Oh, good.”
Nodding, Trip pulled most of the way out and Ghost could feel the long, slow glide of

Trip’s cock as it eased almost all the way out of his body. Then Trip was pushing forward again,
filling him up.

“So big …” He’d never felt this—not like this. Not so much. Everywhere. Firing his

nerves.

“Yes.” Trip kept moving, the pace slow, but increasing a little with every thrust.
Pleasure was everywhere, the tiger inside his head pacing and panting and watching him,

body undulating. Trip’s breath came as loud pants, body moving over him, pushing into him,
cock nudging his gland each time. Then Trip wrapped a hand around his cock, tugging in time
with the increasingly hard thrusts.

He met each thrust, crying out, balls tight and aching where they pressed against Trip

with every motion.

“Ghost!” He could feel the pleasure begin to peak for Trip.
Ghost arched, throwing himself over the edge and dragging Trip along. Trip cried out,

soaring with him, filling him with burning heat. He could hear the tiger roar, it echoed and
echoed and echoed inside him.

Trip shuddered and shook and collapsed against him with a soft moan. “Oh, Ghost …

that was amazing.”

He nodded, words faded away.
His lover nuzzled close, hands sliding over his skin in random patterns. “Wow. I can’t

believe you’ve been taught to hide that. I can’t believe you could.”

He nuzzled into his purring tiger. “Have to. People don’t like it. Oh … It feels … Never

going to want to touch like that and not feel.”

“You won’t have to, Ghost, I’m not letting you go.”
Oh. Oh. Relief poured over him, no more scenes all wrapped in cotton, no more

emptiness. No more. “Promise?”

“I promise, Ghost. I won’t give you up and I won’t let anyone else have you.” Trip

frowned suddenly. “I won’t keep you here against your will though—I don’t mean that you’re a
prisoner.”

He blinked up, surprised. “A prisoner? No. No, I want to feel you. I want to stay. I want

to.”

Trip smiled at him. “Good. Good. I just don’t want you to ever feel as if you do not have

a choice.”

He chuckled, reached up. “My tiger.”
“Rowr.” Trip nuzzled against his hand.
Ghost laughed harder, the image duplicated in his head, making him giddy.
“Oh, I’m glad I found you, Ghost. I have always been a relatively happy man, but now I

have joy in my life.”

Ghost shook his head. “Butterflies. You have butterflies.”
Trip nodded. “Yes. I do. I never imagined I would one day be able to connect with

someone on such a level.”

Ghost shrugged. He didn’t know. He knew Trip felt good, felt right. It was enough. They

were enough.

“Yes. It’s good.” Trip murmured the words, warm and a good heavy on top of him.
He wrapped his arms around Trip and yawned. “Napping then breakfast?”
“Yes. Let me just make sure anyone needing the med office gets through to me here—

I’m usually in the office by now.”

“Oh. Do you need to go? I’ll bring food. I can cook.” He frowned patting Trip’s hip, not

wanting to take Trip away from his work.

“I usually put in more hours than I’m required to. And there’s usually not much to do

before evening when people really start playing. And as long as I have the commlink buzzing
forward to me, I’m fine.” Trip nuzzled him. “I didn’t used to have much to do outside of work,
reading medical updates … stuff like that.”

“Boring.” He winked at Trip, daring to flirt, to play.
Trip laughed, delight dancing along his nerves. “No doubt.”
He rubbed their noses together, brushed their lips together, so happy. Trip kissed him and

got up again, traipsing over to the communit and pressing a few buttons before returning. Both
the going away and returning views were quite nice.

He leaned forward and licked Trip’s belly, nuzzling.
“Mmm …” Trip’s hands dropped to his head, stroking.
“So warm.” He smiled up. “My tiger.”
“Yes, Ghost. I do believe I am yours.”
“That was pretty easy …” He nuzzled, grinning.
“The best things are, my sweet butterfly.”
He nodded and surged up, pushing into Trip’s arms.
Trip’s arms closed around him immediately, pulling him closer. “Are we skipping the

nap?” Trip sounded both happy and amused.

“Mmm … Whatever you want, Trip.” Showers were fun. And beds …
“Let’s go make love in the shower. And then we can feed each other. And then make love

again. And then maybe see if we can make it to the med office.” Trip grinned. “You make me
feel young, Ghost.”

Ghost beamed, stroking his tiger’s face. “Not old at all. Come play with me.”
“Thank you, Ghost. I think I will.”

* * * * * *

They showered. They made love. They ate breakfast. They made love.
He’d never felt this before, this … feeling inside him, feelings that belonged to Ghost. It

truly was amazing.

Finally he asked if Ghost would like to go to the med office with him.
Ghost nodded slowly. “I can. What do you want me to do?”
“I would like you to keep me company.” He chuckled. “No, really, it can get lonely. But

I’d also like you to observe and to pick up any strong feelings and let me know about them. I
don’t mean push into people’s minds and emotions, just to … pick up anything that might be out
there, you know? It could be very helpful.”

“Okay.” The long white hair was pulled back into a tail, Ghost dressed in a gauzy, icy

green.

He felt his prick twitch and he shook his head. Just how many times could a grown man

get it up in twenty four hours? He grinned. Quite a few times apparently. Trip took Ghost’s hand
and led him toward the med office. Ghost stayed close, quiet, careful not to interact with the few
people they met. “Of course we could have a quiet day—I often do. It’s a cushy job really.”

“Yeah? Do you like it? Being a doctor?” Ghost leaned toward him.
“I like being able to help people—makes me feel good.”
“My … My gran helped people. People came from all over to see her.”
“What was her gift?” He was curious to know how the gifts passed along.

“She could tell where people hurt inside them … in their hearts.” Ghost grinned. “She

was so happy. Funny. She could make you laugh and laugh.”

“I bet there’s a lot of her in you.” He could picture her, a shorter, female version of Ghost

with a wrinkled face and bright eyes.

He could actually picture her.
“Did you do that?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” Those bright eyes blinked up at him. “Did I?”
“I suddenly saw her in my mind—very clearly.”
“Did you?” Ghost blinked. “Really? My Gran?”
“Yes. Unless she’s not a shorter, more wrinkled version of you?”
Ghost’s laugh echoed, turning heads. “Yes!”
Oh, what a delightful sound. He would endeavor to hear it as often as possible.
They arrived at the med office and he let them in, setting the door to open and the comm

to ring through to here instead of his rooms.

Ghost wandered through the office, quiet, clothes floating around him. “Where should I

sit?”

“You can take my chair, I’ll order up another one like it from housekeeping.” He grinned

suddenly. “Or maybe one more suited to two …”

Ghost blushed a sweet pink and curled up in his chair, quiet and pretty, a happy peace

just pouring out.

It would be distracting until he got used to it, but more so if he was feeling what Ghost

was, only without Ghost being near. Which made him wonder just how far apart they could be
and still feel each other. He imagined Ghost’s range was much higher than his own.

He chuckled. “How do you feel about empirical experiments, Ghost?”
“Hmmm?” Ghost’s white eyebrows raised. “They make you bouncy, so they must be

okay.”

Trip laughed again. “I’m thinking we should do some tests to see how exactly this thing

between us works, hmm?”

He pulled over the patient chair and sat across from Ghost. “First tell me what you know

about how it works. And remember—you don’t need to feel ashamed about it or hide it from me,
Ghost. I think this is a good thing.”

Ghost tilted his head. “It’s like water. It just pours into me and, if I don’t stop it, it comes.

Like this.” Ghost closed those pretty eyes, face going dead and silent and blank, the pleasure and
happiness in the room dissolving.

He gasped. “Okay, stop that.”
The warmth came back, pouring back between them like a flood, Ghost’s hands reaching

to take his.

He took Ghost’s hand and shook his head. “That was almost physically painful. How did

you stand holding yourself cut off from everyone for so long?”

“I had to. I have to. It’s so big and my Gran said no one could know or they’d hurt me.”
That made sense. “Well no one will be hurting you now, Ghost. No one.”
To his surprise, Ghost’s eyes twinkled, laughter flittering inside him. “But, Trip. That’s

what this place is for.”

He laughed, pulling Ghost out of the chair and into his lap, kissing the boy soundly.

Ghost giggled, wrapping close, lips parted for him. He purred and leaned in, kissing Ghost,
enjoying the physical and emotional sensations.

Ghost’s need was slow, the happiness moving faster, the sensations working together to

be heady inside him. He deepened the kiss, hand sliding down Ghost’s spine. Ghost settled
against him, rubbing against his belly, hands tangling in his hair. So sensuous and giving, he
couldn’t believe this jewel, this happiness had been hidden here all this time.

“You make me want so much.” The words were whispered into his mouth, eyes offering

him everything.

“I know.” And he did, he could feel it. Feel it. “You make me want, too.”
Ghost grinned, hand cupping his cheeks. “I know.”
“Of course.” He shifted them so Ghost was straddling him, tugging their groins together.
“Again? Trip? What if someone comes in?” Ghost’s body didn’t care, hips moving them

together, rubbing.

“We’ll stop,” he murmured. He didn’t want to though, didn’t want to stop touching and

feeling. The need was addictive.

“Mmm …” Ghost’s hair slid out of its clasp, pouring down over his arms, smooth as silk.
He purred, pushing a hand between them to free their cocks, hand stroking the sweet

belly.

“Mmm … my tiger, purring for me …”
“You make me purr, Ghost.”
He grabbed Ghost’s ass firmly and tugged them against each over and over again, their

cocks sliding together. Ghost was hard, hot, ready for him again, gasping into his lips. He moved
them together, losing himself in the pleasure—his own and Ghost’s, the butterfly like feelings
fluttering against him hard.

Soon Ghost was jerking, crying out into his lips, eyes wide and watching him. His own

orgasm caught him almost by surprise; he’d been so consumed by Ghost’s.

A soft chuckle surprised them both, Ghost ducking into his arms and hiding, mind

slamming closed. Mal was leaning against the doorframe, grinning. “Talk about up close and
personal healing …”

He fought his blush as he quickly tucked Ghost back into his pants, hand over Ghost’s

head as he looked up to Mal. “It is considered polite to knock.”

“Yeah. Comm had you in the office. I was checking on your patient. He looks … healthy.

I’ll give a report to the big boss.” Mal looked amused as hell and not in the least sorry. “They’ll
miss you in with the workerbees, Ghostie.”

Ghost didn’t respond, just curled closer.
“What are you going to tell Hercules?” He didn’t want anything coming back on Ghost.
“That he’s awake, responsive. Communicating with you.” Mal’s face got serious.

“Teasing, not malicious. Not my style.”

“I’m sorry, Mal, I’m just … a little overprotective, I guess.” He knew Mal wasn’t a bad

guy, despite the tough image. The man cared about the club and his people.

“It happens at first.” Mal winked. “Hell, you’ve met Des. It can just happen. My

suggestion? Take a week off. Or two weeks half-time. Give yourselves some privacy.”

He nodded. It was an excellent idea, because until he became used to Ghost’s feelings

sliding against him he wasn’t going to be able to really concentrate on anything else. And this cut
off thing Ghost was doing now hurt like fucking hell.

“I’ll work on getting a replacement for while I’m off, as long as you don’t mind me

taking holidays so soon. I haven’t been on staff a year yet.”

“I’ll make it work. You’re not leaving the club, so it’s not like we won’t have you for a

serious emergency. That’s why Tyr’s here, yeah? He’s a senior nurse. The man can handle it.”
Mal grinned again. “You don’t worry about it. Go and do your intense therapy. Order what all
you need for your playroom from Mouse. Good to see you awake, Ghost. Next time, you’ll have
to say hello, though.”

“Thanks, Mal. That’s more than decent of you.” He gave Ghost a squeeze.
“I’m off.” Mal nodded and disappeared as quickly as he came, whistling low, tapping on

his communit.

Ghost sighed, resting against him, still so quiet and still.
“Ghost? Open to me again, please? It hurts to be without you.”
“Oh.” He was given a surprised look, then a soft kiss, his mind flooded with butterflies.
He relaxed, hands sliding over Ghost. “Come on, let’s go home and play hooky.”
Ghost nodded, happiness tangible. “Yes, Trip. Yes.”
He set Ghost on his feet and locked up the med office, all but floating back to their

quarters.

* * * * * *

He was dreaming—at least he thought he was, fingers slowly carding through a napping

tiger’s fur, humming, warm and peaceful and quiet. He could hear a waterfall in the distance,
could hear birds, thought he could see the clouds in the sky.

Ghost curled into the tiger, between the big beast’s paws, snuggling, moaning, rubbing

and giggling at the low growl.

His tiger.
His love.
The tiger started grooming him, licking his face, his lips, his neck as the big paws stroked

him.

Oh. Oh, that was …
Good.
Very good.
He stretched, toes curled, happy moans filling the air.
The tiger was purring, murmuring his name with a low growl.
“Oh … Trip. My tiger.” He smiled as his eyes opened and the tiger in his mind morphed

with the warm eyes watching him.

Trip purred again, smile wide and his face was kissed again, tongue soft on his skin.

“Good morning, Ghost.”

“Mmm … morning.” His hands were tangled in Trip’s hair, petting, stroking. Two days

of their vacation had passed, full of sleep and love and touching. Perfect.

Trip moved against him, lazily sliding their hard cocks together.
“Feel you …” He bit his bottom lip, nearly swimming in the pleasure between them.
“Yes … I don’t think I’ll ever take it for granted, ever stop being amazed by this.” Trip’s

tongue slid along his teeth and lips.

Ghost whimpered, opened, happy and safe, the connection between them unhindered by

worry. Trip’s tongue slid in and explored his mouth, the hands at his back touching firmly, but
not so hard as to hurt or leave bruises. His legs wrapped around Trip’s waist, moaning as
sensation poured into him.

Moaning, Trip reached down for his ass, cupping it, pulling their groins together tighter

and moving faster against him.

“My … my tiger. Oh, Trip. Love. I feel …” His heart was pounding, body trembling.
“I know. I know.”
Trip’s kisses became hard, deep, joining everything Trip’s mind and body were telling

him, loving him, sharing with him. Ghost soared, cock pulsing, body shaking hard as the world
became only Trip and sex and love. His own orgasm was doubled by Trip’s, his tiger’s pleasure
pouring through him.

When it was over, he was shaking, undone, so happy. “Oh. Oh, Trip …”
“Yes. Yes, my beautiful Ghost.” Trip brought their foreheads together, nuzzling, looking

at him, into him.

“Mmm … yours.” He smiled, relaxed and easy in his skin. “Yours.”
“Yes.” Trip’s hands were warm on his skin. “I have never thought of myself as

possessive, but I find that I am.”

Ghost tilted his head, smiling. “No sharing. No other men.”
“No. No more. Never.” Trip growled the words, hands tightening on him, pulling him

closer. “You are mine, Ghost. Mine to touch, mine to hold, mine to love.”

He reached up, petting his tiger, soothing, unafraid. “Yes. I am for you. Yours to love.”
Trip purred, eyes half closing under the touches. “My sweet Ghost. Mine.”
“My tiger.” He hummed, continuing to touch, allowing his comfort and love to wrap

around Trip like the kisses of a thousand butterflies. Trip just kept purring, nuzzling into the
touches, reveling in them. “My brave, strong tiger …” He leaned up, rubbing their cheeks
together. “So much better than dreams.”

“I couldn’t have dreamed you up, Ghost. Not if I’d tried forever.”
Ghost giggled, hugged Trip close. “No. I was not seeking you, but I’m glad you found

me.”

“Me too, sweet love, me too.” Trip kissed him and laughed as his stomach growled.

“Shall we see what we can find in the kitchen?”

“Food and dishes, Trip. Food and dishes.” He wriggled out of Trip’s arms, giggling as he

was tickled, hair flying as they ran and played.

So much better than dreams.

THE END

Prologue

The Velvet Glove was the galaxy’s premier BDSM club and had only the best of

everything. They had tops and bottoms, whip-wielders and nipple clampers. Piercers, tattoo
artists, students of every erotic art form imaginable. They had a badass top to oversee it all and a
sweet fluttery bird to soothe feathers and keep everything running smoothly. There were
masseuses and therapists and a medical doctor who took care of injuries.

And then there was him.
Dr. Bertoli Lutrell.
He had a medical degree, true enough, and he was a legitimate doctor, but he’d left the

practice of medicine behind and instead was now one of the best tops at the Velvet Glove. He
knew his own brand of topping was very intense, less whip-y and beat-y and more internally
physical. Enemas, sounds, electrical shocks. These were the tools of his scenes. He would top for
a very particular kind of sub. And he was good at it. Quite good at it, in fact. He really doubted
there was anyone better.

Lutrell was a tall man, with short, short, almost white hair, and a short beard to match. He

was thin—some would say gaunt—and his eyes were a piercing light blue, intense. When Lutrell
looked at you, you believed he saw you.

He was also terribly happy to be doing what he did where he chose to do it. Life, for

Lutrell, was a celebration, with pleasure and pain and intensity, need and fulfillment as party
gifts.

Today he was going to see Kestrel, his list of needs written out. He giggled as he walked

along the pristine corridor, going over the list. Perhaps he should order another gross of enema
tubing. Yes, yes, one could never have too much.

Kestrel fluttered about, hands filled with three commpads. Still, when Lutrell appeared,

he received a warm, friendly smile, Kestrel waving him in to sit, the amazing, multi-colored hair
fascinating Lutrell. “Good day, dear! So nice to see you smiling.”

Lutrell chuckled softly. He loved his work. Very, very much. Smiling was something he

had no trouble doing. “Good day to you, Kestrel. You look busy. Do you have time for me
today? I don’t need a lot of it.”

“Always.” Little liar. Kestrel’s time was more precious than gold. “How can I help you?”
“I have my list of requirements to be ordered.” He handed the pad over with a little

giggle. “I like to be well-stocked. Just in case, you know?” Yes, just in case someone special
happened along. Really, although most of the men he saw were curious as to the pleasures he
could bring, very few saw him more than a time or two.

“Of course, dear. I’ll have everything you need sent immediately. I did wish to speak

with you, while you’re here. There’s a man … A rather …” Kestrel’s lips pursed. “I’m really not
sure how to put it, honestly. But Mal asked for you to free a forty-eight hour period and come see
him.”

“Oh?” Lutrell moved to the edge of his seat, butterflies fluttering inside. “A man with the

kind of needs only I can fulfill?”

“That is what Mal believes, yes. He was matched with a sub and it went … disastrously.”
“Well, two subs together would be a disaster.” Lutrell tilted his head, brain working

furiously. A reluctant sub. Possibly a sub who didn’t even know he was a sub. How very
intriguing. “A forty-eight hour period, yes? I do believe I can accommodate Mal immediately.”

Kestrel offered him a very real smile. “You are a joy, Lutrell. Always. Shall I tell Mal

you’re on your way to him, or shall I have them meet you in your quarters?”

“Oh, I’ll go see Mal.” He gave a little giggle. “I’m intrigued now, you see, and don’t

want to have to wait.”

He stood and gave Kestrel a quick, awkward hug. He was not the type for physical

affection; he’d once heard a man describe hugging him as being held in the embrace of a
skeleton. “I may have a few items to add to my list after meeting this mystery man, Kestrel. I’ll
let you know.”

Kestrel didn’t seem the least disgusted by him, kissing his cheek and smiling. “Please do.

I’ll make up your order tonight.”

“Thank you, thank you.” He nodded and chuckled and left Kestrel’s little office, making

his way the short distance to Mal’s. The two offices were close, good for both business and for
the friendship the two men had. It was one of the things Lutrell liked best about the Glove—the
genuine affection the staff and members seemed to hold for one another.

For the most part, anyway. There were certain disciplines that were most definitely not

natural bed partners.

Lutrell knocked on the door. One did not simply barge into Mal’s office.
“Enter.” Mal sounded—not furious, but frustrated. Incredibly frustrated.
Lutrell wondered if that was his sub who was giving Mal such grief, or one of the many

other trouble makers that made the Velvet Glove their home. It had him giggling again, thinking
about how many subs had that mischievous streak in them.

He was still giggling slightly as opened the door.
Ice blue eyes stared at him. “Is something funny?”
He pressed his lips together to stop more giggles. Oh, dear, Mal was in a mood. “Just

something I was thinking.” He tilted his head in Mal’s direction in a nod of greeting. “Good
morning. Kestrel said you would like to see me.”

“Yes. Yes, we have a client that I believe you are well suited for, given his background

and his habits.” Mal typed a moment, then handed him a datapad.

Dent Farre. Lutrell skimmed through the information, finding that Dent was a large man,

former owner of Cyberlines and Farre Industries. Currently retired at the age of thirty-four. He’d
come and visited over one hundred times, never spending the night, never having sex. Each sub
paired with him had the same, steady complaint—a constant anger and frustration that never
eased.

He raised an eyebrow. “It took you this long to figure out the man wasn’t a top?” He was

surprised. Mal was usually very perceptive, could peg a man in one session, two, maybe three if
the man was reticent. Of course, obviously Dent was in denial himself or he wouldn’t have been

asking for submissives.

“He’s a personal friend of the big boss and wasn’t a full member until last cycle.” Ah, so

not really Mal’s problem and a powerful man at that. Interesting. “Once he gained membership
and unlimited access, he floated into my radar.”

That made far more sense. “And once he did, you recognized the problem right away, of

course. May I ask why you believe he would be more interested in my talents as opposed to
some other Dom’s?”

“I don’t. I don’t think he’s interested at all.” Mal’s words were firm, sure. “I think he’ll

fight you and threaten and bluster. I know you won’t care. I know he has an incredible pain
tolerance, so there won’t be relief for him there. And I have inside information that shows he has
certain inclinations toward your specialties. Visits to private clinics, purchases for use at home.”

“Oh, a challenge!” Lutrell only barely managed to keep from giggling happily, from

clapping his hands together eagerly. “I do enjoy a good challenge, Mal. Thank you. Kestrel
mentioned something about clearing my calendar for forty-eight hours and as it happens, I have
the next two days open.”

“Excellent. Dent has the main suite in the 43rd floor. Do you want him there or in your

quarters? He’s with the boss right now.”

Lutrell tilted his head. “Will the boss be … interfering in how I deal with Dent?” It would

not make things easier for Dent if he could run to Hercules anytime he was unhappy with being
treated as a sub, which Lutrell suspected would be often.

“Hercules is the one who brought your name up first. He won’t be involved. If Dent

stays, what happens between you will be handled as would any other club pairing.”

“Excellent.” If he was going to be undercut by the man, he needed to know it from the

start. “I will have him at my quarters, then.” Dent needed to be thrown off balance, forced to
look into himself and discover what was hidden there. That wasn’t going to happen where the
man was comfortable. Besides, it would give Dent a safe place to hide out in. “What will he have
been told about me, about what to expect between us?”

Mal’s lips twisted, the look amused. “That you have been hand-selected for him.”
“And that’s it? The man is coming to me believing that I am a sub for him ?” Oh, he

would soon put a stop to that notion.

“You wanted a challenge, something beyond the pale. You have it.”
Lutrell laughed. “Be careful what you wish for, yes?” He nodded, laughter giving way to

soft giggles. “Thank you, Mal. I will do my best to give Dent what he needs.”

“You will be very successful, in time.” Mal winked. “I expect a full report, please.

Hercules will be interested.”

Lutrell giggled happily. “Indeed. We have forty eight hours, yes? You will have my

report and recommendations at the end of that time. You will have him delivered to my
quarters?”

Mal nodded. “Good luck. I suspect you’ll have your hands full. He’s … used to taking

what he wants.”

“Aren’t they all, Mal?” Lutrell cackled and headed out, going back to his quarters, mind

full of plans and ideas. He giggled some more, and rubbed his hands together.

He was a very lucky man.

Chapter One

“You do realize it is altogether too early for an appointment, Mal?” Dent had been having

a perfectly adequate breakfast with Hercules, chatting about business and investments. Really,
Hercules was quite brilliant with money already, but with only a little help, the man could be
untouchable.

“Yes, but boss’ orders.” Mal moved quickly, datacomm going off thirty times on the

short walk from the lift to a door, where they stopped. Hercules did hire the most efficient staff.

“Who is it I’m meeting?” He wasn’t really in the mood to play with any little blinky fools

today. Last night’s catastrophe had let him dissatisfied and growly, muscles tight and aching.
The lad had been willing enough, but the constant toadying aggravated him.

The door opened the moment Mal knocked, forestalling any answer. The man who stood

in the open doorway was tall and skinny, with short, short white hair and twinkling light blue
eyes. “You must be Dent. I have been expecting you! Come in. Come in.” The man sounded as if
he were about to break out into laughter.

Oh, excellent. A lunatic. Just what he needed. “Good morning. I am Dent, yes, and you

are?”

Mal nodded to the loony, smiled. “I’ll have to leave you here, Dent. If you need anything,

let me know.”

“We’ll be just fine, Mal, thank you.” The lunatic did laugh, the sound soft, and then the

man turned to him. “Come in, come in. I am Dr. Lutrell. We’ll work out what you should call me
in the next two days.” Lutrell stood back. “Don’t just stand there, come in! Come in!”

“A doctor? This seems an odd profession for a physician.” He stepped in, actually having

to look up at the man. Odd, for him.

“There are many who think it is an odd profession, full stop. Though I no longer practice

medicine, I must admit to a fondness for the title.” Lutrell closed the door and put his hand on
the palm lock. “Come and sit, we will get to know each other, put a few ground rules into place.”

One of his eyebrows raised. Pushy little lunatic. Still, Hercules asked him to give the man

at least an hour and his word was gold.

Lutrell laughed softly and sat on a large sofa with big cushions. The low table in front of

it was a dark cherry, smooth and shining. There was a tray on it, two glasses along with a pitcher
of what looked like juice, and a plate of sliced fruit.

“Sit! Eat! Be comfortable.” The man giggled again. “It may be your last chance to do

either for awhile.”

“Pardon me?” The giggling was quite unnerving. Surely Hercules wouldn’t offer him

someone truly mad?

“Dent. Surely you understand simple requests? Sit down. Partake of the juice and fruit I

have on offer.” Lutrell frowned suddenly. “You aren’t simple, are you? Mal didn’t mention …”

“I assure you I am fully in control of my mental faculties.” His lips pursed and he took a

single slow breath. “Please, tell me about yourself.” He poured himself a bit of juice, trying to
force himself to relax.

Lutrell also poured out some juice, holding the glass in a large hand that was surprisingly

delicate. Well, probably not surprisingly, as the man was apparently a doctor. A piece of fruit
was speared, a dark green citrus, and Lutrell shivered and laughed as he ate it.

“Oh, I do like the sour ones! First, I believe we should get one important formality out of

the way. What is your safeword, my dear?”

His safeword? Wasn’t it supposed to work the other way? How very odd. What would he

use … He remembered his nurse’s voice suddenly, pottering around his room in the night, saving
him from the dark. “I haven’t been asked that before. I suppose it would be nightlight.”

“Oh, how wonderful!” Lutrell beamed at him and ate another piece of fruit. “So you want

to know about me? I am a doctor of medicine, but I do not practice anymore. I must say I prefer
what I do here. I have a narrow specialty, but I believe it’s very fulfilling.” Lutrell suddenly
started giggling madly. “Fulfilling! Oh, that was a good one.”

“I … Did you not enjoy medicine?” He checked his chrono. He would have to beg out

early. The man was quite mad.

The laughing faded. “Oh, I enjoyed medicine well enough, but not as much as I enjoy

what I do here. What I did in the past did not satisfy me. But tell me about yourself. Mal has
spoken of much dissatisfaction, and yet you keep returning. Some part of you knows that you
will find what you need here.”

“I am recently retired—actually, I imagine I’ll start something new soon. Retirement

doesn’t suit me. And I have been a friend of Herc’s for many years. I have spent some time with
Mal’s boys. They are a talented bunch.” He reached out, poured a touch more juice. “So what is
your specialty? Herc didn’t have time to explain your preferences before his morning meeting.”

“My specialty is directly related to my career. Enemas, electric shock, sounds. It is very

similar to what many others do, but with that medical flair. A purer form of filling body cavities,
really, if you ask me.” Lutrell smiled, hand dropping casually to his lap, doing nothing to hide
the erection that was pushing at Lutrell’s white scrub pants.

He blinked and put the glass down, his heart pounding suddenly. “I believe there’s been a

mistake.”

“Oh, no, I think you are exactly where you should be. And I think that deep down, you

know it, too.” Lutrell chuckled. “But why talk about it? Come. Come, to my playroom and I will
show you. Then you will know. You will understand what your body needs.”

He shook his head, blood rushing in his ears. “I’m not who you’re looking for.” Not at

all. Not. God, what had Hercules found out about him?

“Do you always make such snap decisions?” Lutrell chuckled and stood. “Come along to

the playroom. We’ll see if I am what you are looking for.”

He stood, intending to head for the door, to march straight to Herc’s quarters and insist

that there had been a mistake. A terrible mistake.

Lutrell turned down the hall, seeming to assume that he was following, that he was right

behind the lanky form. The man stopped at a door and looked back at him, a twinkle in his eye.
“You aren’t scared, are you?”

“Excuse me? I’m not sure what kind of game Mal and you are playing, but I’m not in the

mood.” His stomach felt tight as a board.

“Game?” Lutrell giggled. “Please. This is my life, Dent. I may have fun, but that doesn’t

mean I’m treating it like a game. Oh, no. And we may call what we do scenes, games, playing,
but we all know how serious we are about it, don’t we? I certainly do. I know Mal does. Now, if
you’re scared, let me know and if you’re not, get over here.” There was a thread of steel in those
last words.

He growled under his breath, puffing up, hands curled into fists. He grabbed his comm,

shook his head. “I need to speak to Herc.”

“No.” The word was simple, that steel becoming even more apparent. “Hercules asked

me specifically to see you. You will not insult me, or him, by questioning his choice.”

He met that steel with a pure fire of his own. “And if this is a mistake? Another pointless

waste of my time? You seem to think I’m just a spineless toady, but I assure you, I am not.”

“When did I say I thought you spineless? You are hesitant, and therefore I need to know

if you’re scared. Many are, because they don’t understand. I would explain, ease your fears
somewhat. And I do not confuse fear with spinelessness.” Lutrell shook his head and came over.
“Dent. Come. Lie on my table. Let us see where I can take you.”

He blinked, completely confused. “This isn’t what is supposed to happen. There has been

a mistake.”

Lutrell laughed softly. “My dear. How long have you been coming here? What usually

happens has not been working for you. I know what you need. The mistakes are over.” Lutrell’s
hand slid around his arm, the touch deceptively gentle and he was led toward the room Lutrell
wanted him to enter.

He should have pulled away and pushed the skinny lunatic down. He would have, had his

head not been filled with a dozen arguments, each one trying to be louder than the others.

He was led into a simple room, the walls painted a very lovely blue, the only furniture an

operating table. “You will lie there,” Lutrell told him, twinkle back in the lunatic’s eyes.

“No.” He stared at the table with equal parts confusion, worry and fascination. “That

looks … no.”

“It is more comfortable than it appears, but not so comfortable you’ll fall asleep or forget

where you are.” Lutrell led him right over to the table. “Up you get.”

This was insane. Utterly insane. His heart was pounding, head swimming. Drugs. That

was it. The lunatic had drugged the juice.

Lutrell moved him, gently pushing him toward the table and getting him up on it. There

were panels for his arms and his legs that swung out from the table and Lutrell began to lash his
limbs to them. “You see, not so uncomfortable.”

He blinked, tugged at the bonds. He could feel his shirt, pulling underneath him. “Let me

up. This isn’t what I wanted.”

“Oh, no.” Lutrell shook his head and giggled. “No, I think we’ll keep you right where

you are.” The panels for his arms and legs were spread, leaving him open, exposed.

He growled, pulling harder, muscles tensing and straining, but to no avail as the straps

were incredibly strong. “Let me up! I’m serious.”

Lutrell’s giggles increased. “Sure you are.” The laughing loon pulled a steel table over.

Once it came close, Dent could see it was covered in medical instruments, each one wrapped in
sterile plastic. Lutrell picked up the scalpel. “We need to get rid of these pesky clothes. I hope
you weren’t terribly attached to them.”

“Don’t you dare!” His voice echoed. What had Hercules done?

* * * * * *

Lutrell chuckled softly, almost under his breath, as he slowly worked his scalpel up along

Dent’s leg. He wasn’t really paying attention to the words of abuse and outrage that poured out
of Dent. Oh, he was paying enough attention he would hear the moment the man so much as
mouthed his safeword. Lutrell had a pretty good idea that doing so had not even crossed Dent’s
mind.

He was equally sure that Dent did not believe he wanted this, was no doubt truly outraged

and likely would be equally as angry at himself later for not even thinking to use his safeword to
escape. The thing was, Dent’s subconscious knew he wanted this, and it was Dent’s
subconscious that was really running the show.

“Careful now,” he murmured as he arrived at the place where Dent’s thigh met his hip. “I

don’t want to cut you accidentally.” He giggled. “Cutting is only to be done on purpose.”

“You’re insane. Herc left me with a madman.” Dent went perfectly still, muscles so tight

they would hurt tomorrow.

“No, no. Not insane. I enjoy my work, yes?” He chuckled again and then grew silent,

carefully using the sharp-enough-to-slide-through-skin blade to finish cutting Dent’s pants from
him. “Oh, that’s better.” He tugged the pants right off the man and stood back, giggling and
almost bouncing. “Look at you. Such strong muscles. Such fine skin. You will be a pleasure,
dear man, I am sure of it.”

“Fuck you. Let me up. You just ruined a perfectly good pair of slacks!”
“Yes, and I’m going to ruin the perfectly good shirt, too.” Lutrell chuckled. Poor Dent

was so confused, so incensed, but not honestly asking to be let go. The strong ones always fell so
hard. They resisted with all that strength, and it was a beautiful struggle. It was even more
beautiful when they finally realized, when they gave in to their needs.

“Fucking untie me!” Dent started jerking and tugging. It was quite lovely, really,

passionate and furious and so alive.

“I will, I will.” He waited until his words had Dent lying still again and then began to

work on the right sleeve of the truly lovely shirt. It had no doubt cost the man more than a lot of
citizens’ yearly salary. Then he added, in a very soft voice. “When we’re done here.”

Dent stared at him, face flushed, a vein throbbing in the man’s throat. “I’m going to beat

you to death when I get up.”

Lutrell tilted his head. “That isn’t exactly incentive, my dear, to untie you.” He shook his

head, chuffing. “Not very good incentive at all.” He kept cutting.

“Does Herc know what you’re doing?” There was a measure of hurt in the question, of

shame.

Lutrell kept his sigh to himself, kept himself from soothing and stroking as that would not

help Dent in the long run, but he felt for the man. It was not easy being confused like this. “The
exact details? No, I imagine not. But he knows who I am. What I do.”

“Let me up. There has been a mistake. I don’t want this to go any farther.” Ah, the part

where Dent tried to be calm and rational.

He couldn’t contain his grin. Dent was going to be so beautiful when he finally

submitted. And the ride until they got to that point was going to be wild. It made him giggle
happily. “There’s no mistake, and I’m enjoying it enough for both of us.”

“I am not. What. You. Are. Looking. For.” Each word was bitten out, Dent’s dark, lovely

eyes spitting fire.

“But you are. What I am looking for is your pleasure. Mine. A place to meet in the

middle.” He giggled again, one hand hovering over Dent’s genitals. “The middle.”

“Don’t.” Dent was well-built, cock heavy and beginning to fill. The dark curls above his

prick shone in the light.

“Your mouth is saying no, but your body is saying yes.” Lutrell cackled at himself and

finished cutting the pretty shirt away from Dent. Dark, tight nipples, a flat belly sprinkled with a
trail of black hair under the tiny navel. Lovely. What a treasure. He would have to send Hercules
something as a thank-you gift. Perhaps Mal, as well.

He let the dull side of the scalpel slide along Dent’s skin, flicked one of the little nipples

with it. Dent went still, chest flushed deep as the man’s breath stopped.

Yes. Yes, the man was paying attention now. He flicked the dull side of the knife against

Dent’s other nipple, turning it at the very last minute to let the sharp edge barely nick Dent’s
skin.

Dent’s roar was amazing—loud and furious, completely born of fear and fury, not pain.
He nodded happily. There would be more roars like this one. More anger, more fear.

They would work through those disguises together, keep digging until they found the real Dent
beneath.

He put the scalpel down and let himself touch, his fingers going eagerly to Dent’s belly,

feeling up the firm muscles. A single drop of blood beaded up on Dent’s nipple and he moved
his hand up, finger sliding through it, pressing against the hard bit of flesh.

Dent’s arms tightened, body twisting, trying to escape his touch.
“Nowhere to go,” Lutrell said, little giggles escaping him as he touched and touched.

After a moment or two of indulgence, he pulled away and smiled down at the man bound on his
table. “Time to sterilize you. Yes, indeed.”

“Let me go!” Oh, that was true panic, Dent’s breath coming in short gulps, eyes rolling as

he nearly convulsed.

Lutrell returned to his side immediately, fingers digging into the man’s thigh to get his

attention. “Dent? Soap, water and alcohol swabs.” He wasn’t sure what was so scary about that,
but he’d find out before proceeding.

Those eyes met his, wild for a moment before they cleared. “That’s all?”
“Of course, what did you—oh!” He shook his head, chuckling. “Oh, my dear, I would not

to anything to damage this magnificent equipment. Not permanently, anyway.”

Dent relaxed, swallowing hard, sweat making the fine skin gleam.
Lutrell tsked and went to the sink in the far corner, filling a bowl with warm water.

“Cleaning will be a part of our routine,” he told Dent, using his voice to keep them connected.
“Outside and in.”

“Our routine? How long do you intend to keep me here?” Interesting, the conflicting

emotions in that voice.

“I have cleared my schedule for forty eight hours.” He moved back to Dent’s side. “I

imagine we can play it by ear after that.”

“Two days …”
Two days to clash and retreat, to stretch and push and explore. “That’s right.” Lutrell slid

a cloth into the warm water and then poured some liquid soap onto it. He lathered it up and
began to wash Dent.

Dent shivered, cheeks going red. “I … this is … I’m not a child!”

That had him laughing. “No. No, you’re not a child. I can clearly see that.” He drew the

cloth along Dent’s sizeable erection. “Very clearly see it.”

Dent’s hips jerked, cock slapping his flat belly. “Let me up.”
“You are up,” Lutrell told Dent, giggling as he continued to concentrate on Dent’s cock

and balls, soaping them up nicely.

The man’s heavy sac drew up, wrinkling up and trying to hide. He slid the cloth beyond

it, pressed it against Dent’s hole, watching closely for the man’s reaction. Dent went tight and
still, belly rippling. “We’ll do a special cleaning here.” He tapped Dent’s hole twice.

“Special …” Again that gasp, then a growl, Dent working up to fight.
“Oh, yes. I have tubing. In all sizes. Don’t worry,” he giggled, “we’ll start small.”
“No. No, I won’t. No.” Oh, look at that prick jerk. Impressive.
He shook his head. “ You don’t have to. I’ll do it. Not to worry, my dear, you don’t have

to do anything at all. I will take care of everything.” He let his cloth slide once more along the
little wrinkled hole and then continued to wash Dent, cloth sliding over the muscled legs,
stroking the insides of Dent’s thighs. One thing at a time, and this would always be the first
thing.

“Stop it. Let me go. I don’t want this.” Mm-hmm. Not at all. Use your safeword then,

lovely man.

“You really are almost perfectly formed,” he told Dent. “Such a lovely specimen.” Not

entirely perfect, of course, but then that would be boring. He rinsed out his cloth and began to
wipe away the soap. “Enema and sound today, my dear?” he asked, laughing softly with
anticipation. Seeing Dent filled both in front and behind would perhaps be perfect. Lutrell’s prick
was quite swollen, his balls beginning to ache; he worked at keeping his moan silent.

“No. No. I don’t …” Dent shook his head. “I can’t. Let me up. What do you need for me

to give you to get you to untie me?”

“Just a few hours, my dear.” He smiled up at Dent as he used a soft towel to dry Dent’s

skin.

He grabbed the bottle of alcohol and soaked another cloth with it, quickly and efficiently

wiping Dent down. “There.” He laughed and clapped his hands together. “All clean. All ready.
Time for us to begin!”

Dent shivered, shook, nipples hard as little rocks.
“Have you ever had an enema before?” Lutrell asked as he went to double-check the

temperature. Oh, good, warm enough. Not that he’d thought Dent was cold, oh no, those shivers
had nothing to do with the temperature.

“Let me go.” The fighting started again, Dent’s voice loud.
Lutrell wondered if that was a yes or a no. “All in good time, Dent. You aren’t a prisoner,

after all.” He giggled again, excitement bubbling through him.

He chose the clear, thin plastic tubing. It would take longer to fill Dent with it, but it

would feel less invasive as well. They would work the beautiful man up in size, both with this
and with the sounds.

“Let me up, you crazed madman!” Dent’s eyes were fastened on the tubing, cock full and

dark.

He cackled, wondering how many names Dent would come up with before the session

was over. He put on his surgical gloves and lubed his fingers up, along with the tubing, making
sure Dent could see what he was doing.

Dent shuddered, shaking for him, the scent of need strong.

Lutrell sublimated his moan into more laughter, the sounds escaping him, keeping him

from rubbing off against Dent. There would be time enough later for his own pleasure. He slid a
finger against Dent’s hole, the heat delicious, the way it spasmed a delight. “I’ll open you a little
first.” Not a lot, it was the liquid that would do the opening, the stretching.

Dent arched, tried to pull away from him, heels thrumming on the table.
“There’s nowhere to go, my dear, and relaxing will make this easier on you.” Of course,

the fight Dent was having with himself was magnificent, and “easy” was not nearly as
rewarding.

“I’m going to make you sorry you did this …”
Mmm. Tight, almost virginal. Maybe truly virginal. He laughed, delighted by this fact

more than he could say. “I make it a rule not to have regrets.”

He pushed his finger in, forcing it past the tight ring of muscles until it was in to the first

knuckle. He wriggled it slowly. Oh, once Dent was clean, he was going to taste this virginal hole.

Dent stilled, eyes closed, body moving around his finger, trying to push him out.
“If you do that with the tubing, you’ll make a huge mess.” He giggled, waving the tubing

and the enema bag full of warm water and a mild antibiotic.

The motions stopped. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“Because it’s what you need.” It was as simple as that. And as complicated.
Dent shook his head, tugging hard, denying what Lutrell knew was truth. Such a struggle.

