Out of the Dungeon (18 page)

"It was never a game," Roman said, and his
eyes were fierce.

"You're wrong," Dare countered. "On some
level, it was always a game. He could always call 'red'. That's the
problem with the halo device, with traction in general. He can't
call the whole thing off. He can't say, 'Stop this, I'll take the
brush' – it's out of his control, for real."

Roman looked pensive. "Still. Trust, truth,
and transparency. That's where we failed."

"So now you know," Dare said. "That's better
than not knowing."

There was a long silence as they folded
clothes and packed Jeff's suitcase. As Dare zipped it closed, Roman
sighed, and said, "Maybe."

Dare picked up his tee shirt and worried it a
bit in his hands. He knew he should go, but he hesitated at the
thought of leaving Roman alone here.

"You left some stuff in my room," Roman said.
"You might as well take it."

Dare was startled. He couldn't think of
anything he'd been missing. Except the tee shirt. He followed
Roman, a little bit curious. Roman went into the bathroom, and then
came out, holding something closed within his fist. He rolled his
wrist and presented it to Dare, palm up.

It was the jewel, attached to the egg.

Dare groaned.

Roman grinned. "It's clean, but it's not the
sort of toy that should be shared, so you might as well take
it."

Dare accepted the toy, and his ass clenched
as he closed his fist around it. It felt heavy and good in his
hand. He remembered the feel of it inside him, how it shifted when
he walked, nudged him if he sat down. Roman was staring at his
face, and when Dare looked back, Roman let his eyes travel down the
line of Dare's body, until Dare could almost feel the weight of
that gaze at his groin.

And Dare was hard, just that quick, just that
easy.

Roman looked back at Dare's face, smiled, and
then wrapped him in a bear hug.

"Ah, Dare," Roman murmured into his hair.
"You'll never be vanilla."

* * *

It took a couple of weeks to coordinate
schedules with Zach for an actual date. Zach suggested the Caliente
Cab Co, which was where Dare and Jeff had met each other for the
first time. Back when Dare hadn't yet admitted, even to himself,
that he was gay. But Zach didn't know any of that.

He ordered a margarita and marveled at his
own naiveté and how it seemed like a lifetime since he'd been
here.

While he waited, Dare thought about
everything that was changing. Roman was selling the Club to pay
Jeff's medical bills. It felt like a big loss to Dare, so he
couldn't imagine how it must feel to Roman. What would he do?
Dominate businessmen on their lunch breaks in a hotel room? It
seemed so… base. Inelegant. Not Roman.

And then Zach was standing beside the table,
smiling down at Dare, and Dare was smiling back because he was
excited about Zach and this felt like a good thing.

"How's the job?" Zach asked, as he sat down
and picked up a menu.

"It's good," Dare said. "Nothing unexpected,
really, except for wondering how long I can avoid my father."

"It's usually not as bad as you think it's
going to be," Zach said. They'd spent some time on the phone
getting to know each other, and Dare had told Zach how he'd been
about to propose to his high school sweetheart but ran away
instead. "Coming out is scary, but these days I think people pretty
much take it okay."

"Not my people," Dare said, realizing that he
still dreaded his family finding out. No, not his family. His
father.

"Call your mom and tell her, " Zach said.
"Moms seem to take it better."

"Is that what you did?"

"God, it was so long ago, I hardly remember,"
Zach said, and even though they were about the same age, Zach
seemed so much older. "I guess I told my sister, and she let the
cat out of the bag at Thanksgiving dinner by asking me if there
were any cute guys in my dorm. I was studying to be a nurse, and my
dad already thought male nurses were gay. So I don't know, there
was a shocked silence, and then my dad said something like, 'Oh,
for God's sake, do we have to talk about this at the dinner table?'
and so we carried on. The subject never really came up again."

"I suppose I'll tell them when I see them,
whenever that might be," Dare said. "Honestly? I kind of hope my
ex-girlfriend talks it around and spares me the trouble."

"Denial," Zach said. "I don't recommend it.
Anyway. What do you think of the restaurant? Have you been here
before?"

"This is where I met Jeff for the first
time," Dare offered, and then immediately wished he hadn't.

