In the Dar Room

You wait for me in the darkened room, leather encasing your wrists, my blindfold over your eyes, your knees aching from bearing your weight on the bare floor. I wonder sometimes what you think, bound as you are, preparing to give everything to me. Why must you do it? What is it about abasing yourself that brings you such contentment?

I take a breath, then another. You think this is easy for me, but you're wrong. It takes effort to prepare myself, to bring myself to a place where I can hurt you, where I can give you what you want from me so badly. It's only after my body takes over that it becomes effortless. Only then do your cries heat my blood and the sight of you, open and defenseless before me, takes me to the heights of arousal necessary to carry it through.

I pick up the whip and let the leather cord slither down my bare leg. Once I struck myself with it and was shocked at how much it hurt. Yet you beg for it. And I, God help me, give it to you.

The sight of you always takes my breath away. I turn on the light and there you are, the perfect offering, the pure sacrifice. Your hair is so long it brushes the floor as you kneel. Those beautiful hands clench the chains that bind you to the ring overhead. If I pull on those chains, I can drag you to your feet and higher. I think tonight I'll do that.

Was it childhood nightmares that made you like this? Was it the war? You said once that everyone around you died, that you didn't deserve to live. Once, between battles, you got drunk on some wine we'd found in a wrecked house outside Paris. I'll bet you don't remember how you bared your soul that night. I remember. I remember how you cursed and clung to me. You said you hated yourself. I told you not to be stupid and melodramatic.

Now I return the whip to the table, making certain you can hear it. You utter no sound when I bring you to your feet. There is only the hard music of the chains. I leave you standing on your toes, fighting for balance. Because I can, I let my hands move over your straining body and down between your legs. You open them at once, giving me no resistance. We both know that at this minute I own you, that every part of you I touch belongs to me.

"Duo," I whisper.

You say nothing, only shiver. Your arms strain over your head. I can see your muscles, clearly defined beneath your skin. Your cock is big and hard, more than ready. Heat stirs in me as the dance begins.

I walk around you, looking you over. The fine hair on your body lifts as you sense my scrutiny. These little rituals intensify my pleasure. Casually I reach out and touch you, your back, your arm, your nipple. Each contact brings a shudder. In front of you, I stand very close, my mouth inches from yours. Red-brown hair falls over the blindfold and over your shoulders. "Kiss me," I order.

You cannot see, but obedient, you lean forward. Your mouth touches mine, sweet, gentle. The tip of your tongue brushes over my lower lip. I reach behind your head and seize a handful of that luxurious mane. It tangles in my fingers. I take you with ruthless strength, bruising your lips, cutting them on my teeth. You make a soft, helpless sound as I invade you, consuming you, tasting the blood I've drawn. When I pull away, you sigh and your head bows. We are both covered in gooseflesh.

You asked me once why I agreed to this. I think it is because, like you, I am shaped by what I was. To command instead of be commanded, to demand submission instead of to submit — it is a heady drug, my beautiful, crazy love. But most of all, Duo, I do this for you because I love you, because if you weren't here with me in this peace of theirs, I would be lost.

I rest my fingertips on your ribs, gathering my wits. You lift your head, swollen lips parted in invitation. I brush them lightly. I love your mouth, so wide and ready with smiles. The tip of your tongue appears to flicker over my fingers. How can I not kiss you again?

You are gasping when I finally release you. There will not be much respite. I begin kissing your jaw, the curve of your throat, your shoulder. You whisper something when my mouth travels down your chest and flinch when my tongue flicks across a nipple.

I drop to a crouch. We have a bar of steel with fetters fixed on each end. It holds your ankles wide apart. You make a tiny sound as I lock you into it. Your head falls back, hair tumbling in a silken avalanche down your back and over the curve of your buttocks.

"Heero," you sigh.

I go to the table and get the lube. Returning, I stand behind you, letting you feel the heat of my body, how much I need you. "You may not come," I tell you, mouth against your ear. Your skin roughens.

"No," you whisper and, although it hardly seems possible, your body tightens even more.

My slick fingers slip between the cheeks of your ass. You moan as I slide one into you. You are so tight! I remember the first night we made love, how unbelievable it was to sink into that tightness. I hadn't been a virgin; J demystified sex just as soon as I figured out what it was. You had lain with women before, but this was new. In this, you were completely innocent. At the time, I didn't appreciate the gift you gave me. Now I cherish it.

