Make Me Soar (10 page)

The TV was a noise, nothing more; he didn’t have a clue what he was watching. No, all
he
saw was an endless rerun of Friday night, looping inside his head, replaying again and again until he thought he’d scream if he had to watch it one more time. He could still hear their laughter, sharp, biting, loud. He could still taste their piss in his mouth, feel its heat as it splashed on his face, stinging his eyes, soaking into his hair. Christ, it had been fucking
everywhere
.

And let’s not forget the pièce de résistance, folks
—
whatever the fuck they were burning into my back
. The pain had been intense. Not at first, granted, but then they’d gone over it again and again, until he’d screamed into the gag they’d tied over his mouth. He closed his eyes, as if that would stop the memory of that searing pain, but it was a useless exercise. Every time he moved, flexed,
whatever
, there was that reminder. The skin pulled, hot and itching, and he was back in the moment all over again.

Dorian suddenly became aware of the silence.

He opened his eyes and looked up. The TV was dark. Alan was sitting on the couch, his gaze fixed on Dorian, hands folded in his lap.

How long has he been sitting like that?
Dorian hadn’t even registered the TV being turned off.
This
silence wasn’t comfortable. There was an air in the room, something so tangible he swore he could almost taste it.

Alan cleared his throat, the sound breaking through Dorian’s reflections. Dorian waited, hands clenched so tightly that his nails were digging into his palms. It was with a shock that he realized
what
he was waiting for.

He wanted Alan to get the ball rolling, to take the responsibility out of his hands.

Alan regarded him, his face so serious. “I’m here.” The words were softly spoken.

Dorian stared, mouth open, heart pounding, his hands in those tight, painful fists.

Alan’s eyes were kind. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“But I do,” Dorian blurted out. “I… I’m just not sure how much of it I want to share.” Breathing was suddenly difficult.

“Then just tell me,” Alan began, his words measured, “what got to you the most about that night?”

Shit
.
Where do I begin?

And in that moment he knew what he wanted to ask. “I-I’ve seen my back in the mirror. What… what does
loch
mean?” He could have looked it up on his phone, but each time he’d gone to type it into a translator, his fingers had trembled and he’d flung down the phone, shaking.

He had an idea he wouldn’t like what he’d find.

Alan swallowed but lifted his chin, looking him in the eye. “It means hole.”

And there it was, the final humiliation.

Dorian stared at the white wall in front of him, his eyes not seeing the blank space but that room, that apartment, those men. He twisted his hands together restlessly.

“That’s all I was to them,” he choked out. “A hole to be used. Fuck, they used me all right.” He gulped. “And what did it get me? I took it all—the degradation, the pain—God, I kept waiting for the pain to take me, but it didn’t happen.”

“What do you mean, waiting for it to take you?”

Dorian ignored him, swept along on a tide of memory. “At least at Collars & Cuffs the Doms took care of me during and after a scene. Those bastards didn’t give a rat’s ass for me. They stuck this oral speculum in my mouth, and then they fucking pissed down my throat until I was choking. Then they fucked my throat until it felt raw. They held me down and took a shit on me, because that’s all I was to them, a fucking piece of shit.” He couldn’t stop the words now. “They shoved that pear into my arse and twisted the bloody thing, opening me up until I thought I was gonna split in two, and when they thought I was stretched enough, I’d have two of them, maybe more, I couldn’t tell, shoving their dicks into me. And laughing! Fuck, they were laughing the whole time.”

“Dorian.”

He let it all tumble out of him, unable to stop its relentless progress. “And then they branded me! I could fucking smell it, smell my own flesh burning, and I wanted to be sick from it all. And the whole time I kept waiting for
something
to happen, something to carry me away from it all on a tide of….”

“Of what?” Alan asked.

“
I don’t fucking know!
” he screamed. “It just got more and more painful, until I thought I was gonna die….” He dragged air into his lungs, panting. “I think I passed out. When I came to, I was strung up from the ceiling while they got on with fucking each other and doing God knows what else. I don’t have a clue how long I hung there, but after a while they unhooked me, smeared some cream on my back, and stuck a bandage on me. Then I was in the back of a taxi, a heavy coat thrown around me and Karl and Erich on either side of me. I was out of it. They got me into the hotel and up to my room, dumped me on the bed, and then disappeared.” The tears started to fall. “They fucking used me, Alan, used me and then threw me out like trash. And it was all for nothing.”

He sensed movement, and then Alan was next to him, putting his arms around him. Dorian tried to push him away, growling, but Alan held on to him, holding him against his chest. Dorian lashed out with his fists, laying into Alan, but the Dom pulled him onto his lap and held him even tighter, until Dorian thought his ribs would crack.

“I have you.”

The words rang in Dorian’s ears, repeated and repeated until at last they began to sink in. Dorian eased off the struggling, his breath hitching until he sagged against Alan, out of breath and exhausted.

“Easy now.”

Alan rubbed his upper back with a gentle motion, soothing him. Dorian let out his pent-up breath and wept, his tears soaking into the thick shirt beneath him. He let it all out: all the pain, the humiliation, the rage, the impotence….

And underneath it all was the sheer relief at letting it all go.

“That’s it.” Alan’s voice held approval. “Just let it all out.”

Dorian buried his face in the soft shirt and sobbed, until there was nothing left and he was as limp as a dishcloth. He kept his face pressed against Alan’s chest, aware for the first time of his aroma, a clean, fresh smell that crept into his nostrils and spread throughout his body. His hand rested against that wide chest, feeling the beat of Alan’s heart beneath his fingertips. Alan’s arm cradled him, holding Dorian against him.

