Title: Koji ma Oshi
author: Sol 1056
rating: NC-17 for sex, violence, and dirty mouths
warning: BDSM, psychological issues, post-post-EW
pairings: 2x1, 3x5x3, 4xR
"The 'seventy-one' is from the variant of pentachlorophenal-phencyclidine--"
"Enough, Lieutenant Pesely," Heero interrupted in that flat, harsh tone that always meant 'if you keep rambling, Duo, I'm going to remove a limb.' Not that this ever stopped me, but I've got balls of steel.
"Zeta-iocyclidine," the Lieutenant said, not even missing a beat. Damn. He was short, round, and pasty-faced, but man had guts. "--Which in street slang became Crow--"
"We don't need the history," Heero barked, coming to his feet. "All your men need is our orders, and all we need is proof of your warrants."
There was a moment of quiet, and I sat back, clasping my hands across my stomach. Halfway to look cool, and halfway to hold in my gut from growling because we'd been in that stupid meeting room for two hours and I was ready to eat a fuckin' mobile suit. Or two. I also wanted to be out of the line of fire if Heero snapped. He was coming pretty close, and while it might be interesting to see, I didn't want 'interesting' to turn into 'trip to the hospital'.
Well, not until after I'd dropped a few more ants down the pants of the drug rings. Assuming I survived the second half of our hell-bound sphere-trot, with Heero getting more and more tense and curt with every day that passed. If I hadn't made up my mind he couldn't be on drugs, I would've started checking his arms for track-marks. He was acting like an addict who hadn't gotten his high, and it had me baffled.
"Fine, Agent Yuy." Lieutenant Pesely glanced at his team: two men, three women. "We'll continue this discussion once the Agents have gone on their way."
I gave the team a sympathetic grin, and Heero kicked me under the table again. I'm not sure why. Maybe he just likes fracturing my bones. Or maybe he had this idea it was my turn to smooth things out. Bastard. Sorry, Heero, I don't speak bruise-code these days. Is one kick 'wake up you asshole,' or is it 'your turn, do something before I start munching the scenery'?
"Your assistance has been greatly appreciated," I said to the group, standing.
I held out my hand, and the Lieutenant gave me the papers with a last sullen look towards Heero. Given that the Lieutenant had an upcoming one-to-one conference call with Trowa for an update on L2's participation, he was probably popping antacids like crazy to handle the stress. Trowa with the big guns and a bigger mobile suit is scary. Trowa these days? Well, the younger Trowa would run for cover.
I chattered on, glancing through the warrants while Heero packed away the kit we'd be using. It wasn't the actual kit--everything was dismantled, and only for show--but it was enough to convince every department so far that they didn't have the technology or skill-sets to do what we'd be doing. And it was a nice chance for them to find out how the big boys played. Chance for a little extra training and exposure--which Heero started out being more than happy to do. He was a knowledgeable, capable, and eloquent teacher, speaking to the point, but never harsh or insulting to those with questions. By the time I had his speech memorized--end of the first week, had it down pat--he turned it over to me. He was already starting to show stress, and I realized just how much it had to take out of him to get up there and talk--even if he did it far better than I'd expected.
I wrapped it all up, said the usual, charmed the man back into some semblance of calm, and ushered Heero out of there as quickly as I could without resorting to throwing him out the window. I think the phrase would be 'with all due haste'--just not looking like it. When we got outside, a muscle was flickering in Heero's jaw, and his fists were clenched.
"Hey." I shifted the briefcase to my other hand, and caught him by the elbow. "You okay? You look kinda... green."
"I'm fine," but he said it through gritted teeth, and didn't look me in the eye.
"Boy, you've got me convinced." I shook my head, and looked around. L2's Upper Side wasn't my stomping ground--my business had been in the Core Ring--but there was a small Leba-garian restaurant across the street. Given the neat, orderly appearance of Upper Side, it'd probably at least be edible, though not cheap. "Come on, I crave comestibles in anticipation of interpenetration."
Heero gave me a blank look.
"I need t' scran before I slip?"
"Duo." There it was, the low growl.
I grinned widely and pointed across the street. "Require food before breaking and entering."
He glowered and set off towards the restaurant, narrowly avoiding two patrol cars pulling out of headquarters. "Why didn't you just say that?"
"What would be the fun in that?" I rolled my eyes at his back. "News flash, I know more than four-letter words."
He mumbled something, and I scowled at his back. I studied more than just trajectory derivatives in training, asshole. And I was paying attention in class during the war, too. I can pass notes, doodle, and listen at the same time. Yes, the amazing multi-tasking Duo: I was all that, and even pocket-sized for G's convenience.
So, another meal passed in silence while he perused the building's plans, and mapped out in his head what I'd need to take. I figured I'd let him; I'd be up all night looking it over myself, anyway, and planning out how to tackle the place for myself. But he seemed to need something to do so badly that I just didn't have the heart to take the stuff away from him.