Dent was making it so hard on himself, denying his needs, denying what his body needed.
Lutrell blamed a lifetime of conditioning. Who knew what nonsense Dent had been taught was
manly?

He slid his finger in and out of Dent’s hole, pushing a tiny bit farther each time until it

was going in as far as his second knuckle. Dent’s body knew what he needed, his hips beginning
to shift, to ride the touch. He chuckled lightly. “Yes, that’s it. Stop thinking and feel. Just feel.”

“I. Please don’t.” The words were groaned out. “Let me go.”
“No, I won’t do that.” He shook his head and sent his finger a little deeper, as far as he

could put just the one.

Dent shook his head, cock starting to leak.
Giggling, Lutrell bent and licked the first drop away. The taste of it exploded in his

mouth, sharp and bitter, salty, with an extra something he’d never tasted before that had to be
Dent himself. Dent growled, hips bucking, impaling himself, grinding on Lutrell’s finger. Lutrell
watched Dent’s body moving—so lovely. The man needed to let go more often.

He removed his finger, watching the little hole spasm, watching Dent’s body search for

the stimulation. Dent’s eyes were squeezed shut, lips in a thin line. Such passion, hidden, denied.
His.

He spread Dent’s ass cheeks with two fingers and slid the tubing in while Dent was still

searching for his finger, let it slide in an inch and a half or two. Dent didn’t speak, didn’t breathe,
just stayed still. He kept his fingers on either side of the tubing by Dent’s ass, in case the man
would try to eject it.

“A little bit of warmth now. It’ll start slow and fill and fill and fill you.” He laughed.

“Oh, so full. All these lovely muscles will be put to work keeping it all in.”

He opened the bag at the end of the tubing and squeezed gently, sending the liquid up

through the tube into Dent. Dent groaned, entire body taut and flushed, fighting him. Oh, he’d
have to pull out the bardex nozzle for next time.

“If you keep fighting it, the liquid and everything inside you will come spilling out all

over you,” he warned.

Dent flushed darker, hands curled into fists. “No.”
Lutrell giggled. “No, you won’t stop fighting? Or no, you won’t let it spill?” He

continued having the liquid slowly fill Dent, firmly holding the hose in place.

“Stop laughing at me.”
“I’m not laughing at you, my dear. I am a happy person. Laughing feels good.”
“I need to get up.” Tiny tremors were shaking Dent’s muscled body.
“Oh, no. Not yet, not yet.” He looked at the bag and shook his head. “You’ve only taken

about a quarter of what you can.”

“Let me go!” The rhythm of Dent’s denial was fascinating. Logical, then furious, then

yielding.

He shook his head and pushed some more liquid into Dent, filling the man inexorably.

Dent could not deny this.

Dent started panting, quieting, gathering his energy. Relaxing. Accepting.
“Oh, yes!” He laughed softly, would have clapped his hands with pleasure if they weren’t

so busy. “Feel it. Filling you. Stretching you slowly. Cleaning you.”

“Please don’t do this …”
“I am doing it, my dear.”
Dent could deny he needed this as much as he wanted, but he would not deny that it was

happening. Dent twisted, groaning, stomach muscles clenching as the dull cramps started.

“I can ease those,” he told Dent. “But you have to promise not to try to push the tubing

out. It’s entirely up to you.”

“I … Oh …” Another twist, another deep cry.
He chuckled. “Yes or no? Soon I will know exactly what each breath you take means,

Dent. I will. For now I have to guess that you would rather have the cramps eased and will not
push the tubing from your body. The mess will be your fault if you do!”

He let go of where he held the tubing, and worked his latex glove off, fingers moving to

stroke the beautiful belly, rubbing and easing the cramps.

“Oh …” Dent took a breath, relaxing, panting.
He made a happy noise. “See! When you don’t fight everything so hard, it is magical.”
“I don’t … I’m not.” Dent moaned, lips parted as he breathed.
“You do and you are . Oh, you are so lovely like this.”
He checked the bag, almost empty. “Almost done, my dear. Almost done.” He giggled.

“So full now, aren’t you?”

“Don’t laugh at me …”
“But you bring me joy, Dent. You make me laugh!” The poor man was so serious, he

couldn’t understand. Laughter was an expression of joy.

“I can’t … It’s too much. Too much.”
“Of course you can!” He kept stroking Dent’s belly and closed off the bag from the

tubing. “You don’t need to hold any more, though. Just what’s already inside.”

“Why?” Dent whimpered, eyes rolling a little.
“Because I told you to.” He nodded, still stroking Dent’s lovely belly, rubbing the firm

muscles.

“Why are you doing this?” Cramps hit Dent and a low cry sounded.
He worked Dent’s muscles through the cramps, shaking his head. “For you, my dear. It’s

all for you. Now take a deep breath, and then another. I’m taking the tube out now. You have to

keep your sphincter closed.”

“Oh, fuck. I. I can’t do this. I won’t do this.”
“You can, and you will.”
He slowly withdrew the tubing, fingers of his free hand sliding over the head of Dent’s

cock, which he couldn’t help but notice was still quite hard.

“Don’t. Oh, god. Don’t.”
Which Lutrell took to mean do . He made an adjustment or two to his table, pushing aside

a portion of it so that when Dent could hold on no longer the liquid would fall in a receptacle
beneath the table and would not soil the man.

Then with another little giggle, he took the head of that lovely cock into his mouth. Sharp

and male, salty and bitter and perfect—Dent could become an addiction. He sucked and licked
around the head, tongue teasing Dent’s slit, making the strong body shudder. Oh, Dent would
take to the sounds like a pro.

He pulled off the man’s lovely cock and smiled up at him. “Hold on as long as you can.

You may release your bowels when you come.”

“No. No. Please. No.” Dent’s struggles grew frantic, panicked.
“Don’t worry, you won’t soil yourself or the table.” He stroked Dent’s pretty belly again

and then took Dent’s cock into his mouth, sucking strongly.

Curses and sobs filled the air. Dent started shaking, hips pushing toward the pleasure of

his lips. Yes. Yes. He didn’t try to hold Dent back, didn’t do anything to control those thrusts. He
let Dent take what was needed. It was a beautiful thing, to have Dent let go and give in to his
body.

Lutrell helped as much as he could, tongue swirling around the firm, hot flesh in his

mouth, swallowing every time Dent’s cock hit the back of his throat. Dent whimpered, crying
out, the sounds raw and harsh. Joyful. He reached for the man’s balls, rolling them in his hand.
Come for me, my dear , he thought. Come for me. Let me have your pleasure .

Heat filled his lips, the sound of water being released coming right behind. Yes. Mine. He

drank Dent down, the flavor of the man’s pleasure threatening to spark his own release. He kept
sucking, though, until there were no more drips. Then, he stood and pulled his cock from his
scrub bottoms, jacking himself off over Dent’s body.

Dent groaned, eyes closed, cheeks almost purple, they were so flushed.
“Oh! Oh, so good.” He stroked himself harder, finger sliding across the sensitive head of

his prick. The pleasure pushed up from his balls and shot from him in an arc onto Dent’s belly
and cock.

Dent shuddered, drawn into himself, quiet, shell-shocked. Bending, Lutrell licked his

come from the man, tasting himself and Dent together, humming and chuckling at the way their
tastes complimented each other.

Then, he closed the table back up and slid the panels with Dent’s arms and legs back

together, making sure his hands touched Dent’s skin as much as possible. He could see Dent’s
heart pounding, beating under the warm skin, in the jugular. Humming a little under his breath,
Lutrell undid the legs bindings first, and then the arms.

Dent sat up as soon as possible, swaying a bit as his blood pressure swung.
Lutrell tsked softly and put an arm around Dent. “Come with me to the living room.

You’ll find my couch is most comfortable and I’m sure you could use some more juice. We can
talk.”

Dent’s lips parted, but nothing was said. Nothing came out.

Chapter Two

Dent hadn’t made it to the living area. As soon as he’d seen the restroom, he’d bolted,

slamming the door shut and forcing the lock. He needed to think. Desperately.

The room was clean, simple, the same blue as the … the playroom adorning the walls. A

small fountain with stones and plants tinkled gently in one corner. It was warm, warmer even
than the rest of the place had been.

There was a knock on the door, laughter coming from the other side. “Dent. Come now,

man. You can’t run away from yourself.”

Laughing at him. Again. Well, Dent probably deserved it, screaming and acting a fool.

He started the water, washing his face, his hands, his arms avoiding the mirror as he scrubbed.

“I can override the lock, you know.”
“Leave me alone.” He didn’t say the words loud enough for anyone to hear.
“I’d prefer it if you opened the door to me yourself, but I will be coming in.” At least the

guy wasn’t laughing anymore.

He dried his face off, met his own eyes in the mirror. Control. Focus. All he had to do

was get out of here in one piece.

Then, he opened the door.
Lutrell beamed at him, clapping. “Excellent! I’m so glad you chose to come out on your

own. Please, join me on the couch. You must be hungry, thirsty. I want to know how you’re
feeling.”

“I’m going home.” He didn’t want to talk. He wouldn’t eat. He wanted … he wanted out.
“Oh, no.” Lutrell giggled. “Forty eight hours, Mal said. The boss-man will be unhappy if

I let you leave so early.”

“I don’t have a boss.” He was the boss. He needed to get out of here.
Lutrell’s head tilted to the side. “No? Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.” Wasn’t he?
He was given another giggle and handed a glass of juice. “Please. Sit, drink. Don’t make

me ask you again.”

His temper flared, dark and sharp. “Am I supposed to be frightened?”
“Not of me, no.” Those blue eyes looked at him, looked into him. “No, not of me.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable, unnerved. Unsure for the first time in

years. He should never have come here.

“So you’re not frightened. Tell me, what are you feeling?” Lutrell picked up a glass of

juice, drinking a good half of it in one long swallow, his Adam’s apple working like it had

when …

Dent bolted. He didn’t even think about the fact that he was naked or unsure exactly

where he was. He just ran. Lutrell didn’t follow him, but then when he got to the door he found
out why. It was locked.

“Only my palmprint will open it,” Lutrell called from the couch.
“No.” Okay. There had to be somewhere he could go. Hide. Be.
“Yes. Is it so terrible, having to talk to me? Or is it what you are feeling that has you

fleeing?” Those blue eyes were boring a hole into his ass.

“I won’t do this.” He couldn’t.
“All right, we can go back to the table, then.”
“I need you to leave me alone.” He needed time. Space. Help.
“I will. In …” Lutrell looked at the little clock hanging by the door. “Forty-five hours,

give or take.”

“No.” Only three hours. Only three hours.
Lutrell giggled, the sound bitten off. “You keep saying that.”
“I mean it.” He did.
Lutrell nodded. “Your mind does. But your body knows. It knows.”
“I need to get out of here.” He met Lutrell’s eyes, desperate.
“No, my dear. You need to stop denying who you are.” Lutrell’s eyes looked into him

again, through him, it felt like.

“Stop it. You don’t know me.” Hell, he wasn’t sure he knew himself right now.
“I think maybe that’s the problem, my dear. I do know you. Better than you know

yourself.” Those eyes were relentless, watching him.

“You’ve just met me.”
“Yes,” giggled Lutrell. “Just imagine how much more I’ll know after two days.”
Maybe Dent should just kill him. Or knock him out and use the man’s hand on the lock.
“Are you sure you don’t want any juice? You need to replenish your fluids.”
“I don’t.” His stomach growled audibly, angry.
Lutrell chuckled and picked up a piece of citrus fruit. The man bit into half and ate it,

then passed it to him. “There. Now you know it isn’t drugged.”

Dent took it, ate, the tart sweetness making him hungry for more. Lutrell picked up

another piece, ate half and passed him the other half. A smile quirked the thin lips. “You’ll make
me fat if this is the only way you’ll eat.”

That actually amused him and he swallowed a chuckle.
Lutrell giggled. “You need to laugh more. It would do you a world of good.”
“You laugh enough for a thousand men.”
“Laughter is the best medicine, my dear.” Lutrell chuckled. “A cliché, a silliness, I know.

But it’s true. I’m a doctor, I know these things.”

“Then you must be well-medicated. I need to go to my quarters. You’ve ruined my

clothing.”

“You don’t need clothes if you stay here. I keep it quite warm. And I’m not finished with

you yet. I still have time.”

He really was going to explode and hurt someone. Truly. He turned on his heel and

headed back to the room where his pants were. He’d comm Herc and explain the simple fact that
he wanted out of here.

He was almost there when he stopped, pacing from one door to another like an agitated

geor lion.

Lutrell slowly came into the hall. “Go lie on my table, Dent. I know how to help you.”
“Help me? I don’t …” He did need help. He just didn’t want it from Lutrell.
Those long fingers wrapped around his arm and Lutrell led him back into the room with

the table where Lutrell did his scenes. “Come along, my dear.”

He was beginning to think he was dreaming. Honestly.
Lutrell led him to the table and helped him lie down again. “Good, good.” A soft laugh

sounded. “Oh, this will be good. So good.”

“Why do you keep laughing at me?” Was he that laughable? That ridiculous?
“I keep telling you I’m not laughing at you. You need to believe me. I laugh because I’m

happy.” Lutrell tsked and stroked his face, slowly placing his arms and legs on the boards and
tying them down.

He shook his head. “Don’t. I don’t want to be bound.” He needed to go home.
“You need it, Dent. It’s not the same if you’re not bound.” Lutrell smiled at him, fingers

sliding on his skin.

“No. Please, listen to me.” He couldn’t bear any more today. His skin didn’t fit.
“Listen to yourself, Dent. Listen to what your body wants. What it needs.” Lutrell turned,

eyes lighting up as he looked at the instrument table. “Oh, yes, the sounds!”

“What sounds?” He didn’t hear anything.
Lutrell giggled. “Not sounds that you hear—sounds that go into your cock. Such fun!”
He shook his head, convinced he must have heard Lutrell wrong.
“Oh yes. I promise we’ll start small, just like with the enema tube.” Lutrell picked up a

long, thin silver … wand?

He frowned, “Why? Where? I don’t understand.”
“In your prick!” Lutrell giggled, eyes twinkling.
“No. No. I can’t.” It would tear him up, ruin him. He couldn’t do this anymore.
“Of course you can. All you have to do, after all, is lie back and enjoy it.” Lutrell laughed

some more. “I’m doing the hard part. And I’m trained as a doctor, I won’t hurt you.” Lutrell put
on latex gloves, the sound of them snapping at his wrists loud in the quiet room.

“You’re going to tear me. I don’t want this.” He bit into his bottom lip, the sharp pain the

only thing keeping him from babbling.

“I will not! I know what I’m doing, Dent. You need to start trusting that I will not hurt

you. Push you, make you do things you’re sure you don’t want to do, yes, but never hurt you.”
Lutrell tilted his head. “Well. Unless it’s intentional, but I will not damage you, even when I
offer you pain.”

The words eased him, even though they shouldn’t. “Why should I trust you?”
“Have I hurt you yet?” Lutrell shook his head. “Because you trust Hercules and he sent

you here?”

“I don’t understand why he did.”
“Because he wants to see you happy, Dent. I imagine he would like to hear your

laughter.”

The words scared him, startled him, worried him. “Let me go. Let me go.”
“Tshaw. So skittish. I think we should just begin. Do you remember how we will always

begin?”

“Yes, but. You just. We just did, a few hours …”
“We do it every time, my dear. Every single time.” Lutrell smiled and nodded, beaming

at him.

“Why?”
“To keep you clean, safe. To have something we can share.”
He closed his eyes. Safe. Gods.
Lutrell hummed. Over that, Dent could hear the man getting the bowl, filling it with

water. Dent tried to lose himself, thinking about business, money, numbers. Anything. Then the
soft touches came, the warm, soapy cloth moving over his skin as Lutrell hummed and laughed.
It was intimate. Relaxing. Peaceful.

He was cleaned, from top to bottom, rinsed and then the strange sensation of the alcohol

came, making his skin cool and drying off immediately.

“There we are, all clean.” One of Lutrell’s hands wrapped around his prick, stroking him.
“It’s cold.” He was freezing.
“You’re cold? Let me turn up the heat.” Lutrell walked away, touched something on the

wall and came back. “I’ll soon have you warmed up,” Lutrell giggled. “I will.”

“Thank you.” He tried not to wince at the laugh.
“You see? All you have to do is ask.”
His prick was taken again, encouraged to hardness. “I did. I asked you to let me go.”
“Oh, but you didn’t mean that.”
Another sudden urge to laugh surprised him and he swallowed it back. Lutrell’s laughter

rang out for him.

“All right, now we will introduce you to the sound. It will be most wonderful.”
“Will it hurt?” He needed to know.
Lutrell tilted his head. “It won’t be comfortable, at least to start. And you will need to

come and won’t be able to until it is removed. But it will touch you the way nothing ever has,
and when you come … oh, it might make even you laugh, Dent.” Lutrell stroked his belly, touch
warm but slightly off through the latex of Lutrell’s glove.

“It doesn’t sound funny.” It sounded unnerving.
“A good orgasm is a thing of joy. And it does sound like that. The sound sounds, oh,

that’s good.” Lutrell was off again, laughing away like a loon. “Oh, my dear, you do need to
loosen up. You do.”

“You are truly insane, Lutrell. You know that, don’t you?”
“No, no. I assure you that I am not. Hercules would not have hired me if I was.” Lutrell

chuckled. “And you have distracted me enough. Time to begin, to bring your need to the
surface.” Lutrell fiddled with the instrument table and set a long thin silver rod and a tube of lube
at the edge.

There was no way that thing was going in his cock. “It won’t fit. It’s too big.”
“It’s just a little one, my dear.” Lutrell poked through stuff and picked up another one

that was at least the size of one of his fingers. “Even this one will fit. But we’ll work up to that.”

His eyes felt like they were bugging out of his head and he couldn’t have stopped the

shudder.

Lutrell giggled. “One day you will beg me to use this one.” The thick sound was put

away, Lutrell picking up the lube and opening it.

“I won’t.” His balls were trying to draw up into his body.
Lutrell chuckled. “Oh, yes, you will.”
A soft kiss was placed at the base of his cock and then Lutrell began to stroke him, thumb

working the head of his cock as his body betrayed him. He moaned, fighting, trying not to get

excited, hard. Trying not to want. It was no use, though. Lutrell’s touch seemed inexorable,
making his cock firm up.

“Such a beauty, my dear.”
He groaned, his muscles tensing, his body fighting the ties, knowing they wouldn’t

budge.

“Oh, yes. Definitely a beauty.” Lutrell chuckled and squirted out a generous dollop of

lube, sliding it along his slit, slicking up the head of his cock.

He shook his head over and over, eyes shut, refusing to watch and wanting desperately to

see all at once.

Lutrell hummed, played with the head of his cock, not doing anything unusual yet aside

from stimulating his slit more than he was used to. It relaxed him, the sensations pleasurable,
heated, but easy. He almost didn’t notice when Lutrell began to push the lube into his slit, into
him .

Almost.
He pulled away, hips sliding on the table, head shaking. He didn’t want to lose this quiet.
Lutrell giggled. “Come, now. This will be good. I promise. I haven’t steered you wrong

yet.” More lube pushed into his slit, a cold shock that quickly warmed up.

“I don’t want this. I’m …” What? Tired? He was. Tired and worn and worried and

completely not himself.

“You do, Dent. I am sure you do.” Lutrell kept pushing more and more lube inside him.

“The lube makes the sound slide beautifully.”

“Why do you want to do this?”
“Because it’s what you need, my dear.” The fingers of one hand stroked his belly, the

other one gripped his cock around the head, holding on tightly.

“No. Why do you want to do this?” Why would anyone?
“Because it’s exciting! It brings pleasure to my partner. It makes you shine. I’m putting it

in now—you want to watch.”

“No.” His eyes opened, every muscle taut and tense.
Lutrell giggled, the sound soft, almost distant. Lutrell’s eyes were on his cock, watching

as the end of the sound was placed at the opening in his cock. “So lovely.” Lutrell’s voice was
almost reverent.

“Please.” His hips tried to roll away, tried to escape that hand.
“Yes, yes. I’m doing it, don’t worry, I won’t leave you wanting.” Lutrell laughed as a

good inch of the sound was pushed inside him.

A panicked sound left him, shocked and unbelieving.
“It’s going perfectly, my dear. Just a little more and then we’ll let gravity finish the job.”

Lutrell pushed in another inch or so, the sensation … not a burn, not a scrape, hard to describe.
Dent had nothing to compare it to. He gasped, head shaking, lips parted as he fought to breathe.

“Now watch this,” Lutrell told him. “It’s magic! Absolute magic.” Lutrell held his cock

pointing up toward the ceiling, hand squeezed around it, forcing his slit into an ‘o’ around the
sound, and then Lutrell let the sound go. It slipped right into his cock, all the way in, only the
round ball at the top keeping it from continuing its decent.

Everything in him went tight, metal touching where nothing should. Inside. Invading him.
Lutrell laughed, the sound happy, echoing around the room. “Oh, how wonderful! How

amazing. You are lovely, Dent. Oh, yes.”

Lutrell let his cock go, dropping it to fall back against his belly. The latex gloves were

taken off and Lutrell began to touch him, hands warm, almost obscenely gentle on his skin. He
stayed as still as he could, trying not to feel the metal in his prick, trying to forget. Lutrell
hummed and purred, hands sliding over his chest, fingers flicking across his nipples, pinching
them. It was as if there was a live wire between them and the sound, sensation shooting right
through his cock each time they were touched.

He bit his lips, refusing to speak, to make a sound.
“So stubborn ,” laughed Lutrell. “You let such pleasures pass you by because of that

stubbornness.”

Lutrell bent and took one of his nipples between hard, sharp teeth.
“Oh!” He arched, body rippling in shock.
Soft giggles wafted warm air over his wet nipple. Dent growled, snarling out his anger,

his worry.

“Oh, listen to you.” Lutrell’s tongue slid across his nipple as one hand reached for his

cock, squeezing around it, moving the sound.

“Don’t. Don’t.” His toes curled, balls drawing up tight. Please. Let him go. He … Oh.
“I won’t stop, don’t worry.” His other nipple was bitten, his cock squeezed again.
Things started shattering, his control foremost on the list.
“Let go, my dear. I’m here.” The words were breathed against his mouth; then, Lutrell

kissed him, lips warm, soft, tongue pushing into his mouth.

Dent cried out, meeting the kiss head-on, the intimacy and sudden sensation exactly what

he needed. Lutrell’s tongue swept through his mouth and then slid along his own, Lutrell’s hand
around his cock slowly tugging, increasing his need.

He whimpered, pushed toward the kiss, fucking Lutrell’s mouth, fucking the man’s hand

as best he could. Lutrell didn’t tease or back off, but moved that hand faster, sucked on his
tongue, filled every empty place in him with sensation.

Dent stopped thinking, stopped worrying, just felt. Just drowned in sensation.
Lutrell’s free hand slid over him, touching his nipples, his balls, curling around his hips,

pushing for a moment against his hole. Each touch made him moan, made the need inside him
bigger, sharper. Lutrell’s breath was his own, pushing inside him as the kiss began to make him
dizzy. He shuddered, the sensations almost too much to bear, skin burning and tingling, need
filling him.

One of Lutrell’s fingers slid to tap again at his hole, Lutrell’s tongue pushing into his

mouth with the same rhythm, tying each touch together. The pleasure ratcheted up into hunger,
the sensation almost painful.

Lutrell seemed to know, backing off from the kiss, smiling down at him, eyes twinkling.

“You need to come, don’t you? I could feel it in your kiss, even if you won’t admit it.”

He groaned, tried to catch his breath. Don’t talk.
Lutrell kept stroking his prick, making the need burn through him. “Stubborn, stubborn

man.”

“What do you want ?”
“Tell me what you need. Tell me that you need.”
He moaned, hips arching. “You keep playing games!”
“I do not!” Lutrell straightened, hand still working him. “This isn’t a game .”
“Then what is it? What do you want from me?” He wasn’t being stubborn; he didn’t

understand.

“What do you want, Dent? At this very moment—what do you need?”

“I need help. I can’t think .”
“You don’t need to think. You need to feel. How do you feel, Dent? Tell me what you

need without thinking about it.”

“I ache. I need to come. I need it to stop. I ache .”
Lutrell laughed, nodding. “Yes! Yes! That’s it, Dent! So good.” And with that, Lutrell

grasped the ball at the top of the sound and pulled it out in one long, smooth motion. Dent’s seed
followed right behind, spraying and splashing on his belly.

“Yes, yes!” Lutrell sounded as if he had been the one to come.
Dent shook. “Yes …”
Lutrell hummed, rubbed a cheek against his cock. “So lovely, my dear. Wonderful.”
Dent whimpered; he could do nothing else.
Lutrell kissed him again, tongue pushing between his lips. Straightening, Lutrell pulled

his own cock out of his pants and began to jack off over him exactly as he had done earlier. Dent
didn’t know how to feel about that, what to think. Whether or not to watch.

“You make me need, Dent. You make me so hard.” Lutrell was working himself in the

same rhythm he’d used on Dent.

“Oh …” Dent licked his lips, toes curling as he watched those hands move.
“Look at you—so sexy. And all without deliberately trying. That makes it better, you

know.” Lutrell gasped suddenly, hand working harder, those eyes looking at him, ranging over
his body, meeting his eyes.

“I … I’m …” He shifted, prick throbbing weakly.
“You,” Lutrell suggested with a happy, breathless little laugh. “Oh!” Crying out, Lutrell

jerked and come splashed against Dent’s belly, over his cock, hot and wet. He shuddered, closed
his eyes as he tried to process all of this.

Lutrell’s fingers slid through the mess on his skin, swirling their come together and

rubbing it in. “There. We’re mixed on you.”

He could smell them. It was … heady.
Lutrell pressed their lips together, tongue slipping into his mouth. He’d forgotten how

much he enjoyed kissing. Honestly forgotten. Lutrell was good at it, backing off after the initial
thrust of dominance and letting the kiss turn into something that was shared, both of them equals
in the dance between their mouths.

He was lost enough in it that he didn’t realize at first that Lutrell had undone the bindings

on his arms. His arms ached as he moved them, shoulders protesting. A hum filled his mouth,
Lutrell’s hands sliding up along his chest to his shoulders. How did the man know ?

He relaxed, melting into the table as those hands worked his muscles. The kisses and

touches went on and on, keeping him relaxed and easy in his skin.

Lutrell finally came up for air, smiling down at him, chuckling. “Oh, that was good. You

do pleasure quite well, my dear. You should try it more often.”

Good?
Good?
It was beyond the pale.
Beyond sense.
Beyond him.

Chapter Three

Lutrell thought things were going very well. Dent was off-balance, though not wigged

out enough to have used his safeword yet, and unless Lutrell suddenly couldn’t read people, the
man was enjoying himself more than he would admit. Possibly even to himself.

Lutrell had to admit something to himself as well. Dent wasn’t just another man to top,

another man to help through self-discovery to the joys of submitting. No, the kisses had proved
that, even if the flutters in his belly hadn’t. He was drawn to Dent himself. He wanted Dent. It
had been a very long time since anyone had made him feel like this. Not since Beller …

He shook himself and concentrated on the man in front of him. Dent still wasn’t

comfortable sitting on his couch naked, but the man was more at ease than he’d originally been.
And he didn’t look like he was going to run screaming from the room again.

At least not yet. Lutrell giggled. It would happen again, or he wasn’t doing something

right. But maybe not right now.

“Will you share my bed with me, Dent?” he asked. The truth was, he wanted to do more

than just sleep with Dent. He wanted to explore Dent outside of the confines of his “operating
room.”

“What?” Dent looked up, blinking slowly. “I was thinking.”
He giggled. “I was, too! I was thinking it was time to go to bed and I would like you to

join me in mine.”

“I could sleep.” Dent nodded, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I need a shower, if

you’re going to keep me here.”

“Excellent! I need one as well. We’ll share.” He didn’t want to give Dent time to think

too much and work himself back into being too spooked.

He noticed that Dent was in a fugue state, willing to go along with whatever was

suggested because fighting hadn’t been working. Eventually, it would pass. In the meantime he
would press his advantage, touch and clean and make the man enjoy being in his own skin.

He slid his arm around Dent’s shoulders and led him to the bathroom with its lovely large

shower and its cool blue walls. “How do you like your water, my dear? I like it warm, but not
hot. I don’t like being overheated. It’s not good for the skin.”

“I like warm. I hate being cold.”
“Warm it is.” Lutrell had noticed that about Dent and he bumped the temperature up a

little bit in the room.

He started to strip, curious to see Dent’s reaction to him. It was the first time Dent would

have seen him naked. Dent turned the water on, filling the room with steam. It made him

chuckle. His definition of warm and Dent’s were completely different.

He adjusted it to a slightly lower temperature, giving Dent a smile, and encouraged the

man to get in under the water. “Perhaps you can wash me this time,” he suggested.

Dent stared at him for a moment. Then, his dark head fell back, soaking up the water.
Lutrell stood there blinking, a little put out. “Is that a no?” Was it really so much to ask?

Even of a strong man like Dent?

“No, it wasn’t.” Dent’s eyes held his, steady, strong. “The water felt good on my neck. I

was tense.”

“Oh.” He giggled at himself—his growing feelings for Dent were coloring his reactions.

He would have to watch that. “Excellent, excellent. I will of course wash you as well.”

Dent nodded, eyes on the tile, then on him.
He smiled at Dent. “I’m glad you decided to stay.” Even if Dent didn’t know why he

hadn’t used his safeword.

“I don’t know what to think about this.”
Lutrell chuckled and clapped his hands. “That’s wonderful, Dent! That means you’re

running on instinct. That’s a very good place to start our relationship.”

“You … you confuse me.” Dent picked up the soap, started washing them both.
“That’s not a bad thing, my dear.” He hummed as Dent’s fingers slid over him. “Feel free

to make it an exploration as much as a washing.”

“Are you always so pushy?” Dent’s hands were huge. Wonderful.
He pushed into the touches, enjoying each one, wondering how it would feel to have

Dent’s hands move on him in passion. “Yes. I imagine I am.”

“Were you a good doctor?”
“I was competent. There was no joy in it. But what I do now?” He laughed. “Oh, there is

joy in this .”

Dent shook his head, turned him to run soap-slick hands down his back.
He hummed a little, pushing back into Dent’s hands. “Your touch is quite wonderful,

Dent.”

“The little ones I’ve played with here said so, mostly.”
“Little ones.” He cackled. “Oh, Dent, you don’t want little ones !” Imagine this big,

beautiful man playing with the likes of Love and Harley and the others.

“How do you know what I want?” Those hands pushed harder, the pressure delicious.
“You’re still here aren’t you?” he asked softly, a ripple going through him. Please , he

thought, don’t stop .

“You wouldn’t open the door.” Dent stroked him, the touches almost bruising, making

his skin sing.

His laughter slid into groans and he reached for the tile, using it for traction as he pushed

back into Dent’s hands. “Oh, don’t stop, Dent.”

Dent didn’t answer, but Dent didn’t stop either, fingers digging into his muscles. Lutrell

spread his legs slightly, ass pushing back, begging for attention. He got exactly what he wanted,
hands sluicing the water from him, leaving him gasping. Oh, those lucky little ones. Of course,
they didn’t know what to do with a man like Dent.

He did.
“More,” he demanded.
“Bossy.” The touches continued. “What happens if I fight you?”
He let his eyes close, enjoying the intimacy, as he considered the question. “You have

been fighting me, Dent. Though you’ve been fighting yourself harder, have you not?”

“No. I’m fighting you. I know me.”
He laughed at that, turning and leaning against the tile. “You do, do you?”
“I do.” Stubborn, stubborn man.
Chuckling, he grabbed the back of Dent’s neck and drew the man close for a hard kiss.

Dent gave a sharp, surprised cry, then stepped closer. Oh, yes. He knew a thing or two about
Dent. Perhaps a thing or two that Dent himself didn’t know.

He fucked Dent’s mouth with his tongue, hips pushing to rub against Dent’s body. Dent’s

hands landed on his hips, moving him. Oh, yes. Dent’s body knew what it wanted, knew what
Dent needed. He slid his arms around Dent’s shoulders, holding on to that glorious strength.

Dent drove against him, into the kiss, toward him. They slammed up against the wall,

their passion flaring high, bright. Dent groaned, pushing them harder, faster, driving their heat.
He bit at Dent’s lips and sucked on them before continuing to fuck them with his tongue. He let
Dent guide their bodies, let the heat continue to build. It had been so long—not since he’d found
pleasure, but since he’d found this sort of fire and intensity in it.

Dent gave him no quarter, the passion hidden there a pure addiction. His fingers dug into

Dent’s back, nails scratching as his hips pushed, meeting Dent’s body.

He broke off their kiss long enough to growl out “more!”
Dent rumbled, slamming into him, driving him.
That strength turned him on so much, along with the knowledge that he controlled it, that

it was all laid at his feet and given to him. That was even headier, making his balls ache. He
reached between them, grabbed Dent’s prick and tugged it with harsh, hard strokes. Dent’s hand
landed on his cock, pulling hard, demanding his own response.

He threw his head back and laughed, the pleasure arcing through him, shooting out of

him as Dent’s hand tightened. “Yes! Oh, yes!”

Dent groaned, thumb sliding over the sensitive tip of Lutrell’s prick, making the

aftershocks soar through him. His own fingers squeezed Dent hard, hand barely moving as the
pleasure took him.

Moaning, panting, he slumped against the wall, hand beginning to move again, to work

Dent. Dent’s head tossed, throat working, hips bucking. He slid the fingers of his free hand over
the top of Dent’s cock, picking up the pre-come leaking there. He painted Dent’s lips with his
fingers and then leaned in to lick the bitter salt of Dent’s need away.

“Aches.” Dent’s words were growled out.
“Give it to me, Dent. Let me have your ache, wrapped in your pleasure.” He bit down on

Dent’s lower lip, hand going right to the root of the man and coming back up again.

Dent arched, went up on tiptoe as the strong body jerked, started shuddering.
“Let go. Give me your pleasure.” He stroked Dent again and again, hand tight around the

man’s hot prick.

Dent came with a groan, heat pouring over Lutrell’s fingers. The man truly was lovely

when he came, his passion written in his face, his need exposed. Lutrell groaned and tugged Dent
in close, arms wrapping around the muscled body as the water fell on them.

Dent sighed, leaned toward him, a tentative peace found between them. Lutrell could

only hope that Dent would remember this later, when they again found themselves in a battle of
wills.

He hoped Dent would remember the pleasure and the need between them when the time

came for him to choose to return.

* * * * *

Lutrell giggled, clapping his hands as a wicked idea came to him. He poured a glass of

juice for Dent and sat across from the man, smiling. “I trust you had a good sleep?”

They’d curled together in his bed. Well, Dent had lain there stiffly and Lutrell had curled.

Dent had relaxed during the night, though, fallen asleep and cuddled. Lutrell made sure he was
out of bed before Dent woke.

Dent’s eyes flew open, strong body stiff and surprised, scrabbling for the sheets. “I. Shit.”
He chuckled. “Oh, I’m sure we don’t have that problem, but I’ll give you another enema

once we’ve started, just to be sure.”

Poor man, he wasn’t awake, wasn’t thinking yet. “Caff. I need …”
“You hardly need the outside stimulates. I have juice for you.” He held out the glass.
“I have a headache. I need something.” The juice was taken, gulped down, Dent’s throat

working.

“You need to come with me.” He took the glass from Dent’s fingers and put it on the side

table and held out his hand with a soft laugh. “Come now.”

“No.” Dent leaned forward, rubbing his forehead. “Can’t we just stop for a minute?”
“You’ve had a good night’s sleep, my dear.” He slid his fingers over Dent’s head,

stroking. “It’s nice and quiet in the room. You can lie down there. Relax.”

Dent leaned into his touch; Lutrell had never seen anyone so hungry for simple

sensations. He continued to stroke, his other hand joining in the soft massaging. “You don’t have
to fight me on everything, you know?”

“Isn’t that my job?”
He laughed. “Your job is to enjoy what I do to you. Whether you think you want to or

not.” He put a kiss on Dent’s lips and then grabbed the man’s hands. “Now stop stalling and
come with me.”

Dent frowned and rumbled, but stood, taking the top sheet along with him.
Lutrell chuckled and tugged the sheet away. “You have nothing to hide.”
“Still …” Dent straightened, heavy cock soft under a mass of shiny ebony curls.
“You’re beautiful, Dent. It is my wish to see you.”
He led Dent into the hall and stopped at the bathroom. “You may relieve yourself.”
Dent murmured his thanks, heading in and trying to slide the door closed. The move was

pure habit, Dent not even looking to see if the door shut as he moved to the sink.

Lutrell looked down the hall toward the room, anticipating what they would do this

morning while giving Dent his privacy.

Dent washed himself, brushed his teeth, and did his business. The man was fastidious—

easily as much so as Lutrell himself.

They were well-matched. Even Dent’s stubbornness was matched by his own. And of

course, he knew what Dent wanted, what he needed, even though the man kept it hidden from
himself.

“Come, now.”
Dent looked over, surprised, lost in his own world, in his own mind.
Lutrell chuckled and took the man’s hand. “We have a day left together, Dent. I don’t

want to miss a moment.”

“This is unreal. All of it.” Dent followed him, mouth complaining even as his body

responded to Lutrell.

“Oh, my dear, it feels very real to me.” He squeezed Dent’s hand. “You feel very real.”

And he was quite sure the enema, the sound, they had felt real to Dent as well.

“I feel very … lost.” That lovely mouth snapped shut, Dent’s cheeks flaming.
“I’m not surprised, my dear. You hide yourself so thoroughly. We’ll find you.”
He led Dent to the table and patted it.
“I … I don’t want to do this. I just want to go to my rooms.”
“I know. You can’t go, though. Up on the table.” He patted it again, stroking the padded

surface.

“I don’t want to get pissed off again. I’m so fucking worn out. Can’t we stop?” Dent sat

on the table, shivering at the chill.

“No. No, I think now is exactly the time we must not stop.” He slid his hands over Dent,

warming Dent’s skin beneath his fingers.

Dent’s body moved toward his hands, so lovely. “Luttrell.”
He laughed softly. “Yes, my dear. That would be me.” He trailed his fingers along Dent’s

arm, sliding the cuff around Dent’s wrist.

“I want to go.” Dent groaned, reached over to try and unfasten the cuff.
His giggle was quiet but seemed to echo around the room. “You can’t go, Dent.” He took

the man’s free hand and pressed it down, fastening the other wrist cuff.

Dent struggled, tugging, fussing. That would warm him up.
Chuckling, he cuffed both of Dent’s ankles and then opened the extensions, spreading

Dent wide.

“Let me up. Let me up. It’s the morning. People aren’t kinky in the morning.”
Oh, Dent did make him laugh so. “I am.” He filled his bowl with warm water and began

to clean Dent. “And I always begin the same way. With the cleaning.”

“I just washed myself.” Dent looked caught between pleasure and worry.
Goodness, he hadn’t laughed so much in a long time. “Dent. This isn’t just about being

clean. It’s about getting into the right headspace, it’s about your body knowing what’s coming.”

He started to wash the man, using soft, sliding strokes. “It is also about pleasure.” He

rubbed the tip of the cloth against one of Dent’s nipples. That little bit of flesh perked up,
begging for his attention, filling with blood. His soft chuckle was appreciative, happy. He spent
some time with Dent’s nipples, playing with them, even twisting them a bit, the cloth rougher
than his fingertips would have been. “As I said, we will always start this way. You will grow to
anticipate it, appreciate it.”

“You talk like I’ll be back.” Dent’s beautiful prick was swelling, heavy. Dent would

return to him.

“You will be.”
He spent some time washing Dent’s arms, demonstrating to the man how sensitive his

underarms were. Dent moaned as the rag tugged the silky hairs under his arms, fingers curling
and opening again.

“Oh, yes.” He giggled and teased the area again, not so lightly that it would tickle—he

was here to arouse. Then, he cleaned Dent’s arms, his hands, carefully tracing the lines on Dent’s
palms. The lovely belly came next, the ridges and hollows calling for his fingers, though he kept
the cloth between their skin. The prominent hipbones were caressed, then Dent’s inner thighs and
his balls. Those heavy sacs drew up tight as the water evaporated, the skin surprisingly pale and
fine.

He slid his cloth around the man’s hard, hot prick, and cleaned the curls that crowned it.

The curls that he would be shaving off. After he’d sunk a sound into Dent’s cock. Just the

thought had him giggling happily.

“You sound quite insane.” Dent moaned, hips starting to shift.
“Insane?” He tilted his head, watching the movements of Dent’s body. “No, I am simply

happy. Touching you, performing this ritual with you, brings me much joy. There is not enough
joy in your life, Dent. Not enough at all.”

He began to work on Dent’s legs, taking as much care there as he had on Dent’s arms and

chest and groin. He knew there wasn’t any patch of skin that couldn’t be made to sing with
pleasure under the right stimulation.

Soft moans started sounding, the long, strong limbs proving sensitive to his work, Dent

responding. His own giggles and chuckles quieted; he wanted to hear Dent’s noises, the sounds
of pleasure wonderful.

He made sure not to tickle Dent’s toes, cleaning in between each one and then along the

sole before declaring himself done.

“The alcohol now, my dear. To finish the ritual.”
Dent stared at him, watching him silently, pulse pounding visibly in the strong throat.

Such stubbornness and fight in this one. Of course, that was part of the attraction, wasn’t it?

He opened an alcohol swab and quickly ran it over Dent’s entire body, knowing it would

leave a cool trail in its wake as it dried on his skin. Dent began to shiver, skin goosepimply. So
sensitive.

He moved briefly aside to turn the heat up in the room, then returned with a bowl of

warm water and the razor along with a sound. This one was longer than the other and had a head
with a rosette at the head to stimulate Dent’s slit.

“What … what are you going to do?”
“I am going to put a sound in you. You’ll like that, as you did before. And then I am

going to shave you here.” He stroked his fingers through the hair around Dent’s cock.

“What? Why?” Dent looked stunned, shocked, and started struggling. “Untie me. Now!”
Lutrell chuckled. “Now where would be the fun in that, my dear? The sound will be

first.” He took hold of Dent’s prick and began to stroke the hard flesh.

“No. No, you can’t.” Dent’s motions drove that fine prick against his palm. Yes, just fine.
“Exactly like before. You know how it works now.” He chuckled. The protests were

verbal only, Dent fighting himself more than Lutrell.