I put another finger in you and begin stretching. I find the spot and begin pushing at it. Soon, you are moaning. Pearly fluid leaks from your cock, running down the dark, rigid shaft. You cry out, body bending, but there is no escape. You are mine to touch, to tease, to hurt. I can feel myself opening up inside, the dark part of my soul rising swiftly to the surface.

"Tonight," I promise, leaning forward to whisper in your ear again. You rest your head against mine as if gathering strength. "Tonight you will pay for tormenting me by being so beautiful my heart aches. I'll have my revenge for needing you more than the air I breathe."

"Heero..."

I thrust the fingers of my other hand into your mouth. You choke.

"Suck them," I demand, and you do, sweetly, eagerly, your eyelids fluttering behind the blindfold. Finally, I take both my hands away and wait for you to catch your breath. When you do, I start again, running them over your chest to your nipples. There, with each bud of flesh between thumb and forefinger, I pinch. You make a small, desperate sound. I pinch again, and again, and again until you are openly crying, tears soaking the blindfold.

God, but you are beautiful. You hang in my bonds, your body gleaming like muted silk. Your nipples are puffy and tender, your mouth like a bruised flower. I long to suck your cock and hear you scream my name. But there is plenty of time for that. We have just started, after all.

I leave you to go to our toy chest. I know you can hear me rummaging among the leather and steel. When I return I have a handful of thin, black leather cords.

I bind them around your cock, starting at the very base and wrapping them around and around to tie them just under the head. They are drawn as tight as I can manage without damaging you. You whimper and twist your hips, but uselessly. The chains will not give. When I kiss you again, you return it eagerly, anxiously.

Now I slip my hand between your legs to find your balls and it seems you stop breathing. I finger them gently while sweat beads on your pale skin. Your cock is almost purple now, flesh swelling between the tightly drawn cords. My touch there makes you sob.

Returning to the table, I take up the whip again, cracking it against my hand. The telltale flush deepens across your body and you become very still. You know what is coming. You want it and fear it so much you are shaking. I watch you strain to hear my footsteps as I walk behind you.

The first blow is always light, almost gentle. A caress. It barely reddens your pale skin. Even so, you jerk as if it cuts to the bone. This is the most dangerous of times for me, whose strength can all too easily do real damage. Now I must have the control I could never achieve on the battlefield, for I will not leave you scarred and bleeding. Once — just once — I lost it. God, but it frightens me to remember that. You forgave me, of course. Someday, I may forgive myself.

I strike again, harder this time, but just barely. A delicate line, rose-pink, is drawn across your buttocks. You gasp and your fingers wrap convulsively around the chain above your head.

You never cry out when I whip you. Stripe after stripe marks your skin. You bite your lip until it bleeds, but there is never so much as a whimper. And when it's over, when my arm trembles with the strain of holding back and sweat falls off us both like rain, you give one long exultant sigh.

You don't expect it when I release you from the chain, groaning softly as you fall forward to your hands and knees on the floor. The bar between your ankles keeps your legs apart. I pounce, pushing you down, and roll you over onto your back. Roughly, I pull the blindfold away. Deep violet pools, awash with tears, reflect my face. Against all reason, you smile.

More tears flood your eyes as I press your sore shoulders flat to the floor. Rubbing my crotch against your bound cock, I kiss and bite your lips. You are panting now, body flushed, hair in a bright tangle across the boards.

I stand up, pulling you by your hair to your knees. You know what to do. Lips parting, you lean forward. Wet eyelashes brush your damp cheeks. My cock in hand, I rub the aching head over your lips, smearing them with the fluid leaking from it. Your tongue feels like velvet and I nearly die of pleasure, but it is the anticipation that makes me shiver.

"Take it," I whisper when I can no longer wait. "Take all of it."

Mouth opening, you do as you're told. I thrust in, feeling my sensitive flesh slide across your palate. Your tongue sweeps around my shaft, caressing. The tip draws a smooth line along the heavy vein pulsing under it. Fingers callused from days spent fussing with machine parts are delicate as silk on my balls as you lift shackled hands to massage them.

Once again, control is tenuous. My fingers tighten on your shoulders and I push into you, rocking my hips back and forth. Fucking your mouth is a pleasure unlike any other, the heat, the wet, the unbelievable skill with which you manage, in your own way, to torture me. My head falls back. My muscles seize up. I am close — so close.

"Stop!" I cry hoarsely.

You do so at once. For a second neither of us moves. I hold you still against me, your hair tickling my crotch. You are so warm. Then I remember what I'm doing and push you away. You sprawl across the floor on your back.