Curiously, drug smuggling seems to be an evening and early night affair, so getting in and out in the hour before dawn had proven to be easiest. Heero had been unconvinced of this until the third time we'd dropped bugs, and he'd realized I was right--every building scan revealed empty warehouses and offices. Sane people, even drug dealers, are in bed at four hundred hours. Besides, it's my ass on the line, so Heero's protests of full darkness being cover and crap like that... so not interested. He's just monitoring from outside.
But this time I broke the silence at dinner, waiting until he was almost done with his meal. "So... got any plans for tonight?"
Heero glanced at me, a sharp flash of flat blue from under thick eyelashes. Damn, Hilde always used to fuss about men with their long eyelashes. Maybe that was another reason she liked Heero. Eyelash-envy.
"I'm going to swing by the Core Ring and meet up with Cole," I continued, slurping noisily at my ice water. Expensive brand, too, but one of my favorites. Heero probably wasn't going to help with the conversation, but every now and then I got in a mood to talk, despite that. "Selling my bike."
That got the barest grunt, and he flipped a page. But his fingers hesitated just a bit, so I knew he was listening.
"Too many colony-adaptations," I added. "Not worth the expense of bringing it to Earth. Probably go out with Cole 'n Tito afterwards, catch up on old times."
"Shouldn't drink," Heero warned. "We need to rendezvous at the site at--"
"I know," I said, cutting him off, too pleased I'd gotten him to respond. "It'd be for an hour or so, then an hour trip back and I'll still have three, four hours to plan. Wanna come?"
Heero blinked, and I swear his mouth almost fell open. I would've snickered, possibly even given him a cool Duo 'yes, that's what I said' Maxwell look I reserved for post-shocks, but for a moment he looked so damn young. Then he shook himself, and growled something about having to write... I didn't catch what, exactly.
"Oh. Bummer. If you did come, we could go for one last spin on the bike," I offered, testing. Not sure why, but I felt like pushing, just a little.
"No. I've--it's got to be done," he replied, and turned the page on the preliminary observation reports.
"You're out of school, Dr. Yuy," I teased. "You don't have essays due for class anymore."
What the hell? Was that a flinch? Went by too fast--and he just glared down at his stack of papers and refused to answer. I sighed and threw down my share of dinner's credits, not even giving him a chance to say he'd treat or to expect me to treat.
"Gotta run, then," I told him. "I'll swing by your room an hour before departure."
"Two hundred hours," he said, rather unnecessarily, and still didn't look up.
"Yeah." I scratched the back of my head, feeling like there was something else I should be saying, but I couldn't think of what it was. And it wasn't like he was making me cue cards, either--so I left.
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I unlocked the gate at the storage yard, and Cole brought the bike out. He an' Tito oohed and aahed over the alterations--sixteen rings, tach upgrade, the usual gearhead masturbation--while I dug through the last few boxes for anything I still wanted. I debated keeping my leathers, and stared at them for a long moment. When would I have a chance dirtside to go riding? I sure couldn't take a colony-bike to Earth, so the leathers would be a ridiculous getup if I'm driving a damn car--or taking a taxi. Fuck that, I walk to work. Why would I need leathers?
"Don't ditch 'em, man," Cole said, interrupting my thoughts.
He looked over my shoulder at the pants--rippled and worn at the seams, but sturdy--and the jacket, equally beat-up. I'd done a few slides, and the stuff had held up. I sure paid enough for it. It better have.
"You're about my size," I said, looking him up and down.
"Naw," he replied, laughing. "I'll save up for my own. Besides, the wife thought you looked hot in those, and she's got good taste. Wear 'em, and you might get laid." He elbowed Tito. "When I told her I was buying the bike... and would need leathers, too, she jumped me." Cole leered expansively. "Didn't leave the house for a day."
"And walked funny afterwards," I added, a bit absent-mindedly. My brain was spinning, remembering Heero's tension, the girls in cat suits, the chick who'd tried to get me to kneel. I picked up the leathers. "Fine, take the rest. Manuals, spare parts and tools are in those boxes, and labeled."
"How much extra?"
I named a price, and we haggled, but Cole's heart wasn't in it. He just wanted enough to satisfy his pride that it wasn't charity, and but not to the point that his wife would kick his ass for spending too much. I knew the routine. We shook hands, he set up a transfer to my account on his second-hand view-screen, and the two guys headed on their way. Tito drove off in his truck, while Cole took the bike, whooping at the top of his lungs.
Then I closed the gate on the storage, shutting myself inside. I stripped out of my gray impress-the-Lieutenant durable slacks and pulled on the leather pants.
They felt like a second skin, and I flexed, bending, warming up the material, reveling in the feel of the buckles tightening above and below my knees, the tops of my thighs, and my ankles. They were top-of-the-line, thick, and lined from hip to calf. I'd saved for a year to buy them. Made to my specs and damn if I insisted on staying in shape--even with Hilde's amazing cooking skills--because no way was I gonna ever buy another pair until this one had fallen off me in fuckin' rags.