Calm seeped into him, and he closed his eyes, surrounded by Alan’s warmth and strength.

God, that feels good
.

He was warm, held in a pair of strong arms, and for the first time in a few days, he let himself relax, knowing he was safe. And when was the last time he’d felt that?

He couldn’t remember.

A
LAN
COULD
feel the instant Dorian had fallen asleep. His breathing slowed, and his body went limp in Alan’s arms. Alan held him, cradling him. He kept his breathing measured, his body still, not wanting to wake Dorian up. God knew he needed the rest.

In his head Alan was filled with an impotent rage. He’d known it had been bad, but
fuck
, he hadn’t been prepared for the fury that had bubbled up inside him when Dorian had finally revealed what had gone on. And one thing plagued him as he gazed down at the sleeping lad in his arms.

If only you’d stayed in the Lab, none of this would have happened
.

Of course, if Alan had known what Dorian had intended doing, he’d never have let the sub on the plane in the first place.

Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, that inner voice snorted.

Yeah, like he’d have listened to
you.
I mean, he obviously sets store by what
you
think, right?

Alan was trying hard not to blame himself. The truth was, if he’d stepped in sooner, maybe back in October when Dorian had first caught his interest, then maybe none of this nightmare would have taken place. But no, he’d remained aloof. Up until that point, Dorian hadn’t even been a blip on his radar. He’d watched the sub in a few scenes, had sized him up almost instantly, and had dismissed him just as quickly. It had only been after his Shibari scene that Dorian had aroused his interest.

He studied the young man’s face, brow furrowed even in sleep. There was something about him, a vulnerability that hadn’t been evident in the past that drew Alan to him.

I want to know more
.

In the midst of all the horror he’d related, a couple of things Dorian had said had raised questions. And now that they’d cleared the air, maybe Alan could broach the subject.

A car horn outside made him jump slightly. He had no idea how long they’d sat in that position. The faint noises of the city outside the window had become a background hum, something easily dialed out.

Dorian stirred in his arms, letting out a soft sigh and opening his eyes. He gazed up at Alan, consternation evident in his expression. He tensed up.

“Better?” Alan kept his voice low.

Dorian nodded and eased himself off Alan’s lap, his cheeks glowing. “I’m sorry,” he began, “I shouldn’t have—”

Alan held up his hand. “Don’t say another word. You needed to tell someone. After all, that’s why I was here, because I knew it was coming.” He tilted his head. “But it does feel better to have told me, doesn’t it?”

Dorian sat still for a moment, as if mentally assessing his state. “Yeah, it does.” He appeared so much calmer. The tension seemed to seep out of him. Then he straightened and his face contorted. And just like that, the tension was back.

“I’m going to suggest that you go to bed. You look exhausted, and a good night’s sleep is just what you need.” Alan rose to his feet, glancing at the clock on the wall. “It’s late, anyway.”

Dorian blinked and then got to his feet. “Okay.”

He gave Alan a searching look and then entered his bedroom, leaving the door open behind him. Alan regarded it with interest. He waited a minute or two before going into the bedroom. Dorian lay under his duvet, the only light in the room from a lamp beside the bed. He lay on his side facing Alan, his arms wrapped around his pillow, his upper body bare in the warm glow.

Alan smiled. “Sleep well, lad.”

“Please!”

The sudden entreaty stopped him as he turned to leave. Dorian stared at him, eyes wide, his face pale.

“What is it?” Alan moved closer. Dorian was shivering. Alan perched on the side of the bed. “What’s the matter?” He laid his hand on the duvet.

Dorian let go of the pillow and fastened his hand around Alan’s wrist. “Don’t… don’t leave me, please.” He swallowed. “I-I don’t want to be alone, all right?”

One look at that tortured expression was all Alan could stand.

“Do you want me to sleep in here tonight?”

The relief that swept across Dorian’s face had Alan’s throat tightening in seconds.

“Yes, please.”

Alan stood up and unbuttoned the heavy brushed cotton shirt, slipping it off his shoulders. He undressed down to his boxers and then lifted the duvet, noting that Dorian was similarly attired. Dorian didn’t say a word but watched him, eyes still wide and haunted. Alan climbed into the double bed and lay down beside Dorian. The urge to pull the young man into his arms was tremendous, but he waited, letting Dorian lead the way.

Dorian gave a shudder and then exhaled, his breath shaky. “Thank you.” His eyes shone in the lamplight. “I couldn’t face….”

Alan nodded. “It’s okay. I understand. Now try to sleep, eh?”

Dorian gave him a weak smile, then reached across and switched off the lamp, plunging the room into near darkness.

Alan lay still, listening to the by now familiar sound of Dorian’s breathing as he drifted off. The speed with which he fell asleep gave Alan some comfort—and something else.

He needed me
.

The thought stopped him cold.

When was the last time someone needed me like that?

And swift on the heels of that thought came another.

Damn, it feels so good to be needed
.

A
LAN
LEFT
Dorian sleeping and eased himself carefully out of the bed. Dorian lay on his belly, head turned to one side, his face calm, his brow untroubled. Alan hoped to God it had been a night of unbroken sleep for him. He pulled on his jeans and padded barefoot out of the bedroom and into the kitchen to put the coffee on. There was a definite nip in the air, and he went over to the thermostat to turn up the temperature. Any thoughts that it would be a mild end to winter had vanished. The color of the sky held the threat of snow.

The coffee machine on, Alan went back into the lounge to root through his overnight bag for the sweater he knew was in there. When his searching fingers encountered the thick pair of socks, he sent Leo a silent message of gratitude. The man had thought of everything.