"Oh? How did that all come about?"

Dare felt himself turn red. "I'd already
spent some time with Roman, and, uh, he wanted me to meet
Jeff."

"Spent some time with Roman," Zach repeated.
"Like, in the dungeon?"

Dare nodded, staring at the table and
thinking if a person could die of embarrassment, he would.

Stop it, he told himself, be brave. He took a
deep breath, raised his head, and looked Zach in the eye. "Yes, in
the dungeon. I don't know why I brought it up. Maybe to tell you up
front that even though it's uncomfortable for me to talk about, I'm
not ashamed of Roman, or of Roman's dungeon."

"Okay," Zach said, and shrugged. "I wasn't
judging, just asking." He flashed Dare a little grin. "Roman's
pretty hot. I'd let him order me around, if he wanted to."

That eased Dare's discomfort a little, and he
laughed. "Yeah. That's pretty much how it started. But Jeff and
Roman, well, they're
partners.
I didn't know at the
beginning that Jeff was part of the package, and I was the
extra."

"Sounds… unexpected," Zach said.

"You can say what you're really thinking and
not offend me," Dare said. "It's weird."

Zach grinned, then shrugged. "Okay, yeah,
it's weird. Jeff had piercings, and tattoos, and, um, well. Other
stuff."

"I have piercings."

Zach's grin was wolfish then. "Yeah? Hmm,
I'll have to go on a scavenger hunt. Do you have tattoos?"

Dare shuddered. "Nope."

"I do," Zach said. "You can go on a scavenger
hunt, too." He raised his eyebrows, and it was an appealing,
suggestive look. "And maybe sometime I'll ask about the other
stuff."

"Maybe I'll tell you," Dare laughed, and he
felt full of happiness and light. It felt good to get to know
someone like this, talking and teasing, dragging out the
anticipation of intimacy.

Perhaps, as Roman suggested, Dare would never
be vanilla. But he could have the freedom to be Dare. And that
would be okay. No, more than okay, that would be amazing.

R
oman was convinced
Phillips had been looking to shut him down out of spite. That's
what you get for pissing off the wrong people. He never opened the
club doors again, so whatever it was that Phillips wanted from the
club, he would never get.

A purchase offer came in soon after the club
went on the market, so Roman pulled his clients into the dungeon
back to back until the day before the closing. It would be hard to
work pro when he didn't have space to work in.

He was holding so tight to his emotions that
sometimes he wondered if he was safe to do the work at all. He gave
himself a grueling schedule so he wouldn't have time to think,
because if he paused for even a moment, he might feel despair.

Where the hell did his life disappear to?

Dare had to leave. Of course he did. Dare had
finally learned to do what felt right, or at least to not keep
doing what felt wrong. He had to leave to grow, in the same way
that children had to separate from their parents, for identity
creation. Roman helped Dare discover a different life than Dare had
ever imagined possible. Probably too different. It was up to Dare
now to figure out what to take with him and what to leave
behind.

But Jeff. How much bitterness had to build up
before the accident for Jeff to leave Roman afterward? It felt like
betrayal. Roman had never given Jeff permission to hurt him like
this. The pain in Roman's chest was non-consensual, and he resented
its presence.

And then the club, which was the least of his
losses, but still. He'd worked hard to make it what it was, to
create every illusion carefully, so the members embraced the notion
that it was their place, that they were entitled to this level of
comfort and safety.

Like aftercare.

He couldn't slow down or the overwhelming
loss would suffocate with its crushing weight.

He had one last appointment before he moved
what was left of the dungeon furniture to the apartment. It was a
fluke appointment, really, a new client, when he had no plans to
take on new clients.

But the caller was insistent, and Roman
finally consented, if only because he wanted to pay the rent ahead
so he'd have room to breathe while he figured out what to do
next.

He was sitting behind his desk in the office
when Thomas, a Dominant of some esteem in the community, walked
in.

Roman offered his hand. "Are you my three
o'clock appointment, Thomas? It's kind of a surprise."

Thomas took Roman's hand, and, for just an
instant, it seemed they might have a squeezing contest to see who
was the tougher man.

But the moment passed.