Tucking the gray slacks into the last empty box, I ditched my black windbreaker--I could come by later and get it all on the way back. I grabbed the leather jacket, letting my braid stay inside the coat, locked the storage place up and took a deep breath. Hands out and ready for anything, I caught a cab at the corner and gave the woman an address I hadn´t seen in four years.
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There wasn't much of a line at the door, maybe two or three people ahead of me, also dressed completely in black. I didn't see any signs of a dress code, but hopefully my dark blue button-up shirt would look black in low light, so I concentrated on exuding that sense of 'I belong here' rather than 'nothing to notice'. It's a variation on stealth, and it seemed to work reasonably well. The chick behind the ticket counter--dark skin, white teeth, and streaks of purple in her curly black hair--barely glanced at me before saying the same thing she'd said to the people before me.
"Drinks or play?"
"Drinks," I replied, not sure what it'd mean to play, but pretty sure I wanted a drink more and to hell with Heero's warning. Wasn't like I was gonna drink myself incoherent, not that that's ever happened--I just didn't want the bar tab required to keep me just over the edge of tipsy. Damn that G.
I handed over my credits, noting that a sign behind her said if I'd chosen play, the cover fee would have doubled. I wondered why. She snapped a gold plastic band around my wrist and waved me towards the doors.
The place was much larger than I remembered, but then, I also hadn't been there for very long that first time. I paused in the door long enough to note a bar on the left, with the massive dance floor dead ahead. The crowd wasn't too thick, but the majority of people were in latex or vinyl; a few were wearing leather, like myself. I had to snort at the idea of ever wearing their leathers for anything--it's got to fit right, be sturdy, and lined, or it chafes after a half-hour on the bike--and realized they were wearing theirs for show.
I guess in that case the petite blonde who trotted past in leather pants that were more tear than leather... hey, if it's a look, it worked. I certainly looked. Nice legs, and cute ass. Shame about the face, though. Guess no one ever pointed out that slathering makeup two inches thick ain't a turn-on. Hm, I pondered, amused, maybe it's another kink. Right. No insulting someone else's kink. Suitably self-chastened, I headed to the neon-lined bar.
At the end of the bar I waited for the bartender to get around to me, ordered a scotch on the rocks, and settled onto the nearest stool to watch the crowd. I had no idea who I'd talk to, or where I'd even begin. So, I have this friend who dresses in leather and goes to a club like this, back on Earth. What do you think that means he's doing?
I doubted it meant he'd be dancing, and I pondered the wisdom of entering the club without earplugs. I'm not fifteen anymore, thanks; I want to be able to hear my grandchildren, not dodder around muttering toothlessly about hearing damage. I had enough hearing damage from working on major ship engines.
"Would you be my Master?" The question came from a little behind me, and I turned to look, not sure what I'd get. The man was about fifteen years my senior, I guessed--early forties. Maybe a bit more, judging from the receding hairline. He held out a leash attached to a thick dog collar around his neck.
I arched an eyebrow at him--look at me, too cool, when in fact I was thinking: 'What? What the fuck?' and mildly panicking. I shook my head curtly and hope that wasn't considering insulting someone's kink, too. Because, really, there should be a law against people with beer guts trying to wear something that looks like a vinyl jock-strap and a bunch of belts strapped diagonally across the chest and stomach. That gave me a sudden vision of Heero, with belts crossing over his chest, and I cringed. Heero with a beer gut and a hairy chest was just not a visual I ever wanted to have.
The guy made an unhappy face and wandered off. I turned away, doing my best to hide a look of distaste at the side of his pasty buttocks exposed by the jock strap's thong.
"You get used to it," someone chuckled beside me.
"Do you?" I wasn't sure what else to say, but turned to see the new person speaking. He was easily a foot shorter than me, with grizzled silvery hair and a face like a closed fist.
"Yeah." The man grinned, and it was both friendly and dangerous. I found myself liking him immediately. "He and his friends are pretty much harmless. Once they know you're not interested, they'll leave you alone."
I nodded, feeling my braid slide between my jacket and my shirt. Automatically I reached up, ready to pull it out, then thought better. I rubbed my ear as though the music were too loud and dropped my hand.
"Cut your hair recently, hunh," the guy said. I blinked, and he chuckled. Turning sideways to lean against the bar, he offered me his hand. "Don't worry about it, son, I notice these things. Did the same move myself, years ago, when I cut it all off for a good job. Took almost a year to get out of the habit. Name's Mikel."
"Duo," I said, not even thinking until I'd said whether I should've made up a cover name, but it was too late, so what the hell. I shook his hand; his grip was firm, the fingers rough, and in a flash I knew what those calluses meant and knew how to get the guy back--in a friendly one-up kind of way. "Pilot," I said, casually. "Stingray?" The extra callus under his pinkie was probably from the Stingray's short control throttles.