He took a tube of lube and pushed a fair bit into the tip of Dent’s cock. Dent tried to jerk

away, but it didn’t work. It wasn’t going to. Not with the need pouring from the man. Lutrell
hummed and pushed in more lube, and then some more. This would be strange and
uncomfortable, but never painful. At least, not until Dent needed that. And the discomfort would
be pleasurable soon enough.

“There. Now the sound. Did I show you the bead on this one? Look at the little waves

and bumps. It will stimulate you greatly.”

“No.” Dent groaned, thighs hard as stone.
“Oh, yes, my dear. It will be quite wonderful.” And there was no way Dent could escape

it. He pushed the first millimeters of the sound into Dent’s slit.

Dent hissed, the way sure to be sensitive, tender, the burn stronger.
Lutrell kept pushing, very slowly, until the sound was about a third of the way down

Dent’s prick. Then he tilted Dent’s prick slightly and let the sound drop the rest of the way in. He
got a low cry, Dent’s heels thrumming on the table for a minute. He kept holding Dent’s cock,
skin like fire against his palm as he manipulated the rosebud tip, the ridges sliding against the

edges of Dent’s slit.

“Stop. Stop it. Fuck.” Dent’s eyes rolled, hips bucking.
“You’ve never felt anything like it, have you? And you want to come, need to, but cannot

with the sound in. It is more effective even than binding your cock.” He let go of Dent’s cock,
settling it gently against ridged stomach so he could cup Dent’s balls, fingers sliding on them as
he reached for the soap and the razor.

Dent moaned, straining, trying to pull away from him, from his touch. His plans were

inescapable, though, and Dent might protest and complain and say no, but he would not
safeword, a part of him knowing how much he wanted this, needed it.

Lutrell hummed happily, sudsing Dent’s pubic hair up.
“Don’t do this. I never have …”
“Oh, another first!” He laughed softly. “How wonderful!” He took his time preparing the

area, making sure to slide the soap over Dent’s balls and to jostle the heavy cock now and then.
Every time he touched Dent’s cock, the words would escalate, the fury in that voice stronger.

He chuckled and kept touching, fondling, getting the foamy soap everywhere. Then, he

took the straight razor. “Hold still now, my dear. I do not wish to nick your skin.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” The scream filled the room, Dent’s cheeks a dull red.
“Because you will be even more lovely all smooth. And so sensitive. Any touch will be

astounding, and for days you will remember me every time you move.” He pushed Dent’s cock
to one side and began.

“I want to go home.” Dent groaned, tugging at the cuffs, cock bobbing.
“Tomorrow morning. I still have you for … twenty hours?” He chuckled and shaved

another line.

“Why do you want to do this to me?”
“Because you need it.” It was as simple as that. And as complicated, really. Of course he

was enjoying himself as well, wasn’t he?

He continued to shave Dent’s pubes, moving the hard, sounded cock whenever he needed

to.

“I don’t need to be shaved. Naked. I don’t. Fuck.”
He scraped the last bit of hair from Dent’s skin. “It will feel wonderful. Every touch of

my fingers, of my tongue, will be magnified, magnificent.”

“I look ridiculous. Silly.”
He cleaned the excess soap away and stood back, took a long look. He shook his head.

“No. No, my dear. You don’t look silly at all.”

Dent closed his eyes, face turned, hidden against one arm.
“In fact you look quite sexy.” Bending, he licked along the newly exposed skin. So

smooth. So soft. Dent didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. He slid his nose along Dent’s skin, his
cheek rubbing the hard cock. He laughed. “So wonderful!”

Dent groaned, took a deep, ragged breath. “Let me go.”
“Oh, no, not yet. We haven’t finished here.” Lutrell chuckled and licked some more,

tongue tracing random swirls over Dent’s skin. He slid a finger up along Dent’s cock and moved
the rosebud tip of the sound.

“Oh … Fuck. Stop …”
“That’s it, my dear. Feel .” He wrapped his lips around a bit of skin near the base of

Dent’s cock, pressed the bumpy edges of the top of the sound a little harder against Dent’s slit.

Dent groaned, chains rattling, shaking. “Fuck. Fuck. I need.”

“Oh, yes. You do. I know.” He laughed, beaming up at Dent. “You do.” He kept licking

along Dent’s bared skin. Just a moment longer.

“Let me go … Please. Please …”
“Oh, no. Not yet. You’re mine for some time longer.” He placed a kiss at the base of

Dent’s cock and another in the middle, another near the tip, tongue flicking out to jostle the head
of the sound.

Dent groaned, arched, tried to fuck his lips.
“So greedy.” He took the head of Dent’s cock into his mouth, tongue sliding around the

tip of the sound, moving it. His fingers slid over the bared flesh, keeping the stimulation to the
newly exposed skin going. Sharp, deep little noises filled the air, Dent submitting and giving
himself over. He hummed around the flesh in his mouth, giving Dent more and more to feel. He
bobbed his head, careful not to hit the top of the sound with the back of his throat. He scraped
one nail along Dent’s pubic bone.

“P … please. Please.” Dent twisted, screamed.
Oh yes, that was what he was waiting for, that desperation, the note that came right

before the pleasure bent, slid into something that was too much. He pulled off Dent’s cock and
whipped the sound out with a quick, careful motion.

Heat poured from Dent, cock pulsing, entire body convulsing with the pleasure.
Lutrell half laughed, half moaned, and began to lick Dent’s come from his skin. Sharp

and salty, the flavor exploded in his mouth.

Dent groaned, still moving, still feeling it. “Please. Don’t stop.”
“I never will, my dear. I never will.” He kept licking, tongue dragging over Dent’s

stomach, over the shaved area and up along the man’s still-hard cock. Dent was his. His, here
and now, focused on nothing but their pleasure.

His own prick throbbed with need, but he focused on Dent’s pleasure alone, on lapping at

the newly bared skin, playing with Dent’s balls.

“Yes …” Dent tugged on the bonds, using them to brace himself. It was beautiful, to see

Dent moving with his need.

Lutrell let his happiness out, his laughter filling the air as his fingers pressed against

Dent’s ass and his slit. The sounds escalated, growing louder, sharper, more desperate. “Such
need.”

He mouthed Dent’s balls as his finger pushed right into the tight little hole, pressing deep.
So hot. So tight. Gripping him. Dent moaned, pulling away for a heartbeat and then

bearing down. Oh, yes. Dent had so much need—it was so exciting to see it being released.

Lutrell found his hips moving against the air and he had to pull back, to stop himself. He

would take his own pleasure after Dent had expended all of his.

“Please. Please. I need.”
He took Dent’s cock back into his mouth, tongue swirling around the head, flicking into

the super sensitive slit. Dent almost screamed, hips pushing into his lips, over and over. Yes.
Yes, beautiful.

Lutrell took Dent deep, letting him control his own pleasure. The heat and hardness of

Dent’s cock felt so good in his mouth. The need that each desperate movement revealed felt even
better. Dent thrust, the happy groans that filled the air simply perfect.

Without missing a beat, Lutrell reached for his scalpel and, as Dent’s cock worked his

mouth, cut a quick, shallow wound into Dent’s hip.

Dent’s motions hiccupped, stilled, the man shivering for a moment.

Lutrell kept sucking, pushing his finger in deep and hitting Dent’s gland as he used the

fingers of his other hand to press against the thin cut, to make it sting and spread the blood onto
the newly shaved skin.

“I … I. I.” Dent whimpered, breath gasping. “I can’t …”
Lutrell pulled back enough to tease the swollen and sensitive tip of Dent’s cock, his eyes

turning up to look at Dent. He only nodded. Dent could. And he would. He had to stop thinking
so hard.

Then Lutrell took the whole of Dent’s cock back into his mouth, swallowing around the

head.

“Lutrell!” There. Yes. Yes, right there. The sweet body went painfully tight, Dent

bucking and riding his finger, fucking his throat. He hummed his pleasure around the flesh in his
mouth, knowing Dent would be able to feel it, that it would be one more sensation in the wave
now overwhelming the man.

Seed flooded his mouth, that heavy cock jerking and throbbing, pulsing in his lips.
He swallowed Dent down, throat working hard to keep up. When Dent was done, he

eased his finger out of the tight hole, purring as it seemed to clutch at him. He took his time with
Dent’s cock, sucking gently, lapping at the softening flesh; he cleaned Dent’s prick as carefully
with his tongue as he ever had with a cloth. Finally, he let it slide from his mouth, and he began
to lap at the blood that stained Dent’s hip.

He laughed at the flavor, at the way the copper of it complemented the sharp salt taste of

Dent’s seed. He laughed at the way they both tasted uniquely of Dent. Dent didn’t respond, just
moaned, eyelids fluttering.

Lutrell gave the small cut a quick swipe with the alcohol swab when he was done

cleaning with his tongue, to make sure it didn’t get infected. Then he chuckled happily, fingers
stroking Dent’s belly, up along the strong chest, moving out to massage Dent’s arms. “So very
lovely, my dear. So very responsive . You are a joy.”

Dent moaned again, melted, lips open and begging for a kiss.
Oh yes, his Dent craved such contact almost more than anything else. Lutrell bent slowly,

tongue sliding out first to lick at Dent’s lips, tracing them with the tip before he slipped it in to
touch Dent’s.

Dent purred, tongue caressing his own. The man was a fabulous kisser, seductive and

focused and needy. Bound as Dent was, he could only use his mouth, his tongue and his lips, and
still Lutrell was near to moaning at the way it made him feel.

He deepened the kiss, his cock throbbing for release as their tongues made love. Dent

responded beautifully, hands struggling against the bonds. Not a selfish man. Completely
unaware of his own needs. Angry. Desperate. Not selfish.

Lutrell slid his fingers along Dent’s arm, undoing the cuff one-handed. He massaged the

muscles there for a moment or two and then brought Dent’s hand to his need. Dent nodded,
moaned into his lips and started stroking, clumsy at first as the muscles started moving. Lutrell
didn’t mind; each touch was good and getting better. A shudder went through him and his kiss
turned hard, needy.

Dent’s fingers squeezed harder and those lips opened, accepted him in. His hips started to

move, fucking along Dent’s palm. So hot, so good. Dent gave him what he wanted, thumb
pushing in hard, driving him into the stratosphere. With a shudder and a cry, his hips snapped,
his seed spraying over Dent’s hand in long pulses.

Whimpering, he kept moving, the sensations easing, growing sweet until it was time to

stop, to pant and breathe with Dent. Dent groaned softly, relaxing into the table, eyes closed.

He hummed lightly, finally letting the sound out as a soft laugh. “That was lovely, my

dear. Thank you.” He pressed their lips together in a soft kiss this time and then began to undo
Dent’s other wrist.

Dent was dozing, stomach rumbling audibly, making him chuckle.

He undid all the cuffs, fingers massaging Dent’s muscles, happy right down to his bones. His

laugh rang out, filling the room. Oh yes. Quite happy.

* * * * * *

When Dent woke up from his dozing, Lutrell fed him and then let him have a bath. He

did not share this one, nor did he let it go on for very long.

He checked the time and then chuckled. Fifteen minutes was more than long enough. He

had to make every moment of these forty eight hours count.

He didn’t knock at the door to the bathroom, but just went in unannounced. “Time’s up,

my dear. I have such lovely plans for us.”

“I haven’t been in but a moment …” Dent looked peaceful, soaking in warm water up to

his jaw.

Luttrell laughed softly. “Many moments, actually.” He gently splashed a bit of water into

Dent’s face.

Dent didn’t flinch, his eyes closed. “It feels good in here.”
“Yes, I’m sure it does, but these days we have together, they aren’t about lingering in

what we know feels good, but discovering new and better areas.” Leaning over, Luttrell pulled
the plug on the water.

He got a soft sigh for his troubles, but Dent stood, wrapping up in a towel and a thick

robe.

Chuckling, he shook his head. “You may dry off, but really, you cannot wear so many

layers. You are beautiful, and I will admire your form as I please.”

“I’m just as beautiful in the robe, and I’m warm.”
“I will turn the heat up.” He went to Dent and tugged open the robe. Dent looked fine

shaved and bare, the skin just a bit paler where he’d exposed it. Beautiful.

He slid his hands over the lovely muscles, starting at Dent’s shoulders and working his

way slowly down. Knowing how much Dent was starved for this simple sensation, he used it to
his advantage. Just as he’d suspected, Dent relaxed, pushing into his touch, leaning toward him
like a plant leaned toward the sun.

Chuckling, he started moving them slowly, a half-shuffle, down to the living room and

his big, comfy couch. All the while he touched and teased, finding Dent’s nipples and playing
with them, circling the little navel, and not quite going down to the newly bared skin.

Dent followed him, focusing on his touches, allowing him access to that sweet, delicious

need.

He giggled softly, so pleased, so happy.
They sank together onto the couch as he kissed Dent, fingers finally stroking the bared

skin around the man’s cock.

Dent moaned, the kiss deepening, Dent’s hands cradling his head.
Oh, he did like that. He liked Dent’s strength and the warmth of the man. He liked the

way Dent’s fingers felt on him.

He cupped Dent’s balls, rolling them gently.
Dent dragged him in closer, free hand sliding over him, slipping down his spine.
He shivered, offering his reactions to Dent. He would push the man, he would break

down barriers, but he would not let Dent believe he was alone.

He finally slid his hand along Dent’s prick, fingers tracing its shape, and enjoyed the way

Dent groaned into his lips, how Dent leaned and pulled him closer.

He pressed his thumb against Dent’s slit, not going in, just reminding the man of the

sound.

Dent shuddered, pulling back just a bit, gasping into their kiss.
“You liked that so much,” he murmured against Dent’s lips, his fingers wrapping loosely

around Dent’s prick and sliding.

“I … shh. You talk too much.” Dent whimpered, tongue sliding against his bottom lip.
Luttrell laughed softly. He suspected it was what he talked about that Dent objected to.
He caught Dent’s tongue between his lips and sucked on it. Oh, Dent enjoyed that,

muscles tensing and dragging him closer.

He rubbed against Dent’s skin, reveling in the warmth, in the softness over hard muscles.

He sucked harder on Dent’s tongue, worked the man’s cockhead. He wanted Dent to want him
even if the man didn’t believe he wanted what happened in the Room.

And Dent did want him. Honestly, when they were simply touching, Dent was a

generous, wanton man, eager to touch and be touched.

His free hand wandered to Dent’s back, fingers dancing over the man’s long spine. He

found a sweet bundle of nerves just above Dent’s ass where the man’s back dimpled in just a bit.
He teased and stayed there.

Dent almost—almost—laughed, jerking and pulling away from the touch.
“I want to taste you there,” murmured Luttrell, chuckling at Dent’s reaction. “Can you

imagine my tongue playing there?”

“Luttrell …” Dent arched, lips opening and closing.
“You can …” he giggled, pressing closer. “Can you imagine lying top to bottom with me,

Dent? I would like to taste you while you taste me.”

“Yes …” Dent took his lips in a hard, intense kiss. Yes, this man was more than eager,

more than willing to share.

When their lips finally parted, he held Dent’s eyes for a moment, smiling into them,

making a connection before he settled Dent against the back of the couch and shifted positions so
that they were each faced with the other’s hardness. He laughed and licked at the tip of Dent’s
cock, taking in the flavor of the man.

“You are quite mad.” Dent’s lips wrapped around his prick, the pressure sudden and

steady.

Any answer he might have made died as the sweet suction drew a moan out of him, and

then another. He wrapped his lips around Dent’s prick, determined to bring Dent as much
pleasure as was being given. It shocked him, the way Dent gave, the way the man was starved
for the most basic of contact.

His hands slid over Dent’s body, finding the strong thighs and rubbing, cupping the bare

balls, sliding back to squeeze the globes of Dent’s ass. Touching Dent felt good, sucking him felt
even better. Lutrell let his tongue play with the tip of Dent’s cock before his head bobbed down
along the shaft again.

Each touch to the tip of Dent’s cock made the man jump and jerk, low noises surrounding

his shaft. He set up a rhythm, touching the tip, pushing his tongue in just a bit, and then
swallowing the length. Over and over again as his own hips nearly trembled from the sensation
of Dent’s mouth around him.

Dent shuddered, hips beginning to rock, to push that prick into his lips, over and over.

Oh, yes! Full participation—this, Dent could admit to wanting. His joyous laughter vibrated
around Dent’s prick.

Dent’s hands wrapped around his hips, tugging him in deep, that throat closing around

the tip of his cock.

His own mouth went slack as his orgasm began gathering deep inside his belly. His balls

drew up tight and a shudder went through him as he shot into Dent’s mouth.

Dent kept tasting him, kept making him feel good as he shook and pressed in.
His own hips finally stilled, his breathing harsh around Dent’s prick, and it was several

more moments before he had the presence of mind to continue sucking on Dent’s own cock.

“More.” Pushy little bottom. He chuckled, Dent’s body strong and firm against him.

Well, perhaps not little …

He squeezed Dent’s ass again, fingers sliding along the crack to Dent’s hole. He nudged

it with a finger as he tapped Dent’s slit with his tongue.

Filthy words poured from Dent as Dent moved, rocked between his mouth and his

fingers. It was beautiful to see and feel Dent give in to his needs without a single word of protest.
Lutrell pushed one finger into Dent’s hole, his mouth tightening.

Seed pulsed into his lips, Dent’s need sharp on his tongue. He swallowed it all down,

Dent’s come warming his belly.

He licked and nibbled, cleaning Dent. Dent’s cheek was soft against his thigh, warm. He

could feel each of Dent’s breaths against his cock, and his own matched them almost without
thought as they lay quietly together.

Dent sighed softly, the breath tickling his skin. Luttrell’s fingers slid over skin, not letting

Dent have a moment without his touches, without him. He knew each time Dent blinked from the
brush of the long eyelashes.

“You’re enjoying your time here.” It wasn’t a question. He knew it to be true. Would

Dent be willing to admit it to himself yet?

“Parts of it.”
Luttrell threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, Dent. I have so enjoyed having you.”
“Yes, but you’re quite mad.” Was that a smile?
“But I’m not angry at all,” he teased.
Oh. A laugh from Dent. It drew out his own, and he was entirely charmed. He shifted and

wriggled so they were face to face. He traced Dent’s lingering smile with his tongue. Dent’s eyes
were closed, but the man wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t even faking sleep. They breathed the same air
for awhile, his fingers moving constantly on Dent’s skin.

Dent stretched, began shifting. Luttrell was surprised, pleasantly so, to have Dent move

with purpose against him, initiating more than just the lazy touching.

“You have so much to give,” he murmured. So much to learn and such need to

acknowledge.

“I have to get back to work, to my life.”
“Not until tomorrow morning. You are mine until then.” One day this would be Dent’s

life. “Besides. You don’t like your work, but this you do like.”

“You aren’t supposed to like your work.” Dent shook his head, refusing to meet his eyes.

“No?” He chuckled. “I love mine, Dent. Love it.”
“Yes, but we’ve already discovered that you’re quite mad.”
He stuck his tongue out at Dent. Mad. Him. Just because he enjoyed life. “You don’t

mean that.”

“I don’t?” That was almost a smile from Dent, almost.
“There’s a difference between happy and crazy, Dent. And if you were happier, you

would understand that.” He chuckled, sliding his body against Dent’s strength. “Maybe you need
another lesson.”

“I’m fine where I am.”
“But are you happy where you are?”
“What?” Dent’s eyes opened, staring at him.
“You said you were fine where you are. Is that good enough? Fine?” He shook his head.

“I do not want my life to simply be ‘fine.’”

“I am wealthy. Strong. It has to be enough.”
“Why? You could have so much more!” Luttrell couldn’t understand settling. Especially

that a man like Dent might.

“How much more would you have me work?”
Luttrell laughed, honestly tickled. “No, Dent. I would have you enjoy your life!”
“You are altogether too focused on being happy.” The dark brows lowered. “We are here

to work, to succeed.”

“Pshaw! Says who?” The poor man! No wonder Dent was so closed off and didn’t know

himself.

“Anyone. Everyone.” Dent shrugged, trying to hide away, pull away from him.
He pressed closer, hands going to Dent’s cheeks, not letting the man hide away. “We

work to live, we don’t live to work. Unless we love what we do.” He licked at Dent’s lips. “You
must learn to play, my dear. You must learn to take time to laugh.”

“I don’t have time, Luttrell. I never will.” So much sorrow.
“You do not make the time, Dent.” He waved one of his hands in the general direction of

his apartment. “Here is a place where you have the time. Here, you may laugh.”

“Does that mean we can simply relax here? No more fighting? No more time in the

chair?”

He laughed again. “Ah, but that is where I will teach you the greatest joys. And we have

plenty of time for another session.” His hand pushed down between them, taking Dent’s firming
prick and squeezing. “And you are not as adverse to the idea as you would like to pretend.”

Dent growled a bit. “We were having such a peaceful day. Don’t push.”
“It is my job to push, my dear. And I not only enjoy my job very much, I am very good at

it.” He stood and held out his hand. “I think, in fact, it is time for another session.” If only to
prove to Dent that Dent himself was not in charge here.

“Don’t do this. I’ve enjoyed you, so much.”
“You want it, Dent.” And if he gave in now, Dent would think him weak and never come

back. Taking Dent’s hands in his, he tugged firmly.

“No. I want to relax. To sit.” Dent’s lips tightened, chin set stubbornly.
“You will relax. And lie down.” He winked and chuckled, keeping it light even as he

tugged harder. He knew he was deceptively thin, and sure enough, Dent came up, obviously not
having credited his strength.

“Luttrell.” He could hear Dent’s breath speeding up, the fight about to begin yet again.

Dent’s denial ran very deep. It would take all his will to get past it. Luckily, he had plenty of
stubbornness of his own.

Chuckling, he patted Dent’s cheek. “Yes, my dear, that is my name.”
“Don’t patronize me.” Anger flared in those eyes along with a vague fear.
“Then don’t make me drag you back down the hall.” He pushed close again, taking a hard

kiss, tongue pushing into Dent’s mouth.

Dent stiffened, body fighting him even as his warm, kiss-swollen lips opened, parted.
He pressed his advantage, walking them down the hall as his tongue invaded Dent’s

mouth, distracting the man with the rub of their bodies together.

Dent stopped at the door, forehead against his. “Don’t do this.”
“You need it, my dear. You want it, somewhere inside yourself.”
“No. No, I just want to relax.”
He chuckled and drew Dent into the room. The man had a safeword and knew very well

how to use it. “You will not easily forget me,” he insisted.

“No, I will not.” Dent’s eyes clung to his, holding them together in the moment.
“Yes, Dent. I have willed it, and so shall it be.” He stroked one of Dent’s cheeks, then led

him to the chair. “One more time, one more night of sleep together, and you will be gone.”

But Dent would not forget. And he would come back.

Chapter Four

Dent stayed away for nearly a quarter, working furiously, making more creds in a few

cycles than he had in a decade. He worked until he couldn’t stand to go another day, couldn’t
bear the dreams, the need, the longing any longer.

Then, he headed back to the Glove, growling at the doorman and at security as he headed

upstairs.

A soft giggle greeted him as he stepped off the elevator. Familiar. The sound that had

haunted all his dreams. Dent shuddered, cock throbbing suddenly.

Lutrell was at his door, leaning on the wall next to it, grinning like a loon. “Oh, they said

you’d arrived home. I knew you’d come here first instead of where you really wanted to go. But
I thought that for once I could come to you.”

He didn’t answer, his hands just opening and closing over and over. He’d dreamed, so

often …

Lutrell chuckled. “And here I’d had a dream that you’d become less stubborn while you

were gone. My place or yours, my dear?”

“You dreamed of me, too?” He’d run all over the galaxy, lost thirty pounds. Driven

himself mad.

“I didn’t have the man himself on my table. I had to amuse myself somehow.” Lutrell

considered him and straightened, away from the wall, coming to link a hand around his arm.
“My place. You need this.”

“I …” He closed his eyes, leaned into the touch. No. Not needed. He wanted.
“Yes, you.” Lutrell walked him back to the elevator, the doors sliding closed behind them

with barely a sound.

Vibrating. Dent was vibrating, aching and shaking in his skin.
Lutrell pushed him up against the lift wall, laughing softly. “So stubborn. You should

have come back sooner.”

Then Dent’s mouth was covered, Lutrell’s laughter pushing right into him. Oh. He

groaned, meeting the kiss full-on, their tongues driving against each other. Lutrell’s fingers
opened his pants, one long-fingered hand sliding in and wrapping around his prick.

“Yes.” His hips jerked, fucking Lutrell’s hand, desperate, hungry.
The lift stopped, the doors opening. “We’ll finish this first,” Lutrell told him, eyes on his,

hand working with him, increasing the pleasure.

He nodded, lips open, pressing against Lutrell. Don’t stop.
Lutrell didn’t, tongue fucking his mouth now, mouth as hot and insistent as the hand on

his cock. Dent arched as he shot, hands holding Lutrell close.

Lutrell broke their kiss to paint Dent’s lips with his own come, which Lutrell then licked

off with slow flicks of his tongue.

Dent’s moan sounded loud to him, needy. “You haunt me.”
Lutrell’s chuckle was soft. “That is your own fault, my dear. You should have come

home sooner. Next time you won’t make me wait so long.”

He wouldn’t apologize. “I was working.”
There was that giggle again. He was beginning to realize that each of Lutrell’s laughs had

different meanings.

Lutrell tucked him back into his pants and took his arm again, leading him out of the lift

and toward Lutrell’s rooms. “My stubborn stud.”

“Yours? Are you sure?”
“Quite sure, actually.”
Lutrell led him through the door and along the familiar hallway, right into the room with

the table that had taken a starring role in most of his dreams. He followed, not sure whether or
not he wanted to be here, but knowing he was going to be.

His clothes were removed without a single word.
“Tell me,” Lutrell finally asked as Dent was encouraged to lie back on the table. “What

part of our time together did you dream of the most?”

“I … I …” He swallowed and shook his head, panicky. “I keep … I can’t remember.” All

he remembered were those eyes, the sensations of not having to be in control, of not having to be
right.

“That’s all right, my dear. You don’t have to remember, because I do. Oh, I really do.”

Lutrell laughed, hands busy tying him down to the table.

“Do you?” He pulled against the bonds, needing to know he couldn’t get free. Bastard,

making him think this way. He didn’t want this.

“Indeed. I do.” Lutrell hummed softly now, spreading Dent’s legs wide. “I remember the

ritual. Do you remember the ritual, Dent? What happens first?”

He nodded. What always happened first. “I remember.” He craved it.
“Good. Good.” That soft laughter filled the air, seemed to warm it. “I like this part a lot.”

Lutrell’s cloth began to slide over his skin.

He didn’t moan; he didn’t , but he couldn’t help how it eased him. He was washed from

head to toe, the soapy cloth not missing any part of him. Then the soap was washed away, his
body dried. The alcohol swab was next, cooling his skin, leaving behind a promise. It tingled, all
over, every inch of skin. It felt amazing. Made him feel alive.

He tugged at the bonds, groaned. “I don’t … I can’t think.”
Lutrell cackled. “You don’t need to think, my dear. You don’t need to think at all.” The

gloves went on, the latex snapping around Lutrell’s wrists.

“How do you know …” His cock throbbed, ached.
“Because I do.” Lutrell picked up a piece of tubing, showed it to him. “This one is wider

than the one we used last time. Just a little bit.”

His stomach clenched; he shook his head. “Don’t do this.”
“This one,” giggled Lutrell, “has a different tip. You see how this is flared slightly? Extra

sensation, a little stretch for you.”

“You … you enjoy your work too much.”
One of Lutrell’s fingers slid against his ass hole, rubbed. “Don’t you enjoy your work,

Dent?”

“No.” He hated it. The thought was sudden and sharp, surprising him.
“Oh, I am sorry, my dear.” Lutrell stroked his thigh gently, the touch comforting. Then

that finger returned to his hole, this time pushing in, slow and slick.

His eyes closed, his body trying to decide whether to fight or accept that touch.
“I do enjoy my work, but not too much. I don’t think you can enjoy this too much.” That

finger slid in and out, seeming to go deeper each time it penetrated him.

Dent’s thighs shook, trying to spread, to close, to do something .
“Another finger now, Dent. Just the two.” The stretch increased, Lutrell slowly working

two fingers inside him. “One day you’ll take my hand.”

He moaned, the thought of that overwhelming and uncomfortable and unnerving.
“Not today,” giggled Lutrell. “We’ll work up to it.”
The stretch eased as Lutrell’s fingers kept moving in and out of him. Finally, they pushed

in deeper than ever before, finding the gland inside him.

“You wouldn’t fit.” A hand. Inside him. Insane. No matter how impossibly good Lutrell’s

fingers felt, it would never fit.

Lutrell giggled. A loon. Dent didn’t know why he had come back. “It will fit. You’ll see.

One day.” Lutrell kissed him softly. “But not today.” Those fingers pushed and stretched inside
him. “Today is for this pretty little tube, and for getting you lovely and clean. And I have a pretty
little ring for your cock that gives the smallest, gentlest of shocks. It will make you soar.”

“Pretty.” He shook his head, heart pounding, shoulders lifting to beg another kiss.

“You’re mad.”

“No madder than anyone else. And I know what I want. What you want.” Lutrell smiled

at him, eyes dancing, and then he was given that kiss, Lutrell’s lips pressing firmly against his,
tongue invading, pressing into his mouth.

Dent moaned, the kiss easing him, arousing him, driving him mad.
Lutrell fucked his lips for several moments, fingers sliding in and out of his body with the

same eager rhythm. Then tongue and fingers both disappeared, Lutrell humming, mumbling
softly to himself.

He shivered, pulling against the bonds, fighting the need inside him.
Lutrell insisted on showing him the tubing again, the flared head at the end a gleaming

black. “It’s going to be so good.”

A soft giggle sounded, and then the tubing disappeared out of his range of sight. He could

certainly feel it, though, cool where Lutrell’s fingers had been hot, pushing insistently at his ass
hole.

“Don’t … I’m not ready …” He wasn’t. Not yet.
“Oh, my dear, if I wait for you to think you’re ready, you never will be.” Lutrell laughed

again and the cool plastic pushed into him, warming quickly as it breached his body.

“I’m not stupid. I know myself …” He shuddered, every nerve awake and ready.
“Intelligence has nothing to do with it. In fact, I’d say you’re quite smart indeed—after

all, you’ve spent years convincing yourself that you’re this big, bad top.” Lutrell giggled again
and manipulated the tubing, the flare on the end stretching him for long moments before pushing
all the way in, his hole closing tightly around the thinner base.

“Asshole. Don’t laugh at me!” he growled, fury finding him again in a rush.
“The only one who thinks I’m laughing at you is you.” Lutrell stroked his hole where it

was closed around the tubing. “So pretty. Are you ready for me to fill you? Good. Good.”

“No.” He shook his head, pulled away. “I’m not ready.”
“I say you are. The water is nice and warm. Once this isn’t enough, we’ll start playing.

Cold water. Water with additives to make you tingle inside.” Lutrell laughed softly as the first
rush of warm water pushed into him. “Oh, there is so much for us to do together. So very much.”

“I don’t like cold.” He breathed heavily, muscles tight and shaking.
“All the more reason for you to experience it.” One of Lutrell’s hands came to rest on his

belly, fingers stroking softly and then with more force as the water kept flowing into him.

“No.” His toes curled, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he fought his moan.
“You keep saying that.” Lutrell grinned down at him, eyes twinkling. “Do you want me

to suck you while you’re being filled?”

“Bastard.” He hated these games. That smile.
Lutrell giggled. “You didn’t say no.” With that, the man bent and took Dent’s cock into

that hot mouth, tongue swirling around his head, pressing momentarily into his slit.

He couldn’t stop the groan this time, the shudder.
Lutrell hummed around his prick, making his whole body vibrate. The water kept

pushing into him, filling him as surely as that mouth moved on him. The suction was strong,
sliding along his length, distracting him from the way his body was being invaded. He wanted to
fight it, to growl out his anger, his vulnerability.

Lutrell’s head bobbed, the hums and laughs continuing, keeping his cock vibrating. One

of Lutrell’s hands kept working his stomach gently, chasing away cramps, while the other slid
over his balls, his inner thighs, the place where the tubing went into him.

“Don’t. Don’t touch me there.” So vulnerable. So full.
Lutrell’s mouth came up off his cock. The man’s fingers did not stop touching him.

“This? But you like it. You need it. To know that I will still touch you. Shall I lick you there?”

“No. No.” He shook his head. Not with the tube in.
Lutrell giggled. “There’s that word again.” Lutrell’s head disappeared between his legs,

hot tongue sliding over his skin where it was stretched around the tube.

He jerked, body shaking. “Don’t. Lutrell. Please. Don’t.” He didn’t want to think about

controlling his body; not now, not here.

Lutrell hummed and kept licking, tongue pointed, tracing around and around the tubing.
“Stop. Stop. I don’t—don’t.” He started struggling, body starting to respond.
“I’ll stop when you’ve come,” Lutrell murmured, tongue tracing around the stretched

skin again and again. One hand slid around his cock, thumb playing across the tip, slipping and
sliding in the pre-come dripping there, pushing against his slit.

He shook his head, refusing to participate, to do this. No.
Lutrell persisted, tongue hot and slick on his skin, working his cock, coaxing out his

pleasure.

“Please …” He sobbed, legs trying to pull up to ease the cramps, the pressure.
“Yes, please, show me your pleasure, Dent. Come for me.”
Lutrell’s fingers tugged hard on his cock, squeezing the head and then working the

entirety of it with quick, sharp movements. All the while that tongue played at the place where
the tubing pushed into his body.

He shuddered, jerking violently as his seed spilled from him, his cries echoing out.
Lutrell purred, the sound soft, gentle, as was the tongue that finally left his hole in order

to lick the come from his skin.

“Beautiful,” Lutrell told him, eyes on his.

Dent just whimpered, trying to breathe.
“I’m going to take the tubing out now, my dear. Hold tight until I tell you you can let it

go.”

He was kissed. A soft drop of lips on his own, on his breastbone, the tip of his cock, his

balls, and then the tubing was sliding away, the flared head stretching him wide as it pulled
away.

“I can’t. I can’t .” He jerked, heart fluttering, panicked.
“Yes, you can.”
The tubing and its weird head was suddenly gone, his muscles seeming to snap closed.
“You see?”
“Please. Please. So full.”
“I won’t make you wait long, my dear. Not long at all.” He could hear the table being

changed, a soft waft of air suddenly hitting his skin as it was opened beneath his ass. “There.
Now we’ll stay clean, yes?” Lutrell laughed softly. “Such strength. You may let go now, my
dear.”

Lutrell’s hand wrapped around his prick, sliding slowly up and down it.
“I don’t. Don’t make me.”
“Don’t make you what? Let go? You need to, my dear. You need to let go of the water.

Of your pleasure, your pain. Your control.”

“No …” He sobbed softly, body aching, desperate.
Lutrell’s hand continued to work his cock, almost idly, as the man laughed. “I can wait.

Eventually you will have to let it all go.”

“I don’t want to!”
“Oh, Dent …” Lutrell’s lips slid softly against his, so gentle, tongue flicking out to wet

his skin. “This isn’t about what you want. It’s about what you need.”

“I need up. I need out.” He groaned, eyes wet, heart pounding.
“You fight everything so hard. Have you always fought yourself so, Dent? Choosing a

job you don’t like, playing with little ones who can’t satisfy you?” And still that hand worked
him, thumb flicking across the head of his cock on every upstroke.

“Yes. Yes. Stop. I can’t do this.” He couldn’t. He was scared.
“But you are doing it. Fighting it with everything you have, but doing it.” Lutrell laughed

again, the sound echoing in the room. The hand around his prick squeezed tight and the fingers
of Lutrell’s other hand slid between his legs again, pressing one after the other against his tightly
clenched hole. “I am as stubborn as you, Dent. I am even more stubborn than you.”

“I will. Not. Embarrass. Myself.” Not.
Lutrell bent to whisper in his ear. “I do not believe that your letting go is shameful, Dent.

I believe it is beautiful. So beautiful it makes me ache.”

“Please.” He whimpered and hid his face in Lutrell’s neck as his body betrayed him.
Lutrell groaned as the sound of the enema leaving Dent echoed in the room. “Yes, so

beautiful.” Lutrell’s fingers framed Dent’s face, turned his head so Lutrell could see him. The
man laughed, pure joy in the sound, in the eyes that looked into his own, into him. “I ache deep
inside just from looking at you.”

“I don’t. Please. I’m …” Scared. He was scared.
“I need to come, Dent. I need to come on you, in you. Are you ready? I want to fill you

with my seed.” Lutrell’s need made his voice harsh.

Dent met Lutrell’s eyes, moaning as he nodded. Yes. Yes, he was ready.

“Yes, I thought so. I thought you might need as much as I do.” Lutrell stripped quickly,

eagerness apparent in every motion. Eagerness for him. Lutrell wanted him. And he wanted
Lutrell, wanted to be touched. Filled. Felt.

Lutrell did something with the table, sealing the opening once more, then climbed up

between his spread legs. Warm skin slid along his inner thighs as Lutrell slowly slicked up his
own cock before placing it at Dent’s hole. So hot, so hard, the blunt head pushed at him.

“I … I …” He groaned, throat working.
Lutrell’s eyes held his, saw him, saw into him. “So tight,” murmured Lutrell, another

joyous peal of laughter sounding. “So wonderfully tight.”

The head of Lutrell’s cock pierced him, pushed past his entrance.
“I’ve never …”
“You were waiting for me. It isn’t very enlightened, but I like the fact that no one else has

done this to you.” Lutrell’s mouth covered his, the kiss sudden and passionate. The cock inside
him stayed where it was, just the head breaching him, stretching him so wide.

Dent pushed himself into the kiss, moaning, hips trying to rock, to move. To get more.
Lutrell’s tongue fucked his mouth, deep and hard, that cock just inside his body staying

maddeningly still. Insane. Lutrell was driving him insane.

Lutrell’s lips left his and those eyes stared down at him, into him. “Do you feel it yet?

Feel that ache that burns right through you? Do you need me more than you need to deny
yourself?”

He groaned, eyes closing, trying to hide at least that much of himself. “More.”
“Yes, my dear. You need more. And so do I.” Lutrell’s voice broke on the last word and

that thick cock surged into him, spreading him impossibly wide.

“Oh …” He tugged against the bonds, body screaming, begging for more sensation.

“Lutrell!”

“Say my name again,” Lutrell demanded, cock sliding slowly almost all the way out and

then thrusting back into him again. “Say it again.”

“Lutrell. Again. I need.” Please. He needed.
A long moan came from Lutrell and the man plunged into him again and then again,

thrusts beginning to jar his whole body.

Dent stopped thinking, stopped worrying and simply felt, hips meeting each thrust, words

pouring from him.

Sweet laughter came from Lutrell, his eyes alight. There was no mocking in the sound.

Dent knew he was not being laughed at, not for this.

“So good, Dent. Come with me, come with me.”
“With you. Yes. Please.” He jerked, toes curling.
One of Lutrell’s hands slid back around his cock, tugging as Lutrell’s thrusts became

jerky, out of control. “Now! Do it now, Dent!”

“Lutrell …” He arched, room going grey and swimmy as he shot. The only thing that was

solid and real was the cock inside him, the heat that pushed so deeply into him when Lutrell
came with a loud cry. He held on to the sensation, the feeling, heart pounding furiously.

Soft kisses slowly brought the world back into focus, Lutrell’s lips sliding on his face, his

neck, gentle and tender. Caring for him.

“I don’t want to leave.” Not yet.
“Good, good. I want you to stay. We have only just begun.” Lutrell laughed softly, the

sound going through him, filling him even as Lutrell’s cock slid out of him.

His eyes closed, breath slowing, fight completely gone. For the moment.

* * * * * *

Lutrell carefully cleaned Dent. One day, perhaps soon, he would use a plug to keep his

seed inside Dent’s body. So many new things already, though. This was likely not the day to
begin that ritual.

Instead, he removed his gloves, undid the restraints, and began to massage Dent’s

muscles, working out the kinks. He took his time, letting Dent feel each touch, taking care to
make sure each beautiful muscle was eased, relaxed.

“How do you feel?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
That didn’t surprise him. Dent knew so little about himself. He tried to hold back his

chuckle, really he did, and he managed to make it just a single giggle before he closed his lips
over Dent’s right nipple to quiet the sound. He flicked his tongue across the small nub of flesh
and then blew on it. “Do you hurt anywhere?”

That earned him a soft purr. Lovely. “No. No, I don’t hurt. I feel shaky.”
Shaky was good. It meant Dent’s long suppressed needs were beginning to push their

way through his barriers, the tricks Dent played on his own mind.

Lutrell bent back to the same nipple, gently playing with it, using his tongue to tease as

his hand dropped to Dent’s cock. He didn’t need it hard hard, just interested. Then, he would slip
on the electro ring. It was a new one, self-contained, and didn’t require wires or a second ring to
deliver low-level pulses. He would only leave it in place and give Dent time to recover, to
anticipate what it might do.

Dent sighed softly, relaxing, one hand on Lutrell’s head, petting him gently.
Lutrell nuzzled into the touch, encouraged by Dent’s willingness to be close, to initiate

contact. It felt good to know that, beneath all his refusals and denials, Dent felt something for
him.

He slipped the simple ring down to the base of Dent’s cock and pumped a couple more

times, making sure Dent was hard enough that the ring would stay on.

“Come now,” he murmured, hands sliding beneath Dent’s shoulders, encouraging the

man to stand. “Come and share a meal with me. We’ll dress and go to the dining room, see what
wonders are on display tonight.”

Dent looked at him, shook his head. “Not tonight. I’ve been going so long, Lutrell, and

the club was busy when I came in. Can we not rest, one night?”

He tilted his head to the side. It was a sincere and honest request, not an attempt to take

control. Dent was simply tired. “Will you feed me if we stay in? Let me feed you? Without
complaint?”

“Yes.”
Oh, those honest reactions could become addictive. “Then we can rest tonight. But we are

only postponing our dinner out.” He pulled on his pants and slipped the little controller for the
ring Dent wore into one of the pockets. Then, with Dent still quite naked, he led them back to the
front room.

“You may tell me why you chose a job you hate while we wait for our food.”
“I didn’t choose it.” Dent settled on the couch, curling up in a soft blanket. “And thank

you, by the way.”

Lutrell folded himself down next to Dent, sitting close enough that he could easily touch

Dent. “Thank you?” Honest emotion followed by gratitude. He was affecting Dent.

“For understanding about the meal.” The edge crept into Dent’s voice.
He stroked Dent’s arm, hating that the melted relaxation was so quickly chased away by

Dent’s pre-conceived notions of who and what he was. “I’m not a monster, my dear.”