They were dressed remarkably alike, in black
leather chaps and vests. Roman's over skin, Thomas's over levis and
a black tee shirt. Thomas wore dark sunglasses, even here, indoors.
He was at least ten years younger than Roman, if not more, and his
cocky Dominant arrogance was too big for his age. Roman almost
laughed.

Thomas sat down on the client chair opposite
Roman. "Tough times," he said. "I was terribly sorry to hear about
Jeff."

"Thank you," Roman said. He couldn't guess
what brought Thomas to his office. And how insistent the young man
had been on the phone. Maybe he wanted to make an offer for the
club? "Why are you here, Thomas? I'm not arrogant enough to think
you've come seeking my services."

Thomas was quiet for a long minute. Roman
could tell he was collecting himself, maybe searching for the best
phrasing. Thomas was said to be an exceptionally skilled top, but
in Roman's experience, he wasn't the most articulate.

Roman waited.

Finally Thomas spoke. "You had traditional
training, from the bottom up, correct?"

The question was as odd as Thomas making an
appointment, but Roman had no problem answering it. "I did."

Thomas gave a sharp nod. "I want you to
bottom for me."

Roman didn't laugh out loud, but he started
to shake his head in disbelief when Tomas named a price equivalent
to three months rent.

Time seemed to stop, the air heavy with
expectation.

Roman studied Thomas, then asked quietly,
"Why?"

Thomas's voice was just as quiet. "You know
why."

And Roman did. Esteem. And yes, arrogance,
like collecting feathers or notching the bed post.

He stared at Thomas.

Thomas removed his sunglasses and stared
back.

Roman's thoughts should have been racing,
listing pros and cons, weighing the possible damage to his own
esteem. But the inside of his head was quiet, as if he'd been
waiting for something like this all along.

His only real thought was
Thomas is
safe.

"You haven't said no." Thomas said, and his
lips twitched with the beginning of a smile.

Roman couldn't seem to find words.

"I'm good," Thomas said. "And you know that
I'm safe. So. Theoretically, if you subbed for me, how far would
you let me go?"

Roman answered with his own question. "How
far do you think you can go?"

Thomas shrugged. "Would you let me fuck
you?"

Again Roman almost laughed, but he could see
that Thomas was asking the question without guile, truly interested
in the answer. "If you can get me to a place where I'd allow you to
fuck me, you are welcome to do so."

Thomas smiled.

It occurred to Roman that he'd just issued an
irresistible challenge to an arrogant Dom.

"All right," Thomas said. "Ground rules?
Safewords?"

"No cutting," Roman said. " Typical
safewords, yellow and red."

Thomas's chin lifted in a curt nod. His eyes
were intense. "Agreed."

The atmosphere of the room changed.

They had negotiated terms, set limits, and
established safewords. Their play had moved from theoretical to
actual with the exchange of those few sentences.

Roman swiveled his desk chair to the side and
slid to the floor, landing on his knees. He moved forward just
enough to let his eyes rest upon Thomas's boots. He wanted to say
be careful, be gentle, it's been a long time,
but he didn't.
If he chose to trust, he had to do so without reservation.

Thomas stood up. "Who trained you?"

"Sir Paul," Roman said, and felt his stomach
clench with anticipation.

"And?" Thomas asked, and somehow that one
word told Roman that Thomas already knew the answer.

Suddenly Roman's voice didn't want to work.
His throat went so tight the name came out like a strangled sob.
"Graham."

His mind split into two then, part of him
engaged in this new-old experience, the other part observing from a
distance.

It felt like a hundred years ago that Sir
Paul trained Roman in protocol, the way he now knelt at Thomas's
feet, hands clasped at the small of his back, eyes on his master's
boots.

And after Roman learned protocol from Paul,
there came Graham. Roman wished he could block out the memories,
pretend there had never been a man called Graham who demonstrated
how much abuse the body could take without permanent injury.

Graham was one of the people Roman kept in
mind as he shaped himself into becoming what they were not. There
had never been a kind word from the man, not a single comforting
gesture. Graham taught Roman endurance. Graham taught Roman that
when he was sure couldn't survive another lick from the whip, he
could, in fact, survive ten more. Or twenty.