Mikel whistled. "Pretty good. Yeah, Stingray R-9."
Nice machine. Major speed freak then, I'd say. He waved to the bartender, and I could see he was missing half his index finger on his left hand. He had a scar along the outside of his right forearm, but it looked old, buried in silvery hairs. He was muscled, but not stocky. Just compact. I wouldn´t want to take him down in a fight. He had that edge about him.
He turned back to me with another grin; it seemed to be a permanent fixture. "So, you new, or just visiting?"
"Not sure," I said, and wondered again how to start. "Curious, I guess."
"Ah." He sipped his drink, wincing at the taste, and laughed. "This place's water always tastes like two-day old engine fuel." That's when I realized the cord around his wrist was blue, not gold.
"What do the colors mean?" I pointed to his wrist.
"Means I've agreed not to drink," he replied. "Not that I could, anyway. I'm one of the Ds."
"D." I had no idea what that meant, but I got the feeling he was used to such responses. Sort of like I'd inadvertently ended up talking to the club's hostess, or something. Hostess in black jeans and a tight black t-shirt, and no cookies or tea in sight, but not everyone can be Relena. Although Relena in black jeans and a tight t-shirt... No, no, stop that. No bad thoughts about the wife of a good friend. I yanked my mind back to the present.
"Dungeon master," Mikel said, then laughed softly, and patted me on the shoulder. "I get it. Really new, ain't ya. Okay." He set down the drink, leaning into me to speak into my ear over the incessant bass-beat rolling off the dance floor. "See, people scene here, and the club provides people who will keep an eye on those scenes to make sure everything is safe and it's all consensual."
"Right. Good idea." I frowned. "What's a scene?"
"Oh, crap," Mikel said, and grinned widely. "You are... damn. Look, let's head to the side bar. Quieter."
I picked up my drink, dropped a few credits for tip on the bar, and followed him across the large room. We skirted the dance floor; I noticed more people had come in since my arrival, and the smoke was starting to fill the upper ceiling of the club. The systems would be working overtime to filter that for the colony, I bet.
The heat was picking up, and my braid itched the back of my neck. The coat was long enough--mid-thigh--to cover the bottom of the braid, but it was still uncomfortable. Pulling it out and getting recognized instantly would be even more so, though. It'd been about eight years since anyone had given a damn about a former Gundam pilot. I couldn't help a bit of paranoia, though--especially being back on L2's Core Ring, where just about everyone seemed to know my face, or at least my name.
"Here," Mikel said, waving me to a table.
We'd passed through an archway, down a short hallway, and into a room on the right-hand side. A small bar ran along the wall, with a few tables. It seemed to be more of a circulation area; I noticed people wandering through in twos and threes, getting drinks, and wandering past through another archway at the end of the bar. The walls were black, the floors black rubberized tiles, with vivid purple on the chair seats. The table-tops were glazed with purple and glitter that picked up the low lights around the bar. It was actually pretty cool. Kinda dark and foreboding but cheerful at the same time, and I flipped my seat around to sit backwards, sipping my drink while Mikel got settled.
"A scene is where two or more people are playing," he said, watching me carefully. "Two people, minimum: a dominant, and a submissive. Or, a top, and a bottom."
"What's the difference?"
He laughed. "Old, old question. I'll tell you what I tell all the newcomers, but everyone has a slightly different take on it. A top is the person is acting, while a bottom is acted upon. A dominant runs the scene, while a submissive follows orders."
I considered that, while watching two young men lean against each other at the bar. One had thick black hair cut in jagged lines around his face, with a lean whip-cord body that reminded me of Trowa. Then I realized what Mikel had just said, and the implications fell into place as neatly as advanced differential calculus.
"I see," I told him. "So one could be running the scene as the bottom, and thus be dominant while still being acted upon."
"Topping from the bottom." He nodded, pleased.
"But what's a scene?"
"Depends." He shrugged, and rubbed his nose with the stump of his left index finger. "The people involved negotiate what they want. Humiliation, punishment, sense deprivation, pleasure, or even just head games. People think a scene is--"
"Telling someone to kneel and kiss their boots?" I asked, a bit dryly.
"Yeah." Mikel sniffed. "That's the DenWood version, and usually only hardcore folks or complete newbies will think that's the way it works. Some folks get off on that, but a lot more are working on the idea of submission and trust, y'know--letting someone else take the reins, or taking those reins for yourself and calling all the shots."
"Oh." I shook my head. "I can't see doing that with just anyone."
"Few do, and those who do... " Mikel made a face; for a moment, the lines and creases made him look both ugly and terrifying. "They don't stay in our scene. That's like casual sex--not safe. Safe people negotiate before hand. Figure out limits, decide what they want to do, whether they have the same understanding of what they'll get, and if it matches, they might scene. Or... " He shrugged, a lazy rolling gesture with one broad shoulder. " ...They'll keep negotiating, and hammer it all out."