“No, you’re a madman.” He almost got a grin.
He laughed. “Well, at least I’m a happy madman.” One day he would have laughter from

Dent. Honest, true, joyful laughter.

“Now, you changed the subject. You were telling me about this job you didn’t choose.

Was it thrust upon you? And if you dislike it so, why are you still there?” He kept touching Dent,
little strokes over the man’s skin, not trying to arouse, just refusing to let Dent hide from him.

“I am good at it. Successful.” Dent’s eyes closed, leaning toward his touch.
“Does it count as successful if you don’t like doing it?” Lutrell loved his job so very

much—he couldn’t imagine doing something every single day that didn’t bring him joy. He
traced Dent’s features, taking the closed eyes as an opportunity to really study the man without
being noticed.

So strong, so tense—Dent was really quite handsome, especially relaxed and at ease.
“Yes. If the coffers are full, you’re a success.”
“Oh, I hold a different standard,” he murmured, leaning forward to lick at Dent’s lips,

just a gentle swipe of his tongue over the soft, warm skin.

Dent sighed again, eyes still closed. “Everyone has a different one.”
“Perhaps you should change yours.” He pushed the blanket from Dent’s shoulders,

tracing the broad muscles. Dent truly was a good looking man.

“A leopard cannot change his spots.” Those muscles shifted, tensed and relaxed.
He laughed, fingers moving to the front of Dent’s body, dipping into the hollows along

Dent’s collarbones. “Good thing you aren’t a leopard then, isn’t it?”

Dent actually chuckled, shifted away from the touch a bit.
He moved in closer, refusing to let Dent back away from him. “What work would you

prefer doing?”

“What does it matter? Should I wish to be a painter or a pilot or a poet? I make money.”
“You don’t believe your own happiness matters?” That would explain a lot.
“I am successful, wealthy. Why shouldn’t I be happy?”
“All I know is that you aren’t happy, Dent. Not in your job or your life.”
“It doesn’t matter, Lutrell. Not at all.”
Lutrell sighed, leaned in to kiss Dent, his tongue slowly pushing into Dent’s mouth. It

might not matter to Dent, but it mattered to him.

Dent opened to him, so responsive to kisses, so eager for them. Lutrell wasn’t sure if it

was the intimacy, the familiarity, or something else, but he enjoyed them as well, enjoyed the
things he could learn from Dent by the simple joining of their mouths. And he enjoyed the taste
and the warmth of Dent’s mouth, the heat of the man’s tongue as it danced with his own.

He deepened the kiss, bending Dent back against the couch. Dent stiffened, body fighting

him instinctively, without thought, like a bad habit. He slowed the thrust of his tongue, but didn’t
back off. His hand stroked along Dent’s side, gentling the man as he might a skittish child or
animal.

It worked, Dent easing, relaxing, purring for him. He coaxed Dent’s tongue back into his

own mouth, offering control of the kiss for a brief moment as a reward. The man enjoyed
kissing, Lutrell could tell in the way Dent reached for him, shared with him.

They traded control of the kiss back and forth, Lutrell not trying to turn the intimacy into

more than it was. It didn’t all have to be about letting go and being kept off-balance. Sometimes
it was just about sharing, about warmth. About caring for another human being.

Dent held him, fingers stroking his spine, the touch almost gentle. He wasn’t used to

being touched very much. His was a very particular specialty, and he usually did all the touching.
And then, of course, was the fact that he was long and gaunt. “Skeletal,” as one sub had called
him. He supposed it was fitting, given his profession.

“You have good hands,” he told Dent. “Your work should involve them.”
“Thank you. I enjoy … touching.” One hand slid over his belly. “I really don’t want to

talk about my work, Lut … Do you have a first name?”

He pushed into the touch on his stomach. It had been too long since he’d taken on a lover

just for himself. And he dared hope … “It’s Bertoli. Nobody uses it.” No one.

“Bertoli. I like it.”
The touches continued, Dent melted and easy against him.
“Oh. Really?” No one had ever liked it before. Not even himself. His parents had called

him Bert, his friends Berty and when he got older, Lutrell. It had a certain ring to it, though,
when spoken in Dent’s voice as those fingers touched him in places that had been untouched for
so long.

“It sounds … musical.” Dent sighed, rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m tired and silly.”
Lutrell shook his head. “No. No, that wasn’t silly. I liked it.” He did. For the first time

that he could remember, he liked his name. And that was a little scary, how this thing with Dent
was changing him. Which perhaps was only fair, as he was certainly changing Dent, or at least
forcing the man to look into places he’d kept hidden from himself.

“It’s been a long few cycles. So long.” Dent’s eyes were closed, the touches roaming,

idle, fascinating.

“Yes, it has. You are very stubborn.” He laughed softly and then sobered and admitted

quietly. “I missed you. I was very glad to hear that you had returned.”

“You haunted me. I couldn’t escape you.”
“Oh, I like the sound of that. I’m inescapable.” He giggled and nodded, letting his head

rest on Dent’s shoulder as he returned the soft touches he was given.

Dent snorted, shifted so they were more comfortable. “That’s right. Unavoidable.”
He giggled some more. “Yes, that’s me.” He turned his head, nuzzling into Dent’s neck

as his fingers played with the skin just over Dent’s hip, fascinated by the little indent.

Dent shifted, moaned just so quietly. “That tickles.”
“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, putting just a little more pressure in his touch.
“No. Not yet.” Dent swallowed hard, cock twitching.
Lutrell chuckled softly. No, he hadn’t thought so. He expanded the reach of his fingers,

but didn’t venture over to Dent’s cock right away. “I would like you to continue as well,” he
offered, his own cock quite hard.

Dent didn’t try to push his hand, didn’t attempt to have him touch the slowly filling prick.

No, Dent seemed to be wallowing in the touches. He wondered, suddenly, if anyone ever
touched Dent any more than they touched him. After all, the man’s file said he never had sex
with the little subs he spent time with.

“Who last touched you?” he asked.
“You did.”
He laughed. “Before me, my dear.”

Dent shrugged. “I don’t remember. Some man.”
He licked at the skin of Dent’s neck. “It doesn’t sound like very much fun.” He was of

the opinion that Dent had far too little to enjoy in his life. Lutrell planned to change that,
believed he already was.

“Life isn’t always fun.” Dent’s chin lifted.
“But it doesn’t need to always be serious and all work, either.” His teeth scraped over

Dent’s Adam’s apple, tongue following behind.

“You aren’t serious?”
Was that a joke? He drew back a little to look into Dent’s face, tilting his head. “Not

always, no, and more often than you would think.”

Dent looked at him, eyes almost … warm. “Indeed?”
“I am very serious about you. Serious about enjoying you, enjoying what we do

together.” He laughed. “Joy and seriousness are not mutually exclusive.”

“You talk too much, Bertoli.” He was tugged close, Dent kissing him once again.
He decided that he definitely liked his name on Dent’s tongue, and he laughed into the

kiss, his hands sliding to curl around the strong shoulders.

Dent’s hands wrapped around his waist, holding him close.
He slid his tongue into Dent’s mouth, taking control of the kiss, rubbing against the

strong body.

Dent moaned, fingers tensing, trying to figure out what to do. His stubborn lover.
He backed off a little, fingers sliding down into his pocket, fingering the control for the

little ring around Dent’s cock. He’d bet anything Dent had forgotten it was even there.

He bit at Dent’s bottom lip, hit the control for barely a second.
Dent jerked away from him, eyes huge. “What?”
He chuckled. “Did you like it, my dear?”
“What was it?” Dent’s hand dropped to his cock, moving to pull the ring off.
“No, no, no, leave it there.” He took Dent’s hand and twined their fingers together. “It

was just a little shock.”

“I—a shock? On my prick?” Dent started to get tight, worried.
“Yes. Did you like it?” He stroked along Dent’s side with his free hand and nibbled at the

man’s chin.

“No … I … I don’t …”
He could feel Dent’s heart beating.
He brought their mouths back together again, sliding his tongue between Dent’s lips. He

couldn’t help but notice the man’s cock was still hard.

Dent opened his mouth, a bit shaky, a bit tentative, eyes searching for his.
He hummed a little, letting the controller go and using both hands to touch Dent. His

fingers gently flicked across the man’s nipples, his tongue sliding in and out of Dent’s mouth. It
was a fascination, the way Dent melted, eased for his kisses. He kept them going, leaning up to
bend Dent back against the couch again, hovering over the muscled body.

Dent shuddered, arched, so sensual. Lutrell moaned, brought their bodies together, Dent’s

chest hot against his own.

He slid his hand back into his pocket and took the controller out before whispering.

“Take off my pants.”

Dent nodded, fingers working his fly open, smoothing the slacks over his hips. He

moaned, his cock surging out toward Dent.

“Hungry …” Lutrell said.
Dent’s fingers slid over his prick, weighing it. He laughed. “You or me?” Oh. A laugh.
“You, of course. Madman.”
Lutrell threw back his head and let his joy out. If he was lucky, he would be given more

laughs from Dent, and eventually they would not sound so unused. “I think you’re hungry, too.”

Dent nipped at his throat. “Not me.”
Chuckling, he bent his head back, giving Dent a larger portion to work with. They shared

moans, Dent’s lips trailing along his jugular.

He slid a hand over Dent’s head, through the short hair. He was hungry, so very hungry

for the touches, the licks. Where had all this need come from? Where had it been hiding?

“Do you want to taste me?” he asked, shuddering at the thought of Dent’s mouth on his

cock.

Dent didn’t say yes, but the moan he received was raw, needy, Dent’s hands moving him

upward.

Oh. Oh, he hadn’t expected Dent to acquiesce, at least not quite so easily, and he

whimpered, the sound as needy as any Dent had made. He straddled Dent’s waist, rising up onto
his knees, which brought his cock nearly to Dent’s mouth. His hands were trembling, one curled
around the controller, the other on Dent’s shoulder. Dent’s mouth burned around him, tongue
soft, lips wrapping around his shaft as he was sucked.

“Oh! Dent! Please.” Oh, he was begging, and he didn’t care. He watched, fascinated, at

the sight of Dent’s mouth around his prick. Had Dent ever done this for anyone else before?
Ever?

Those lovely eyes grew hot, hungry, suction increasing, enough to drive him mad. A

shudder went through him, the pleasure shooting through his body like an electrical storm. “Oh.
Have you? Ever?”

Dent didn’t answer, just moved faster, hands wrapped around his hips.
By the gods, it was fantastic. He watched and felt, his hand opening and closing on

Dent’s shoulder. “Oh, don’t stop, Dent.” He could feel the pleasure building in him, the sweet
laughter that would burst from him when his seed did.

Dent moaned, humming around his cock.
His hips started to move, the rhythm as ancient as their heartbeats, pushing his prick

between Dent’s lips, sliding it along the man’s tongue.

Dent made the sweetest, sexiest sounds, rocking and bobbing around his prick.
“Soon, Dent. Oh.” He laughed softly, the pleasure too much to hold back. “Soon.”
Dent looked up at him, throat working, eyes slightly wild.
That look, and being pretty sure he was the only one who ever saw it, sent him over the

edge and he poured his pleasure into Dent’s mouth, the laughter just pouring from him, filling
the air with the sounds of how much he enjoyed this.

Dent coughed a bit, but managed, letting him slide free, then hiding his face against

Lutrell’s belly. He stroked Dent’s head, giggling softly. “Oh, that was lovely. So good.”

Dent stayed quiet, hidden, resting against him.
He eased back down, sitting on Dent’s legs, fingers beneath Dent’s chin, turning his face

up. “You may hide from yourself if you must, Dent, but do not hide from me.”

“I … I’m not. I don’t …”
He looked into Dent’s worried eyes. “I think you need some distraction, my dear.” And

he had just the thing in the palm of his hand.

He kissed Dent first, tasting himself on Dent’s lips, moaning at the flavor of the two of

them twisted together. Dent fought him, just for a moment, before those lips parted and let him
have his kiss. He kept kissing, searching for Dent’s response, for that easement that Dent always
found in the joining of their mouths.

Dent relaxed, moaned and purred into the kiss, hands tugging him close.
He wrapped his free hand around Dent’s prick, stroking it gently as they kissed.
Then, he let it go and hit the controls, giving Dent a quick, short shock.
Dent’s eyes went wide, the long body shifting away.
Lutrell shook his head. “Don’t pull away from me, Dent.” He could shock Dent from

across the room, but the soothing and cuddling could only be done while they were close.
“You’ll grow to love it,” he added, sending another small shock through the ring.

“I—don’t—it’s …” Dent groaned, hands fluttering around his groin.
He chuckled softly. “It’s big, I know.” He grasped one of Dent’s hands, twined their

fingers together. “Don’t try to take it off, my dear. I don’t want to restrain you.”

“Don’t.” Dent squeezed his fingers, fighting again, full bore.
He squeezed back, holding on as he sent another shock through Dent’s still hard prick.

He knew the man would take to this, would get off on it.

Dent shook his head, hips jerking. “Please. I don’t.”
“You don’t want to admit you like it, I know.” He chuckled and slid a finger over Dent’s

lips.

Dent nipped his finger. “Take it off. You don’t know it’s safe.”
He laughed out loud at that. “Dent—I’m a doctor ! Of course it’s safe.” Still chuckling,

he zapped Dent again, a little longer this time.

“Turn it off. Turn it off.” Dent slipped from under him, off the sofa.
“Don’t run away from me.” He zapped Dent again.
Something close to true anger, fueled by panic, landed in Dent’s eyes. “Don’t tell me

what to do.”

“But that’s what you’re here for.” He stood and reached out, stroking Dent’s cheek. “I

already told you I would not hurt you.”

“But that’s … Don’t. I … I can’t do this.”
Lutrell leaned in and kissed Dent again, tongue pushing into Dent’s mouth when the man

would have drawn back.

“You …” Dent tore their mouths apart a moment, panting. “You can’t keep distracting

me!”

“And you can’t keep denying what you want. What you need .” He brought their mouths

together again, taking this kiss.

Dent moaned, hands fastening on his arms, holding him still.
He broke the kiss long enough to whisper, “Stubborn man,” then he pushed their mouths

back together. Their teeth clicked with the force of the kiss, his tongue pushing deep.

Dent gasped, hands grasping, bending with the force of the kisses.
That was it, keep Dent off balance, but clinging to him, not pushing away. He reached

with his free hand and began to stroke Dent’s prick, thumb sliding across the tip.

Dent held tight, deep sounds pushing into his mouth, the heavy cock going harder than

ever.

“You’ll come for me when I say so,” Lutrell murmured, going back to the kiss

immediately.

Those pretty eyes held his, so hungry and scared all at once. He stared right back,

keeping Dent’s focus right on him. His hand kept working Dent’s hardness. He would let Dent
come with a last shock.

Dent rocked, starting to respond, to fuck his fingers.
“Yes,” he growled into Dent’s mouth, waiting for that moment when Dent couldn’t

possibly hold back a moment longer.

Dent hummed, muscles going tight and hard against him.
Lutrell laughed, so pleased. He pulled away from the kiss, but remained pressed up close.

“Now,” he told Dent as he pressed the controller, shocking Dent once again. “Come for me
now.”

“I …” Dent jerked away, shooting as Lutrell’s hand left his hard cock, Dent’s knees

buckling.

Lutrell moaned, going down with Dent, tossing the controller as his arms went around the

sinking body. “There. There, my dear. Wasn’t that something? Just so beautiful to watch you.”
He laughed softly. “So beautiful.”

“Not beautiful.” Dent was going to fall asleep before their food came.
“Oh, my dear, when you come you are so beautiful it hurts. I think I’ve told you this

before.” He managed to get Dent somewhat upright and over to the couch before it was too late
and the man was asleep on the floor.

He slipped the ring off Dent’s prick and wrapped the lax form in the blanket. “You’re

quite beautiful like this, too.” His giggles were soft, quiet. “All melted because of me .”

“Yes. I missed you.” Dent was nearly asleep, breathing slow.
He beamed. He had just pushed Dent further than the man had ever dreamed and as a

result, he got the simple truth from Dent.

“Sleep now. Everything else will keep.”

* * * * * *

Dent slept hard, relaxing from balls to bones, waking every few hours to reach for

Bertoli, tug them together, then sink beneath the waves.

It was his bladder that woke him fully, had him stumbling toward the head.
Bertoli came in just as he flushed the toilet, smiling warmly at him, chuckling softly.

“Ah, that’s better, isn’t it? I bet you’re hungry, too.”

He nodded, still blinking slowly as he stumbled toward the shower. Bertoli started the

water; it wasn’t quite hot enough, but not so cool it was worth complaining over.

“I have a new soap. It smells of the ocean. Have you ever seen the ocean, my dear?”
“On many planets.” He stepped in, stretching under the water.
“Oh, yes. Travels. For your work. Do you take time to visit the places you go to?” Bertoli

asked him, hands working the soap up into a lather. It did smell of the ocean.

“I rarely have time.” He breathed in deep, enjoying the scent.
“That seems like such a shame. You should make the time.” Bertoli’s hands began to

slide on him, slick from the soap, warm. Head to toe and every crevice in between. There was no
place on his body that Bertoli did not touch. It left him shaky, off-balance. His own hands trailed
over whatever skin he could reach on Bertoli.

Bertoli made a half-laughing, half-purring noise. Once he’d washed and rinsed Dent from

top to bottom, he started pushing into Dent’s touches. Bertoli’s skin fascinated his hands, the
lean body warm, alive, happy.

Asshole.
“Are you hungry, my dear?” Bertoli asked him, undulating in his hands. “For food? For

something other than food?”

“I think yes is probably my answer.” He was hungry, hungry all through.
Bertoli laughed, the sound truly happy, hands clapping together. “We’re here now, and

eager. Let us sate this hunger first and then we’ll go to the kitchen.”

Dent chuckled, shook his head and leaned in to take a kiss, tongue pushing into the

laughing mouth.

Bertoli’s lips wrapped around his tongue, sucking on it vigorously, the clever hands

moving on him, already knowing where to touch him to bring him the most pleasure. He was no
slouch himself, searching out each of Bertoli’s hot spots, wanting to make the man fly. Sweet
chuckles and soft laughs filled the shower, Bertoli’s face a study in pleasure and happiness, more
responsive than any of the little subs he’d been toying with.

It was what he wanted, to know that Bertoli was with him, paying attention.
“So sensuous,” laughed Bertoli, pushing into his hands, fingers toying with his nipples.

“So very sensual.”

He shivered, twisting away a little before pushing back. “You and your laugh …”
It sounded again, Bertoli rubbing against him, pushing into his hands. “You will always

know when you have pleased me.”

“And when I don’t?” He leaned harder, hands trailing down the flat belly.
“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 Five

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 pleased 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.

Then, he sat and closed his eyes, making himself breathe slowly and calmly as he waited.
Doctor Trip’s little sub commed him, the soft voice unmistakable. “Sir? Trip says your

patient is here. He has been heavily sedated and is on IV fluids and antibiotics. Are you equipped
for that?”

“Yes, I am. Just make sure the details are on his chart. I am a fully licensed surgeon.” He

took another breath, his heart trip-hammering. “Have any of his injuries been attended to?”

Trip came on the comm. “It looks as if triage bandaged his open wounds, Lutrell, and

that’s about it.”

“All right. I should be able to handle everything else. I will comm you if I need help.

Send him up.”

He knew Dent would be delivered on an adjustable stretcher, and so he would do his

work in the back room, not wanting to have Dent associate his playroom with actual surgery and
doctoring as opposed to the sexual variety.

He got out his bag and set up his instruments, making sure his suturing and burn kits were

complete and easily accessible. Of course, those were just the injuries he knew to expect. Then,
he went to the door, anxious for Dent to just be here already.

Dent was rolled in, mummy-wrapped on the stretcher, Mal and Trip pushing him, Ghost,

Trip’s companion, carrying bags.

Lutrell felt a calm come over him. Dent was here. He was home. And now Lutrell could

get to work, could do something.

“Bring him to the back room,” he directed.
“Do you have everything you need, Lutrell?” They rolled Dent back down the hall,

careful not to knock the stretcher against the walls.

He followed them, eager to unwrap Dent, to begin. “I believe so. I will comm you if I

need anything. Has he woken at all? Said anything?”

Mal’s pale eyes met his. “He asked for you.”
“Oh.” He nodded, head going up. Yes. Dent knew what he needed, was desperate enough

to ask for it. “Excellent. That is a very good sign.”

Mal agreed. “He was dazed. He didn’t recognize me. He just muttered and panicked and

called out.”

“Well, when he comes out of the sedative, he’ll see me and know he’s been rescued.” His

lips actually twitched, it felt so good to have Dent back with him. “Although he may believe he’s
gone from one captor to another, I at least am the one he knows.” The one he wants.

Ghost blinked up, stared at him. “You aren’t a captor. You’re his home.”
“Oh.” He did laugh softly then, the first he’d laughed in weeks, so long. “Thank you,

Ghost.”

Ghost nodded, smiled at him, so dear. “You’re welcome, sir.”
Trip beamed and put his arm around Ghost’s waist, giving the sweet young man a hug as

soon as Dent’s stretcher was locked in place beneath the lights.

“You call me if you need assistance,” Trip told him. “Or more of anything. There’s a

package of the antibiotics he’s on there under the stretcher. Kestrel said you’d already brought in
everything else you’d need. You know where to find me if something comes up.”

“Yes, Trip, thank you. Thank you.”
He was so glad to have their help, to know that should he need anything there would be

someone here at the Glove ready to step in. Now, however, he needed everyone to go . He
needed to unwrap Dent and check to see for himself how bad things were.

“Trip? Love? Lutrell needs us to go.” Ghost tugged at Trip, at Mal, the lad fearless and

sure. Such insight for one so young.

Lutrell nodded. He would make no apologies for his need for them to leave. He knew

they would understand.

They left him with Dent, silent and still and sedated, skin dark against the sheets.
He went to the small sink and washed his hands carefully, using plenty of soap. He

grabbed a pair of sterile gloves and the surgical scissors and began to slowly remove the
bandages from Dent’s body.

“It is me, my dear. Lutrell. Your Bertoli.”
Dent’s mouth moved as the gaunt body was slowly exposed to Lutrell’s eyes.

Lacerations, hematomas, one slice brutal and infected—but Dent was not dead. Not dying.
Gaunt. Like himself. It wasn’t something he had ever desired to see in Dent.

But not dead. He repeated that to himself. That was the important thing.
He stroked Dent’s face, fingers softly touching the skin where it wasn’t damaged. “I’ll

get you all fixed up, my dear. From top to bottom and inside, too.”

Dent was feverish, heated to the touch, eyes rolling behind his eyelids.
“Easy, my dear, easy. You remember how we always start, yes? I shall clean you.

Something a little stronger than just soap and water, I think.”

He wet a cloth from a bottle he’d prepared earlier, antibiotics and a gentle cleanser mixed

together to clean and disinfect Dent’s skin. He began with the familiar face made strange by loss
of weight and drugs. The heavy beard and hair had been shaved—undoubtedly to get rid of the
bugs and filth. At least there were no burns on Dent’s face. Cuts, bruises, but no burns.

Lutrell made soft noises, not really talking to Dent, but wanting the man to hear his voice,

to know that he was free, that he was home.

He washed Dent’s face and then his neck, working carefully over an angry burn mark,

knowing it would be painful but that he must clean it to battle infection. “I’m sorry, my dear. If I
had my wish, the only pain I would inflict would be for the sake of giving you pleasure.”

Dent whimpered softly, pulling away, eyelids fluttering. “Ber …”
“Yes, yes, my dear. It is your Bertoli.” Yes, no one had ever called him that but Dent. He

liked it when Dent called him by his first name. “And I am sorry for this pain. I must clean you. I
must remove the filth and disease those animals left you in.”

“Home …” Dent started shifting, trying to wake up.
Lutrell stroked Dent’s cheek. “Yes. Home, my dear. You are home.” He wasn’t sure if he

should allow Dent to wake, but he could spray each wound after he cleaned it, dull the pain. And
when it came time to work on the nasty cut on Dent’s thigh, he could numb the leg completely.

“I am washing you. You remember that, my dear? Remember how we always start our

time together? Nice and clean, the two of us, yes? Like this for me or a shower for you. We are
well matched, I think.”

Dent made another deep sound, answering him, or trying to.
He hummed, almost laughing, he was so pleased to have Dent responding to him even

this much. He sprayed the burn on Dent’s neck with the numbing antibiotic agent and then
moved on, taking a new cloth before beginning to clean Dent’s shoulders, reduced to nearly
nothing but skin and bones.

“What have they done to you, my dear? So thin. I will need to fatten you back up. Only

one of us should look like a skeleton.”

There was a bite mark above one of Dent’s nipples, deep and ugly, parallel to another

burn across the concave stomach.

A bite.
A bite on his Dent.
What had they done to Dent?
The bite was badly infected. Lutrell poured his concoction straight onto the wound,

taking care in cleaning it. He doused a cotton swab with more of the disinfectant and carefully
made sure each tooth mark was cleaned out. It made him want to growl and he only did not
because the only one here was Dent and it was not his fault.

“Do … don’t. H … h … home.”
“Yes. Yes, my dear. You are home. It’s me. Yes? Bertoli.”
He pressed a soft kiss to Dent’s lips and then returned to his cleaning, spraying first the

bite with the numbing agent and then taking a new cloth and working the burn on Dent’s belly
clean. He sprayed it once it was clean, fingers lingering on Dent’s stomach, mourning the loss of
the man’s lovely muscles. It was going to take time and care to bring Dent back to his former
self.

Dent’s vulnerable balls were swollen, bruised, a single welt on his heavy cock.
“No.” Lutrell shook his head. “This body is mine to pain, to pleasure. How dare they?”

Growling now, unable to stop, surprising himself by his possessiveness, he carefully cleaned
Dent’s abused cock and balls, handling them carefully.

Dent moaned, pulling away from him.
“Oh, my dear. I’m sorry. It isn’t meant for you. I’m just so angry at what they did to you.

At what they did to my Dent.” He bent to kiss Dent’s lips again, licking the dry, broken skin.
“You are mine.”

Dent sobbed, gasping, hands tugging at the remaining bandages. “Home.”
He grabbed Dent’s hands in his own, holding them. “Yes. Yes, Dent. You are home. You

mustn’t touch anything. I’m cleaning you. You remember our ritual, right? How we begin?
Always?”

“Clean.” Dent’s hands wrapped around his, squeezing painfully.
“Yes. Yes, my dear.” He laughed softly, the sound almost broken. But how could he not

express his joy at Dent’s words? He pressed another kiss to Dent’s lips, this one less soft, tongue
sliding for just a moment into Dent’s mouth.

Dent’s eyes flew open, panicky and shocked, dazed.
Lutrell broke the kiss, squeezed Dent’s hands. “Dent? It’s Bertoli. It’s okay. You’re

home. We’re cleaning, yes? The ritual.” He needed to stick with what Dent knew. Kissing was
for once they were finished with the cleaning. And Dent’s poor body needed the medical care,
needed to be disinfected, washed, and then given the antibiotics to help fight infection. “You
don’t need to speak. You don’t need to do anything, my dear. I have you.”

Those eyes watched him, stared at him.
“Yes.” He smiled and managed another soft giggle for Dent. “It’s me. Let me get your

legs. It’s how we always start, and I haven’t finished them yet.” Not to mention he had to do
something about that nasty gash on Dent’s leg. It was going to need stitches, but it had to be
cleaned first.

Dent blinked, starting to breathe faster, hands opening and closing. He didn’t want to

have to sedate Dent, for reasons both selfish and not, but if the man could not find some measure
of peace from this, he would have to do it.

“I’m almost finished, my dear. Just your legs. Fix this little cut in your thigh. Such things

they did to you. You remember your safeword, my dear? You remember you’re safe here?”

“Hurts.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m fixing that as fast as I can.” He looked up along the abused body.

“I could sedate you …”

“No. No more. No more. No. No. I … I can’t remember. Safeword? No.”
Lutrell frowned. “Nightlight. Your safeword is nightlight. No more pain? Or no more

drugs?”

Dent was in shock, his mind trying to protect him from what he’d been through. Lutrell

knew he had to tread lightly to keep Dent’s mind from going into deep hiding.

“No more. No more drugs.”
He patted Dent’s shoulder. “Good man. No more drugs. I’ll work as quickly as I can.”
He continued his work, getting the burns and bruises cleaned up and sprayed, leaving the

horrible gash for the last.

“Hurts. Hurts. Bertoli. There’s bugs in my leg. I can feel them. Bugs. Please.”
“I’m cleaning them now, my dear. Getting rid of the bugs. I have a special soap this time.

I made it especially for you.”

He cleaned between Dent’s toes, almost whimpering when he realized there was a burn

between the first and second toes on Dent’s right foot. He sprayed it, then moved to the infected
cut.

“This one is quite bad. I need to stitch it closed. I need to clean it first. It’s going to hurt a

lot, Dent.”

Dent moaned. “No. Please. No more.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He poured the antiseptic on Dent’s thigh,

knowing it would burn like mad. The best he could do was make it quick.

Dent screamed, body convulsing, heels thrumming on the stretcher, eyes rolling back into

his head.

Lutrell had to blink back tears. He nearly gave in and sedated Dent, but instead poured

more liquid into the wound and deftly used a cotton swab to clean the horrid wound. One more
shot of the cleanser, and then he was spraying it with the antibiotic numbing agent. “There.
There. I still need to stitch it, but you shouldn’t be able to feel it now.”

Dent sobbed, grey and panting. “Home. I wanted to come home.”
“And you did, my dear. Here you are. Safe. With me.” He stroked Dent’s shoulders,

looking down into Dent’s eyes. “Home. Mine.”

“Home. Don’t let them back in.”
“No one is allowed in, my dear. It is just you and me. Safe. Home.” He cupped Dent’s

cheek, holding it still as he bent to kiss Dent softly.

“S … safe. So sorry.”
“Sorry? Yes, me, too.” He gave Dent another kiss. “I must stitch up the cut on your thigh

now. And bandage the worst of your wounds. It shouldn’t hurt. Not anymore.”

Dent nodded, sighed, eyelids closing. “Better.”
“Oh, good. Good.” He gave Dent’s mostly uninjured shoulder a light squeeze before

moving back to Dent’s leg, shaking his head at the wound. What kind of animals would do this
to a man and just leave it to fester?

He pulled on a new pair of gloves and pulled open a sterile package of needles and

surgical thread. Then, he began the process of sewing the wound closed. He used small, careful
stitches, hoping to keep the scarring to a minimum. Dent would have reminders enough of his
ordeal.

He left the wound slightly open at the ends and in the middle, just enough for seepage,

knowing he would have to keep an eye on it, make sure it didn’t get infected.

It was only when he had bandaged the wound on Dent’s thigh, that he took a look at the

large hands, gasping when he realised they were burnt and torn and scratched and bruised. It
looked as if Dent had fought back hard, the nails on his fingers torn, a nasty gash on one palm.

“Oh. Oh, my dear. Such a brave, strong man.”
Dent nodded, relaxing further. “I fought.”
“I can see that. And more importantly—you survived . Came home to me, my dear.”
He took a new cloth, soaking it through, then grasped Dent’s hand between his own,

carefully cleaning.

“Did you know?” Dent’s fingers curled, head lolling as the adrenaline faded.
“Did I know what?”
“I … Uh …” Dent frowned, blinked slow. “That I … Where I was?”
“Oh, no, my dear. I don’t know where you were.” He stroked Dent’s forehead, wanting

that frown gone. “I thought you were just gone, but they told me a week ago that you’d been
taken. Hush, now. Let me fix up your hands and then we’ll see if you can’t get some real sleep,
and maybe we’ll see if you can keep a bit of water or broth in your poor body.”

“Did you kill the bugs? I don’t want them on me …” Dent’s voice trailed off into random

mutters and incoherent words.

“The bugs are gone, my dear. No more bugs.” He shivered, hoping Dent didn’t mean real

bugs. Just one more horror to add to the list of terrible things that had been done to the man.
Lutrell shuddered to think about it, to imagine that they might have raped … but then, even if

they hadn’t physically penetrated Dent, they’d raped his mind as cruelly as any form of sexual
assault..

He hurriedly finished with Dent’s other hand, coming to the point where he needed to

hold Dent, to be done with cleaning the scum from Dent’s body.

All he had to do was Dent’s back. Damn. This was where another set of hands would

come in handy. There was no way he could get Dent rolled over on the stretcher without risking
him falling off the other side onto the floor or opening up the stitches. Of course, if he rolled the
stretcher into his room, lowered it to the level of the bed, he could maybe turn Dent out right
onto the bed. The sheets were clean, fresh, just waiting for them.

He nodded to himself and put the supplies he’d need on the bottom of the stretcher where

there was a little shelf just for that, then started wheeling Dent out into the hall.

Dent moaned slightly, but didn’t move, didn’t open his eyes, lips moving restlessly.
“I’m taking you to my room. You never did sleep there, did you?” He considered taking

Dent into the living room instead. His couch was soft and comfortable. For one. Or two snuggled
closely together. But it was no place for a sick man.

He reached his room and got the stretcher right up next to the bed, lowering it until it they

were at the same height. “There we go. All right, are you ready to move, my dear? Lie in a real
bed?”

“Clean bed?”
“Oh, yes, my dear. It wouldn’t do to clean you and then put you in a dirty bed! I chose

the sheets myself. They’re soft, cotton. I’m going to roll you over so you’re lying on your
stomach. Any help you can give me will help.” He pulled the covers back and got one hand
beneath Dent’s shoulder, the other beneath a hip. “Ready?”

“Ready.” Dent moved, groaning low and shuddering, a pained cry sounding as he landed.
Lutrell fussed, hands stroking Dent’s head, fingers running through the shorn hair as he

murmured. “There, it’s done now, it’s all right. You can stay right where you are until you wave
again.”

As Dent settled, Lutrell steeled himself and looked down at the wide-shouldered back and

at Dent’s ass. Bruised and beaten and scarred. Dent’s back looked like a map.

“Oh, my dear. You know, I’ve seen backs this bad before. From the whips, the floggers.

But somehow … it’s knowing it wasn’t asked for, wasn’t wanted. That you didn’t have a
choice …” His last words had faded into whispers and Lutrell had to shake himself, make
himself get to work cleaning Dent’s back.

“Do you think you could manage a bit of a drink when I’m done?” Lutrell asked as he

worked.

“Juice?”
“Oh, that would be lovely. I have some limal juice. Fresh. Tart and sweet both.” It was

juice from the fruit Dent had always seemed to like the best.

Dent nodded, moaning low. “Please.”
“I’m almost finished here. Finished with our ritual, yes. Just like every time. Nice and

clean.” He sprayed Dent’s entire back, then took the covers and laid them over the man. “You
wait right here and I’ll be back in no time with the juice.”

“Don’t … Don’t let them in. Close the door.”
“I won’t be long, my dear. And I won’t let anyone in. Not anyone.”
And he wasn’t, taking the stretcher out with him and leaving it in the back room before

quickly getting a large glass of juice, a few pieces of fruit and some crackers and cheese.

He wasn’t gone more than two minutes, announcing himself as he came back into the

room. “It’s me, Dent. I’m back. You see. No one else.”

Dent stared at him, blinking slow. “Hey.”
Oh, that looked like Dent knew who he was. “Hello, Dent.” He crouched next to the bed,

holding the straw to the man’s dry, cracked lips. “Your juice.”

Those lips wrapped around the straw, Dent pulling hard, almost desperate.
“Careful, now,” he murmured, easing the straw away. “You can’t take it too quickly or

you’ll make yourself sick.”

“So good.” Dent panted, chest heaving.
“And you can have some more in a moment.” He cleaned a drop of juice from Dent’s lip.

“Did they feed you at all?”

Dent blushed dark, face turned away from him and into the pillow.
“No, no. Do not turn away from me. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Never, my

dear.”

He saw the thin shoulders shake in a broken sob, but the tears ended before they began as

Dent retreated into a restless doze.

Lutrell sighed and put the glass down on the small table with the food. He got into the

bed, careful not to disturb Dent. He lay close, hand reaching out to rest on Dent’s bicep. He did
not think he would sleep, as he was too busy watching Dent breathe.

Chapter Six

Time, as a concept, lost importance for Lutrell.
Dent would wake, moaning and whimpering with pain, and he would check the wounds

for infection, re-spray them and feed Dent a bite or two, then let him have a few sips of juice.
Most of the time, there was very little in Dent’s eyes, other than the glaze of shock and pain. And
the periods of wakefulness never lasted very long.

Lutrell slept whenever Dent did, knowing that once Dent’s body had begun to heal, once

nutrition and liquid had begun to return, the shock and need to sleep constantly would fade and
that was when Dent would need him most. He would sleep close to Dent, hand touching him
somewhere, even if it was only to hold onto the little finger on one hand.

Once or twice, he remembered to send updates to Hercules, and he figured he’d done it

often enough as there hadn’t been anyone banging on the door, demanding to know if they were
all right.

It was more sleep than he needed, and he had begun to lie fitfully, dreaming strange

dreams as he lay on alert for any sound coming from Dent.

Dent shifted, slid away from him, moaning and sitting up.
He was awake right away, blinking and turning toward Dent. “How are you, my dear? Is

anything hurting worse today? Are you thirsty?”

“Bathroom.”
“Of course, of course.”
He climbed off the bed without disturbing Dent and came around. “How much help do

you need getting up?” He was trying to let Dent be as autonomous as possible, but also hoping to
spare Dent from directly asking for help.

Dent held out one hand and let Lutrell get him up and moving. Then Dent went into the

bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Lutrell bit his lip, hating to have that door closed to him. Before this had happened, he

wouldn’t have allowed it, he would have just gone in.

He tilted his head, gave Dent a minute to do his business, and then knocked and went in,

as he would have if everything were normal.

Dent was leaning against the sink, head bowed, shoulders moving as he panted.
Lutrell took care of his own needs, flushing when he was done, acting casually and

keeping an eye on Dent.

Dent moved toward the shower, tottering. “Can I get wet?”
“Let me check the gash on your leg. If it’s clean enough that I can put some nuskin on it,

then yes.” He guided Dent to the seat he’d had installed in the shower and took the bandages off
Dent’s thigh. Oh, the wound was looking good, the seepage all clear, as it should have been. “It’s
healing nicely, Dent.”

He gave the man a smile and took the nuskin from the cupboard, carefully sealing off the

wound. He’d need to fix it later—nuskin wasn’t meant to go on top of stitches and it couldn’t
keep a gash like this closed, but it would keep the water and soap out of the wound.

“How about you just keep sitting there and I’ll get the shower all turned on and just the

way you like it.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Dent wasn’t looking at him, wasn’t really looking at anything.
Lutrell turned on the shower, adjusting the water temperature to a little hotter than he

himself liked and adjusting the spray flow to a fine mist that would wet Dent down completely
without battering at him.

He knelt before Dent to reassure him. “I have some nice soap to wash you with. You

remember the one that smelled of the ocean?”

Dent blinked down at him, focusing suddenly. “I do.”
He beamed up at Dent, even laughed a little. “Excellent! That’s the one I’ll use then.” He

rubbed the soap between his hands, making it bubbly, letting Dent enjoy the heat and the water.
He would imagine there had been precious few showers in captivity.

Dent’s eyes closed, head falling back to soak up the water.
Lutrell made a very careful job of washing Dent’s body, fingers dancing lightly over each

injury. “So strong,” he murmured as he was careful around yet another burn, yet another bruise.
“So very, very strong.”

“I didn’t feel strong.”
“You’re still alive,” Lutrell pointed out. He stepped back, letting the water spray flow

against Dent again, slowly rinsing away the soap.

Dent nodded. “I am.”
“Yes. You are alive and you are here with me.” He chuckled a little, Dent’s continued

lucidity making him somewhat giddy. And he couldn’t help but tease lightly. “Not that here with
me is ever your first choice.”

Dent looked at him again, eyes still, serious. “You don’t know that.”
His breath caught in his throat. “You’re right. I don’t.” He went down onto his knees so

they were face to face, the water misting gently around them. “I had hoped you would know that
you were in a safe place once you saw me. A place to heal, to hide.” He laughed softly. “Yes, I
do realize the irony of that.” After all, hadn’t he been working so hard to make Dent stop hiding
from himself?

Dent stared at him, a wealth of emotion in those eyes bare and raw between them.
“You are here for as long as you want, my dear,” Lutrell whispered. “For as long as you

need.” Leaning in, he pressed his lips softly against Dent’s to seal the promise.

One tear slipped from Dent’s eye, hot and salty as it wet his lips.
He pressed another kiss to Dent’s lips, and then one on Dent’s forehead. “You will get

past what happened to you, my dear. With time, with your strength, with my help. It will
eventually be just a bad dream.”

“I never want to dream again.” Dent shuddered, stood so slowly.
He wrapped his arms around Dent’s waist, daring to press close, to trust that Dent would

not panic if this was too much contact, too soon. “It is my hope that you will one day feel
differently.”

Dent went stiff, then, before he could pull away, leaned into him, letting Lutrell support

his spare weight.

Lutrell hummed softly, just holding the man. He didn’t try to push Dent to do more,

didn’t try to take more for himself, though his fingers itched to stroke and pet and soothe.

“Come,” he said finally, the fine misting water slowly becoming annoying against his

skin. “Maybe you feel up to having a bit to eat and drink in the kitchen today?”

Dent shook his head, sighed. “Not right now. I’m not hungry.”
“Back to bed, then? Or perhaps you’ll sit on the couch with me? If you remember, the

cushions were quite soft and I have new blankets—thick and warm. We could talk. Or watch
vids. Or just be quiet together.” And he could coax some juice into Dent, perhaps even a bite or
two. Moffat had sent up some amazing little pastries to tempt Dent’s appetite.

“The couch.” Dent nodded. “Please.”
“Oh, wonderful.” He clapped his hands together, that hopeful feeling in his belly

spreading.

Turning off the water, he drew Dent out of the shower and made quick work of drying

them both off. He wrapped a fresh towel around Dent’s waist, pushing one end of the thick, soft
terry in so it stayed up. Normally he would have insisted that Dent walk around quite naked, but
it wasn’t a normal time. One day they would be able to do that again, he was convinced of that.
He had faith in Dent’s strength.

Dent leaned heavily on him as they made their way to the living room with his large and

comfortable couch. His poor abused body just hadn’t had enough sustenance or time to walk on
his own yet.

Lutrell took the towel off just before Dent sat, wrapping him in the blanket instead,

knowing it would feel better against Dent’s skin.

