8. Stress Relief

"You knowyou can call this off whenever you like," Sabre said, unbuttoning his shirt in the middle of the House of Onyx's training room. Toys lined the walls, various whips, floggers, clamps, and wicked little contraptions that most of the pleasure houses in the district avoided due to the expense and risk. Sabre had tried out most of them by now, except for the humbler that clamped his balls and ankles, because Laurent still said Sabre would overextend himself.

Which he would, but Laurent didn't have to say that part aloud.

"Sabre." Laurent sat in a comfortable chair a few paces away, running a fingertip over the rim of his glass. "Are you trying to remind me how a scene works in the brothel that I own?"

Sabre flashed him a bright smile. "You're possessive, Laurent. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"Oh, yes, very distressing," Laurent said. "My husband is an insatiable masochist who occasionally needs to be fucked mindless while I admire him with a glass of wine, how will I survive it?"

Sabre only just stopped himself from pointing out that Laurent had, just a few weeks before, looked like he was about to hiss at a man just for eyeing Sabre's backside. Instead, he stripped off his shirt and folded it next to his boots by the wall.

He knew that Laurent was doing this for him. Laurent was a dominant, but he wasn't particularly sadistic—or not the sort Sabre needed sometimes. He tried, and Sabre loved him for it, but there were days when the lash just didn't strike hard enough, and Sabre needed more than Laurent's tender touches and demeaning pet names couched with affection. He needed to disappear inside himself for a while, and after dealing with Adrien's coronation and everything that had come after, Sabre needed it more than ever.

Laurent had even suggested it, a one-night special feature for the House of Onyx where anyone could come in and use Sabre at a discount, with the funds going toward the house courtesans' savings. Sabre had fantasized about it for weeks after Laurent mentioned it, until just the thought wasn't enough, and now Sabre was taking off his trousers in front of a set of stocks he'd dragged to the middle of the room. The stocks would hold his head and hands still, but they could be raised or lowered so he could stand or sink to his knees as necessary. Sabre kept eyeing them as he put his clothes away, and Laurent smiled.

"Slut," he said, fondly.

"You knew what you were in for when you married me," Sabre said. He tossed his hair in a mockery of Laurent's elegant style, and Laurent covered his mouth. Sabre got to his hands and knees and crawled over to Laurent, who spread his legs just enough to give Sabre room between them. Laurent tugged at Sabre's long, red-brown hair, and Sabre met his gaze briefly before lowering his head to open Laurent's trouser buttons with his teeth.

The door swung open, and Cathal, their maid Dottie's replacement, sauntered in. He was about twenty or so, with messy black hair and a round face, and he didn't even pause when he saw Sabre kneeling at Laurent's feet.

"Oh, getting a treat, my lord? Good for you." He had a plate in one hand, which he set down on the little table next to the wine. "Dark chocolate tarts, baked them up special once I heard you were having your mate get fucked sideways tonight. Chocolate's good as oysters for the fire of passion, so says the lady down the street." He spoke all in a rush, like his tongue couldn't quite keep up with his thoughts. He had a thick accent neither Sabre or Laurent could quite place, but their best guess was somewhere in the Diabolos Islands. "Put some spices in, too."

"Thank you, Cathal," Laurent said, holding Sabre's head to his thigh as Sabre tried not to laugh. "Did you finish cleaning the common area?"

"Oh, yeah," Cathal said, taking a tart for himself. "Old Yves helped me get on the ladder and everything."

"Old—" Laurent cleared his throat. "How kind of him. We won't need your services in this room for the rest of the night, not until the morning."

"Ah, yes, lucky you," Cathal added, winking at Sabre. "You go back to sucking his cock. I'll be doing the laundry."

Sabre held in the laugh until Cathal closed the door. It came out as a bark, and Laurent smacked his shoulder lightly.

"Be nice, Sabre. That man's a walking disaster. Surely we weren't as foolish at his age."

"Adrien was."

Laurent pulled a face. "Ah, yes, I can see that."

Cathal had appeared the night after they'd placed an ad in the gossip papers for new cleaning staff after Dottie's retirement. He'd shaken everyone's hand, even Charon, who was just in the common area to read.

"You see, I need a fancy job," he'd told Laurent, while Sabre and Yves listened in outside the door, "on account of me being what you call married, down here."

"Married?" Laurent had said. "Congratulations."

"Thank you. The only trouble is, I can't seem to find my husband yet," Cathal said.

It had only been a month or two, but most of the House were already taking bets on how quickly Cathal found his so-called husband, or whether he had one at all. In the meantime, he'd proved to be an impressive cook and uncannily good at fixing broken doors and creaking window shutters.

It was almost comforting, really. For all that things changed, even in the House of Onyx, they were still roughly the same. People moved in and out, but their fondness for gossip and drama remained. Relationships shifted, but the doors opened at the same time every night, and they went through the same little rituals, the same morning brunches and whispers in the kitchen, day after day.

"We'll be opening the door soon," Laurent said, now, stroking Sabre's hair. "You want this?"

"Yes. I need it." Sabre pressed his mouth to the bulge of Laurent's cock through his trousers, then trailed lower. "Do you want to use me first?"

Laurent let Sabre tease him for a few seconds before dragging him back by the hair. "I think I'd rather hear you beg for it after the rest of them are through with you. It won't really be enough until I have you, will it?"