"And you keep an eye on all of them, to make sure they're okay?"
"Only if they're here, and they're scening." Mikel leered at a young man walking past. "The rest of the time I roll around, greet newcomers so they feel comfortable--" He glanced at me, then away. "--And generally drink really disgusting water, but it's on the house."
"Perks." I wrapped my hands around my glass of scotch, letting it warm before taking another swallow. So I had some basic information, but that didn't mean Heero...
"So what's your interest?" Mikel leaned forward, chin on fist. "Are you here just out of pure curiosity, or do you feel an inclination?"
"Me?" I chuckled, shaking my head. "Naw, I've got no need for stuff like this. I beat myself up enough as it is."
Mikel raised one eyebrow. "Really. There are a lot of people who like the chance to have someone else do that--"
"I'm here because of a friend," I blurted, heading him off at the pass. I wasn't up for armchair therapy. That wasn't the point. I crossed my arms over the back of the chair, and gave Mikel a thoughtful look. "I've got a friend who's going to a club like this, back on Earth. Dressed like... a lot of these people. I was just curious--"
"Why don't you ask him?"
I laughed out loud at that, startling three people chatting nearby. Ask Heero? Out right? Say, Heero, I noticed twice now you've dressed in slinky black clothes, and I followed you to the club. Feeling all right, man? Need a friend to beat the crap out of you so you feel better? Fuck that, he'd beat the crap out of me, first.
"The entire idea of play, or scening," Mikel continued implacably, as though I'd never laughed, "requires intense communication and complete honesty. If you're friends, and he is in the scene, he knows how to be honest. He might be, with you."
"I never said it was a guy," I retorted, dropping my voice to a low pitch.
Mikel didn't even flinch. Damn. "No," he replied, and jerked his head towards the two young men at the bar. "But I know where your eyes have been heading."
I shut my mouth at that. He had a point. The girls were cute, but that guy at the end of the bar... No. Not going there. I had three more weeks of traveling the earth sphere, and it wouldn't do any good to inspire daydreams of something hot and sexy in tight leather and a bare chest. Especially when I was working side-by-side with a living embodiment of such ideal--who just happened to have the personality skills of a Stingray R-9. Fast, lethal, and not much for small talk.
"Fine," I said, and sighed. "But I'm not asking him. I just wanted to know... I mean, we used to be friends. We're not as much, anymore. I just wanted to make sure... " I made a face, and shrugged, smiling as though it didn't matter.
"You want to protect him," Mikel said.
I nearly gaped, then shook my head, somewhere between laughing and getting up and walking out. I don't know how the guy knew, but I wasn't used to people running comments straight through my gut like four inches of rusted steel. Quatre could do it, but he also knew where to keep his trap shut, too. I settled for downing the rest of my scotch, and waving to the young woman with a foxtail who appeared to be running drinks back and forth to tables.
"Another scotch, on the rocks," I told her, and she gave me a smile and trotted off to the bar. That's when I got a look at her backside. The fox-tail hung not from the base of her spine, but lower, and her little leather skirt had a slit up the back wide enough to run from the middle of her thighs, meeting in a point at the belt, which meant the tail was... "She has... " I frowned at his smirk. "What?"
"Butt-plug," he said, and grinned when I made a choking sound. "Come on, don't tell me you've never heard of them."
"Well, sure." I shifted uncomfortably. I'd known one guy who'd sworn by them, but I couldn't see the point. If you're not having sex, why block the... oh, let's not go there. "But I've never heard of tails... "
"It's a cute look," Mikel said. "Clarissa's very fox-like, too."
He smiled up at her when she returned with my drink, and she patted him on the head before heading off to the next table. I couldn't help it; my eyes followed the swing of her hips and the sway of the tail.
"Okay. Fox-tail," I muttered.
I had visions of Heero wearing a foxtail and suddenly I was glad my coat was long enough that some was draped across my lap. Not that he's fox-like, but the visual was still a bit... Well, I decided, at least it was a better visual than Heero with a beer-gut and hairy chest wandering around with a leash attached to his neck.
"But back to the topic," Mikel reminded me. "This guy... "
"Yeah." I shook my head. "I mean, no. I don't want to protect him. Hell, he could run circles around me when it comes to that. He can shoot, fight, damn good with a--"
"Not the same. That's physical. Often when we want to protect someone, it's on an emotional level. And it's understandable. It's only human to feel that way about a friend."
If only it were worth the effort. I'd protected Hilde through the war, and for ten years she was at my side. Then one day she goes off to the coffee shop on her own, and I wasn't there, and she never came back. Fuck, I make it sound like I hovered over her. I didn't. But I did want her safe, and happy... not bleeding her guts--
"Duo?" Mikel sounded worried. "What is it?"