Dent hummed and settled, eyes closing again. “Do you know if I have to do anything?”
“No, my dear, nothing at all. Hercules has taken care of everything. He said …” Lutrell

thought back to exactly what it was the boss had said. “Oh, yes. He’ll happily put everything
back in your lap as soon as you ask for it.” Lutrell leaned in and whispered. “He’s got some
lackey taking care of it all, really, so you take your time.”

“Oh. Good.” Dent relaxed. “I’m not ready.”
He was pleased to see Dent accepting that, not trying to jump back into things.
Lutrell sat close, fingers stroking Dent’s hand where it sat outside of the blanket. “Is there

anything you’d like to talk about?”

“No. No, I just want to sit.”
“We can do that.”
They sat quietly together, his hand stroking Dent’s. He thought it would be a good idea in

the future to make sure he left juice or at least water in here, as he was loathe to get up and break
the peace Dent had momentarily found.

Eventually, Dent leaned and shifted until that poor head was on his lap, Dent falling

almost immediately back to sleep, hand curled around his knee. Lutrell sighed, fingers stroking
over Dent’s scalp as he relaxed back into the couch’s embrace. It had been a good wakeful
period, longer than most so far, and certainly, Dent had been far more lucid.

Things were moving so very slowly, but as evidenced by today, they were moving.

* * * * * *

He slept as long as he could and when he couldn’t sleep, he bathed. Dent refused to talk

about what happened to him, refused to dream about it, refused to think about it. He simply slept
and bathed and then slept again.

Bertoli was always there, hand on him when he slept, helping him to bathe, feeding him

juice, water, and some food that he couldn’t taste. He had no idea how long the circle had
continued.

“You can’t hide forever, you know, my dear.”
Dent closed his eyes, turned his face to the water.
Bertoli’s hands were soft on his skin, quiet. “This is no way to live, Dent. And I won’t

allow it.”

He wanted to hurt, to respond. He didn’t. He didn’t care. He couldn’t care.
“I said, I won’t allow it.” Bertoli turned him, lips pressing against his own, tongue

pushing into his mouth.

He moaned, turned his head. “I’m not ready to wake up.”
“You’ll never wake up if you wait until you’re ready.” Bertoli chased his mouth down,

kissing him again.

He scooted back, shaking his head. “Please don’t kiss me. I don’t want to feel right now.”
“Do you have any idea how long it has been? How long you’ve been home here with

me?”

“No.” No, he didn’t know anything.
“Four weeks.” Bertoli’s hands slid on his shoulders, his arms. “Four long weeks, Dent.

How much longer will you continue this way?”

“I don’t know.” Years. Forever. He didn’t know.
“I won’t let you. The shower is over. Come with me.” Bertoli turned off the water and

took his hand, tugging him along.

He followed until they passed the bedroom window, then resisted. “I’m tired.” He was.

He was so tired.

“You’ll be able to lie down on my table.”
“You can’t fit there with me.”
“I won’t be lying down with you. I will be washing you. You remember our ritual, my

dear? How we always begin?”

“I’m clean. I’m still wet.”
“Oh, I’ll dry you first. And you aren’t ritual clean. There is a difference.”
He was led right into the room with the surgical table, the cuffs attached to the boards

that moved. There he stopped, faced Bertoli, met those unusual, beautiful eyes. “Please. Bertoli.
Listen to me. I’m not ready. Please.”

“Will you take a step in another direction, then? Talk to me. I am not asking for a full

confessional, but something . I cannot let you sleep forever. I will not.”

“I don’t want to think about it. Never again.” He stepped closer to Bertoli, chilled,

needing to feel his lover close. Oh. Needed.

Bertoli’s hands slid along his arms, up and down in slow, soft movements. “You will

never get past it if you do not think about it.”

He leaned in, breathing in deep as his arms slid around Bertoli. “I don’t think I will get

past it.”

Bertoli held him, fingers stroking along his spine now, the man hot. “You will. I insist.”
“You’re so warm. I was so tired of being cold.”
“Was it cold there? Come and sit with me. The blankets are warm. We’ll sit close.”

He nodded, following Bertoli, trusting the man. Bertoli heard him. Listened.
They went to the kitchen first, Bertoli grabbing a tray before leading him through to the

pristine living room. The couch was comfortable, warm, Bertoli wrapping him in covers and
Bertoli’s long body.

“Thank you.” He kept his eyes open, but he pressed close, letting Bertoli hold him.
Bertoli hummed softly. “I want only to help you, you know this, yes? To make you whole

again. To have my Dent back.”

“I know. I missed you.”
“Oh. Oh, thank you, my dear.” Bertoli kissed his forehead, his nose, and his lips.
Dent sighed a little and relaxed into the warmth.
“Did they keep you naked?” Bertoli asked him softly, fingers drawing little patterns on

his skin.

“No. I had my pants. The black ones with the silver threads.”
“But you were cold? I won’t let you be cold. I’ve had the heat turned up since you’ve

been here.” Bertoli chuckled a little, the sound an echo from … before. “I’m beginning to find
myself enjoying it.”

“I was in an airlock on a ship. It was frigid.”
“Oh how …” Bertoli shuddered. “Confining.” He was tugged closer to Bertoli’s long

body, the soft blanket pulled tighter around them both. “Were you scared?”

“Not at first. At first I was just angry.” At first he thought it would be over quickly.
“Yes. That I can see. I imagine you were very angry. I can just hear you.” A gentle kiss

landed on his forehead, the hands on him also becoming gentler. “How did they manage to
capture you?”

“A stun blast. I was going from one building to another on Tief IV and they hit me.” That

was the beginning. When he’d woken up he’d been on a ship already.

“Animals.” Bertoli clipped the word, almost sniffed, his body tight before a breath or two

relaxed him again. “Why you? Was it just because you’re rich or was it … personal?”

“Both.” They’d been hired by someone who wanted his assets and his assent to a sale of a

particular item. They’d kept him for more and more money.

“So strong, my dear. You held out for so long. And from what I have been told you were

not abandoned, though I am sure it felt that way. Your company paid them and in the end, the
military had to be called in to effect a rescue. Such unscrupulous men deserve to rot.”

“I didn’t feel strong. I couldn’t think.” He couldn’t focus.
“Still, you lived, you survived. Based solely on your injuries, I imagine many men would

have died.” Bertoli drew back and looked over his body, fingers finding faded scars from bites,
burns and cuts. “All you need is to regain your weight and no one would ever know. Aside from
your eyes. I can see in them how it haunts you, even if you would rather push it away and
pretend it had never happened.”

“They …” They had broken him.
“They hurt you, yes? Again and again and again.” Bertoli’s fingers moved over him. “I

want to go back to our work, Dent. What you and I were becoming together before this
happened. I want to bind you and wash you and give you an enema and know that you know all
you have to do is say ‘nightlight’ and I will release you and hold you and everything will be
okay.” He was held tight. “I want to show them they have not taken your life from you.”

“I’m afraid.” He couldn’t say the words loudly, could only whisper them.
“I know. I would worry that there was something wrong with you if you weren’t.”

Bertoli’s lips pressed suddenly against his own. “But you know I will stop if you need me to. No
matter what we are doing.”

“I … I don’t know if I can. If I can feel.”
“But you’ll try for me.”
It wasn’t a question. Bertoli kissed him gently, tongue sliding along his lips and teasing

in between them. He pushed closer, let Bertoli touch him, hold him. He didn’t try to escape it.

His features were traced, lips explored, and then his neck caressed as their lips were

joined together. Bertoli’s breath was sweet as it filled his mouth, pushing life into his lungs.
Every second that passed relaxed him, eased him. Healed him.

Bertoli shifted, the heat of an erection pressing against his side. He wasn’t hard. He didn’t

think he could be anymore, but it felt good, sensing Bertoli’s need.

“I want you,” murmured Bertoli. “Like I have never wanted anyone.”
“Why?” The question was important, somehow.
Bertoli stopped, gave his question due consideration. “Because you touch me as no one

else ever has.” A finger slid along his breastbone. “I mean inside, as well as out.”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. It wouldn’t matter now, that he loved Bertoli. It wouldn’t

make a difference.

Bertoli kissed him again and then drew back, holding his eyes. “Come with me. I know

what you need.”

“I don’t know if I can.”
“But you’ll try. And if you need to, you’ll say your safeword and I will stop.” Bertoli

stood, hand reached out to him.

“You’ll stop.” His chest pounded, ached.
Bertoli’s hand wrapped around his, tugged him up. “Yes. Tell me your safeword now so I

know you remember it.”

“Nightlight.” It was nightlight. He didn’t want to do this.
“That’s right. All you have to do is say nightlight at any point and I will stop. I will not

stop if you tell me no or if you say stop. You must say nightlight.”

Bertoli moved them down the hall, not dragging him, but leading him inexorably toward

the room where the table was.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Bertoli.” He held onto that strong hand. He didn’t want to

know if he was ruined.

“I know. But that’s never stopped us in the past.” Bertoli pushed the door open, turned on

the light, the table there, cuffs attached. Waiting for him.

“No cuffs.” He stopped short, shook his head, the panic real, sharp, flooding him.
“It must be just like it always was, my dear. You know that.”
He was led to the table, each step bringing him closer.
“I can’t. No cuffs.” No cuffs. No binding. They’d come. They’d come back for him.
“It’s me, my dear. Lutrell. Bertoli.”
He wasn’t pushed down onto the table, but suddenly he was lying on it, arms and legs on

the boards, spread wide.

“No. No. They’ll come. They’ll come.” The world seemed to grey, time hiccupping,

twitching. “They’ll come.”

“No. Not here. They cannot. I will not let them.”
The cuff slid around his right wrist.
“Help me.” He groaned, rolling violently, pulling, screaming as the skin at his wrist

tugged. They’d hurt him. Over and over. “Let me go! Let me go! Somebody help me!”

“Shh. Shh, my dear. I am helping you.”
The second cuff went around his other wrist, Bertoli moving slowly, carefully, but not

stopping.

“Just two more and then we’ll begin. I will wash you, clean them from you.”
Everything went dark and he couldn’t breathe, lost in the panic, whispering again and

again for a light in the darkness. A nightlight. Please.

The cuffs came off immediately, Bertoli helping him to sit up, arm around his shoulders.

“All right, Dent. I’ve stopped. See. Open your eyes, my dear. You said the word and I stopped.
You are safe here.”

He shuddered, chest heaving. “Help me.”
“I am, my dear. I am.” A soft kiss pressed against his forehead.
“I need a shower. I need a shower. I need to be clean, please.”
“You would feel cleaner with the ritual. We can try again now that you’ve had a breather,

a moment to pause.”

“Again?” He shuddered, leaned more heavily against Bertoli. “I feel dirty, sweaty. I need

to be clean.”

“I will clean you. No cuffs this time. Just lie back. Let me clean you.”
“No cuffs. Thank you. I can’t yet. I can’t breathe with them.” He leaned back, trusting

Bertoli’s hands, those eyes.

“You can, but you’re not ready to yet.” His arms and legs were placed on the spread

boards once again, the cuffs left hanging. “No moving, please.”

He nodded, meeting Bertoli halfway. “Help me. I need you.”
“I know.” A soft, familiar laugh sounded, Bertoli’s eyes warm as they held his. “And I

need to help you.”

Bertoli stepped away a moment, only long enough to fill a bowl with warm water and

pour in the antibiotic soap.

“I’m sorry.” It was easy to relax, to close his eyes and pull into himself into the quiet.
The cloth was soft and warm as it slid across his neck. “For what?”
“For losing it. For not being ready.” Oh. Better. He lifted his chin.
The cloth continued to clean him in careful strokes over his skin. So thorough. “You

tried, my dear. I cannot ask for more.”

“I just want to sleep.” For hours. Forever.
“When we’re done. I promise.”
His shoulders and arms were cleaned, then his chest, each touch wiping away the sweat,

the dirt. Every touch made it easier, let him breathe. Let him feel safe.

Bertoli hummed softly as he cleaned Dent’s hips and genitals. “Almost done. And then

the alcohol. So clean.”

“Yes. Yes. Clean. How we begin.” Dent felt drugged, almost floating.
“Yes.” Bertoli laughed, the sound delighted. “How we begin.” His feet were tickled

gently by the cloth. “There.”

Yes. Yes, there. Better. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, my dear. The alcohol, now, and we will be done. You will be clean.”
The alcohol-soaked swab slid across his skin, leaving the cool tightness behind. He

moaned, shivering a little, stretching on the table, skin coming awake.

“We have begun.” Soft touches slid across his lips. “Are you ready for step two?”

He refused to release his peace, his relaxation. He had earned this. “If I’m not, you’ll

stop.”

The soft chuckle was a caress. “Yes. I will.”
The gentle touches moved from his lips to his belly, Bertoli’s fingers warm. Things

slowed, went quiet and easy and he let it happen, let himself experience the sensations. He
wasn’t feeling , but rather just being there.

Those warm fingers slid between his legs, one pushing against his hole, stroking the skin.

They disappeared and returned, slick now, pushing harder against him. He tried not to tense, not
to be frightened, concerned. Trying not to worry.

“Let the feelings out, Dent. Don’t hide.” One of Bertoli’s fingers slid into his body.
“I don’t. I. I don’t want to be scared anymore.” It wouldn’t stop, the tension, the shaking.
“You don’t need to be scared here. I will always stop when you need me to.” A second

finger slid into him, both of them moving slowly, pushing in and out of him.

“I don’t know what to do.” It was all too much, too hard, too big.
“That’s simple, my dear. You just do what I tell you.”
The words actually surprised a laugh out of him.
Bertoli’s chuckles echoed his own laughter. “You see? Already you have found

something of yourself.” The warm fingers slid away. “Time now for the tube. You remember
this. You know how it works. How we clean you inside.”

“I … I remember.” He did, but he wasn’t sure. He didn’t know. “You’ll stop if I need you

to.”

“You know I will.” The warm fingers were back, slicker, pushing him wide. He couldn’t

feel the cool of the tubing yet, though he knew it was coming.

A moment later Bertoli’s fingers slid away, his body closing over the tube.
His shoulders left the table, hands reaching for his lover.
One of Bertoli’s hands caught his, holding on tightly. “I have you.”
“You do.” He hated this, hated being needy.
“I do.” His hand was pressed down against the board. “Lie still for me, Dent. It’s time to

fill you.”

“I don’t know if I want to do this.” He never knew.
Bertoli chuckled softly “You do.”
“I …” He couldn’t ignore this, couldn’t not feel it. “I’m not ready.”
“You are.” The liquid solution began to fill him.
A soft moan left him, part fear, part worry, part something he didn’t even begin to

understand.

Bertoli’s hand slid across his belly, massaging gently as he became more and more full.

“You’re doing so well, my dear. So very well.” Their eyes met, his entire self—inside and out—
shaking, trembling. Bertoli smiled, eyes so warm, holding him. “I have you.”

“Promise?” He closed his eyes against the tears that threatened.
“I promise.” His belly was kissed. “I’m taking the tube out now.” It slid away. “Hold on

now.”

Panting, groaning, Dent thought he was going to shake apart, to burst.
Bertoli opened the table beneath his ass. “There. There. So strong. And you can let go

now.”

“I can’t.” He couldn’t. He was caught inside, trapped. Scared. “Help me.”
“Always, my dear.” One of Bertoli’s fingers slid against his hole, stroking the tightly

clenched skin. Then, without warning, Bertoli bent and swallowed his cock, sucking strongly.

His hips jerked, water flowing from him, tears sliding from his eyes. Bertoli continued

sucking him, tongue playing across the tip of his cock before slowly pulling off. He shuddered
and shook, reaching for his lover, his Bertoli, eyes squeezed shut.

The long, gaunt body pressed against him, Bertoli accepting his embrace and returning it.

“So strong, my dear. You fill me with such pride.”

Dent buried his face in Bertoli’s throat, relaxing, resting, letting the scent and warmth

there soothe him.

“What will you have as your reward?” Bertoli asked him. “For doing so well, for being so

brave?”

“I … I don’t know.” All he wanted was peace. However, just then his stomach growled,

loudly enough to hear, to make them both chuckle. “I’m hungry.” He hadn’t been hungry in
weeks.

“Then we shall find our way to the kitchens and eat.” Bertoli helped him up and took his

hand, leading him from the room as if it were just another day. Their fingers twined together,
squeezing a little.

Yeah. Yeah, he could eat.

* * * * * *

Lutrell felt good. They’d talked and done a scene together. Granted, a very basic scene

and Dent had been unable to handle being cuffed, but it had been a scene nonetheless. And
perhaps more importantly, Dent had used his safeword and it had stopped. He had been heard,
acknowledged, listened to. Not forced, not ignored, not left without recourse.

And then, he’d eaten.
The sleeping had come, but after all that, Lutrell thought it was less hiding and more

plain exhaustion. It had been such a full couple of hours after days and weeks of little but
slumber.

He let Dent sleep nearly twelve hours before deciding he would wake his lover. It was

time that Dent spent more time awake. It was time for him to continue facing the demons and put
them behind him.

Dent was curled in the center of the bed, the grey tone of the man’s skin just beginning to

return to normal, still too pale but not sickly. He sat and reached, stroking Dent’s arm softly.
“Time to wake up, my dear.”

Dent’s eyebrows lowered, but Lutrell took it as a positive sign that Dent didn’t jerk

awake in a panic. He leaned in and licked at the skin beneath Dent’s ear, pleased that it tasted
like Dent and not like something foreign, not like sickness. “I know you don’t want to, but I’ve
slept as much as I can and I’m bored and I’m selfish and want you awake.”

Dent hummed, almost smiled. Oh. A ticklish spot. How utterly charming.
He licked again, using just the tip of his tongue, then blew gently. “Wake for me, my

dear. Don’t leave me all alone.”

That earned him a chuckle, Dent murmuring his name.
He giggled, himself. How could he not after hearing Dent’s laughter? “I love the way you

sound in happiness, my dear. I will earn as many laughs from you as I can.”

Dent turned toward him, tugged him into a quick, hard embrace, the touch fleeting but

freely offered. Oh. It was just such honest, earnest touches that had made him fall in love with
Dent in the first place. How wonderful to know he had not lost them.

Lutrell blinked, feeling suddenly quite emotional. “Come now, my dear. Time to be

awake.”

“Pushy, pushy.” Those eyes opened, met his. “I slept hard.”
“I am pushy, yes, and you did sleep hard. Pure sleep, I think, rather than hiding this

time.” He smiled, gave Dent a soft kiss.

Dent didn’t push into the kiss, but responded, opened to him, let him in. He took the

silent invitation, tongue tasting the inside of Dent’s mouth, sliding against the hard, even teeth.
The touches started, petting him, sliding over his skin. Dent had always been generous with
touches, wanting to make love with him. Moaning softly, he pushed into the touches, shifting to
lie on his side facing Dent. Awake didn’t necessarily mean out of bed.

“I thought I …” Dent shook his head, lips touching Lutrell’s again, fingers sliding down,

counting his ribs.

“Thought what?” Lutrell asked, shivering with a mix of pleasure and ticklishness.
“That I wouldn’t have … that this was … Hush. No more talking.”
He chuckled. “I remember you hushing me.” He left it at that, though, willing to let Dent

just feel, eager for the man to feel. And feel Dent did, hands exploring him, waking up every inch
of his skin. It made him moan, made him laugh with delight. He returned the touches, sharing
how good they could be.

Dent smiled into their kiss, blinking slowly, watching him.
He found the spot on Dent’s collarbone that was extra sensitive, fingers teasing across it,

determined to stimulate Dent without going for the obvious erogenous zones of nipples and cock
and balls. Those little sounds were addictive, were fascinating. And they were all his. He knew
this, knew it before, knew it even more now.

He held Dent’s eyes, letting his own arousal show, his pleasure, even as he coaxed more

and more from Dent’s body.

“Bertoli.” Was that a smile?
“Only you call me that,” he whispered, teasing little circles around Dent’s navel, tongue

tracing a line around Dent’s lips.

“I don’t want to be like everyone else.”
“You never were. Not from the very first moment I saw you.”
“Good.” Dent held his eyes. “Good.”
“I …” The words caught in his throat. He had no desire to put more on Dent than the man

could take right now, but it felt right. And quite simply, it was the truth. “I love you.”

“I wanted to come back home to you. More than anything.”
“And you have. You did. You’re home. With me.” He laughed and pressed their mouths

together, letting his sounds fill Dent’s mouth. The kiss gained some heat, some passion, before
Dent pulled back, pulled away.

Lutrell slid his hand along Dent’s side, teased a too-prominent hip bone with his thumb as

he licked at Dent’s lips, refusing to let the man back totally away from him.

“Are you hungry?” Dent asked. “Is it morning? We could have breakfast.”
“I’m hungry for more of your sweet caresses,” he murmured, hand sliding down to cup

Dent’s ass.

Dent tensed, then relaxed, the strong, square fingers matching his touch. Lutrell moaned

softly, letting Dent know how good it felt.

His hand squeezed and drifted over Dent’s ass and hip, teasing its way closer and closer

to Dent’s cock on each pass. He knew Dent wasn’t hard, but there was interest there, hope. He

slid his hand down along Dent’s thighs and slid between them to stroke the soft, sensitive balls.
He would persist. He would continue until Dent could become hard. Whether that was today, or
tomorrow, or not for a thousand tomorrows.

Again there was tension, then that tension eased, Dent mirroring his touch. There was no

problem for Lutrell in the area of being hard. None whatsoever, and Dent’s touches had him
moaning, pushing closer and wanting more.

“Do you want me to stroke you off? You smell good.”
Oh, yes, he wanted that very much. “Would you like to?”
“Just because mine isn’t working doesn’t mean I don’t want you to feel good.”
He hummed softly and stroked Dent’s belly. “It will work again, my dear. In time.” He

let his fingers slide over the velvety soft skin of Dent’s cock. “And yes, I would very much like it
if you brought me off.”

“I hope you’re right.” Dent shifted him, moved them closer together. Dent knew what he

liked, how he liked it, how he needed.

He stroked Dent’s cock again, offering a last caress before settling, anticipating the

pleasure Dent’s touch always brought.

The caresses were tentative at first, then stronger, the thumb sliding into the slit of his

cock and rubbing.

He gasped. “Dent. Oh, please.” He shifted his hips, begging with his body.
“Yes. Yes, I won’t leave you hanging.” Dent took a kiss, hand moving faster, squeezing

harder.

No, he hadn’t thought Dent would, not if he could help it. He had never had anyone

concerned with his pleasure like Dent was. It was truly heady.

He let Dent control the kiss, the movement on his cock. He was being loved, caressed.

Adored. It made him smile, made him nearly beg. He did laugh, the sound full of his pleasure,
his joy. “Oh, Dent …”

“Shh. Just feel.” Those eyes twinkled at him, almost danced. Almost.
Oh, how he laughed. “Always hushing me,” he whispered, hips moving with Dent’s

hand.

“You look happy.” Oh. Oh. Dent smiled, watching him, thumb pushing him harder.
“You make me happy,” he managed before he gasped, so close.
“Good.” Dent’s kiss burned through him, lit him aflame.
He poured himself into the kiss, into Dent’s hand, his orgasm sliding through him.
Dent hummed, lapped at his lips, touch gentling and helping him ease down.
He was almost purring, moving into each touch like a cat.
“Listen to you.” Dent drew him closer, lips on his forehead, eyes closing.
“I feel good.” He stroked Dent’s belly, let his lover warm him. “What about you?”
“I feel rested. It’s … unnerving.”
That surprised another laugh out of him. “Rested is a good thing, my dear.”
“That’s what they tell me …”
He gave Dent’s chest a kiss, tongue flicking out to tease a nipple. “You’ve made good

progress, my dear. I’m very pleased.”

“Hush.” Dent winked, grinned at him.
He laughed. “Yes, Dent.”
Yes. Excellent progress had been made.

Chapter Seven

Dent’s days melted, one into another. Sleep. Touch Bertoli. Sleep. Bathe. Eat. Sleep. He

lost track of whether it was day or night, cold or warm. All Dent knew was right now. Right this
second.

He leaned back in the tub, floating in the hot water when Bertoli came in. Even with his

eyes closed, he could smell the man and the tart juice he preferred.

“Enjoying your bath, my dear?”
“Yes. I’d invite you in, but it’s too hot for you.”
“I could always turn on the tap,” Bertoli teased. “Add some cold.”
“You could.” He sat up, nose twitching. “The juice smells good.” Bertoli smelled good.
Bertoli handed the glass over, smiling. “And I would, if you didn’t need to get out of the

tub and get dressed.”

“Get dressed? Why?” He drank deep, the cold flush of the drink inside him contrasting

with the heat of the water.

“We’re having a guest.” Bertoli dropped the news on him along with a kiss on his lips.
“A guest? Who?” He didn’t want to see anyone; he wasn’t ready.
“Hercules.”
“Herc?” He took a deep breath, finished the juice. “I’m not sure. I’m not sure I can.”
Bertoli chuckled softly. “That’s all right, my dear. I’m sure.” The glass was taken from

him, a towel held out. “Come on. I’ll help you dress.”

He stood up, frowning. “I don’t know. I’m tired.”
“He’s not moving in, my dear. Only coming for a short visit.” The soft laughter echoed

off the tiles.

“You’re getting close to laughing at me, now.” He sighed. He just felt … he didn’t know

if he remembered how to be himself .

Bertoli hummed softly, fingers sliding on Dent’s skin. “I would never laugh at you, my

dear. And don’t change the subject. He’s coming.”

“I’m not ready to be social. What if he thinks I’m different?”
“You are ready. And you are different.” Bertoli leaned close. “I’ve even heard you

laugh.”

“I don’t want him to think it changed me.” He stepped closer still, arms wrapping around

Bertoli’s waist.

Bertoli chuckled. “We’ll tell him it was me who changed you.”
He swatted Bertoli’s ass, shaking his head. “You changed me long before they did.”

Bertoli just laughed. “You see? You have nothing to worry about.” He wrapped a towel

around Dent’s shoulders and took his hand, leading him back to the bedroom. “He’ll be here in
five minutes.”

“You could have given me a little more warning, you know.”
“Why? So you would have more time to fret about it? I thought five minutes was more

than sufficient for that.”

“I don’t fret.” He … considered.
That had Bertoli laughing again. “You don’t?”
A pair of soft pants were pulled out of a drawer, a matching silk shirt joining it on the

bed.

“No. I don’t.” He pulled the clothes on, wincing at the way they hung off him. He hadn’t

looked at himself at all in the mirror.

Bertoli slipped on a simple pair of scrubs, all in white. “I’m still skinnier than you,” he

told Dent, winking.

“Yes, and you’re balder.” Dent headed into the living area, trying not to pace, to growl.
The laughter followed him, cut short at the knock on the door. “There you go. Do you

want to get it?”

“No.” He went to the door, though, heart pounding as he headed for the lock. What if it

wasn’t Herc? What if it was them? What if …

Dent froze, standing before the door.
Bertoli came to stand behind him, body warm, solid despite Bertoli’s gauntness. Warm

hands slid along his arms. “Ask who’s there.”

His lips opened, but nothing came out, his entire body trembling. “Wh … wh … wh …”

He started shaking his head. No. No, he was losing it. “Who. Who is it?”

“Dent? It’s Hercules.”
Bertoli’s hands squeezed his arms. “So strong, my dear. You can do this. Let him in.”
He managed to hit the door lock, every muscle in him tight and hard, almost burning.

Bertoli reached past him and turned the handle, slowly opening the door and simultaneously
moving him back, several steps away. He moved with Bertoli, trusting those hands, trusting that
Bertoli would kill anyone who tried to hurt them.

By the time Hercules came in, the door closing behind the tall form dressed in purple,

Bertoli was standing next to Dent, an arm casually around his waist. “Hercules! Welcome,
welcome.” Bertoli giggled softly.

His throat was dry as dust, but he found a smile, managed a nod. God, he should be

ashamed of himself, panicking like a child. “Herc.”

Hercules smiled and held out a hand. “Dent. Old friend. It’s so good to see you.”
“Thank you.” He shook Herc’s hand, forcing himself to act normally, to act like … who

he used to be. “Come and sit, old friend. How’s business?”

He could feel Bertoli’s quiet pride in him as they made their way to the living room and

sat, Hercules choosing the large winged chair, Bertoli sitting with him on the couch.

“Oh, I can’t complain. Mal and Kes take care of everything and the money keeps rolling

in. Some days I feel that perhaps I’m not needed, but then I remember someone has to count the
money.” Hercules winked, then sobered. “And you, Dent? Lutrell has kept us abreast of your
progress in broad terms, but I had to come see for myself how you were.”

“I’m recovering. Glad to be back.” If he just remembered to breathe, he’d be fine.
“You’re almost as gaunt as your lover,” Hercules noted and it was strange, to hear

someone refer to Bertoli as his lover.

“Am I?” What was he supposed to say to that? He’d been beaten and starved. He just

wanted to sleep. “I suppose that’s to be expected.”

“It can be quite a shock,” murmured Bertoli. “For someone who has not seen you every

day.”

“Indeed.” Hercules nodded, dark purple hair sliding over his shoulders. “I have greetings

from many people for you, Dent.”

“Thank you. Tell everyone I appreciate them, their thoughts.” He met Herc’s eyes,

forcing himself. “I’m not prepared to speak to anyone else right now, but I am appreciative.”

“I will pass that on.” Hercules smiled, but there was a sadness in his eyes. “I was very

pleased when Lutrell agreed that I could come and visit. You are much missed, old friend.”

“I know.” He missed himself, his courage. “What is happening in the world, Herc?”
Hercules shrugged. “The more time passes, the more things remain the same. There is

talk of the war to the east coming closer, but I’m sure it will not—such rumors never come to
fruition. There was a bit of a scandal in the stock market when your kidnapping and safe return
became public, but it has settled.”

Bertoli’s fingers were at his waist, stroking softly as Hercules continued on about things

he couldn’t remember and didn’t really care about. He nodded idly, growing more and more
exhausted, more and more tense as time passed.

It was Bertoli, so attuned to him, who suggested that perhaps Hercules had stayed long

enough. Dent could not remember anyone ever telling Hercules what to do, but that certainly
didn’t stop his lover.

“Thank you for coming,” Bertoli said. “I think we’ve both enjoyed seeing a new face for

a time.”

He stood, hand held out. “Come again, please? Another day?”
Hercules smiled warmly. “Thank you, Dent. It has been my pleasure and I would be glad

to return. Or perhaps have you as a guest in my suite?”

Panic flooded him, sharp and harsh as icy water and it was all he could do not to pull

away. “Soon, I hope.”

“I would like that very much. I can see myself out if you like, Lutrell.”
Bertoli laughed softly. “Nonsense, Hercules. We wouldn’t dream of it.”
His waist was given a soft squeeze; Bertoli knew that he needed to see Hercules leave for

himself, needed to see the door lock turned back on.

He did see Hercules out, making all the required noises and nods, until the door closed

and locked. Then he turned, bolting for the bathroom as his stomach roiled.

Bertoli was there when he stopped retching, a cool cloth passing over his forehead, a

glass of clear water pressed to his lips. His lover’s quiet strength there for him to lean on.

“I’m sorry.” He was so tired of being weak.
“The only one you have disappointed is yourself, my dear.” Bertoli began to tug on his

clothes, the man already having removed his own.

“I hate this. I hate being weak.”
“You see weakness and I see strength. Your mind is protecting you until you are able to

deal with life.” A kiss dropped onto the back of his neck. “Come with me, my dear. We’ll go and
distract ourselves for a while. I am itching for our ritual.”

“I …” For the first time, he reached for Bertoli’s hand. The pleasure the simple act put on

Bertoli’s face made it worth every effort.

He didn’t think, didn’t worry, just watched his lover as they moved together into the

room with the table. The pleasure Bertoli took from each moment they spent together was
obvious both in his face and the soft laughter and humming. Bertoli was not one to hide his
emotions.

He lay down and Bertoli stroked a hand along his arm. “We will try the cuffs again, my

dear.”

“Why? I’ll be still.” It was an honest question. He wouldn’t fight Bertoli.
Bertoli tilted his head. “Because it is a part of the ritual. A part I am willing to discuss

disposing of at a later date. For now, I believe you need to be restrained, knowing you have to
but say one word and you will be released.”

“I trust you. I just …” He knew it wasn’t logical. Knew it. “What if they come? What if

they come and I can’t move?”

“If they come, you will say nightlight and I will uncuff you and then you can move.”

Trust Bertoli to find a logical answer to his illogical fear.

He twined their fingers together, holding on, trying to relax, to trust, to believe.
Bertoli brought their joined hands up to his mouth, kissing Dent’s knuckles. “We will

begin as we always do. Cuffs first, cleaning second.”

The long fingers slid away from his, and then the first cuff was attached to his wrist,

Bertoli touching him all the while. His heart started pounding and he fought it, fought the panic
and the pure fear with all he was.

Bertoli murmured softly, talking though he couldn’t hear the words, just the sound of

them like a lifeline as his other wrist was tied down.

“I … Bertoli. I don’t … I don’t think I can.” He couldn’t stop himself from pulling, from

fighting the cuffs.

A soft chuckle filled the air. “You never do.”
Bertoli’s fingers moved over his chest and stopped to circle his navel before continuing

down along his hips and then his right leg. That ankle was cuffed without ceremony, leaving
only his left leg mobile.

“Don’t.” He looked at the cuff on his arm, willing it to open, to set him free. “Let me go.

Let me go.”

“Not yet, my dear.” His other leg was cuffed and he was well and truly tied down,

caught, Bertoli’s fingers sliding on his skin. “Are you ready for how we begin? To be cleaned?”

He couldn’t answer, couldn’t breathe. He stared at Bertoli, the weight of everything

crashing down on him.

Bertoli smiled kindly down at him. “You’re doing so well. Such strength.”
His belly was stroked and then Bertoli turned away, getting the familiar metal bowl from

the shelves. Dent closed his eyes, sinking into himself, hiding away from the memories, the fear
and panic. He could do this. He could cope.

Soft laughter sounded, followed by the slow glide of a warm, wet cloth over his skin. The

laughter and touch were so familiar, belonging only to Bertoli. He didn’t respond. He couldn’t,
not without panicking. He simply had to trust that Bertoli understood.

“This is one of my favorite things,” murmured Bertoli. “Your skin fascinates me, the way

it responds to my touches.” He giggled softly. “And I might have a bit of a thing for cleanliness.
But then I am a surgeon after all.”

“Wh … what kind of surgeon?” He bit the words out, trying so hard, wanting to be strong

so badly.

“I specialized in emergency surgery to begin with, and then open heart surgery.” Bertoli

laughed. “You remember I once asked you if you liked what you did and you said no? And I
knew that was one of the reasons you didn’t laugh with your joy? Well, I never laughed. Not
once since I had passed my exams and begun the long, stressful hours that finished my training.”
The cloth teased around his nipples and then over them, coming back to rub against them once
more. “A life with no laughter … it is not right.”

“I just wanted to be successful.”
“You just needed to change your definition of what successful means,” countered Bertoli,

cloth wrapping around his cock and sliding up it.

He shifted as much as he could, trying to escape the touch. He didn’t want to think about

the fact that he wasn’t hard.

“Just lie still, my dear, and feel.”
The touch was repeated twice more and then the cloth slid along his balls, behind them.
“I don’t … I hate that it doesn’t, that I can’t.”
The cloth carefully slid over his opening, pushed in a tiny bit, and then Bertoli’s cleaning

moved to his legs. “Why can’t you?”

“Because I can’t … it doesn’t work.” He hadn’t been able to since …
“I admit I’ve assumed that it has been because you didn’t want to, because you weren’t

ready.” Bertoli moved back up to stand close, looking down into his eyes. “But now you want to
and cannot?”

“It won’t. I can’t.” He simply couldn’t .
“But do you want to, my dear? That is the question.”
“Who wouldn’t want to?” He just wanted his life back.
Bertoli chuckled. “Just checking, my dear. Before, I spoke of having the doctor here to

examine you. We need to be sure that there is no physical impediment to your arousal before we
begin work on other possibilities.”

“No. I don’t want anyone touching me.” His eyes flew open, the panic finding him.
“All right. Just hold on a moment and let me finish this. I do not want to talk about this

here. There is no place in this space for what was done to you.” Bertoli put the bowl in the sink
and grabbed some alcohol swabs, sliding them quickly, but carefully over his skin, finishing the
ritual.

Bertoli’s words relaxed him, eased him somehow. Every time his lover proved that he

was being heard, listened to, it soothed something deep inside him.

When his skin had been touched everywhere, was cool and tight and clean and Bertoli’s,

he was kissed and the cuffs undone.

“Come, my dear. We need to talk.”
“I did it.” He met those pale eyes as he sat. He’d survived the cuffs. He had.
Bertoli stopped and smiled, fingers coming out to cup his cheeks. “Yes. You did, didn’t

you?” The laugh was happy, the lips that pressed to his warm and passionate. That laugh? Was
not mocking, was not directed at him. That laugh was for him.

Dent pushed into the kiss, enjoying the heat, the care there. Bertoli’s arms wrapped

around him, the kiss deepening before their lips slowly parted.

“I told you you could do it.”
“Will it ever feel good again? Feel exciting?” It was the closest he’d ever come to

admitting that he craved the sensations Lutrell offered him, that he wanted them as much as he
needed them.

“Yes.” The answer was simple, Bertoli’s voice confident, sure, and Dent knew that meant

Bertoli would not give up.

He nodded, satisfied with that answer. For now.
His hand was taken, Bertoli leading him once again into the living room, to the big

couch. It seemed to be his life now, being led from one room to another, his lover’s hand
wrapped around his. It was insane. Honestly.

Necessary, but insane.
Bertoli sat and tugged him close. “My dear, as you brought up the subject earlier, we

should talk.”

“What do you want to know?” He pulled the blankets around him, cuddling beneath

them.

“I would like to know what happened to you that makes it impossible for you to get an

erection. If it is something physical, it could be quite easy to correct. However I suspect it is not
a physical issue.”

“I’m not a doctor. I don’t know.” He could see the arc of electricity they’d tortured him

with, bright blue and crackling, right behind his eyelids, could smell his skin burning.

“But you know what they did to you.”
“I … You know. You saw me.”
Bertoli sighed. “I know you were hurt. I can guess at what was done. But no, I do not

know .” His face was stroked, turned up so the pale eyes could look into his own. “You must tell
me.”

“I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to dwell on it.”
“I’m sorry, my dear, but that plainly isn’t working.”
“There’s nothing to tell . They hurt me. I survived.”
“But if I don’t know what was done to your penis, I can’t possibly know what to look for,

to see if this is a physical problem. There is also the reality that the best way to defeat your
demons is to face them, not pretend they aren’t there. You know how I feel about hiding.”

“They had a … electric blade? They burned me.” See him. See him be practical.
“On the outside only, or the inside as well?” Bertoli’s voice was very neutral.
He stood up, kept the blanket and started pacing. “I don’t remember. I think just the

outside. I think. I don’t. Just the outside.”

“Well, I can tell you that the outside has healed, the swelling is gone. Unless they did

something inside, then there is no physical reason for you to be unable to have erections. Which
means the problem is not physical. This makes a lot of sense, my dear. You were tortured, and
that often leaves far more psychological scars than physical ones.”

He could feel Bertoli’s eyes on him, watching him as he moved.
Well, that made sense. He had been broken. It happened. He just needed to deal with that,

cope. “I’m tired. I’m going to take a nap.”

“No.” Bertoli stood and came to him, cupped his face in warm hands. “I want you to tell

me one more thing. And then you may nap.”

“What?”
“We have been dancing around what happened to you, letting you sleep, letting you nap.

You are strong enough to start facing the truth. You will only move on if you start facing the
truth.” Bertoli took a breath. “Tell me one thing that happened to you that you do not want to tell
me.”

“I …” His mouth opened, closed, opened again. “They … I … I begged. I begged them to

stop.”

“Of course you did. You didn’t want them to keep hurting you. There is no shame in that,

my dear. It was the act of a sane, hurting man.”

“It doesn’t feel sane.”
“Because they were not sane. The situation was not sane. And so reacting in a sane

manner felt … useless, insane.” Bertoli kissed him suddenly. “You wanted them to stop and so
you begged them to—how can you be ashamed of that?”

“Because I am. Because they broke me. I’m going to bed. You said one question.”
“I said I wanted you to tell me one thing, I said nothing of questions.” Bertoli sighed

suddenly, arm going around his waist, supporting him. “I am sorry. I did not mean to badger you.
You’ve done very well today—faced so much. Hercules, the cuffs, admitting what they did to
you, your begging. I am proud of you, Dent. Of the fact that you survived and that you are
working to get better.”

He opened his mouth, then just stepped closer, held on.
“Oh. My dear.” Bertoli’s arms went around him, held on just as tight as he did. “I have

you now. You’re home. Everything else is details.”

“Yes. I know.” He did. He knew. If only it made a difference.
Bertoli kissed him. “We’ll get you back, my dear. I am not letting you go.”
“I hope you’re right. I … I’m tired of this. Of me.”
“It won’t be easy. In fact, I think it will be very hard. But I don’t believe you’re afraid of

hard work.”

“No. No, that’s the last thing I’m afraid of.” Work he at least understood.
“Of course, it’s what we’re working on that might make you stumble.” Bertoli chuckled

softly. “I think it’s time we went into the bedroom and hid from it all for a few hours so that you
can face it fresh in the morning.”

Dent nodded, thankful, knees almost weak. “Yes. I … I’ll hold you.”
“I would like that. I like your touch.” His hand was taken, Bertoli leading him yet again.
Eventually it would have to stop. Just … not tonight.

Chapter Eight

Lutrell put together a breakfast tray of fruit, toast, sausages, and glasses of Dent’s

favorite juice. He tried not to sigh, tried not to let Dent’s hiding get him down. His lover needed
space and time, needed to be comfortable.

Maybe he was giving Dent too much time.
He didn’t know . That was a very unusual place for him. His confidence seemed to have

deserted him.

Instead of taking the tray into the bedroom, he went to the comm and punched in Mal’s

number. “Mal?”

Those icy eyes met his, sure and pale as his own. “Lutrell. What’s wrong?”
“I …” He took a breath. If he could not ask for help when he needed it, how could he

expect Dent to open up and look to him? “I am worried about Dent.”