I lube myself, making sure you're watching. It is a battle not to come at my own touch, that is how close I am. I regain my equilibrium by looking at you, waiting for heartbeat and respiration to settle back to something approaching normal.

Oh, god, Duo. Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? Lying at my feet, legs open, vibrantly, exquisitely, sensuously mine? I will go to the ends of the earth for you, to the farthest reaches of space. If you ask me to die for you, I will hand you the gun. If it is me you want on my knees, bound and bleeding before you, I will do that and willingly. There is nothing I would not do or be for you. Not one god-damned, motherfucking thing, my beautiful, precious Shinigami. Do you want the moon? It's yours. Do you want death and destruction? Point me toward the doomed and I swear there will be no one left standing.

"Roll over," I say.

You do so. Awkwardly, you get your knees under you, raising your hips. The marks of the whip are bright across your ass, your back, your shoulders. I kneel between your legs and smooth my tongue over those swollen welts, feeling their heat. Burying your face in the crook of your elbow, your hands clench into fists.

Then I settle my cock against your hole. You bite your lip and turn your head and when I slowly impale myself, you give a long, soft cry.

You gasp at each thrust. I take no care, spend no effort to make it last. I drive deep and pull away, stopping just short of leaving your body. Again and again I do this, in and out, rough and hard. I know it hurts you even as it excites you. Your hips lift to meet me. I pound into you over and over until reason vanishes completely.

The end comes an explosion of crimson. There is no possibility of holding back and I crush you violently to the floor even as I scream your name. An eternity passes. I know nothing except you, the heat of your body, your racing pulse, your breath, the silk of your hair under my cheek.

Finally, clumsy in the afterglow, I pull out. You lie still, tense and trembling. Strength returns. I unfasten the fetters and push away the steel bar, but you do not move. Maybe you can't. Carefully, I turn you over. Your cock glistens, unbearably sore. I touch it and watch your mouth twist with the effort of staying silent.

I stand, pulling you to your feet. You sway and fall against me. You are all sinew and muscle, hardly light, but it's so easy to sweep you up and carry you across the room to our bed. You close your eyes as I lay you down upon it, unfastening the shackles and tossing them away.

There is another long moment when I cannot resist your mouth. Drawing back, I linger, lips barely touching yours, feeling your breath on them, feeling how they tremble. Trailing my fingers down your body, I revel in the familiar curves and planes. You are not permitted to put your legs together, however. Oh, no. At the pressure from my hands, you bend your knees, opening yourself as wide as you can.

I toy with your balls until broken pleas tumble from your lips. Then I find the ends of my cords and untie them. Slowly, I peel the leather from your cock. You moan in relief. With slippery fingers, I massage your welted flesh, smoothing away the cruel marks. You shake ceaselessly now, lips moving in some soundless incantation of passion. I lower my head at last and envelope your weeping sex in my mouth, feeling the pulse that beats there, the fever that burns under my tongue.

It takes only seconds to rip the cry of completion from you. I hold you hard to the bed as you buck wildly, screaming my name, spending yourself in one hot, thick, salty flood. Then I lay down beside you, gathering you into my arms, wrapping my body around you.

Now, at last, comes my reward. The pleasure, the sensation, the power — I like it all, but this is what I live for. This game of chaos and sweet violence is only a prelude to the tenderness that comes after. You sigh and shift around, returning my embrace, kissing my chest. I can feel your eyelashes brush like captive butterflies against my skin.

"Heero," you whisper. "Thank you."

I kiss your hair. "I wasn't too rough?"

"You were perfect, just like always."

I take a wandering hand and bring it to my lips. You look at me then, eyes soft and luminous. I should get up and get the salve and smooth it on your poor back, but right now you're anesthetized with pleasure and it's too much trouble to move.

"I love you," I say, tightening my embrace, the joy welling up inside me.

"I'm so glad," you reply and your voice shakes a little, "because I love you more than anything. If I didn't have you, I'd die."

Me, too, Duo. Me, too.

I reach down and awkwardly pull up the blankets around us. Your body is loose, pliant against mine. We'll wake later to make love again, slow, languid and gentle. The demons are back in their box for now; Shinigami is pacified for another month or two.

My eyelids grow heavy. Your breathing slows. From the street below, the light from the bar's neon sign leaks through the blinds to paint bars of garish color on our ceiling. I can hear the distant thump-thump as downstairs, the band starts warming up. There's a tiny snort from my god. You're asleep.

I love you, I think again, and after that, smiling, I fall after you into the dark.

The End