"Sorry," I said, and pushed the half-finished scotch away. "Just... thinking. I guess maybe I do feel a little protective." Heero was raised as a weapon, yeah, but at the same time, he was always a little naïve, uncertain. He used to walk behind me at school, letting me run interference for him, and whatever I'd do, he'd try his best to duplicate it--usually while glaring daggers at me, daring me to call him on it. And sometimes I picked up just a bit of fear that I would--
"He's lucky to have a friend like you, then."
"How do you know if someone's a dominant or submissive or whatever?" I really wanted off the topic of Heero. I wanted some kind of hard information that I could apply, to determine whether Heero was okay, whether he was in a safe scene--and I couldn't stifle the curiosity over which part he'd be playing, assuming he wasn't just going to the club to stand around and look good. I doubted it, but retained the idea as back up.
"What, personally, or in terms of identifying people?" Mikel glanced around the little bar. "What do you think?"
I stared at the two men by the bar. The tall, slender one was chatting with the bartender, breaking off to let his head fall back when his partner began playing with his nipples. The partner was a dark-skinned man, about the same height, and he lowered his head to suck at the first man's chest.
"Uh... the tall guy's the dominant?" I glanced at Mikel, who shook his head. "Oh. Submissive. Hunh." Mikel seemed to be in a position where he'd know people, but still--the tall guy was being acted on, so that would mean he's bottom, but he's the one getting the pleasure. The so-called dominant wasn't getting anything for the effort. "I would've thought the--"
"I know, I know," Mikel said, cutting me off with a wave of his hand. He shook his head; his grin crinkled up his eyes into two slits. "A good dominant's pleasure is derived from his submissive's pleasure. In fact, it's often said that a good scene is set by the submissive, even if it's run by the dominant. The Dom--" And the way he said it, it sounded like it should have a capital letter-- "Is there to enact the submissive's wishes, with a bit of leeway to push the limits as the Dom sees fit, and within what's been negotiated."
My head was starting to hurt, but I took a breath, and tried not to stare at the two guys at the bar. I stopped thinking about sex, or orders, or the chick who wanted me to kneel, and looked at the dynamics. Then it all became clear.
"It's politics," I said, shaking my head. "More power games."
"Yeah, but it's safe." Mikel winked at me. "And more importantly, if done right, everyone ends up happy."
"So, not like politics at all," I snorted.
"Old joke in sado-masochism," Mikel continued, affable. "What's the best way to torture a masochist?"
"I have no idea."
"Tell him you won't beat him."
I had to laugh. I got it, but then I grew somber. "I can't see that being a turn-on, not with my friend's... history." Or mine, for that matter.
"That's sado-masochism, which can be part of domination and submission, but isn't necessarily." Mikel shrugged. "I've seen entire scenes where the only articles used were feathers and tassels."
I frowned, not sure what he meant.
He leaned forward. "Look, imagine yourself tied up, blind-folded--" I had to squash momentary panic at the notion-- "And you can't see, can't make a noise, and a feather is being dragged down your chest, then disappears, to reappear on your knee, then suddenly it's along your arm... You don't know where it's coming from next. It's the shock and surprise and not being able to direct or control it. That's the key. It's pleasurable, but it's not your active choice when or where it happens. You're free to just let it happen."
I thought back to all the lovers who expected me to do the work. Not that it had been bad, or hard, just that sometimes it'd been nice to have a change. I shrugged, not sure of Mikel's point, but my dick was fully aware it was a nice image. "I don't get how that's submission."
"It's not just submission." Mikel smirked again. "It's downright torture, if you're someone who's used to controlling every aspect of your life, right down to who touches you when, and where. Giving that up, trusting someone else to not hurt you, but not being able to run the show? I've seen people beg to be released. They hit their limit, and... " He shrugged.
I asked despite myself. "What happens then?"
"A good Dom will untie them, reward them in whatever way was agreed upon--a hug, an orgasm, or maybe a cup of tea and some cuddling. It's aftercare." He jerked his head towards the far corner, where a woman was holding a man in her arms. "See that? I bet they just finished a scene, and now they're letting the emotions subside. Came here for a bit of a change of scenery from the playroom, now that they're down a bit from the high."
"High?" I latched onto that word like a starving man goes for day-old pizza.
"Yeah... " Mikel's eyes went wide. "Oh! No, not drugs. It's the release of being rewarded, after holding out--you do understand the sense of accomplishment, combined with the rush of realizing how much... You're a pilot, right? Ever pushed the limit? Ever done it under someone else's orders, and you just had to grit your teeth, trust them, and go for it blind?"
"Ah. Yeah." A few times, actually.
I called being thrown into a simulation while training--G forced me to battle row upon row of mobile suits. I fell out of the suit when I was done, somewhere between exhausted and exhilarated. I'd stuck it out, I'd passed, I'd fought my way free and when G had said I could end the session, I'd never loved that old bastard's voice more. It was a total rush.
"Yeah," I said, very slowly, watching the woman's hands run up and down her partner's back in soothing circles, "I think I know that feeling."