“Can you come to me, or should I come to you?”
“I cannot leave him.” He considered. Dent rarely woke up on his own. Odds were he

wouldn’t today and need never know anyone was in the apartment. “If it’s not too much trouble,
a few minutes of your time …”

“I’ll be there in five.” The comm went blank.
Lutrell went to the bedroom to check on Dent, and to get dressed. He would rather not

meet Mal in the nude. Dent was sound asleep, curled under the blankets, hiding. Silent. His
beautiful, strong man. And he was at a loss how to help him. He’d lost his way somewhere as
surely as Dent had.

He quickly pulled on a pair of scrubs, the soft, loose material comfortable, and made his

way back out to the living room, waiting for Mal’s knock.

The tap was quiet, but sure, Mal carrying a tray full of pastries and sweet wine. Oh, Mal

was good to him, truly.

“Invite me in, Lutrell.”
“Come in, come in.” He pulled the door wide and closed it again behind his friend. “The

kitchen is quiet, clean.” The furthest from the bedroom.

They settled together, Mal quiet and respectful, pouring them both a glass of wine and

then waiting for him to talk.

He took a sip of the wine and a bite of a pastry. “Oh, very good,” he murmured, picking

up the crumbs and depositing them on the tray. He cleared his throat. “I am worried Dent is
going to hide inside himself forever.”

“He could. He would be safer there.” Mal took a drink. “Is he healed in his body?”

“Yes. Evil as his wounds looked, they were for the most part superficial. His body has

been detoxified from the drugs he’d been given and his weight, while still lower than it was, is
no longer dangerously low.” He sat forward. “I know that he needs to be pushed, now, to be
forced to look at what happened to him and to move past it.”

“And yet?” Mal held his eyes, listening, offering him strength, support.
“I keep hesitating, backing off, letting him hide.”
“Why? Is he angry with you?”
“No. No, but …” And then it came to him, as clearly as if Mal had spelled it out. “But

I’m worried he will be. I’m worried he will resent me for it.” He shook his head. “I have been so
selfish, guarding my own heart, worrying about my own needs while he suffers.”

“No. Not selfish. Scared.” Mal smiled. “He needs to be able to know that he can be

angry, that he can rage and feel, Lutrell. That you are strong enough to bring him back home.”
Those eyes stared into him. “That you love him enough to fight him.”

“I do. I will not let him fade away.”
Mal’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Remember how he fought before. I remember Dent.

How sensual he was, how he fought and then accepted, allowed you inside. Remind him that you
believe in him.”

“Yes. I pushed and I pushed and found his beauty, his need, exposed him to it.” He

closed his eyes and took a deep breath, a weight coming off his shoulders. “I can do this.”

“Of course you can. You were born to do this.”
He grinned and opened his eyes, meeting Mal’s gaze head on. A laugh escaped from him.

“I was born to do this. Thank you, my friend. I knew you were the one I needed to talk to.”

“I’m glad.” Mal ate a pastry, nose wrinkling a bit at the sweetness. “I’ll leave you to your

work. Good luck.”

He chuckled and stood, giving Mal a warm handshake. “Thank you, Mal. It was good to

see you.”

“Yes. You’ve been too isolated, my friend. You may have to return to life for your own

sake.”

“I have every confidence that soon we will both return to life. At least I do now.” He

laughed again, seeing Mal to the door.

Mal winked. “It is nice to hear your laugh. Good day.”
Still chuckling, he closed the door behind Mal and re-engaged the lock.
Feeling renewed and invigorated, confident once more in what he needed to do to help

Dent, in who he needed to be, he made his way once more to the bedroom they shared. “Time to
wake up, my dear.”

Dent frowned, eyes fluttering. “Already?”
He chuckled and sat on the edge of the bed, stroking Dent’s skin and pulling the sheets

firmly away. “Already? It’s nearly ten o’clock, my dear. Breakfast is ready and waiting for you
in the kitchen.”

Dent hummed, moving closer, hands sliding around his waist. “You’re dressed.”
“Yes, I had a visitor. But I think I shall leave my clothes on while we eat and while we do

our scene. You may remain naked.” He bent and took a kiss, moaning at the heat of Dent’s
mouth.

Dent pulled back from the kiss, eyes worried. “A visitor? I … I didn’t hear them …”
“No. You were asleep and I didn’t want to wake you. I invited Mal to share a few

moments of my day. No one will hurt you while I watch over you, my dear. Whether you are

aware of their presence or not.”

“I’m not worried about me.”
He chuckled softly. “No one will hurt me either, Dent. Not here. The Glove is a safe

place.”

“I know that in my head.” Dent sighed and stood, heading for the bathroom, stretching

and twisting.

Lutrell followed, leaning against the doorway. “Just the basics today, no bath. We have

work to do.”

“Work?” Dent looked over at him, unnerved. “What work?”
“In our room.” He laughed softly. “Good work. Fun work. You and I together. Beginning

with our ritual.”

“Oh.” The look in Dent’s eyes was bittersweet, but he did get a smile, an honest smile,

and a wink. “I could just bathe.”

He laughed. “Where would the fun in that be?”
The smile got a little wider, Dent washing his face at the sink and brushing his teeth. “I’m

sure I could find some fun.”

He chuckled. “I’m sure you could as well, my dear, but we aren’t doing that.” No more

hiding. He needed to get back to the job of uncovering the things Dent had buried. For both of
them.

Dent was unnerved, worried, stealing curious looks. So perceptive, so focused.
He took one of Dent’s hands, squeezed gently, but didn’t back off at all, just led Dent into

the room with the table. He had the light on brighter today, making sure Dent would know that
he was the focus of their work together. Not a part of it, but the star.

He helped Dent to climb up onto the table, hands smoothing over the warm skin. “Are

you ready, my dear?”

“I’ll try to be.” Every time the panic was less, the cuffs easier to take. Which meant they

were moving forward. He reminded himself of that, and of the fact that before Dent had been
kidnapped, he had reveled in pushing the man, in searching out the hidden desires and needs.

“Good. Good.” He rubbed Dent’s right wrist and then slid the cuff around it, closing it

tightly around the tender skin.

He could see Dent’s breath speed, see the pulse quicken as Dent’s eyes closed.
“You may close your eyes, but I want you to pay attention. I want you to feel the cuffs,

the cloth as I wash you, the head of the tubing as I clean you inside.”

There would be no more hiding. If Dent needed to break down, then he would break

down. Lutrell would be there to catch him.

“I do pay attention, Bertoli. I feel you.”
He laughed softly. “Oh, yes. You do. And do you feel yourself, Dent?” He set the cuff

around Dent’s left wrist looser than the one around his right.

“Is that a trick question?” Dent’s hand twisted, testing, tugging.
“No, it is not.” He trailed his hand along Dent’s leg and then cuffed first one and then the

other ankle, one very tight, one very loose, so that all four cuffs were set differently. They would
be harder to deny this way. “I know that you feel me. My touch, my need, my pleasure. Do you
feel any of your own?”

“I … You know I can’t. It doesn’t … I haven’t … You know that.”
“I did not ask if you were aroused. I asked if you felt what was happening to you.” He

slid his hand up along the inside of Dent’s right leg, fingernails dragging over the soft, sensitive

skin near the crease where thigh met body. “Or are you blocking it out?”

“I’m not. I’m just trying to control myself, to not panic.”
“Perhaps it is time to let a little panic back into your life.” He giggled. “Yes, perhaps. But

first our ritual, yes?”

“I have had enough panic for my entire life.”
“Perhaps I meant lack of control rather than panic.” He bent and bit one hip. “Let go,

Dent. Allow yourself to feel.”

He turned and picked up the bowl filled with warm water and the antibiotic soap he used

whenever they did this.

“I don’t want to feel again.” The words were incredibly quiet, almost missed.
“Yes, you do,” he insisted, wetting his cloth. “You are scared to feel again, but you want

to. You need to.”

Dent didn’t answer, just shifted and moved unconsciously.
“So lovely. And soon enough your beautiful musculature will be back and everyone who

sees you will be aroused.” He stroked the cloth across Dent’s nipples, over and over until they
began to harden under his constant attention.

“I …” Dent frowned, shifted away. “I’m scarred.”
“Yes. Badges of honor. They make you that much more fascinating.” He drew the cloth

down to Dent’s belly, teasing around Dent’s navel, staying away from the quiescent cock for
now.

Dent hummed softly, stretching a little, enjoying that touch. It was a start, it was feeling

and not denying it. Lutrell hummed too, quite pleased, and moved the cloth to one hip while the
fingers of his free hand continued to tease over the sweet belly button. He could see Dent relax,
see the strong muscles ease as Dent focused.

He stretched himself out, continuing to play and tease along the sharp planes of Dent’s

belly, into the navel, as he cleaned the rest of Dent’s body. He actually earned a chuckle or two,
a smile. It made him laugh, made him feel alive. “Oh, yes. My Dent is hiding in there, just
waiting to come out.”

Cleaning finished, he placed a kiss on the belly he’d been teasing and then took the

alcohol swab and quickly completed the ritual. It always made Dent shiver, made goosebumps
raise all over. He hummed and laughed softly, enjoying the way Dent’s body responded to him.
Some things had not changed. It was only a matter of coaxing the rest of Dent’s body, and the
man’s mind, to remember and enjoy.

“I think a tube with a special head today, yes? One to stretch you, so you know it’s

there.”

“Special?” Those eyes almost opened. Almost.
“Yes. A flared head. It will stay seated inside you, stretch you some. It is bigger than the

one I have used in the past, has a little … well. You can look for yourself.” There were small
bumps on it, designed to stimulate.

Dent tugged a little at the cuffs, just a touch. Just enough that he knew Dent was paying

attention.

He hummed, chuckling softly as he got the lube and the tubing ready, caressing the head

so that it was warm.

Dent’s motions grew stronger, more desperate, needier.
He put on his gloves, letting them snap noisily and then slicked up the fingers of his right

hand.

“I … I want up, Bertoli. I need to sit up.”
He chuckled. “No, no. That’s not how it works, my dear. You know that.” He slid his

fingers along Dent’s crack, not penetrating him yet.

“I know, but … I need to sit up.”
“When we’re done with this. When I say you can.” He pushed in with one finger, sliding

it around and in and out.

“You’re not listening to me.”
“I heard you, my dear. What I’m not doing is letting you up.” He slid a second finger in

alongside the first.

Dent squeezed him, eyes opening to look at him. “Why?”
He smiled into Dent’s eyes. “Because we’re doing this right now. I am giving you what

you need.”

“Who came to see you earlier?”
“Are you trying to distract me, my dear?” he asked, fingers searching, finding and sliding

over Dent’s gland.

Dent jerked, eyes huge, suddenly panicked. “Stop. Bertoli. Please. Not that. Not yet.” The

quiet heavy cock jerked, beginning to stir.

His laughter was delighted—so lovely to see that. “Oh, I think it’s more than time.” He

slid his fingers across Dent’s gland again and then again.

Dent’s toes clenched, eyes squeezed tight as the man fought to control himself, to

breathe. So caught up inside. His dear Dent.

He continued to push against the small gland, his other hand cupping Dent’s balls, trying

to keep Dent here and now and feeling.

Dent’s body began to respond, slowly, tentatively, but the response was there, sweet.
He continued for some moments, giggling happily.
“What … what’s funny?”
“Not funny, my dear. Happy.” He bent to lick at Dent’s prick, encouraging the response

that had begun.

“I’m not ready. What if it doesn’t … What if I can’t …”
“You are ready and it doesn’t matter if you can’t.” He bent and whispered in Dent’s ear.

“Just let it go. Just feel.”

Dent turned to stare at him, those beautiful eyes so wide. “I can’t, love. I can’t . Not

without all the rest coming out.”

“Then let it out.”
“No. No. That … It’s over. Don’t you understand that? I won’t remember again. It’s

finished.”

“Not remembering is killing you inside, diminishing you.” He pushed his fingers deep

and then pulled them out, placing the head of the tubing against Dent’s hole.

“I can’t. I’m not ready yet.”
“So you said.” He pushed gently, sliding the tip into Dent’s body.
Dent’s legs trembled, shaking as his body spread.
“You can do this, my dear.” He laughed softly as the wide head moved into Dent’s body.

“See?”

“No. No, I can’t, not from here.”
Oh. Oh, the attempt of humor was … it made his heart swell. He laughed softly. “No, I

suppose you can’t.” He chuckled some more, making sure the head of the tubing was well-

seated. “Here comes the liquid, my dear.”

Dent closed his eyes again, breaths coming slow as Dent tried to relax, accept. Lutrell slid

his fingers over Dent’s belly, already beginning to massage the muscles as he let the liquid flow
through the tubing. “Your body remembers how to do this. Very good, my dear. I’m pleased.”

“I do remember. I … We have done this. Since …”
“Yes. Though this is the first time we’ve done it with the cuffs since you were

kidnapped.” It was the first time they would be pushing and doing more. Much more.

“I know. I do.” Dent tugged at the cuffs, legs and arms both.
His laughter filled the room. “Yes, I imagine you do.” He checked the flow; Dent

couldn’t take too much more, just a little bit.

“Full. Bertoli.” Dent’s toes curled, heart pounding visibly.
“Yes. Just a drop or two more.” He pushed Dent as far as he dared and then stopped the

flow. “All right, you know what comes next. I’ll remove the tubing and you’ll hold the liquid
in.”

Dent’s skin was sheened with sweat, eyes squeezed shut.
“You’re doing so well. Making an excellent start to our day.” He gently pulled on the

tubing. “Hold tight now, no letting go until I allow it.”

“No. No, I won’t. I can’t.” No, his Dent held things too long, even if it hurt.
“There, now. Let me get rid of this and open the table for when you release.” He made

short work of that task and took a moment to just look at Dent. The man was still too thin but he
looked good, he looked right , spread out on Lutrell’s silver table. The room was stark, Dent his
shining bright star.

Dent wasn’t still, was shivering and shaking, trying to control himself.
“Keep holding it. Don’t let go.” He slid his hands along Dent’s skin, toes to head, just

touching.

“I won’t.” Dent whimpered, teeth sinking into his bottom lip.
“Would you hold it forever if I asked, my dear?”
“I’d try.”
“You’d fail. It is impossible. And I will not ask the impossible of you. Only the possible.”

He pressed his lips to Dent’s ear. “You may let it go now. Release the unclean.”

“I …” Dent gasped, fingers curling into fists.
“You have to let go, Dent. Take a breath and focus. Open your body and let go.”
Dent took a shaky breath, then another and another, water rushing from him.
“Yes. Oh, my dear, you’re doing so well. Such a good start.” He turned Dent’s face,

taking a kiss.

Dent shuddered, lips open, tongue sliding against his, offering him that sweet surrender.

It was a lovely moment and he savored it, exploring the flavors of Dent’s caring and need. He
would have to keep pushing soon, but this moment was for them.

Finally, he let the kiss fade. “The sound today, I believe.”
Dent frowned slightly, then eased. Of all the toys Dent had been exposed to, Lutrell knew

the plugs and the sounds were the ones most hungered after, most enjoyed. “What if it doesn’t
feel good? What if I can’t perform for you?”

“Oh, I imagine it will feel good. If you don’t grow hard, though …” Lutrell shrugged. “It

will come with time, and I have nowhere to go.”

“I don’t … I don’t want to do it. Not yet. I’m not ready.”
“It’s not your choice, my dear.” Lutrell chuckled. “It never has been, has it?” He always

decided. He knew what Dent needed. He had forgotten that.

“Lutrell …”
He would not let the worry in that voice dissuade him. He stroked Dent’s forehead; he

liked it better when Dent called him Bertoli, but he understood the distancing.

He wrapped his hand around Dent’s prick and stroked gently.
Dent leaned toward his touch, needing his strength, his care. Needing him.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, laughing at how lovely Dent was, how strong his responses

were. “We’ll start back at the beginning, with the small sound.”

“I don’t want it not to work, Bertoli.” Scared. Dent was scared.
“Then let it work, Dent. Just let go of everything and feel .” Bending, he took Dent’s

prick into his mouth, tongue flicking across the slit at the tip, pushing slightly into it.

Dent moaned, shook his head. That pretty cock started to fill, to jerk in his lips. Lutrell

laughed around Dent’s cock, so pleased at the response. He sucked a little harder, fingers rolling
the man’s balls.

“Bertoli. Love.” Dent shivered, tried to pull away.
His head bobbed, the words increasing his determination to do this for his lover. The

harder he could get Dent, the better.

Dent’s body tried to fill, balls tightening. He hummed, willing the man to relax and let

the pleasure have its way.

“Bertoli …” Dent’s hips shifted, almost trying to push into his lips.
He bobbed his head, encouraging Dent’s instincts. Oh, the barest hint of salt slid on his

tongue, just a touch. It was enough and he moaned, his own prick responding to the taste with a
surge. He sucked a moment longer, tongue again teasing the slit before he pulled off, hand
immediately moving to stroke, to keep the hardness he’d worked for.

“You like what’s coming, my dear. You have from the very first.”
“I … Yes.” Dent shifted. “Yes.”
He chuckled. The first time they’d done this, Dent would not have admitted he enjoyed it,

not for anything. He reached for the sound, letting Dent see it, the silver wand quite slender with
a little ball on top.

“Tell me. Tell me how it will feel.” Dent groaned, eyes fastened on the sound.
“There will be pressure. And it will fill you. You’ll love it.”
Dent nodded. “Tell me more? Please?”
“It will begin cool and will warm quickly, pulling your heat into itself. I will put it

partway in and then tilt your prick just so, let it slide the rest of the way, nice and smooth.”

He put the sound back down and grabbed the lube. He squeezed Dent’s cock, opening the

slit, then began to push lube into it.

Dent’s cock flagged a bit, but didn’t go limp. “Why? Why do you want to do it?”
He laughed softly. “Because you need it, my dear.” He pushed some more lube into

Dent’s prick and then slicked up the sound. “Here it comes.”

“I …” Dent stilled, watching, hunger and worry clear on his face.
“You will enjoy it, my dear.” Even if Dent did not come, he would enjoy it.
Lutrell slid the tip of the sound into Dent’s body. Dent nodded, breath coming quick,

heart beating visibly for him.

“Yes, that’s it, slowly and surely, yes?” He kept sliding the sound in, stopping when it

was almost halfway in. “And then I just …” he shifted Dent’s cock just a touch and let the sound
go, laughing happily as it slid right in until the ball at the top stopped it.

“Bertoli …” Dent moaned, legs tugging at the bonds, heels thrumming against the table.
“Yes. Yes, my dear. Feel it.” Bending, he put his tongue to Dent’s hole, licking it.
Dent’s cry was deep, body trembling. “I … I don’t … It’s big. Bertoli …”
He chuckled. “No. Not so big.” He licked again and then pushed his tongue into Dent’s

body, fingers twirling the little ball on top of the sound.

Dent whimpered, hips shifting, riding the sensations. Yes.
He began to fuck Dent with his tongue, kept twirling the sound, not giving Dent a

moment without sensation.

His name rang out, sweet, happy, needy. Needy.
Happiness poured through him, along with relief, gladness and even pleasure at the

sound. He worked harder, wanting more of those lovely noises.

Dent’s body clenched, balls drawing up, motions growing more and more desperate, and

then something happened, need crashed into panic. “No! I—I—I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.
Nightlight. Nightlight. Bertoli. Please. Please.”

He stopped immediately, hands sliding along Dent’s thighs for a moment before he

cupped Dent’s face, pressing his own to it. “Okay. Look at me. I’m right here. Right here, Dent.”

“Here.” Dent’s eyes rolled, then fastened onto his. “Here—I—here.”
“Yes. Shh. Yes. Right here with me, my dear. Here with your Bertoli. And I am so proud

of you. You’ve done so well. So very well.” He reached with one hand, releasing Dent’s right
arm from the cuff.

That single act eased the panic, Dent’s hand petting his arm, the long body relaxing. He

hummed, sliding his lips along Dent’s, just breathing the same air.

He reached and undid the cuff around Dent’s other wrist. “Let me remove the sound?”
“I’m sorry. I … I wanted so badly …” Dent nodded, eyes devastated, apologetic.
“No. No, you did so well, my dear. So well. Next time will go better, yes?” He kissed

Dent softly and reached for the poor prick, carefully pulling the sound out.

Dent sat up, pulling away, pulling inside himself.
Lutrell undid the ankle cuffs, freeing Dent, taking them completely out of the scene. He

would not let Dent retreat back into himself, though.

He cupped Dent’s face again, tilting it so their eyes met. “No more hiding, my dear.”
Dent tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t allow it, wouldn’t allow that shame.
“There has never ever been shame in safewording, Dent. You never have to apologize for

that. You have been a top—you know how it works. You know . The rules are the same for you.”
He looked into those eyes, put all of his faith, his belief in their lifestyle into his own.

“I want them out of my head. I want to be whole again.”
“Yes, I want that as well. We’ll get there, my dear.” He stroked Dent’s skin. “Would you

like a hot bath?”

“Yes.” His water-lover.
He chuckled. “Maybe not so hot that I cannot join you.”
He helped Dent down off the table, kept close, always touching as they made their way

down the hall. Dent started the water, making it cool enough for him without a fuss, making it
clear that Dent wanted him in the tub.

He poured a large glass of cold water and put it on the edge of the tub before stripping

and joining Dent in the water, settling against the solid body. “You’ve done well today, my
dear.”

Dent made a non-committal noise, tugged him close and held him.

He chuckled, curling in close, cheek resting against Dent’s shoulder. “You have,” he

insisted.

“I’m … I …” Dent sighed, squeezed him.
Lutrell shook his head. He was the top and he was right, Dent had done very well.

Getting Dent to believe it might be another matter.

He slid his hands over Dent’s chest, just touching. He’d found something with Dent,

something he hadn’t even been aware he’d lost and he would not lose it, would not have it stolen
from them. “Can you tell me what went wrong?”

“I … It was good and I forgot to watch. I mean, I just … I forgot to watch.”
Lutrell frowned, but worked very hard not to stiffen. “Forgot to watch what, my dear?”
Dent shook his head. “It … You know how things hurt more when you’re surprised? I

watched them. When everything happened.”

“But they aren’t here, Dent. You don’t need to keep watch anymore. Forgetting to

watch—that was a good thing. It was!”

“I know that. I just … I just can’t. I have to watch. See. Pay attention.”
Lutrell slid his finger across Dent’s nipple, distracting himself as much as Dent, believing

he needed to keep the conversation light, to keep Dent talking. “I will always stop, Dent. You
know that. One word and everything stops.” They had already proved that, more than once.

“I know. It doesn’t have to make sense.”
Lutrell chuckled and kissed Dent’s skin above his nipple. “No, I don’t suppose it does.” It

would just be easier if it did. He hummed a little and licked across the little nub. Dent tasted
good, right.

Dent sighed softly, the sound almost peaceful, thumb rubbing his nape.
Lutrell smiled and all but purred beneath Dent’s touches.
“I’m sorry, Bertoli. I tried to come away whole.”
He tilted his head up, sliding his hand along Dent’s cheek until they were looking at each

other. “You came away, my dear. That is what is important.”

“I hope so.”
He didn’t think Dent believed it, but wasn’t going to argue. “Shall I wash you?” he asked.
The ritual began their scenes, but he enjoyed it as well outside of them, enjoyed touching

Dent and the calm it always brought.

“You don’t have to.” Despite the polite refusal, Dent’s head nodded, eyes betraying how

hungry he was for the contact.

He laughed softly. “No, I don’t. However, I want to.” He reached over to the soap holder,

snagging the blue cake. “It’s new. It’s called ‘sky,’ and it’s a very close match to the ocean one
you like so much.”

He sudsed it up and held his hand up to Dent’s face. Dent breathed in, smiled. His water-

lover. “That’s quite good.”

Smiling, Lutrell began to slide his soapy hands over Dent, making the touches sensual.

Dent stretched, hummed, relaxing for him. The beautiful cock began to rise as Dent felt him.

Lutrell giggled softly, his happiness returning as Dent relaxed and responded. He slid his

soapy hands into the water, running them along Dent’s sides, not caring that he wasn’t doing a
proper job of cleaning. Dent was clean, after all; they were here for a different ritual, the ability
to touch and make each other feel good.

“Always so happy, Bertoli.” Damp fingers traced his smile.
“You bring it out in me, my dear. You fill me with joy.” He licked at the tips of Dent’s

fingers.

“I …” Dent leaned in, kissed him, the caress slow and sweet and flavored with tears.
His fingers slid into Dent’s hair, caressing Dent’s scalp as he accepted the kiss, let Dent

keep control of it.

Dent watched him, eyes quiet, focused. Watching.
He looked back, putting his love and his belief in Dent into his eyes, into the kiss. Putting

his heart into it.

Dent’s hand cupped his jaw. Held him. Touched him.
He moaned into the kiss, nuzzled into the touches. No one touched him as his Dent did.

No one.

“Love.” The word was whispered. Once. So soft.
Lutrell nearly sobbed. Instead, he deepened the kiss, answering with his lips, with his

hands as they slid carefully, gently over Dent’s skin.

Dent’s lips opened, tongue sliding against his, something close to passion building

between them.

He touched Dent a little harder, fingers beginning to search for the sweet spots he knew

were there.

Dent fed him deep sounds, beginning to move against him.
Lutrell shifted to straddle Dent’s legs, his breath growing short.
“I …” Dent moaned, frowning a little. No. No thinking.
Lutrell slid a finger across Dent’s nipple, then pinched it, looking to distract Dent from

his brain.

Dent’s eyes flashed, heart speeding under his touch. Yes.
Lutrell laughed into Dent’s mouth, shared the happiness Dent filled him with. They

would make this work. His fingers kept teasing and playing with first one nipple and then the
other.

“I don’t … I …” The water splashed as Dent shifted, hips rolling up toward him.
“You.” He shifted again until their cocks slid together, his moan echoing on the tiles.
Dent moaned, cock hard, hot, sliding against his own. Lutrell stopped thinking, himself,

and just went with it, just felt. He was laughing and moaning, moving with Dent.

Dent held on, eyes fastened to his, a mixture of worry and a growing hope in the look. He

kept touching and rocking and kissing, wrapping them both in sensation.

“Bertoli.” Dent whimpered, pushing against him, fingers curling.
“Yes. Yes.” He rocked harder, faster. “Your Bertoli.”
“I want …” Dent was shaking, the water splashing.
“Me, too.” He threw his head back, laughing, fingers sliding, clutching.
“Don’t let me … don’t stop …” Dent stretched, pushing faster.
Lutrell shook his head. “No. No stopping.” No stopping. Not this time. Please . He

matched Dent’s movements, keeping pace. It felt good, so good, but the best part of all was
having Dent right there with him.

“Bertoli …” Dent’s mouth found his shoulder, sucking up a mark as … Yes. Yes. Seed

sprayed between them, hotter than the water. He cried out, Dent’s orgasm the most beautiful,
wonderful thing he’d ever been a part of. His own pleasure spilled from him a moment later and
he collapsed against Dent, laughing, his joy ringing out.

Dent pressed close, gasping against his throat.
“Yes. Yes, my dear. Oh.” Lutrell couldn’t stop laughing, giggling. There had been more

than one time when he’d thought this would never happen again. He held on tight to his lover.

Dent nodded, and he thought he felt a smile. A real smile. He took several deep breaths,

calming himself, hands sliding on Dent’s skin. He wanted to hold onto this moment for as long
as he could.

“Thank you.”
He cupped Dent’s face, turning it so he could look into the lovely eyes. “Thank you, my

dear. Thank you for being strong enough to come home.”

“I’m trying.” Dent met his eyes, a peace there, a deep satisfaction and hope.
He stroked the skin beside Dent’s eyes, his look as wonderful to see as the orgasms

they’d shared together. “You are doing ,” he corrected.

Dent grinned, the corners of his eyes wrinkling up. Oh! More than just a small smile.
Lutrell beamed back. “Come and eat, Dent? A proper meal together in the kitchen?”

Something normal.

“I … Yes. Yes, I would like that.” Dent took a deep breath.
“So would I.” He took a soft kiss and gave Dent a soft giggle. He felt giddy from this

huge step forward they’d just taken.

Dent chuckled. “You are quite mad.”
“I am mad with happiness.” He kissed Dent again and stood, reaching for his lover.
Dent stood, the water pouring off the lean body. Maybe, just maybe this was going to

work.

Chapter Nine

Dent felt better. Not right. Not normal. But better.
They had made love once more, eaten. Watched the vidfeed. Normal things. Quiet things.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about it all. He was fairly sure thinking about it would drive him
mad.

Bertoli chuckled. “Stop that, Dent.”
“What?” He looked up from the book he was … staring at.
“Thinking so hard.” Bertoli leaned in to nip at his lower lip. “I can hear you.”
“Nonsense. You’re not psychic.”
A soft giggle sounded. “I didn’t say I knew what you were thinking.”
“I’m reading.” Sort of.
The book was pulled from his hands, Bertoli sitting at the other end of the couch and

holding it behind his back. “What’s it called?”

“A book.” Ass.
That giggle sounded again. “What is the title of the book and who wrote it? Can you tell

me anything about it?”

“It’s about …” Fuck. Plants. A moon on Rieve II. Money. “Money.”
Bertoli rolled his eyes. “Always money. I need to find you new books. Maybe then you

would actually read them.” Bertoli winked and stood, gaunt and bald, reaching for him. “Come
on. I’ve got something better than pretending to read.”

“It’s not naptime yet, is it?”
“Well you’ll be lying down, but if you’re sleeping, I’m doing something wrong.” There

was heat in Bertoli’s eyes now.

“I …” His stomach went tight, his mind whirling. He wasn’t sure if he could, if it was

time.

“You’re doing it again.” Bertoli leaned in and brought their lips close, licking his,

breathing on them. “No more thinking about things, my dear. Just come and enjoy our time
together.”

“I …” He couldn’t think with those kisses. So sweet. He leaned into Bertoli, needing

more.

His gaunt lover laughed softly. “Yes, just like that.”
He was given more kisses, slow and soft, Bertoli’s long fingers coming to cup his face,

skin almost cool as they stroked him. He lost himself in them, eyes wanting to close, but he
forced them open. Watching. Bertoli’s tongue slid against his, lips moving and caressing.

They were both panting, breathing heavily when their lips finally parted and Bertoli

stood. “Come, my dear.”

Dent found himself standing, following before he even thought about it.
Insane. Mad. But right. Perfectly right.
Bertoli gave him a beaming smile, laughing softly. The sound was so happy and that

smile was lighting up his lover’s face.

The room was warm, Bertoli touching up the heat before nodding to the table. “All ready

for you, my dear.”

“I don’t want to disappoint you, Bertoli.”
“You have never disappointed me. Never.” The word was softly, but reverently spoken,

Bertoli’s eyes hot, sure.

He stepped into the circle of Bertoli’s arms. “Never?”
Bertoli shook his head. “Not once, Dent. I swear on my own life.”
His back was stroked, Bertoli’s touches light. He relaxed, leaned into the touch, let

Bertoli ease him down onto the table, stretch him out.

The soft laughter was familiar, as soothing as the hands that slid over his skin. “The cuffs

first, my dear. Just you and I and our ritual.”

He couldn’t stop the shiver, the motions driven by adrenaline, by anticipation.
Bertoli’s hands were so gentle, but the cuffs were locked tight around his wrists. “Can

you feel them, my dear? Holding you down for me?”

“Yes. It’s different than when … when they … they hurt.” This was different.
“I know. They didn’t care for you like I do. What they did was torture. What we do is for

our pleasure, for our need.” Bertoli gave him a quick kiss and then cuffed his ankles, fingers still
gentle, careful touches on his skin.

The room was quiet, no drone of engines running in the background, just the softness of

the peace between them broken only by their breathing and the soft laughter of his lover. Dent let
himself relax, let himself feel things. Let himself believe in their need. His and Bertoli’s.

The washing was soothing, even if the drying water seemed to leach warmth from his

skin. It was familiar, though, how they always began. There had been no water, no cleaning
there.

“Talk to me?” It wasn’t so terribly hard to ask.
“Hmm? Oh! Of course, of course.” Bertoli laughed. “I missed you, you know. So very

much. I didn’t know you’d been kidnapped and I admit I was angry … well, no, if I were to be
honest I’d admit that I was hurt, that you would stay away for so long.”

“I was never very good at staying away from you. Even at the beginning.”
Bertoli laughed loudly. “No. No, you weren’t. You loved what I did to you. Not that you

would admit it.” The chuckles continued as his body was touched everywhere, cleaned. “The
alcohol swab now, and then we’ll be ready to begin.”

“It was difficult. It still is.” He could trust now. He could begin to believe.
“Yes. You always fight me so.” His nose was kissed, Bertoli’s grin wide. “I do love a

challenge.” Bertoli rubbed his hands together and snapped on latex gloves. “What shall we do
today, my dear? I have some lovely vibrating sounds we haven’t tried yet, interesting enema
kits …”

“I … I don’t …” Interesting and enema were not words that went together.
“Oh, you enjoy it far more than you’re willing to admit to yourself, let alone me.” Bertoli

laughed and poked through his trays. “Oh, this one will be fun!”

Oh … He … Uh … That laugh was …
Familiar and distressing and odd.
He was shown tubing with a purple, flared head. It wasn’t very wide, but it was bumpy.

“It vibrates!”

He shook his head, heart pounding. “It’s purple.” And bumpy.
Bertoli cackled. “Yes, well a lot of things that are custom made for the club are purple,

aren’t they? Hercules is a little obsessed.”

Dent tilted his head, surprised. Tickled. Honestly, deeply tickled. He started laughing,

deep belly laughs that almost hurt.

“Listen to you!” Bertoli laughed with him, eyes dancing and so happy.
One of Bertoli’s hands rested on his belly, the other on his chest, Bertoli feeling his

laughter. It slowly died away into periodic chuckles, leaving him breathing hard, heart pounding.

“That, my dear, was a joy to hear. Such a joy.” Bertoli’s lips found his, smiling against

his mouth more than kissing him, but it warm and good and theirs.

He inhaled, breathing Bertoli in deep.
He was given a warm smile and Bertoli’s tongue snaked out to slide over his lips. “What

a wonderful way to begin.”

“Yes. Yes.” It had been. Their kiss was warm and good, almost enough to make him

forget where he was.

Bertoli didn’t forget, though. His lover never forgot. “It vibrates,” Bertoli whispered,

eyes twinkling. Those shining eyes held his as a slick fingers pushed at his hole.

“You said …” He moaned, tried not to tense.
“And you’ll feel,” chuckled Bertoli. Those fingers pushed right into him, began to slick

him up, spread him.

“I … I don’t know …” His eyes wanted to close, but he forced them open.
A soft giggle sounded. “You never do, my dear. But you always trust me, and that is

enough.” A third finger pushed into him.

He shifted, the stretch aching deep. “I try. F … full. Full, Bertoli.”
“Yes. My fingers are warm and firm enough, aren’t they? The enema will be different.

Fuller, but … flexible, with no shape.”

“I … Yes. I don’t like the enemas. I don’t like them, love.”
“No, but you like how they make you feel. You like the end result.” That soft little

chuckle sounded. “You like that I make it happen.”

“I … I …” He took a deep breath. He didn’t. He didn’t like it.
Bertoli chuckled, the fingers sliding out of him. “The head now. The purple head.”
“I don’t know if I can do this.” He knew that he’d said the words before. He knew, but he

meant it.

“Yes, you can.” The rubber was warm and slick as Bertoli pushed against his hole.
He tensed, but the rubber spread him, entered him. It was smaller than Bertoli’s cock.

Smaller even than the fingers that had spread him. But it wasn’t Bertoli, and it was bumpy, and it
was going to vibrate. Probably after it filled him with water. “Talk to me. Please. Talk to me.”

“Shall I tell you how you look? Spread for me. Bound for me. This purple headed tubing

in your body. It’s almost seated now. Can you feel the bumps?” One of Bertoli’s hands slid
across his belly, stroked his skin.

“Yes … I … I probably look like a fool.”
“What? Dent!” Bertoli growled at him, actually growled. “You do not!” The head of the

tubing was twisted and then left just there, inside him. “I’m going to start filling it now. You do
not look like a fool at all, my dear. It arouses me unbearably, seeing you like this.”

He looked over, searched Bertoli’s face, wanting the words to be the truth.
Bertoli met his eyes, chuckling. “You don’t believe me?” His lover rubbed a hot, wet-

tipped erection against his thigh. “I want you, Dent. Now more than ever.”

“Madman.” The word was fond, loving. A connection between them.
Bertoli tilted his head. “Perhaps I am, Dent. But I am your madman.” The hard cock

rubbed against him again, Bertoli moaning.

“Mine.” Yes, and Dent intended to keep him close.
Bertoli giggled, keeping his cock rubbing against Dent. “Oh, my dear, you do make me

need. You do.” A deep breath and Bertoli moved, returning to what he’d been doing. “I’m going
to fill you now.”

He took a deep breath. “I don’t know how to not fight it.”
“I know. And I won’t ask you not to.” With that, Bertoli turned the valve and began to fill

him.

He groaned, tugged against the bonds, confident that Bertoli understood. Knew him.
The soft laugh that filled air told him Bertoli did indeed know. “So lovely. Once you’re

full we’ll play with the vibrating function. See how it works.”

“I … No. I don’t think …” He stretched, trying to pull away from the pressure.
“That’s right, you don’t need to think,” giggled Bertoli. “No thinking allowed.” Bertoli

stroked his belly, distracting him from the way he was filling and filling.

“Bertoli.” He groaned, panted, shoulders going tight.
“Right here, my dear. I won’t leave you.” The liquid kept filling him, Bertoli’s fingers

moving on his skin.

“Full.” He shuddered, fighting to keep his eyes open.
“Not full enough,” Bertoli told him, laughing softly. “Soon though. Soon.”
“Please. I …” Please. He couldn’t …. he couldn’t breathe.
Bertoli bent and kissed the tip of his cock, tongue sliding across the slit several times.

“Just a bit more, my dear. Just a bit more.” Bertoli giggled. “You can do it.”

“I can’t.” He tugged at the bonds, fighting to keep his eyes open.
“You can. You are .” Bertoli rubbed his tummy and then nodded, laughing gently. “There

you are. All done. All full.” The flow stopped, Bertoli giggling. “Shall we try the vibrations?”

Dent groaned, shook his head. No. Too full. Too much. He couldn’t focus.
“Oh, yes. I think you’ll like it.” There was another kiss to his cock and then the vibrations

started inside him.

“Bertoli!” His cry seemed to echo. Too much. Too much. Oh. Help him. Please.
Bertoli laughed softly, hands moving on him. “What is it like, Dent? How does it feel?”
“It … it’s too much. Too big.”
“Stop thinking, my dear. Stop thinking and just feel.” The vibrations got bigger, the

liquid inside him picking them up, amplifying them. Bertoli’s lips wrapped around one of his
nipples, sucking.

He whimpered, shifting, head shaking as he tried to focus.
“Should have put a sound in first,” murmured Bertoli, lips sliding across to his other

nipple.

Thank goodness Bertoli forgot. Otherwise, Dent thought he might really forget how to

breathe altogether.

The vibrations went on and on, Bertoli’s tongue and lips teasing his nipples and belly

mercilessly. When it was almost too much, the vibrations ceased. “I’m taking it out now, and you
may release,” Bertoli told him, mouth dropping over his prick as the bumpy head was pulled out
of him.

Heat flooded him, body tight, shaking violently. “Bertoli!”
His lover hummed around his prick, sucking hard, encouraging his orgasm, encouraging

him to let go of the liquid inside him. His balls were rolled, his inner thighs caressed, and then
Bertoli’s thumb pushed at his hole, just breaching it before retreating.

His body emptied, his cry echoing through the room.
The humming and suction grew stronger, Bertoli’s head bobbing on his cock, tongue

slapping at his skin. His balls were fondled, cupped, played with. His eyes shut and he groaned,
rocked in the bonds, trying to get more.

Bertoli’s little finger pushed against his hole, pushed into him. It was thin and short, but

warm, brushing against skin made supersensitive by the recent vibrations.

“I need …” His eyes rolled, heart pounding furiously.
Bertoli pulled off him suddenly and he cried out at the sudden lack of that hot suction

around his prick. But a moment later, he realized that his lover was climbing the table and
settling between his legs. “Me, my dear. You need me.”

“Yes. Yes, please. Please. I need you.”
Bertoli laughed, the sound bright and lovely. Two slick fingers slid into him, curling and

stretching, nudging the gland inside him.

“There, there. Again.” Lightning filled him, top to bottom.
“Yes, my dear. I will give you what you need, what you want.” Bertoli bent to kiss him,

lips sliding against his own, tongue pushing into his mouth like those fingers pushed into his
body.

“You …” He opened, rocking, aching. Needing.
“Oh, yes. Me. Yes.” Bertoli’s breath pushed into his mouth, filling his lungs with the

taste and flavor of his lover. The fingers spreading him open moved away, Bertoli shifting, the
hot, wet-tipped prick pushing at him now.

He groaned, stretching, spreading, accepting his Bertoli in deep. Bertoli’s prick felt

unbelievable against nerves and skin that had been sensitized almost beyond bearing. It was
exactly what he needed and Bertoli knew that, his soft, confirming laughter warming the air,
Bertoli’s cock filling him up.

“Love. Love.” The words poured from him, over and over.
“Yes, my dear. Yours. Your love.” Bertoli began to move, his thrusts long and slow, the

pleasure building in steady waves.

“Mine.” He tried to reach for Bertoli, to hold his lover close, but his wrists were still

bound.

“Yes, oh, yes.” Bertoli’s eyes held him, saw right into him and suddenly Bertoli had

undone the cuffs, freed his arms so that he could touch. Bertoli always knew what he needed.

“Yes!” He wrapped his arms around the lean form, held on tight, fingers sliding down

Bertoli’s spine.

Bertoli laughed, mouth meeting his as his long, hard cock pushed into Dent again and

again, making his sensitized skin sing. His fingers found Bertoli’s ass, squeezing, tugging them
closer together, pulling Bertoli deeper.

One of Bertoli’s hands slid between them, fingernails catching first one nipple and then

the other as tongue and cock fucked him with quicker and quicker motions. They were together
in this, bodies straining as one to find their pleasure.

“Soon. Soon. Fuck.” He pulled hard. “Bertoli.”
“Together.” Bertoli laughed, hand pushing down further to wrap around his cock.

“Together, my dear.”

“Yes. Yes. Together. Love. Fuck.” He was aching, balls tight and drawn up.
Bertoli’s hand squeezed his cock, a fingernail scraping past the slit at the top as the long

cock inside him slammed into his gland. “Now!” Bertoli cried out. “Now, Dent.”

Heat poured out of him in devastating pulses, his entire body shaking, going tight.
“Love!” Bertoli cried out, shuddering above him. Heat shot into him, burning the

pleasure into his insides.