"Mikkie," a woman's voice called from behind me. I turned to see a tall woman, a little on the heavy-set side. She wore a long black skirt and a dark blue corset that made her ample cleavage jiggle; it threatened to spill at any moment. "I've been looking for you," she said.
"Sarah," Mikel replied, holding out a hand.
When she approached, she put her hand in his, and he kissed her fingers. A quick, graceful motion, but something in his smile--a relaxed look, a private look--reminded me of Heero, those two mornings. As though they shared a secret... without warning my gut ached and I stared at my scotch, not wanting to intrude on their moment.
"Do we have plans for Saturday?" Sarah made a face, and came to stand beside him. Her black hair was pulled into a high ponytail that swung as she moved. He wrapped his arm around her waist, and said something too low for me to catch over the music. Sarah chewed her lower lip for a moment. "I thought we did... "
"Stop that," Mikel remonstrated. "You'll get chapped lips."
Sarah flicked the tip of her tongue at him, but nodded thoughtfully. "Penn wanted to know if we were up for a trip to the Zoo. It's his daughter's birthday."
"I'll check when I get home," Mikel replied. He squeezed her tight, then pointed at me. "Sarah, meet Duo. Duo, this is my Mistress."
I had to think fast to keep the shock off my face. "But you... " I gave up at Mikel's smug expression. "Sorry. It's been a long day."
"Don't mind him," Sarah told me. "He loves to hear his own voice. We wind him up at the start of the night and set him on all the newbies. And by the way... " She leaned forward, giving me a dubious look. "Your braid has got to be hot and heavy against your neck. Why in space would you hide such a beauty?"
I did gape, at that.
"Oh, chill, baby," she said.
And when she laughed, low and throaty, I could suddenly see why anyone would be more than happy to follow the commands of a woman who wasn't the classical beauty... but she sure had something else. Something strong. Sarah shook her head at Mikel, and he sulked momentarily. It was odd, seeing this hatchet-faced pilot look like a little boy caught with his hands in the cookie jar. She gave me another wide smile, and I realized I was staring.
"No one is going to say a word about who was here, not about you, or the CEO over in the corner getting aftercare, or the L2 representative just dragged out of here by her Master, or the two college professors over at the bar comparing notes on whether your ass is as cute as your face."
Okay, that was unexpected. I had to hold myself sharply to keep from turning around to look, but from Sarah's chuckle, I did react in some way. Damn it. Where did all my smooth points go? Fuck, fuck. How the fuck did she make me feel fifteen, again?
"Oh," I choked out, and reluctantly drew my braid out from under my coat, letting it fall against my back. I took a second to scratch at the nape of my neck. Damn, that felt much better. "I didn't know."
"Mikel should've said something," she replied, then paused, as though uncertain. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."
"No, it's okay." I managed a crooked smile. "I'm just not used to people even noticing me, recently. Been on Earth. I don't really stand out."
"I doubt that." Sarah pouted, a girlish look on her strong features. "Earth, hunh? A heartbreaker already. I'll be quite disappointed to tell everyone that you're only passing through. There've been quite a few circling, waiting to find out through the gossip which side you play."
Shit. "Wait, you said--"
"Not like that," Sarah replied, rolling her eyes. "I said no one else would know, but inside the scene? We expect everyone to respect that what goes on in here, stays in here... but that doesn't stop people from talking once they're in here."
She looked me over again, and I could've sworn there was a low purring sound coming from her throat. Thing was, it made me feel halfway like I wanted to take her to bed--even if she probably outweighed me by twenty pounds and could suffocate me with those massive tits--and the other half of me wanted to run for the exit and keep going until I got to the hotel... and I had no idea why.
"You're scaring him," Mikel chided her. "Do try to keep your claws out of the newbies."
Sarah smacked him lightly on the back of the head, and he chuckled, ducking a bit too slowly to miss the swat. I suddenly realized: they might be mistress and--submissive? slave?--but first and foremost they were good friends. Possibly even a couple, but that was hard to tell. Maybe it didn't really matter.
"Takes a bit more than that to scare me." I downed the last of my abandoned scotch, and smiled at Sarah the same way I'd smiled at that chick, four years ago. I was pleased when Sarah's eyes went wide, and she wavered for a minute before smiling right back. Damn. The woman is seriously impressive.
Mikel groaned. "Oh, great. Take it outside. I don't want to be cleaning up blood tonight." He chuckled, then, to show it was a joke. "Just sometimes you get two dominants together whose personalities clash, and there's a bit of a show-off, or show-down. Big cats in a small playroom, but it's all for show."
"Is not." Sarah sniffed, but she winked at me at the same time.
"Not to mention all the cute dominants who will be utterly dismayed to discover you're not going to sub to them," he told me. I couldn't think of a response, too busy wondering where he'd come to that conclusion, but he rambled on without stopping, a smile appearing. "Then again, they'll all need comforting... "
"Incorrigible," Sarah said, and poked him in the head. He yelped, and she gave me a wide grin. "There's a demonstration at one-thirty, in the Blue Room. Seating's limited, so you might want to get there a little early."
"Black's doing that one, right?" Mikel rubbed his nose thoughtfully. "He's pretty good," he told me. "Does a lot of intense work, all mental, no pain. Pretty inventive on punishments."
I wasn't sure what to say. I thought of turning it down, because why would I want to see that kind of shit? Someone being tied up and... I halted the instinctive reaction, and realized a part of me was hopping up and down. I didn't know why. I wasn't sure what it meant. Maybe it was just the scotch, and the girl with the foxtail and Sarah's husky voice, and I hadn't gotten laid in months. Hadn't even really jacked off in a week or two--too exhausted, too busy, too focused. Okay, so maybe it'd been more like a month.
Damn, I must be getting old, not even thinking about sex for so long and not really missing it, or maybe... I realized Sarah was waiting for a response, and figured what the fuck. I liked the vibes from Mikel, and it seemed like a cool place. Couldn't hurt anything to just watch, right? Might learn something. Doubt it'd be useful in interrogation methods, but ya never know, and I'm always one for adapting skills to new uses. The scotch was already working its way out of my system, and I had the oddest feeling I'd forgotten something.
"Wait," I said. "How long will it go on?"
"Probably an hour," Sarah told me.
"Crap. What time is it now?"
Mikel leaned past Sarah to glance at the bar, and said, "Five to one."
"I can't stay that long," I said. "Truth is, I should head out now. I didn't realize the time."
Twenty minutes to get back to the storage place and grab my clothes, drop off the key, then an hour on the tunnel-shoot to Upper Ring... maybe two hours, two and a half hours, and I'd be scooting into the hotel with barely enough time to shower and wash the club-smells off my body. Crap, no, not even that--Heero was expecting me at two hundred hours.
"Oh, fuck," I said, climbing to my feet. "I'm toast."
"Hunh," Sarah commented, eyeing me. "Maybe he is a sub," she said to Mikel in an aside, but loud enough for me to hear.
"No, just someone with a partner from hell," I retorted, and dug into my pockets for the tab.
"My treat," Mikel said, waving his hand towards my drink. "It was cool talking to you. Good luck with your friend."
"That's not necess--" I snorted, and grinned at him, letting my hand fall from my pocket. "I should probably be paying you, for answering all my questions."
"Naw." Mikel stood up, offering his hand. "It's a pleasure. Besides, education is the best way to make sure our scene stays safe, and healthy."
Healthy--now there's a word I never would've thought to apply to people who tie each other up for fun, let alone beat on each other--but something in the way he stood, the way Sarah smiled at me, and the people around me... I didn't know what it was. Couldn't put my finger on it. It was like they were... comfortable, somehow. It wasn't the 'know everyone here' feeling I got when I'd worked the scrap yard. Maybe it was closer to the feeling on Libra, those last hectic, terrifying days of the First Eve War. We knew our strengths and weaknesses, we knew where we stood, and we knew there was no point in hiding or inflating anything, because... No, maybe it was kind of like that, the being-known part, but something else.
"Travel safe, and play safe," Sarah added.
She didn't put out her hand, but nodded to me, in an oddly genteel manner. I gave her a short bow, like the kind I'd seen Heero do before a fencing match when we were kids, and I was rewarded with an appraising, satisfied look on Sarah's face. I had no idea what she was thinking, but the expression softened her features into something truly beautiful.
Knowing I'd charmed her as much as I could manage without having to question why the fuck I'd even bother, I nodded to Mikel and made my way to the exit. Fifteen-minute ride to the tunnel station. One hour trip to Upper Ring. Ten-minute ride to the hotel. Of course, assuming the tunnel-shot wasn't late or I hadn't just missed the only one for an hour or some such shit--well, I have the devil's own luck sometimes, but even I wasn't gonna bet on making it within an hour.
Which meant I'd get to Heero's door, stinking of club smoke and cheap scotch and dressed in black leather. He'd be certain to glare me into a Duo-shaped ice cube, and I had to shove down the thoughts of telling him to tie me up first and make it worth the experience. I scowled at some girl who got in the way of my rapid beeline for the club's exit, and had to pause a few seconds to catch her when she stumbled, apologizing sweetly. I apologized right back, set her on her feet, and kept going, even more irritated with myself as a result. I didn't mean to look that way at her--I'd just been irked at my own fuckin' hormones springing to life and no, pun was not intended, damn it.
I pulled the leather coat closed and zipped it up as I stepped outside, waving down a cab. Core Ring was dark and cold. I had no gloves, but I did have a hard-on that just wouldn't damn well quit and the cold wasn't doing the job on its own. Fuck it. I had an hour on the tunnel-shot to focus on thoughts of G dressed in a bikini and Heero with a beer-gut and a hairy chest.
Hopefully one of those two would do the trick.
On to Chapter four
Back to chapter two