Panting, Bertoli rested above him, the skinny arm holding his lover up beginning to

tremble.

He tugged Bertoli down, holding on. “Yes.”
Bertoli nuzzled his neck, humming and chuckling. “Oh, don’t let me crush you, my

dear.”

As if his gaunt lover was heavy. “I’ll do my best.” He squeezed Bertoli’s cock, breathed.

Rested.

Bertoli shivered and moaned a little, his lover’s soft laughter beginning anew. “So good,

Dent. You make me feel like I have never before.”

“Good.” He nuzzled Bertoli’s neck, hummed. “Good.”
“Yes.” That laughter rang out again. “Although I’m a little worried I’m going to fall off

you and land on the floor!”

“So, you have to be very, very still.”
“Oh-ho, a test is it?” Bertoli chuckled. “I am not one to fidget and fiddle, but this might

be a challenge to me after a few moments.” A kiss was pressed to his shoulder. “Perhaps I need
to rethink my table …”

He laughed, grinned. “Maybe. Maybe you should.”
“It could be a little wider and … softer.” Bertoli’s fingers moved on him, touching his

skin all over. “Not so comfortable you’d fall asleep. After all, this is not our bedroom, but where
we perform our scenes.” Bertoli withdrew a little, as if coming to himself and remembering
exactly where they were.

He let Bertoli go, unsure if he’d pushed Bertoli past some personal barrier.
Bertoli kissed him warmly, though, before sliding out. “Inside you is a wonderful place to

be, my dear.” Then Bertoli was wiping him clean and undoing his ankle cuffs, massaging the
muscles of his legs. “Come, now. We can cuddle in our bed. Hold each other and talk.”

“Bossy man.” He stood, swaying a bit.
His words had Bertoli cackling gleefully, one thin arm around his waist, supporting him.
“Maybe just a little.”
“A little.” They settled on the bed with a thud, both curling up.
“How are you feeling?” Bertoli asked him, fingers sliding on him in random, warm

patterns.

“Loved.” Warm. Quiet.
“Oh.” Bertoli melted against him. “Good. Good.” His lover laughed. “I have much joy

today, my dear.”

He nodded and sighed, eyes closing. His eyelids were both kissed and Bertoli shifted

closer against him before settling.

“It was a good day, my dear. We will have many more.”
Dent nodded. It was becoming easier and easier to believe that. He held his lover and let

sleep take him; let it overtake him instead of escaping into it.

* * * * * *

Bertoli hummed as he dressed, pulling out an outfit of softest cotton for Dent as well. Just

a simple pair of pants and a light yellow shirt that pulled on over his head. It was cheery and
would not make Dent look overly pale.

Things had been going very well since his chat with Mal. He and Dent were finding

themselves again, and it was such a joy to have Dent taking pleasure in his body once more.
Perhaps he would push Dent back in his shell again with his plans for the day, but he knew that it
was important he keep pushing the walls of Dent’s comfort zone.

He brought the man’s clothing to the bathroom and laughed at his timing—Dent was just

stepping from the tub. “I have an outfit for you, my dear. Comfortable and flattering. Good
perhaps for receiving visitors?”

“Visitors? Who?” Dent took the clothes, curious.
“Hercules and Mal. You know them both and they can be trusted not only to understand

when it is time for them to go, but they will be discreet as well.” He’d considered inviting
Kestrel, knowing how much the dear man had been worried, but Lutrell thought his …
flutteriness … might be too much for Dent. “I’m having a small but elegant meal delivered.”

“I … I don’t know if I’m ready to share a meal with anyone. I don’t know if I can yet.”

Dent put the shirt on, the pants, looking fine.

Lutrell chuckled. “And I know that you can.” He smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from

the shirt, enjoying the feeling of Dent’s muscles beneath his fingertips. “You remember your
safeword, my dear?”

“Nightlight.” Dent stepped closer, frowning. “I hate it when we have to open the door.”
He slid his hands over both of Dent’s shoulders, squeezing them lightly. “I know. But it

is the only way you will learn to believe that it can be opened, that people can be let in, and that
nothing bad will happen to us in doing so.”

“I don’t believe it. I don’t know if I ever will.”
“You will,” Lutrell told Dent because he would not give up on his lover. Not if it took all

their lives before Dent could do whatever he wanted without fears chasing him down and
stopping him.

The door chimed and he looped his hand in Dent’s arm, started walking them down the

hall. “You know these men, Dent. They are your friends and want only the best for you.
Remember that, yes?”

“Yes. Yes. Next time I need more notice.” Dent was only beginning to stiffen, to worry.
Lutrell nodded. He could do that. He could tell Dent just before he got out of his bath

instead of just after.

They arrived at the door. “I would like you to open it, Dent. You may ask who it is first,

of course.”

Dent gave him a near panicked look, but hit the comm. “Who is it?”
“Hi Dent. It’s Herc. And Malachi.” Hercules’ voice was calm, quiet.
Lutrell gave Dent a soft kiss on the cheek. “Now, open the door.”
“I …” Those eyes, so dark, so lovely, stared at him, begged him for strength, for support.

He smiled and took Dent’s hand in his own, brought it over to the palm lock, and they

opened it together. “Very good,” he said quietly. “I am very proud of you.”

Dent was pale as milk when the door opened, not regaining any color until the door shut

and was locked again. Malachi gave Dent a smile, the look almost warm—for Mal—and a nod.

Hercules beamed at Dent and took his hands, squeezing them briefly. “It is so good to see

you again, old friend. I was thrilled when I received your invitation.”

Lutrell discreetly maneuvered Dent so they were walking down the hall with their

friends, going to the small alcove off the kitchen where the formal dining table was set for four.

“Thank you.” Dent was shivering against him, the effort to sound controlled obvious.
He’d set the table up so that he and Dent would sit next to each other across from

Hercules and Mal. Hercules and Mal seated themselves, and Lutrell saw to Dent.

The food smelled delicious, Moffat having outdone himself in the kitchen, cooking all of

Dent’s favorites he’d enjoyed from the time when he’d only been a guest here.

“So, how are things going?” Hercules asked.
Lutrell touched Dent lightly on the thigh, offering quiet support.
“Fine. Things are quiet, but I’m healing.” Dent waved to the food. “Please, eat.”
“You look well, my friend. Much better than the last time I visited.” Hercules served

himself and passed the dishes over to Mal.

Lutrell rubbed Dent’s thigh, trying to ease himself as well as his lover. The tension in the

air was palpable, both of them tense. For a moment, he questioned the wisdom of doing this,
wondering if it was too soon, but then he reminded himself that this wasn’t going to be easy no
matter when they did it. They had to work through the awkwardness.

Malachi looked over at Dent, one eyebrow rising as he took a berry tart. “So, do I have to

get kidnapped to get berry tarts from Moffat? I’ve been asking for months.”

Dent blinked, looked over at Mal with twisted lips. “Perhaps. Would you like me to

arrange it for you?”

“Only if you get Herc’s okay. He gets bitchy if I don’t show up to work.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Their eyes clashed across the table, then both men grinned, the

tension suddenly shattered, eased.

Lutrell giggled, giving Dent’s leg a final squeeze before serving himself from the huge

bowl of noodles.

They ate and talked, the conversation staying light, easy. Lutrell was very pleased by how

it was going and found himself relaxing more and more as the meal progressed. Dent stayed
close, knee against his, still moving every so often, but not shaking. Dent even laughed once or
twice.

Once they’d finished eating, Lutrell poured them each a liqueur and leaned back against

his chair. “Moffat just keeps getting better and better.”

“Dinner was exceptional. Thank you both.” Mal nodded, ice blue eyes seeming to smile

at Dent. “Would you like to go to the pool sometime, Dent? I can arrange for you to have it
alone, if you’d like.”

Dent went pale, shook his head. “No. No, thank you. I’m good.”
“Perhaps later,” suggested Hercules.
“I’m sure we’ll keep it in mind.” Lutrell was terribly curious. Dent loved the water.
“We should do this again soon,” Dent said.
Mal nodded, “Absolutely. It was good to see you, Dent.”
Hercules stood and shook Dent’s hand, and then Lutrell’s. “Yes. You really are looking

much better, Dent. Maybe I can have the two of you over to my place next time.”

“Maybe.” Dent shivered.
Lutrell almost chuckled. Maybe not. “We’ll see, Hercules. We appreciate the invitation.”
He and Dent saw Hercules and Mal out and he made sure Dent saw him locking the door

after they’d left.

Dent relaxed, wandering idly, restlessly.
“That went fairly well.” He grabbed Dent’s hand, tugged his lover down onto the couch.

They would talk and then move into the room and he would drive everything from Dent’s mind.

“It did.” Dent leaned into the cushions, hands sliding over his own knees.
“So I’m forgiven for springing it on you?” He slid his own hand over Dent’s, warming

the cool skin.

“Maybe. We’ll see.” Dent winked once, fingers moving against him.
He laughed, leaning against Dent. “I do have another question.”
“Hmm?” Dent shifted, hands sliding around him to hold him, touch him.
“Why did you turn down Mal’s offer to have a swimming pool cleared for you?” He

knew how much Dent loved the water. He would have thought that was something Dent would
have jumped at.

“I just did.” Stubborn man.
“There is never a ‘just’ when it comes to you, my dear. Tell me why.” He could be

stubborn, too. He’d already proven that.

“I don’t want to go.” Stubborn and lying. Dent adored the water with a passion.
“No? I guess then you don’t want to take any more baths, either.”
“Baths are completely different.”
He chuckled. “You are the most obstinate man I have ever known.” The fact that this was

a part of Dent’s attraction did not need to be mentioned. “You will tell me what the problem with
the pool is.”

Dent’s eyebrow raised, lips going tight. “I’m simply not ready.”
“To leave the apartment?” He could understand that, but he needed Dent to admit it.
It took a moment, but Dent nodded once, just once.
“Thank you for telling me.” He gave Dent a kiss as a reward, his mouth lingering against

Dent’s.

Dent relaxed, opened up for him, fingers sliding up over his arms. He moaned, body

reacting immediately to Dent’s touches. He was addicted, in love, and each touch was a gift, an
arousal.

Dent nuzzled in, murmuring into his lips, loving him. He relaxed against Dent, pressing

into the solid, warm body. The kisses melted one into another, each touch of their lips, their
tongues making him want more.

“I love you, Bertoli.” The words were soft, sure. True.
A deep pleasure settled inside him, warm and heavy in his belly. “I feel it, too, Dent.”
Dent blushed, nuzzled closer to him, so vulnerable.
His fingers slid beneath Dent’s shirt, moving over the warm skin. His lover wasn’t back

to fighting weight, but some of the kilos were returning, light muscles a landscape beneath his
fingers. Soon, he would have to tempt Dent out into the club, out of the rather … distant reality
they had.

For now, he was happy to lose himself in the smaller reality consisting of the two of

them, mouths and hands and working bodies. Such wonderful, sweet touches that Dent shared

with him.

Dent shivered, nuzzled against him, tongue sliding slowly over his throat. He moaned,

letting Dent know how much each touch sent him flying, how much he loved the way that Dent
adored him.

Dent’s hands moved over him, slipping and sliding, nails just teasing his skin. He gasped

and groaned, pushing closer, moving into the touches and encouraging more.

Dent hummed low, soft words pouring over his skin. One hand cupped his balls; the other

was on his ass, moving him carefully.

He laughed, the joy coming from so deep inside him, making the sound rich and wild and

full. Dent’s touches had always been special, a gift, but now they were even more so.

“Love,” he laughed, hands moving over Dent’s skin.
“Mm-hmm.” Dent scooted down, lips dragging over his belly.
“Oh! Oh, Dent.” His laughter softened, his fingers trembling as he stroked Dent’s head

and cheeks. Those lips brushed over the tip of his cock, soft and hot, parted and taking him in.
“Yes. Oh, please. Don’t stop.” The pleasure was huge, enormous. As much emotional as
physical.

Those beautiful eyes stared up at him, warm and loving and so present . Dent took him

in, the pressure gentle, the heat near overwhelming. He cried out, hips jerking before he got them
under control, holding still. It meant so much that Dent had taken the initiative like this; he
would let Dent keep control, lead.

Dent stroked his thighs, throat relaxing and letting him in, holding him tight. Each suck

went through his body, lodged in his balls, making them ache so good. The deep purr vibrated
through him, through his prick and down into his nuts.

He couldn’t hold back any longer, his hips beginning to move, pushing his prick gently

into Dent’s throat. “Soon,” he murmured the pleasure and laughter building in him. His hands
moved to Dent’s shoulders, held on tight. Dent’s fingers rolled his balls, encouraging him,
pushing him over the edge.

His laughter burst from him, sounding almost like a sob as he came, cock throbbing in

Dent’s mouth. His fingers opened and closed on Dent’s shoulders, his soft giggles slowly fading
as he relaxed back onto the couch, melted.

Dent’s cheek rested on his thigh, breath slowing.
“Thank you, that was wonderful,” he murmured, hand sliding through Dent’s hair. He felt

as if he might cry, he was so pleased with Dent’s progress, with the way he saw his Dent more
and more each day, each moment.

Dent kissed his thigh once, then simply relaxed, trusting him enough to just be .
Oh, it had been a most wonderful day. He’d pushed and Dent had allowed it, had more

than met the challenge. And then this …

His laughter was soft and heartfelt, encompassing them both.

* * * * * *

Dent wandered into the small second bedroom, closing the door behind him as Bertoli

slept. He itched from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. He couldn’t sleep any more, and
if he took one more bath he was going to scream.

He read the galax-news feed, watched to see what had changed in the months he’d been

hidden away. He stretched out on the bed and stared up at the patterns swirling in the ceiling.

Fuck, but he itched.

The door opened quietly, his gaunt, bald lover stepping in. “There you are, my dear.”

Bertoli’s smile was warm, as was the hand that touched his cheek.

“Hello, Bertoli.” He returned the smile as well as he could.
Bertoli bent and took a soft kiss, hand rubbing down over his chest. “Are you ready to tell

me yet?”

He shook his head, opened his mouth to say no. “I itch. Everywhere. I can’t sleep any

more. I can’t settle.”

“Yes, I have noticed.” Bertoli’s hand settled on his belly, firm and warm. “I think perhaps

it is time to … go swimming.”

“No.” He couldn’t hide his shudder, though whether it was one of fear or desire, he

wasn’t sure.

“No? Perhaps, then, we need to take Hercules up on his offer of dinner at the penthouse.”

Bertoli leaned close. “I have never seen Hercules’ penthouse.”

“No. I’m not ready.” He couldn’t leave.
“All right. Then we’ll just take a few steps outside the door.” Bertoli stood and that

imperious hand was held out to him.

He stared at his lover, his best friend, knowing he was going to disappoint the man. “I

can’t.”

“Of course you can.” Long fingers wriggled. “Just take my hand.”
“I won’t leave. I’m not ready.” There were too many people out there.
“Just take my hand, Dent. Now.” There was a note in Bertoli’s voice that would not be

denied.

“I’m not ready !” He put all his anger into his words, even as his fingers brushed

Bertoli’s.

“Of course you are.” Bertoli’s fingers wrapped around his, tugging him upward. “It’s just

a step or two.”

“No.” He stood, shaking his head. “I’ll go to the living area, that’s all.”
Bertoli chuckled and pressed close. “To the front door, my dear. I know you can do it.”
“No.” He seemed to say that a lot.
Patting his arm, Bertoli led him from the room and down the hall. Dent managed until

they reached the door, then his heart began to pound, the edges of his vision going nearly grey.
“No.”

“We’ll just open the door, my dear.” Bertoli’s hand squeezed his, those eyes capturing

his, holding them. “We’ll just open the door and you’ll see there is no one there.”

“Just open it and close it.” Please, Bertoli. Only that.
“Open it to begin, my dear, and we’ll see how you’re feeling. I am right here with you.”
He stood there, staring. They wouldn’t be out there. They couldn’t be. If they were, they

couldn’t take him and leave. “Open it with me.”

With the hand that hold his, Bertoli reached for the palm lock, pressed his hand against it.

The door slid open to reveal an empty hallway, the distance stretching to either end seeming
endless. So many places to hide …

“Close it now, Bertoli.”
“One step, my dear.” Bertoli laughed softly, the sound reassuring somehow. “For me,

Dent. Just one.”

“I … Please.” He couldn’t.
Bertoli grabbed both his hands and took a step backward. Outside. “I know that you can.”

“No.” His breath whistled from him, his knees weakening, buckling.
“Yes.” Bertoli tugged him forward, pulling him right over the threshold and into Bertoli’s

arms.

Things slowed down impossibly, Bertoli’s mouth moving, the familiar voice distorted

and wrong, echoing. Dent could hear them, he knew he could. Waiting.

“Just me, Dent. No one else is here. It’s safe.” Bertoli held him close to his gaunt body.
“Please.” He shook violently, eyes rolling.
“You’ve done it, my dear.” Bertoli’s laughter filled the air. “You came out!”
Then, he was pushed back into the apartment, the door closing loudly. He crawled back

toward the bathroom, whimpering as he moved. He was not alone. Bertoli’s fingers continued to
move on him, his lover’s voice flowing over him.

Dent headed straight for the water, for the shower. He needed to get clean. The water was

turned on for him; his clothes pulled away, Bertoli taking care of him.

“They touched me. They fucking hurt me.” His teeth ground together and his jaw hurt

from clenching it.

“I know.” Bertoli took the soap and began to rub it over his body.
“I hate them.” He leaned back against the tile, allowing the touch, welcoming it. He was

home. Bertoli wouldn’t harm him. “I hate them, Bertoli.”

Bertoli’s hands took his face and looked at him. “I know. I hate them as well.” The words

were fierce, as was the look in Bertoli’s eyes.

“They broke me.” His words were whispered. “Ruined me.”
Bertoli shook his head. “They might have broken you, but they didn’t ruin you. And we

are putting you back together. You are my Dent. Mine. And they have not taken that.”

“How can you be sure?”
Laughing softly, Bertoli pushed against him. “Because you are here with me now.

Because you respond to me. Here, in the room, in our bed. Because you met with Hercules and
Mal. And because, as terrified as you were, you went outside and lived.”

“Don’t laugh at me, love. Please. I’m trying so hard.” He ached inside, down to his

bones.

“Oh, Dent, you know I would never laugh at you. You of all people know how my joy

spills from me.” Bertoli pressed their lips together, the kiss insistent, tongue pushing into his
mouth. “I love you, Dent.”

Dent nodded, accepting the kiss, if not returning it.
Bertoli sucked gently on his bottom lip, and then returned to washing him, eyes watching

him, hands moving over him, touching him everywhere, absolutely everywhere.

He allowed himself to slowly relax, to accept the fact that he was home, safe.
Bertoli flashed a smile up at him, his lover feeling it, sensing it. “There. You see. You

survived going beyond the door.”

“Shush. You talk too much.” He offered Bertoli a smile of his own.
Bertoli’s eyes flashed, and then he laughed. “Oh, my dear. My dear.” His lover pushed

into his arms, wriggling against his slick skin.

He rested back against the tile, holding his lover close. He had survived—he had not

survived well , but he had survived.

Chapter Ten

It was Luttrell’s turn at not being able to settle. Dent had gone out. Out . Yes, just a single

step, yes, he’d all but collapsed upon doing so, but it was nonetheless a huge leap in the right
direction.

And now, Luttrell wanted to do it again. He wanted to push. He wanted Dent to have a

life again, to feel safe, at the very least here at the club.

He put together a light salad for their midday meal, lost in thought.
“That looks good.” Dent wandered by, stealing a bit of fruit on the way to fetch juice.
He blinked, startled, and chuckled. “Does it? I’m not even sure what I’ve put in it,” he

admitted. He grabbed a couple of plates and the garlic toast out of the oven, putting it all on the
table.

Dent nodded, pouring two tall glasses of a pale pink juice and setting them on the table.

His lover was bundled in the layers he favored now, the skin no longer gray, but still odd and
pale. Paler than himself, even. He wondered if Dent would ever be willing to go up to the
gardens, to lie in the sun again. No, he would not wonder such things. They would happen.

First they would eat, and then he and Dent would take another step outside their door.
“I made those toasts you like so much.”
“Thank you.” Another bright, tart piece of fruit was savored, Dent lapping the juice from

his fingers. The unconscious sensuality delighted Lutrell, and he sat, more interested in watching
Dent eat than eating himself.

Dent picked each bit out, savoring one tiny bite, then another. It was fascinating. Luttrell

picked at his own without even looking—all his attention was on Dent. That utter focus was
what made Dent a wonderful lover, a great sub, and no doubt was what had made Dent so good
at his business.

“Do I have something on my face, Bertoli?”
“What? No! Absolutely not.” He chuckled, laughing at himself this time.
“Then what has you so fascinated?” Dent stole a bit of fruit from his dish.
He giggled and stole a bite off Dent’s plate in revenge. “You, my dear.”
“I am nothing interesting, madman.”
“I am no madman.” Grinning, he reached out, fingers trailing along Dent’s jaw. “And I

must disagree with you—you are beautiful. Such a sensual man.”

“You are biased.” Dent leaned into his touch, eyes closing.
“Perhaps a little. It is still true.” He traced his lover’s features, loving how the sensuality

that he’d enjoyed while watching Dent eat was brought to bear on his touch.

Dent actually smiled for him, eyes warm, admiring him. Him. It was the most precious

gift.

He picked up a piece of fruit with his fingers an offered it over. “Those are my favorite.

Tart and sweet.”

Dent leaned over, nibbled on the bite.
“Mmm … share?” He leaned in enough to meet Dent’s mouth, tongue lapping. Dent

opened to him, allowed him in. Shared with him. The fruit was sweet and tart, and Dent himself
was spice, deep and good and not only familiar, but necessary.

Moaning, he delved deeper, wanting more of that taste. Dent opened to him, letting him

in. His lover craved kisses, always had. He climbed into Dent’s lap without breaking their kiss,
his hands sliding on the strong shoulders.

Dent drew him close, relaxing and rocking against him. His hands moved over Dent’s

head, Dent’s face, tracing the contours he knew better than his own. Each kiss invited another,
one flowing into the next like honey over bread.

Dent trusted him completely, easily, allowing him this without worry.
He slid a hand between them, opening Dent’s trousers and then his own linens. Their

pricks met, tips touching, kissing as they rocked together. They both hummed as they slid and
rubbed. The pleasure between them wasn’t fierce, but comfortable, peaceful. It built slowly, their
kisses becoming deeper as their need grew. This kind of pleasure was born of trust, of love.

He rocked slightly harder, the rubbing and rubbing making his balls draw slowly up.
“Mmm. Bertoli.” Dent smiled against his lips, tongue sliding against his.
He smiled back, moving faster still, loving the heat between them, the pleasure.
Dent’s hand slipped between them, wrapping their cocks together.
He gasped into his lover’s mouth. “Yes! Dent, please.”
Dent’s fingers began to move, stroking them both together, rubbing firmly. Slow and

peaceful, relaxed, it all disappeared as the need rode him, making him pant. “My Bertoli.” Dent
groaned, lapping his lips.

“Yours, my dear. All.” The last word cut off as his pleasure overwhelmed him, heat

pouring out of his cock.

Dent nodded, his own heat joining Luttrell’s. He rested their foreheads together, their

breath mingling as they both panted.

“Mmm … now that is the way to end a meal.”
“Yes. It is.” Dent smiled at him, lips soft against his own.
He enjoyed the peace and pleasure with Dent for a while longer. He hated to break this

peace with another foray beyond the door, but perhaps it was this peace that would give Dent the
ability to go further this time.

Dent’s eyes closed, hands stroking his skin.
He kissed Dent’s eyes, his lips. “Come with me now, my dear. I have something for you

to do.”

“Hmm? What, Bertoli?”
“Come with me.” He tucked himself and Dent back into their trousers, and stood.
Dent stood, blinking slowly. “Where are we going?”
Luttrell met Dent’s eyes. He hated doing this, hated bringing Dent’s peace crashing down

around their ears. But if he didn’t push, Dent would stay wrapped up in this safe cocoon for the
rest of his life. “To the front door, my dear.”

“No. I just did, not too long ago.” Dent’s eyes begged him, pleaded.

Oh, he wanted to give in. He wanted to wrap Dent in his arms and let them go play. He

could not. “You took a step. Long enough ago. Today you need to take one more.”

“Why? Why does it matter, Bertoli?”
“Because if you cannot leave, then this place will become a cage and you will come to

hate it, and yourself. And me.”

“They’re out there. Waiting for me.”
“No. This club is like a fortress. Hercules will allow no one here who will hurt you. You

will come with me now.” He kept hold of Dent’s hands and began to walk backward, drawing
Dent along with him.

“Bertoli …” Dent began to pale, breaking out into a cold sweat.
He would reward his lover for this. He would. “My brave and handsome Dent. You are

mine, you know. I won’t let anyone else have you.” Almost there now, just a few more steps to
the door. He could hear the sounds of their breathing.

“You couldn’t stop them.”
“They aren’t here .” They reached the door and he moved to stand next to Dent, to stand

with his lover. “Shall we open it together?”

“Please, Bertoli. Please, I can’t yet. I won’t.” Luttrell could smell the fear pouring off

Dent’s skin. He didn’t think he could remember ever doing anything that was harder than this.
Not even when Dent had first been rescued.

He took Dent’s hand in his and brought it to the palmplate, pressing it against the metal

until the door clicked. “Just two steps outside the door, Dent. That is all I ask of you.” Today.

“Bertoli.” Dent refused to move until he looked over, met Dent’s eyes. “After, I need … I

need you to …”

Joy bloomed inside him at Dent asking for it. “We will go to the room, my dear. And

together, we will touch the stars.”

“Two steps.” Dent began to move, hand clenching his. “Two steps.”
“Yes, my dear. Two steps. And I am with you—you don’t need to take them alone.” He

held just as tightly to Dent, as Dent held onto him.

Dent closed his eyes and took the steps, white as a sheet and panting, but standing this

time.

“Very good, my dear. Very good. Now, open your eyes. You must see that it is safe. That

there is no one out here.” He kept his voice even, though he noticed it almost echoed, the
hallway so much bigger than their apartment.

“No. No. No. No.” The word was chanted, over and over, Dent beginning to panic. Those

eyes opened, just a crack.

He stroked Dent’s arm with his free hand. “You see? There is no one here. Just you and

me.” He kept his voice calm and steady by sheer will alone. He wanted to crow over Dent having
come this far. He wanted to slam the door and tell Dent he never had to do this again.

“Inside. Two steps. You promised.”
He nodded. “Yes. I am very proud of you, Dent.”
“Inside.” Dent tugged him back in, nearly collapsing against the door as it shut.
He guided Dent’s hand back to the palmplate the lock clicking loudly into place. And

then he tugged again on Dent’s hands. “Down the hall and to our room, my dear.”

“You’ll help me.” Dent followed him, eyes clinging to his. Trusting him.
“Of course, my dear.” Of that there was never any doubt. None at all. He stopped them at

the door to the room and wrapped his arms around Dent. “I love you,” he murmured.

“Yes. Yes, Bertoli. Love. Please, help me. I need you.”
“And I am here for you.” He drew Dent into the room and helped his lover to lie down on

the table. “First, I will bind you. Wrists and ankles, so that you are held fast.” He matched
actions to words, hands sliding up along first Dent’s arms to attach the cuffs, then over Dent’s
legs to his ankles.

Dent’s breath came quickly, fingers opening and closing, muscles vibrating.
He slid his fingers over Dent’s skin, pressing only hard enough not to tickle. “You know

how we begin, my dear. We always begin the same way.”

“Clean. You help me be clean.” There were tears in Dent’s voice.
“Yes, my dear. Water and soap, and then alcohol. I shall clean you from top to bottom.”

He pressed a kiss on Dent’s lips and then quickly fetched a bowl filled with water and a cloth.

“I need this. I need you to make them go away.” Dent talked to him, words falling from

Dent, begging him.

“Away, yes. There is no one here in this room but you and I.” He began to run the

washcloth over Dent’s skin, going slowly, being absolutely thorough. “I’m washing everything
else away.”

“Please.” Each touch relaxing Dent a little further.
It was beautiful, the way their time here and their routine had become ingrained in Dent’s

psyche. “Such a beautiful man, my dear.” He laughed softly, loving this man and being here.

“Love.” Dent’s eyes closed, his lover’s face relaxing.
“I’m right here with you. Beginning a beautiful session the way we begin them all.”
He finished up at Dent’s feet, careful not to tickle as he washed between each toe. By the

time he’d finished with the soap and water, Dent had relaxed, cock beginning to harden, to swell.

“Mmm, so pretty.” He chuckled happily, settling into himself, into this. Here he had no

qualms, here he knew what he was doing. He opened an alcohol swab. “The last step of the
cleaning now, my dear.”

Dent grimaced. “Will you turn the heat up for me? Please?”
“Of course, my dear, of course.” He went over and touched it up a fair bit, stopping long

enough to strip out of his linens so he was as naked as his lover.

“There, is that better?” he asked as he began to rub the swab quickly over Dent’s skin.
“Yes. Thank you.” Dent offered him a wavering smile.
“You’re welcome of course, my dear!” He giggled and ran a hand along Dent’s belly. “I

think we shall try something quite wonderful today, my dear. Something to drive away all
thoughts of anyone but me. First I shall clean you inside, yes? A nice warm enema.”

Dent shuddered, cheeks flushing dark. “I … Bertoli …”
He laughed gently. “Yes, you. I know how much you enjoy this.” Even if Dent still

complained about it every time. It was a part of their routine.

“Just a small tube today.” Dent would get stretched enough with what he had planned for

his lover.

“It unnerves me, how much you touch. How much is yours,” Dent marveled.
He stopped and tilted his head, fingers stroking Dent’s hip, without his even thinking

about it. “All of you, my dear. All of you is mine.”

“Yes.” Dent shivered again, moaned.
He petted one thigh and slid the leg panels further apart, exposing Dent’s hole. “Such a

pretty little thing,” he murmured, finger stroking over the wrinkled sphincter. He grabbed the
smallest tubing, slicked up one end. “Here it comes, my dear. Here’s the tubing.”

“I … I … Yes. Yes, Bertoli.”
Oh, so hard. So hard for his sweet lover. He pushed his finger in first, then made quick

work of adding the tubing. He stroked the soft skin between Dent’s balls and hole, easing and
comforting as he began to let the treated water in.

Dent’s eyes squeezed tight, breath beginning to pant out of him, sweat sheening the pale

skin.

“Shh, shh. You know this, my dear. It is one of the things we do most often.” He began to

rub Dent’s belly, both distracting and soothing as the water filled Dent’s bowels. “And for such a
good cause today. Yes, indeed.” He laughed, anticipation thrilling inside him.

“What …. what will we do?”
“I will fill you today with myself. I will leave no room at all for anyone else.” He

chuckled. “You’ll see.”

“With you?” Was it his imagination or did Dent smile?
“With me, my dear. All me. Just me. Me.” He giggled and opened his closed his hand.

Oh, yes, he would fill Dent. “I think that’s enough of the water, yes?” Dent’s belly had begun to
strain beneath his soothing fingers. He turned off the water.

“Yes.” Dent groaned, shifting and sliding on the table, restless.
“Just hold it for a moment or two, my dear.” He petted and touched, trying to soothe.
“Bertoli. Bertoli, please.” The words were complaints, but Dent was relaxing into it,

breathing.

“I love the way you say my name.” Dent was the only one to call him by his given name.

He was Luttrell, or sometimes Doctor, and occasionally “that lunatic” to everyone else, but
always Bertoli to Dent.

Dent almost chuckled, eyes opening to look at him, letting him in. “My Bertoli.”
“Yes, my dear. Yours. Absolutely.”
He opened the table. “You can let go now, my dear. You’ll so enjoy what we’re going to

do.”

“I hate this part.” Dent offered that to him as well.
“I know, my dear, but there is nothing you can do that will disgust me, hmm?” He petted

Dent’s belly. “Let it go, let it all go.”

“I know. I know …” Dent shook, fighting his own needs.
He leaned in to Dent’s ear, to whisper and to give his lover a small bit of privacy. “It will

be worth it, my dear. I promise.”

It was enough, Dent giving in without fighting a war.
He smiled down at his lover, and gave Dent a soft kiss. “Excellent, my dear.” He placed

another kiss on Dent’s belly, and one on his cock before closing the flap back up. “The sound,
first. I am going to blow your mind.” He felt almost giddy with anticipation.

“First.” Dent relaxed into the chair, breathing nice and slow. “I’m yours. All of me.”
His laughter pealed out, his pleasure too much to keep contained inside. “All of you,

yes!” He grabbed the sound with the rosette on top of it, knowing Dent enjoyed the stimulation it
afforded.

“This one. This one with the pretty, bumpy flower.”
Dent groaned, licked his lips, cock throbbing.
Oh, yes. That one. He grabbed the lube and pressed the tip of the tube against Dent’s slit.

“Slick first, my dear. It will be cold to start with.” He squeezed the tube, lube shooting out into
Dent’s slit.

Dent arched, muscles taut and straining against the bonds. “Cold. Cold. Bertoli.”
He chuckled. “Oh, yes. You’ll quickly warm it up, my dear.” He squeezed a bit more in

and then manipulated Dent’s cock, squeezing the tip to make some of the lube splut out. He
rubbed it across the tip of Dent’s prick.

“Evil. Evil man.” Dent’s hips started thrusting, rocking into his touch with short, sharp

motions.

“Very evil, making you feel so good.” He dipped the sound into the tube of lube and

squeezed Dent’s cock again with his other hand. “Still, now, while I do this.” Once the sound
was in, Dent would not be able to come until he removed it, just as he wanted.

“I … I don’t know …” Dent stilled, eyes rolling.
“Of course you do.” He teased the end of the sound around the tip of Dent’s cock, then

dipped it into the man’s slit.

Dent went perfectly still, breath caught in his throat.
“Mmm … such a pretty cock. Hot and silky, full and wide.” He carefully pushed in the

sound until it wasn’t quite halfway in, and then let it drop the rest of the way.

“Bertoli!” Dent tugged against the cuffs, muscles tight, jerking, fighting the pressure

inside him, the need.

“Right here, my dear. Right here.” He moved the tip of the sound, watching as the petals

of the rose bumped across the tip.

“No. No, I can’t. It’s so big …” Dent seemed to be flying, head tossing as his throat

worked.

He slid his hand along Dent’s cheek and brought their mouths together, kissing Dent until

they were both breathless. “You can, my dear,” he murmured as he pulled away. “You have to
because I’m going to make it bigger.”

“Bigger? Nothing else will fit.”
He threw his head back and laughed, utterly delighted. “Oh, Dent, you do make me so

happy. And I promise, I am not planning on putting anything else into your cock today.” He slid
his hand between Dent’s legs, one finger teasing the wrinkled hole. “Here though. Here there
will be more.”

“M … more.” That little hole clenched, shifted against his touch.
“Yes, my dear. So much more.” He slicked up his finger and slid it right in, Dent’s body

hot and silky.

Dent moaned and smiled, body squeezing him as the flat stomach rippled a bit.
He chuckled. “Yes, this you know and love, don’t you, my dear? I will touch you deep

today. I will. No room left for anyone but me inside you.”

“Yes. Yes, please, Bertoli. I need you.”
“I know.” He smiled as he slipped a second slick finger in, so slowly stretching his lover,

making this last and last. “I need you, too, yes?” It was important that Dent know he wasn’t the
only one.

Dent relaxed into the touches, riding him gently. “You’re mine. My lover. My friend.”
He beamed at Dent, the pleasure at the words warm and wonderful inside him. “Yes, my

dear. Absolutely.” He touched the tip of the sound, making the rose petals shift against Dent’s
slit as his fingers slid in and out of Dent’s ass.

Those lovely eyes flew open, the look a touch panicked and a bit wanton, all at once.

“Bertoli!”

He laughed, utterly delighted with the way Dent gave over all of himself, every emotion.

He touched the rose again. “Amazing, is it not?”

“Oh. That … That is …” Dent shivered, head tossing a bit.
“Yes, my dear, I know. I know.” He removed his fingers and added more lube to them.

He pushed three into Dent, his Dent opening easily for him. His dear lover had no idea what he
planned, Luttrell knew because the long throat was arched, Dent moving easily, eagerly. He
would not give a warning as it would only worry Dent, make the man tense up, make this
impossible or painful. Luttrell had no intention of it being either.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, manipulating the sound, tugging it out a bit and sliding it

back into place as he slipped a fourth finger into Dent’s body under cover of the sensations
caused by the sound.

“Mmm. Full.” Dent hummed, eyes closed again, cheeks flushed.
“Full of me.” Carefully, he pushed his fingers in further, moving them slowly, turning

them as well as pushing them in and nearly out again.

“Yes …” Dent stretched, pulling against the bonds, muscles rippling.
He laughed—how could he not with so much emotion inside him, his lover full of him

and feeling every little thing? “More, Dent. I will fill you more.”

“There … there is only so far I can stretch.”
“You can stretch more,” he murmured, giggling. “I will hold you in my hand. I will.” He

spread more lube on his hand and tucked his thumb in, slowly pushing in. This time he did not
play with the sound or do anything else to distract Dent. He wanted his lover to feel this, to
know.

“Bertoli. Bertoli, please.” Those eyes met his, the beginning of worry blooming there.
He stroked Dent’s face with his free hand, smiling at his lover. “Shh. Relax, my dear. I

would never push you too far, you know that.” Just trust me, my dear, he thought. You need to do
that.

He continued to push.
Dent keened, breath coming fast and shallow, the muscles tight around his knuckles.
He shook his head. “No, no, my dear. Relax. Relax.” He spoke quietly, free hand sliding

on Dent’s skin, gentling his lover. The moment the tight muscles eased, he pushed his hand in.

The sound that rang through the air echoed within him, Dent’s cry deep and raw.
“Inside you, my dear,” he whispered. “Joined as no others.”
“Bertoli.” Dent gasped, eyes wide open and staring at him, glazed with tears.
He bent, careful not to jostle the hand he had inside Dent, and kissed his lover gently. “I

love you, my dear.”

He got a nod, a soft cry, those swollen lips opening for him. The kiss was deep and

intense, and he could lose himself in it. So he pulled away, leaving a last lick on Dent’s lips
before turning his attention once again to where his hand was.

“Full. Bertoli, I …” Dent pulled against the bonds, struggling just a bit.
“I know. And you must relax for me. You must trust me.” He wriggled his fingers, just a

little. “And I will make you fly.”

“I do … I … It’s so big, Bertoli. So much.”
“It is me.” He began to move his hand, his fingers brushing against Dent’s gland.
Dent cried out, arms and legs tugging as the man tried to curl toward him.
“So beautiful,” he murmured, his voice nothing but air. He was nearly as undone as Dent,

his lover so amazing. He continued to move his hand slowly. “Just feel, my dear.”

Dent had no words left to answer him, just moans and cries, the look in those wide eyes

completely dazed. It was exactly what he wanted. To fill Dent so completely, to take his lover’s
trust and offer the most intense pleasure in return.

His own breath panted from him, and his free hand was shaking the tiniest bit as he

reached and twisted the rose-tipped sound.

Dent convulsed, body flushing a deep, dark rose, the climax caught inside, nothing but a

pure rush of sensation that had to flush everything from his Dent. Luttrell swallowed, holding
onto his own orgasm with all he had.

“Another,” he murmured, hand moving inside Dent, fingers of his other hand playing

with that rose.

“I … I … Bertoli …” Dent nearly sobbed out his name. “Your. Your own. Love. I love

you.”

“Yes. Yes, my Dent.” He pulled the sound out with one smooth move, his hand moving

faster, fingertips hitting Dent’s gland with more force. Heat splashed over his hand, Dent’s belly,
strings of semen pouring from his lover’s body in pulse after pulse. He could feel it around his
fist, Dent’s body squeezing him, holding him tighter than anything else ever had.

His own climax hit him by surprise, heat spraying out to hit Dent.
Dent was still on his table, eyes closed, breath slowing, steadying. He leaned his forehead

against Dent’s hip, a soft, keening noise coming from him. “Dent. Oh, my Dent.”

“Y … yours. Your own.”
Nodding, he moved to kiss Dent’s prick, Dent’s balls, distracting his lover as he slowly

began to work his hand out.

Dent shivered, whimpered low. “No. Not yet.”
Luttrell stilled, warmth filling him. “Sh. Sh. I’ll stay inside you, keep holding you in my

hand.”

“Yes.” Dent relaxed, slumped against the chair, nearly asleep.
He stroked Dent’s hair away from his face, gazing into his lover’s face. He would do

anything for this man. Anything.

Dent leaned into his touch, sinking deeply into an exhausted sleep, tension dissolved.

Luttrell stayed there next to his lover, hand still buried deep inside. Almost as deep as Dent was
inside him.

* * * * * *

The communit was buzzing. “Luttrell?”
Dent wandered through their rooms, frowning. He knew Bertoli was here. He knew it.

“Someone’s calling.” Damn it.

Dent stood before the communit, staring, finger reaching for the controls. It kept buzzing.

Imperiously. Demanding.

Someone from the outside. And Bertoli was nowhere in sight. Nowhere.
“Bertoli?” Dent chewed his bottom lip, staring at the comm, forcing himself to push the

button, to ignore the waves of panic that hit him. “What?”

Herc’s face appeared, dark violet eyes matching his hair. “Dent! How wonderful to see

you!”

“Herc.” He nodded, forcing himself not to fidget, not to simply turn the comm off.
“How are you doing, old friend?” Herc asked, smiling at him.
He met Herc’s eyes, trying not to show his panic. “I’m … coping. Luttrell is very good to

me.”

“You’re looking better.” Herc paused a moment and then continued. “I was wondering if

you and Luttrell wanted to join me for lunch at one of the pools.”

He shook his head. He couldn’t. Not yet. “Luttrell must be sleeping.”
“No, I’m right here, my dear.” Luttrell came to stand next to him, arm looping easily

around his waist.

“Well, I’m sorry I can’t convince you to join me for lunch, but perhaps I could book one

of the smaller private pools for your use? I remember you being a avid swimmer, Dent.”

“I … That was before.” He did love the water, or had once, and he found himself

suddenly furious, outraged that those bastards had taken so much from him. His fingers curled
into fists, nails digging into the palms, muscles bunching up.

Herc’s eyes flashed for a moment. “And now? Have you even tried, Dent? I miss you.”
Bertoli’s hand squeezed his hip.
“I have tried. I managed, what? Five steps from these fucking rooms before I run back?

Ten?” He growled, embarrassed and ashamed and so very angry.

“Then try harder. Don’t let them win, Dent.”
A hundred vile, vicious things rose in him and he fought them back, his eyes closed as he

struggled.

Hercules kept pushing. “I will not lose my friend. I want to know that you will sit at my

table one day soon and eat a meal with me.”

“You cannot always have what you want.” He’d learned that.
One of Hercules’ eyebrows went up, and then he laughed softly. “No, I suppose I cannot.

But your friendship is not something I’m willing to give up. I’ll call again.”

His heart ached in his chest. If they hadn’t … “I’ll be here.”
“So will I, Dent. So will I.”
The comm went dark.
“Not bad, my dear,” murmured Bertoli. “Not bad at all.”
“Not bad?” He was a worthless coward. A child. A prisoner. “I’m going to shower.”
“In a minute.” Bertoli stopped him from going. “You answered the comm for the first

time. You spoke to Hercules for several minutes—you argued with him.”

“Am I supposed to be proud of that?”
Bertoli tilted his head. “Tell me then, what you think you need to do to make yourself

proud.”

“I …” Dent opened his mouth, closed it, finding no answers. None. “I need a shower.”
“No. No showers until you have answered my question.”
“I. Need. A. Shower.” The fury hit him again, surprising him. Shocking him.
Bertoli crossed his arms. “No. You had a shower two hours ago. And I won’t let you go

hide in the shower without answering my question first. Tell me what you have to do to make
yourself proud.”

“ No!” He turned from those eyes, fists crashing against the wall, over and over.
Bertoli waited until he’d stopped and then the long body wrapped around him from

behind. “Are you done?”

“Yes.” He leaned back against the now-familiar strength, trembling and shaken.
A kiss landed on his shoulder. “Will you answer my question? And if you won’t, will you

at least admit that you’re expecting more of yourself than anyone else is?”

“I can’t answer your question, Bertoli. I don’t know the answer.”
“Fair enough. I am proud of you, though, my dear.” Bertoli laughed. “You have no idea.

Ten steps out the door, and answering the comm, speaking to Hercules for ages. We’ll be at the
pools in no time, swimming to your heart’s content.”

“I used to be more.” He had traveled the galaxy, controlled a vast corporation.
“You used to be overworked and unhappy, my dear.”
“I wasn’t afraid.” Which was a lie. He had been, when he had time to think about it.
“No? Never?”
He waved his hand, started pacing. “That’s a silly question.”
Bertoli snorted. “Are you going to answer any of my questions today?”
He rolled his eyes, aggravated. “No. No, I’m just going to take my shower and my nap.”
“I don’t think so.” Bertoli grabbed his hand and headed them down the hall.
“No. No. I don’t want this. I want some time.” He dug in his heels, stubborn.
“Time to what?” Bertoli asked. “Whenever I ask hard questions or push, you go running

to the shower, to a nap. You say you don’t want to be like this, but you aren’t pushing yourself at
all.”

He turned on Bertoli with a snarl. “No. No, I’m not. Of course, I’m not. I push myself

every day to wake up and not hide away. I push myself not to look behind the doors, not to
dream about them night after night!” His fist slammed into the wall, right beside Bertoli. “I
should have died out there and then I would not be such a problem now!”

Bertoli jumped, but Dent’s anger didn’t send his lover away. “No! No, you are not a

problem , Dent! You are my lover, my friend, and I am scared you will never be happy with the
progress you’ve made, never believe yourself to be more than a shadow of the man you were.
Well, I love the man you are here and now. And I want you to be happy.”

“I don’t know how to be happy!”
“To start with, you need to stop being disappointed in yourself. So what if you don’t do

the things you used to do? You hated your work, and you’re well rid of it. You need to find new
goals, and you need to revel in the pleasures you have, the things we do together …” Bertoli took
a deep breath and reached out to touch his arm. “You have to decide what you want to do with
your life and then work toward it instead of worrying about how things used to be.”

“I don’t have goals beyond forgetting.” He sighed, fingers tugging at his hair.
“Maybe that’s part of why you’re stuck here.” Bertoli took his hands, twined their fingers

together. “You should be working toward something, not running away from memories. You
don’t have to face them alone, my dear, but I think perhaps you do have to face them.”

“I have faced them. I survived them. I never intend to think of them again.” He didn’t

want to remember the sounds of electricity upon his skin, of the burns and slaps and slices. Of
the touches, of the tears.

“But you do think of them. You expect the spectre of them to jump out at you around

every corner.” Bertoli sighed. “I just want your happiness, my dear.”

“I’m sorry, Bertoli.” He turned away, headed toward the door, shoulders slumping.
“Dent!” Bertoli caught up with him, grabbing his arm and whirling him around so they

were face to face. “I am not disappointed in you. Quite the opposite—I am proud of you!”

“How? How can you be?”
“You answered that comm on your own and spent several minutes talking to Herc. You

got angry and let it out, and survived. Every day you go further from the door. And you revel in
every touch I offer. How could I not be proud?”

“I want … I want to understand where I am.” He stepped closer to his lover, soaking up

the heat there.

Bertoli wrapped the long, thin arms around him immediately, drawing him even nearer.

“Come to the room with me. We will meditate on it together.”

“Together.” He let Bertoli lead him this time, let Bertoli hold his gaze.
“In all things, my dear.” Bertoli stopped just inside the door to the room, his head tilting

to the side. “Would you like us to have something tangible to show that?”

“What?”
“Matching rings, tattoos. You could wear my collar.” Bertoli laughed gently. “There are

many, many ways we could make the statement.”

A collar. He touched his neck, considering that idea. “We should think about it some.”
Bertoli nodded, the long fingers joining his and sliding around his neck. “I would not

have thought you could be more handsome, but perhaps … maybe my collar would be the
finishing touch.”

“I …” What would his friends think? What would Herc say? Mal? Did it matter? Did it

matter even a bit? “I … am intrigued.”

Bertoli smiled. “Yes? I like the idea myself.” Those fingers continued to slide along his

neck.

His eyes closed, his tension beginning to ease.
“Something strong and masculine. Perhaps a tattoo of a thick-linked chain, or a dark

leather band.” He could tell that Bertoli liked the idea, that long prick filling against his thigh.

Strong. “You still think I’m strong.” It wasn’t a question, not really.
“I have never met anyone stronger, my dear. Never.”
“I will be able to swim again, one day.” It was a prayer, a wish.
“You will. You can do anything you set your mind to, my dear. Anything.”
“I will.” He would. He wanted to.
Bertoli leaned in and kissed him, eyes warm and full of love, then tugged him toward the

table. “You will. Now, what shall we do today?”

“I don’t know. I …” He stopped, frowned a moment. “I want to be clean, Bertoli. I can

feel my anger on my skin.” That was odd, but true.

“And that is how we always begin, is it not, my dear?” Bertoli laughed gently, that sound

so familiar and good. “I will clean you, top to bottom.”

Dent nodded. “It is the best part.”
“It brings us together.”
“Does that please you?” He needed to know, needed to know that Bertoli was with him

on that.

“More than I can say, my dear.” Bertoli looked shy for a moment. “I have always enjoyed

what I do here, but until I met you, I have never felt this way.”

Dent reached out, drew his lover to him. “I kept holding onto the memory of you.”
“And now you can hold onto me in the flesh.” Bertoli’s kiss left him of no doubt of who

he was holding, and it was not merely an insubstantial memory.

Dent groaned, stepping closer and pushing against Bertoli with a low moan. Oh. Kisses.

He could live for those kisses. One flowed into another, each one long and wet and filled with a
shared need.

Slowly, so very slowly, Bertoli undressed him. Desire had him exploring Bertoli’s body,

hands dragging over the fine skin, adoring his lover. Sweet moans filled the air, Bertoli moving
into each of his touches, hands holding on to him.

Dent eased to his knees, licking and nibbling on Bertoli’s flat belly, chin nudging that

heavy cock.

“Oh, my dear …” Bertoli’s laughing moan filled the air, the long fingers sliding through

his hair.

He nodded and took Bertoli’s cock in, lips wrapping around the tip and drawing the bitter

and salt flavor in. His lover’s hips jerked, and then stilled, Bertoli’s hands wrapping around his
shoulders and holding on.

Dent set himself to loving Bertoli, to offering his lover all the sensation he could. Soon

Bertoli’s hips began to move again, finding a rhythm and pushing into his mouth over and over.
He rocked with the motions, letting Bertoli in deep and then deeper.

“My dear, oh my dear, yes.” The long prick grew harder, throbbing on his tongue.
Dent sucked, staring up into those light eyes, offering Bertoli his soul.
“Dent!” Bertoli cried out, seed spilling into his throat. He drank the man down, resting

his forehead against one bony hip. “Oh, my dear.” Bertoli’s voice was laced with laughter, with
happiness. “I am the luckiest man.”

He kissed the curve of Bertoli’s stomach, tongue caressing the skin.
“No one has ever cared so for my pleasure,” murmured Bertoli, hand sliding through his

hair.

“How could anyone not, as much as you offer?”
“Most saw me as a means to an end, I believe. As a …” Bertoli shrugged. “Only you see

inside me.”

He kissed Bertoli again. “I love you.” Simple as that.
Bertoli nodded. “Yes. And that is why I am the luckiest man in the universe.” Bertoli

tugged him up, took a soft kiss. “And I love you, my dear.”

It was easy to nod to lean into Bertoli and hold tight.
“Mmm … let’s get you clean, my dear. And then I want to make love to you.”
“Yes.” He met Bertoli’s eyes, slowly becoming comfortable with his need. “Please.”

Chapter Eleven

Luttrell hummed as he finished wrapping his gift for Dent, putting a huge, gaudy bow on

the top. He giggled at the sight of it. If nothing else, it should make his lover smile.

“Dent?” he called out, taking his package and heading toward the living room. He’d left

Dent dozing on the couch.

“Hmm?” Dent blinked up, too-long hair tousled and mussed.
He sat on the edge of the couch on one butt cheek, and reached to slide Dent’s hair away

from his face. “I have a present for you, my dear.”

“What is it?” Dent smiled, relaxed and easy. The nightmares were beginning to fade,

Dent getting less sleep yet more rest.

He chuckled. “Well, open it and find out.” He shook it, the shiny bow catching the light.
Dent laughed, tore the bow off and dug through the paper. The swimming gear—new

suit, heavy towel, thick robe and dark glasses to round out the look—fell into Dent’s lap.

Luttrell slid his fingers over the robe. “Have you ever felt anything so decadent?” he

asked.

Dent’s cheeks were dark and the fingers trembling as they reached for the robe, but they

did reach for it, did stroke the soft, luscious fabric.

“I thought you would look stunning in the dark red.” A soft laugh preceded his next

words. “I admit I indulged and bought one just the same for myself, only in white.”

And they would use them today. They would change into swimming trunks and robes,

Dent would wear his sexy dark glasses and they would go to the private pool he’d booked.

“It would be beautiful on you.” Dent reached out, stroked the collar of the robe.
“Well, you can be the judge of that. I’ll change into my suit and put on my robe and

you’ll do the same and we’ll feel each other’s clothes up.” His little joke had him giggling away.

“I … I don’t know if I’m ready, Bertoli.” That was his Dent, not prevaricating, not lying

to him.

“We’ll take this one step at a time, my dear. Surely you are ready to put on a pair of fancy

new swimming trunks and a robe?” One thing at a time, and before his Dent knew what was
what they’d be in the water. That was the plan, anyway.

Dent blushed dark and nodded, offering him a wry smile. “Of course I am. Easy access

for me, with you in your suit.”

He giggled. “Likewise. If nothing else we can sit on the couch and make out like

teenagers.”

“That sounds perfect.” Dent stood, grabbed his box. “Absolutely perfect.”

“Mine’s in the bedroom. I’ll meet you back here in five minutes, my dear. Don’t be late.”

He winked and headed for the bedroom, eager to see Dent all decked out in his new clothes,
knowing they would suit his lover, show off the strong lines.

His own body was long and gaunt and no manner of bathing suit could disguise that. But

the robe that went over it was sinfully soft. He would have to find out what material it was and
have Kestrel order enough to cover the table in the room. Such a luxury for Dent to lie on.

In no time at all he was back in the living room, towel over his shoulder and a matching

pair of sunglasses dangling from one hand.

“Mmm. It’s a good look for you.” Dent was leaning against the wall, robe open, muscles

rippling as he shifted.

He froze where he stood, absolutely taken by the picture Dent made. “For me?” He shook

his head. “There is no way I can look even half as stunning as you do, my dear.” He went over to
Dent, hands reaching for those wonderful muscles. He needed to see Dent swimming.

“Your hands are warm.” Dent did not agree, but he did not argue, so Luttrell took it as a

plus.

He continued stroking as he put on his sunglasses. “Let’s see yours on. We’ll match.”
Dent chuckled, but slipped them on. “Do I look ridiculous?”
“Quite the opposite, my dear. You look very stylish.” He slid his fingers around Dent’s

arm and wandered them casually down the hall. “I have an idea.”

“Hmm?” Dent followed him, moving easily. Trusting.
“It would be a shame to waste our outfits. We should go swimming.”
“I love the water. We could bathe …”
“The sunglasses would be wasted on a bath.” He leaned in, sharing his secret with Dent.

“Hercules has set up a new pool, very private. There is a sun lamp that he swears to me feels
exactly like the sun on the skin, with the sound of waves piped in …”

“Oh …” Dent rippled, the moan sexual and wanton. “I want.”
“Then you shall have, my dear. It’s not open to anyone else yet—he said you were to be

the first to use it.”

They came to the door and he spared Dent the need to open it, grabbing the handle and

swinging the door wide; he suspected it would take all his lover’s fortitude to make the trip down
to the pool.

“I …” Dent reached for his hand, fingers squeezing his. “I don’t … I’m frightened.”
“I know. And that’s all right, my dear. We’ll do this together, yes?” He took that first

step, trusting Dent would come with him.

Dent did, following him, one step after another, to the lift. “Bertoli. Bertoli, I can’t. “
He laughed gently. “But you are , my dear. You are .” He kept moving, thanking the

stars when pressing the lift button had the doors sliding open for them almost immediately. Soon,
they would be far enough that Dent might as well go forward as go back.

He petted Dent’s arm, squeezed their hands together. His lover’s skin was grey, sweat

sheening it as Dent shuddered. But they stepped onto the lift, the doors closing smoothly behind
them.

“What do you love best about the water, Dent?” he asked, more to give his lover

something to focus on than his need to know the answer.

“The way it surrounds me, holds me up. I like feeling clean. Do you swim?”
So brave, to answer him, even in the midst of panic. “I do. I like the feeling of

weightlessness, and the way I seem to fly through the water.” The lift arrived on the right floor,

doors sliding open again. “Here we are already. The pool is just around the corner.”

“What if they’re here? What if they’re waiting?” Dent’s eyes, huge, met his. “What if

they take you?”

“They are not here, Dent. There is security everywhere. We are safe. We are both safe.”
He held Dent’s eyes as they made their way to the pool room. Number seven. He put his

palm on the reader, the door sliding open for them, the sound of the ocean spilling out.

“They’re not in there? You swear it?”
“I swear it, Dent. There is no one in there.” He took a step inside, drawing Dent in with

him. “Trust me.”

“I do. I do .” Dent shuddered, knees buckling as the door closed.
He caught Dent, holding him close. “It’s a small place. The door is locked now. Let’s

walk together, and you’ll see. Then we can swim. It’ll be wonderful, my dear.” It already was—
Dent had come so much further today.

“We can swim.” Dent dared to look around, relaxing as those eyes took in the water, the

beautiful flowers and surroundings.

“I would like nothing better.” He beamed at Dent, removing the man’s sunglasses and

then taking off his own.

Hercules had been right, the lights really did feel like true sunshine, warm and good on

his skin.

Dent slipped the robe off, headed straight for the water. Luttrell watched, admiring the

beautiful muscles, the lean lines. His lover was quite beautiful. And out of the apartment, about
to do something he loved, that he’d thought maybe was lost forever.

With a delighted laugh, he dropped his own robe and followed.
When Dent stepped into the water, the sound his lover gave was pure joy, the most

blissful sound he’d heard in months. Beaming, he slipped into the water himself, more intent on
watching Dent than doing laps.

Dent moved easily, staying near the wall at first, in the shadows, but slowly branching

out, stretching toward the sun. For the first time since Dent had been kidnapped, Luttrell saw
again the man who had first come to him. Not exactly the same, but that confidence and easy
power was right there instead of buried behind worry and fear.

Dent swam up to him, relaxed and easy, the light of interest burning in those eyes. “It

feels good.”

“It is good.” He laughed, fingers sliding over Dent’s skin, the water making it slick.
Dent moved toward him, the smile warm, easy. “Yes. Yes, it is good.”
“I have never seen you in the sunlight before,” he noted, wrapping his arms around

Dent’s shoulders and letting that strength support him. “It suits you.”

“I spent hours in the sun before they took me.”
“Yes, I remember that tan.” So different from his own pale skin. Very sexy.
Dent smiled at him, sliding away again, slipping through the water and then up upon the

tile, sunning himself like a great reptile.

Laughing, he climbed out and settled in one of the deck chairs. “Would you like some

lunch, my dear?” He’d been promised a fully stocked refrigerator.

“Mmm. I could possibly eat.” Dent stretched, feet dangling in the water.
Luttrell found he could just reach the door to the fridge and he opened it, looking in. “Oh,

there’s a whole platter of fruit here. And salad, sandwiches. Beer.” Perfect picnic food.

“Excellent.” Dent seemed loathe to move, but those eyes stayed open, Dent awake,

aware.

He chuckled, loathe to move, himself. Still, it would be more fun to be closer to his lover.

He spread his towel next to where Dent lay and brought over the plate of sandwiches and tray of
fruit along with a couple of bottles.

“Oh, thank you.” He got a smile and a kiss that rocked him to the core.
“Mmm … you’re welcome.” He lay close, feeling quite … smitten.
Dent began to feed him, offering him the best morsels, wooing him. He held Dent’s eyes

as he accepted the food, lips and tongue tasting Dent’s fingers as often as he could.

“Thank you.” Dent traced his bottom lip, eyes peaceful.
He grabbed hold of Dent’s finger with his mouth, and began to suck on it, tongue playing

across the tip.

Dent’s eyes went half-mast, the long, leans muscles rippling. “Bertoli.”
“Mmm …” He let his teeth graze the tip of Dent’s finger, that look going straight to his

cock.

Dent stretched, ass shifting on the flat, wet rock. Oh, lovely. Purely lovely. The faux sun

was warm on his skin, but it had nothing on the heat Dent generated in him. He shifted as well,
moving closer, pressing their sides together.

“I …” Dent moaned, cock beginning to fill. “My Bertoli.”
“Oh, yes, my dear. I am absolutely yours. What will you do with me?” It was all he could

do not to rub against Dent like a cat in heat.

“I believe I will love you.” Dent’s tongue tickled the corner of his lips, parting them for

the slow, hungry kiss.

He opened wide, letting Dent in; he wholeheartedly approved of his lover’s plans. He

reached out, fingers sliding through Dent’s hair.

Dent took the kiss deep, tongue pushing into his lips, fucking his mouth with a straight-

forward hunger. There was something to be said for simple passion, for lust given its head, and
Luttrell gave himself over to it, letting Dent take the lead. In this, Dent had always been
generous, adoring his body, touching him and making them both moan and want.

He slid his fingers along Dent’s back, exploring the long spine, searching for the bundle

of nerves he knew lived near the small of Dent’s back. When he found it, Dent arched, feet
trying to gain purchase on the stone.

“So sensual,” he murmured, fingers teasing those nerves over and over.
“I …” The moans echoed over the splash of the water. “Bertoli. I feel you.”
He laughed out his delight and love. “And I feel you, Dent. You feel good. So good.”
“I do.” Dent’s teeth caught his earlobe, stinging as they bit down.
He jerked, gasping at the sharp touch. His prick began to leak, his fingers opening and

closing on Dent’s skin.

“You enjoyed that.” Another bite stung his jaw, then his throat.
He could only gasp out a “yes,” his moans giving Dent the answer. Dent explored him,

nipping and scraping his skin, leaving tiny, dark marks behind. Whimpers and soft, needy sounds
issued from him, his body jerking and pushing toward Dent’s bites and kisses. His balls drew up,
aching, his cock throbbing. Dent was going to make him come again with that quiet need, that
hungry mouth.

“Please,” he begged, though he knew that Dent wouldn’t leave him high and dry.
Dent slid into the water, lips taking his prick in on the way down. He cried out, a laugh

twisted in with the sound. So good, Dent was so good to him.

Dent’s head bobbed, lips fastened tight around his flesh. He spread his legs wider,

offering himself over to Dent.

Dent swallowed hard, throat closing about the tip of his cock.
“Dent!” It was his only warning before his balls drew up and emptied, seed pulsing into

Dent’s mouth. Dent swallowed him down, tongue cleaning his cock before the long body floated
away, Dent relaxed on the water.

He lay there, gasping like a fish out of the water, watching his lover float.
“You’re beautiful.” Dent grinned at him, looking almost smug.
He smiled back, and then laughed. “Me? Your eyes must be clouded.”
“No.” Dent dove into the water, quick as a fish.
Luttrell moaned as that lovely ass briefly slid up out of the water. He went back into the

water, swimming after Dent.

Dent led him on a merry chase, the long, lean body slicing through the water like magic.

He was laughing and breathless in no time, only continuing the chase because it was Dent .

Dent ended in the deepest part of the water, floating on his back, eyes closed. Luttrell

dove into the water, coming up under Dent, opening his mouth and placing a sucking kiss on his
lover’s ass.

Dent turned, pulling away with a laugh that Luttrell could hear, even under the water. He

popped up, grinning and launching himself after Dent, taking a kiss before settling in the water,
floating next to his lover.

“I’m glad you came,” Lutrell murmured.
“I am too. Let’s just stay here forever.”
“You’ll turn into a prune,” he laughed.
“Prunes are sweet.”
“You’re not sweet. More savory. A little salt, a little something that is … well, you .” He

could certainly float a little longer. Maybe not forever, but for awhile.

Dent offered him a smile. “Come play, Bertoli. We’ll worry about the rest later.”
“I can think of nothing I’d like to do better.” With a laugh, he followed his lover through

the water.

* * * * * *

Malachi stood outside Luttrell’s rooms, ringing the comm over and over. One more ring

and he’d open the doors himself, no matter how late it was.

“Who is it?” snapped Luttrell.
“Let me in, Luttrell. Now.”
“Mal?” The comm clicked off and the door slid open. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Yes.” He stepped in, locking the door behind him. “Dent’s abductors have escaped the

authorities three chrono ago. I wanted you to know.” The bastards had killed eight feds on the
way out.

Luttrell was a pale man. He went absolutely white. “No.”
“Yes. Herc wants you moved deeper into the club. Now.” He didn’t like it any more than

anyone else, disrupting Dent, but it needed to be done.

Luttrell’s eyes flashed to his. “You believe they can get past the front door?”
“No. No, I don’t, but Hercules doesn’t want to take any chances.” Dent had suffered

enough.

“I’m not sure running away is what he needs, Mal.” Luttrell started down the hall. “And

what does it tell him if we move—that his home isn’t safe like he’s come to believe it is?”

Mal sighed, hand rubbing his nape. “You need to talk to the boss. He’s making the calls.”

Luttrell had a point, though. Monk had the club locked down so tight it squeaked.

“Herc can advise us, but Dent and I must be the ones to make this decision.” Luttrell

knocked on the door to the bedroom. “Dent? It’s Mal, my dear. He has some news.”

Dent sat up, met his eyes. “They escaped.”
It wasn’t even a question. “How did you know?”
“You wouldn’t have come otherwise.”
Luttrell sat and put his arm around Dent. “Hercules has offered to let us move deeper into

the club.”

“I want Luttrell moved. I’ll stay here. This is my home now.”
Mal stared, confused. “Pardon me?”
Dent looked over at him, eyes still, serious. “Take Luttrell deeper into the club. Keep him

safe.”

That was incredibly unexpected.
“What? No!” Luttrell shook his head, hand tightening on Dent’s shoulder. “We’ll stay

together.”

“No. I won’t run, but I won’t risk him. They’ll hurt him.”
Shit, he had a headache and the temptation to kick Hercules in the ass was huge. “We

should call the Boss.”

“It doesn’t matter who you call, I am not going anywhere—and stop speaking about me

as if I’m not here, Dent. If you want me to move, then you will move with me. If you stay here,
so do I. And nobody is hurting anyone. I have seen Mr. Monk. Security will remain secure.”

Mal watched them both, hiding his smile. Dent looked almost whole again and Bertoli

looked like he might enjoy fighting with his sub. Regardless, Herc had sent him on a mission.

“… go with Mal, now. Herc is a demanding old bastard.”
“You leave Hercules to me. We are safe here and we are together. And we should let

poor Mal get back to bed.”

“You’re not listening to me, Bertoli.” Dent’s growl was deep, aggravated, and Mal began

to back from the bedroom, comming Hercules.

“What?”
Short, sharp, Hercules was in fine form.
“Dent refuses to leave, Boss, and wants us to take Luttrell. Luttrell is … discussing it

with him.”

Dent’s voice snapped out, the curse sharp and clear.
“Luttrell is the top, he can make Dent leave with him. I shouldn’t have to tell you this.”
“You want to talk to him, Boss? I’m tired and I have to train eight worker bees at dawn.”
One of Hercules’ eyebrows went up, violet eyes really looking at him.
“No, Mal. I want you to deal with it. And when you’ve settled it you’ll report to me. In

person.”

Damn it. “Yes, sir. I’ll find out what their decision is.”
Of course, Dent was yelling and Luttrell was heading for the playroom, so he imagined

he knew what that decision was .

“I’ll see you soon then.” The comm went dark.
“Luttrell? Have you made a decision?”
Luttrell paused at the door to the playroom. “We will stay here. Together. You and

Hercules and Mr. Monk do what you must to keep our home safe. We will not be run off.”

“Bertoli!” Dent sounded furious. It had been a while.
“Excellent. I’ll let the boss know. Please keep your doors locked and sealed.”
“Thank you, Mal. We will open it for you or for Hercules alone.”
“Yes.” He nodded to Luttrell, offered the gaunt man a smile as Dent came streaking out

of the room, ranting. He thought maybe he felt sorry for Luttrell, but then he saw the odd joy in
Luttrell’s eyes, the satisfaction there and then thought about the meeting with Hercules awaiting
him.

No. No, he didn’t feel sorry for Luttrell at all.

* * * * * *

A part of him was terrified. The men who’d hurt Dent were loose, no doubt looking to

come after his lover again. But mostly he was trying very hard not to laugh, because he didn’t
want Dent to think he was laughing at the man. And he wasn’t. But he did want to laugh because
of Dent.

It had been so long since Dent had shown such passion and fire. He’d forgotten he missed

it.

“Just get on the table, my dear.”
“You’re not listening to me!” Dent was in a full-out fury, worried for him, wanting him

to be safe. It was quite glorious, quite arousing. His amazing, passionate lover.

“Just because I don’t agree with you doesn’t mean I’m not listening.” He patted the table

encouragingly.

“Bertoli!” Dent’s hands landed on the table, muscles clenching. “Pay attention.”
He rolled his eyes, but honestly, he was happy. So happy. Stopping, he took Dent’s face

in his hands, met that wonderfully alive gaze. “Yes, my dear?”

“I don’t want them to hurt you. You have to go and be safe, love. I need that. I need you

to be safe.”

“I will be safe with you here, Dent.” There was no way he would abandon Dent, not to

mention that he couldn’t imagine being safe and not knowing that Dent was as well.

“How do you know?”
“Because you will not let anything happen to me, just as I will do the same for you.” He

kissed Dent and stepped back, patting the table again. “Now. Up.”

“Bertoli. This is not the time.” Oh, he did remember when Dent was trying to be

reasonable.

“If you don’t get on the table now, I will gag you as well as bind you.”
“You will not. I’m trying to talk to you.”
“You talk as well lying down as you can standing. So get on the table.” He hardened his

voice. “Now.”

“Bertoli …” Dent fluttered, caught and Luttrell’s balls tightened. Yes.
He pointed to the table without saying another word.
Dent vibrated, staring at him, that look familiar, one of the things that he’d fallen in love

with.

He smiled and reached again to touch one cheek and then nodded at the table. “Our ritual

awaits, my dear.”

“Don’t bind me, Luttrell. In case I have to move.” He could hear the “in case they come.”
He debated doing the bindings regardless of Dent’s wishes, and in the end, knew Dent

would not be able to sink into it if he did. “I will not, but you will not move.”

“No. I won’t move. Thank you.”
He patted the table again, waiting for Dent to climb up so they could wait for this crisis to

pass. Together.

* * * * *

He wanted to swim. He couldn’t, not right now, not with them loose, but Dent wanted to

and he could see it happening. He could see himself going and sliding into the water and
enjoying it. That was better. Not good. But better.

Dent wandered about, distracted, frustrated, hungry. Hungry? He searched for a plate of

cheeses and fruits in the chiller, grabbing enough to share.

He found Luttrell in the living room, lounging on the sofa and watching a vid. And

laughing.

He sighed and smiled, shook his head. His laughing lover. “I have food.”
“How did you know I was hungry?” Bertoli asked him, smiling, eyes shining happily.

“Come and sit and share. Have you seen this vid before? It never fails to make me laugh.”

“I haven’t watched many. I lived a very busy life.”
“Then this will be a treat.” Long fingers slid over the cushions next to Bertoli, enticing

him to sit. “What kind of food did you bring, my dear?”

“Fruit, cheese. Crackers. Nothing heavy.” He settled beside his lover, putting the tray

down.

“Finger food! The best kind. You can feed me.” Bertoli snuggled into him, and opened

his mouth like a baby bird.

“You are quite mad.” He chuckled, popped a piece of cheese between Bertoli’s lips.
Bertoli chewed quickly. “Oh, that was good. And don’t confuse happy with mad. There’s

nothing lunatic about me. Well … not a lot.”

“No. Not a lot.” Dent couldn’t hide the laughter, just fed Bertoli another piece of cheese.
Bertoli beamed, chewing with obvious relish. “This really is good.” His lover’s eyes

softened and the long fingers slid briefly along his cheek. “It is good to hear you laugh, my
dear.”

“Thank you.” He closed his eyes, leaned into the touch with a sigh.
“Eat, my dear. Relax and laugh some more with me.” Bertoli’s fingers slid away and a

tart, bright smelling fruit pressed against his lips.

“Mmm.” Tart, sweet, he moaned over the bite, nibbling on those fingers. Sweet laughter

filled the air.

And another bite, this one a soft cheese full of flavor. He ate more than a few bites, but

soon he was done, up and wandering about, searching for distraction.

“Should we go to the room or to our bedroom, my dear?” Luttrell startled him, coming up

behind him.

“What?” He blinked, tried to turn.
Luttrell laughed, arms going around him, head resting on his shoulder. “You’re restless,

my dear. Either come fuck me or let’s go get you some focus in the room.”

“I’m not restless.” He was … worried. Frustrated.
Luttrell nibbled at his neck. “But you’re out of sorts. And I know how to deal with that.”
“Do you? Are you sure?” Dent leaned back, enjoying Luttrell’s heat behind him.
“Absolutely, my dear. It takes only the right touches.” Luttrell’s fingers slid over his

belly and stroked his hips.

“Which touches are those, Bertoli?”
“The ones that clean you inside and out. The ones that make you hard. Fill you.” Bertoli’s

mouth slid over his shoulders, almost tickling.

“Bertoli …” His cock filled, everything in him shivering.
“Hmm …” Bertoli’s fingers slid along his cock, teasing, encouraging. “What would you

like today, my dear? Your body has already decided what it needs.”

“You. I need you.”
Bertoli’s laughter was soft and warm. “In that we are together, my dear. Come. I believe

the routine will calm your restlessness.”

“I … it is still a hard thing to admit, to needing such things from you.”
“I know. Which makes your act of submitting all the more wonderful.” Bertoli’s long

fingers slid around to tease his skin in the small of his back, awakening the nerves.

“Do you ever miss your other lovers?” They’d not come back; not since he’d been found.
Bertoli shook his head. “They were not lovers, my dear. They were friends, subs, people

who needed my services as a top. I cared for all of them—I could not do what I do and not care.
But you, my dear …” Those fingers slid and slid over his nerves, the touches not enough. “You
are special. I believe you were from the start.”

His moan escaped, his need becoming an itch. “Bertoli.”
Bertoli’s laughter settled around him like a blanket. “Yes, my dear. Come, come. I know

what you need.” The warmth at his back disappeared, Bertoli taking his hand and leading him to
the room as the man so very often did.

“I …” He looked back at the door, suddenly worried. “The door is locked, isn’t it?”
A long stroke slid along his spine. “It is locked, my dear.” He was pushed toward the

table, Bertoli already turning to fill the basin with warm water. “Lie down. I will not bind you
today, but you will not move.”

That was becoming a regular phrase. “I won’t?”
“No, you won’t.” Bertoli turned and gave him a kiss. “Now, lie down like a good man

and let us begin.”

He settled, moaning at the softness of the new cloth Bertoli had covered the chair in.
Bertoli spread the boards that held his arms and legs, leaving him comfortably spread

eagle. Then the washing began, Bertoli humming and laughing gently, his enjoyment in the act
obvious.

Dent relaxed, eyes closed as he drifted in and out. This part was his favorite—better than

the sex, better than the passion. This ritual allowed him to simply become Bertoli’s.

When Bertoli had cleaned him from top to bottom, the quick sliding of the alcohol swabs

cooled his skin, the signal that they were about to begin the next stage.

“I would like to take you today, my dear. I want to feel your heat around my cock.”
Dent nodded. That would be his pleasure.
“Just a simple fucking.” Bertoli giggled. “It will be special in its unusualness.”
Truly, Bertoli was enamored of his enemas and sounds. Not that he himself disliked

them …

“Shh. You talk too much.” He winked, dragging Bertoli closer, forgetting altogether that

he was not supposed to move. Bertoli just laughed harder, mouth moving against his. The flavor
of Bertoli’s laughter filled his mouth. His arms were pushed back onto the table, held there as
Bertoli rubbed their noses together. He pushed back, the motions instinctual, immediate, not

fighting but testing Bertoli.

Predictably his lover laughed, hands pressing harder. “Still, my dear. You must stay still.”
“I … You make it hard.” The humor in his words hit him as he said them, his laughter

bubbling out.

Bertoli’s laughter joined his, his lover’s face full of joy. “Oh, my dear, you know how

much I love the sound of your laughter.”

He did. He hadn’t understood at first, but now he did. He knew. “Yes, Bertoli. Yes.”
Bertoli’s hand cupped his cheek, fingers brushing the hair away from his face. “So lovely

in your joy, my dear. It makes my heart glad.” His lover’s look became smug. “I knew it would
be so.” Then Bertoli laughed again, and the long fingers slid down his body to tease at his hole.

“You despaired of me. I know it. I infuriated you.”
“Never. I enjoyed every challenging moment.” Bertoli slipped a single finger into him

and leaned to whisper against his lips. “I still do.”

“Oh …” He moaned, thighs tight. “More. Please.”
More of Bertoli’s laughter warmed the room. “I do love it when you beg, my dear.” A

second finger slid into him, Bertoli stretching him slowly, thoroughly.

“I don’t beg.” He rocked down toward the touch, eyes rolling.
“No, of course not.” Bertoli giggled. “And you don’t ever laugh either.” In and out

Bertoli’s fingers pushed and spread him, kept him moving with the intimate touch.

“N … never.” His legs shifted, thighs sliding on the soft fabric.
More laughter was Bertoli’s only response, and a third finger pushed into his body,

stretching him for Bertoli’s long prick.

The fullness of Bertoli’s fingers disappeared suddenly, and his lover climbed up between

his legs. “I’ve changed my mind, my dear. You may move this time.”

He surged, balancing himself on his elbows as he took Bertoli’s cock in. Bertoli’s mouth

met his, the long cock spearing him deep. They rocked together, meeting each other halfway, the
passion sudden and strong enough to burn him balls-deep.

“Love you,” gasped Bertoli, eyes drilling into him.
“Yes. Love. Love .” He nearly screamed the word out.
One of Bertoli’s hands wrapped around his cock, the long prick inside him beginning to

bump against his gland. “Come, my love. Show me.”

“Yes …” He convulsed, body shuddering as he shot, spunk spraying over Bertoli’s

fingers.

“Dent! Dent!” Bertoli slammed into him, heat shooting deep inside him as loud, joyful

noises filled the room.

His lover. His beautiful Bertoli.
Dent smiled and watched, blinking slowly, happiness quiet inside him. Bertoli dropped

soft kisses over his face, gentle and warm, just holding them in this place. It was good. Perhaps
the best thing he’d ever had.

The comm began to ring and Bertoli groaned. “Ignore it, my dear.”
“Yes, Bertoli.” That was an easy command to agree to.
The comm continued to ring, though, the beeping from the hallway quite insistent.
Finally, Bertoli sighed. “Damn it!”
“It has to be Mal or Herc, Bertoli.” No one else would dare. He felt himself pale, felt his

heart begin to race.

His lover nodded, softening cock slipping out of him. “I’ll get it. This has better be of the

utmost importance,” growled Bertoli, heading to the comm.

“What!” demanded Bertoli as he hit the comm.
“The authorities have apprehended Dent’s attackers. They tried to breach security.

Monk’s men had them before they could get to the building.” Mal sounded elated, fierce. Proud.

“That, Malachi, is most excellent news. You must give our thanks to Mr. Monk for

keeping our home safe.” Bertoli sounded happy, relieved.

Dent sat there. Staring. Shaking. Mal and Bertoli might have said more, but he didn’t

hear it, didn’t hear anything until Bertoli came back, long arms wrapping around him. “It’s over,
my dear.”

He stared at Bertoli, blank inside. Over. He couldn’t … He didn’t …
Bertoli pulled back and cupped his face, forcing Dent to meet his lover’s eyes. “Did you

hear me, my dear? Those animals have been caught. They didn’t even make it to the door when
Mr. Monk had them caught.”

His mouth opened and closed, again and again, his brain spinning.
“Oh, my dear.” Bertoli began to drop soft kisses over his face again. “Let it sink in.”
“I …” To his utter horror, tears began to flow, hot and impossible, completely beyond his

control.

Bertoli simply wrapped him in the thin arms and held on, letting him cry. It went on and

on, then—with his head pounding and his soul feeling empty—he looked up. “I need a shower.”

“No, my dear. We need a shower.” Bertoli made his pronouncement and kissed him hard.
He was too stunned to return the kiss, but he followed Bertoli into the bathroom, the

sound of Mal’s voice in his head.

Bertoli turned on the water and drew him in under the spray, long fingers sliding over his

skin, soft words flowing like the water, though he only heart Bertoli’s voice and not the
meanings.

“They’re caught.” His eyes closed and he sank to the tile, relief and shock making him

weak.

Bertoli’s happy laughter confirmed his words. “Yes, my dear. Caught.”
He leaned in, forehead pressed against Bertoli’s shoulder.
Bertoli’s fingers slid along his skin, soothing and holding him grounded. “I have you, my

dear. And you have me.”

“Why does it feel so … raw?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps because you have held onto the fear for so long, and now it’s

been ripped from you.” Bertoli kissed the top of his head.

He nodded, let the water pour over him, wash him clean.
“You know what this news means, my dear?” A soft, happy laugh sounded. “We can go

back to the beachside pool.”

“I … I would like to swim. And … perhaps share a meal with Hercules and Mal. Soon.”
“Oh, they would be most pleased, my dear. Almost as pleased as I would be.”
“Do you think so?” He relaxed further, almost sleeping.
“What do you think, my dear? Hercules was a close friend before you were kidnapped.

He missed you.” Bertoli kissed the top of his head again. “Let’s go to bed, my dear. You can
sleep without worry tonight.”

“Yes. Please.” Please.
The water stopped, and Bertoli helped him from the shower, dried him as he stood there.

“It’ll seem more real soon.”

“You swear it?” He needed to believe that.
“Everything heals with time. You have, my dear.”
The apartment was quiet as always, their bedroom peaceful.
“In time.” He curled into the sheets, against Bertoli. In time.

* * * * * *

Bertoli lazed in a beach chair, watching as Dent floated in the water. He swore he could

smell the salt of the beach, though this was not in fact an ocean. He wondered what Hercules
would say if they just built a new set of rooms adjacent to this pool. The thought had him
giggling. He could ask the man at lunch. He thought he might, just to see Hercules’ reaction.

He giggled a little more.
“You sound well, Luttrell.” Malachi entered, tray in hand. “Are you hungry?”
He sat up, smiling. “I am, I am. And it’s very good to see you again. Both of you,” he

added, nodding to Hercules who’d come in after Malachi with a cooler of drinks. “Dent, my
dear, our guests are here.”

Dent’s head popped up over the edge of the water, muscles a bit tense, but with a true

smile. “Hello.”

Malachi nodded over. “The water looks wonderful.”
“It is.”
Lutrell laughed. “He thought we should try to convince you to set up a table in the water

for our luncheon, Hercules.”

Herc shuddered. “I like a hot shower, but I have never understood voluntarily going into

cold water.”

Malachi’s chuckle was almost wicked. “I’ll come in with you, Dent. Hercules can be so

delicate.”

“Delicate?” One of Hercules’ eyebrows went up. “What I am is hungry, and we’ve been

invited to lunch. It would be rude to swim when our lunch is ready.”

Lutrell cleared his throat. “There’s a lovely table here in the ‘sun.’ Dent, come on out and

we’ll eat.”

Dent slid up from the water with only the barest complaint. Lutrell admired the lovely

form, eyes lingering as the drops of water slid from Dent’s skin, running down over the lovely
belly.

Hercules snorted. “Am I the only one who is hungry?”
Jumping a little, Lutrell tore his eyes from his lover and joined Hercules at the table.

“Sorry, I was … distracted.”

“The water is beautiful.” Dent wrapped a robe about him, came to sit close. “This room is

perfect, Hercules.”

Hercules grinned. “I had it built for you, my friend.”
Dent flushed but clapped Hercules in a quick hug. “It is the second best gift you have

given me.”

“Oh, I imagine I know what the first is.” Hercules shot Malachi a look. “Can I call them,

or can I call them?”

Lutrell found his cheeks heating, and he smiled at Dent.
“You do a good job, sir.” Malachi chuckled, spread the food out. “You do a very good

job.”

Dent laughed. “For a bossy old man.”