"Never," Sabre said, and moaned faintly as Laurent pulled his hair.

"Good." He leaned down to kiss Sabre. "Now, let's put you in your mask. No one else gets to see how much you're going to love this."

Sabre almost moaned again at that, and let Laurent drag him to the stocks. He blushed when Laurent took note of his cock, already growing hard as he locked him in, and shivered as the mask slid over his eyes. The only thing anyone else could see of his face was his mouth and chin, and Sabre could see nothing at all. He tried not to fidget in anticipation, but the minutes dragged by, and Laurent said nothing else to him after putting on the mask. He shivered when Laurent ran a hand over his back and along the curve of his ass, but then Laurent was walking away, leaving Sabre aching, wondering if he shouldn't beg for Laurent to take him first after all.

* * *

"You're sure you'll handle this all right?" Charon asked, for the third time, as Laurent sipped his wine and settled in his chair across from where Sabre was bound. "It's been some time since the last one."

That it had, which likely had more to do with their schedules, Laurent's as the house lord and in his position over the council governing the pleasure districts, to which Adrien had appointed both Sabre and Laurent. While he hated it, he understood it was both an honor and a chance to make sure that what had happened to Sabre never happened to anyone else, along with a host of other indignities suffered by courtesans who didn'thappen to be dukes. Sabre was busy with Adrien, learning spycraft from Isiodore and standing grim-faced at Adrien's side while the newly-crowned king cheerfully tossed over tradition like broken pots in need of sweeping up. Sabre, of course, was the lucky man holding the broom.

But things were getting better for commoners, slowly but measurably, and the nobility weren't grousing too loudly, and the court was taking the summer off so that Adrien and Isiodore could escape from the heat of the city to visit Emile's country estate. Margritte was with them, as she was in talks to be their surrogate for the heir to the throne of Staria. Laurent was still getting used to the idea, but Sabre had told him that she was beautiful and clever, as well as being just odd enough to produce a proper de Guillory.

Tonight, it would be a small group of trusted regulars, vetted and approved by Sabre and Laurent both for their discretion and their ability to make Sabre scream as he needed. Charon was one of them, given his sadism and talent for aftercare, and Laurent would see to Sabre both at the end of the evening and the next day, wherein Sabre would be hopefully under and pleasantly relaxed.

"I'm sure," Laurent said, with a nod to Charon. He was wearing his favorite work ensemble, a pair of trousers and boots and a simple undershirt, dark hair in braids, dark eyes lightly rimmed with kohl to make them even more pronounced. His voice and dominance always put Laurent in the mind of distant thunder, the kind that moved with the storm away from you so that you knew the danger had passed and clear skies were on their way.

At the moment, he was playing host, wearing an elaborate bull mask that Yves had made when the House unanimously declared that birds really didn't work for Charon. The bull mask was black with curved horns, and behind it, Charon's eyes were black and shadowed, the horns slick and shining. "The first guest is here, m'lord."

Laurent smiled and sipped his wine, and he winked at Charon when he heard Sabre's soft inhale, heard him shifting restlessly in the stocks. "Then by all means, show them up."

The first guest wasn't really a guest, per se. It was Simone, who entered the room in a beautiful silk robe embroidered with flowers, with a harness and one of Margritte's custom toys in her hand. She nodded at Laurent and Charon, then turned to Sabre with a speculative look as she set the toy and the harness down on a small cushion, then untied her robe and handed it to Charon, who stepped up to take it from her. They were all naked often around the house—whores had little use for modesty unless it was a calculated act for a client—but Laurent didn't often see them at work. He'd given up supervising them in the secret hallway after he married Sabre, letting the others handle that as part of their duties now.

"Charon, darling," Simone said, running her fingers through her short, dark hair, "would you mind fetching me my dragon gloves?"

"Fuck," Sabre said, in a dreamy voice, as if Simone had just asked for expensive wine and premium chocolates to feed him.

"Of course." Charon turned to the neatly-organized armoire in the corner, took out the requested item, and brought them back. "Might want to get that harness on before you put these on, though."

"Darling," Simone purred, fluttering her lashes at him. "It's not my first day."

Laurent laughed, watching as she stepped into the harness, affixed Margritte's toy and slicked it with oil. Then, she put on the black leather gloves with spiked tips used for scratching, which could be relaxing or agonizing depending on the pressure applied. Laurent had no doubt it would be the latter, given Sabre's preferences, and he knew how much Simone liked using them, especially on masochists. It would be a good warm-up for Sabre and he watched her lean down to whisper something in Sabre's ear.

"You won't need one," Sabre said. It must have been Simone asking for his safeword, which Laurent knew better than anyone that Sabre had never used.

"I'd still like to know, beautiful boy."

Sabre squirmed a bit, and Laurent had a feeling she was just doing this to prolong the start, drag it out and make Sabre suffer the torment of anticipation.

"Asa," Sabre said, which was his childhood nickname for Adrien. "Ma'am."

Simone smiled, then settled behind Sabre and started to use the gloves on his back. She was acquainted enough with his limits, or lack thereof, not to require Laurent's eagle-eyed scrutiny, so he could sip his wine and watch her work him over. She scratched his back and the backs of his thighs, laughing in delight as Sabre twitched and kicked, moaning when she dragged the tips down hard enough to draw the slightest bit of blood. Laurent thought about smacking his own gloved hand down Sabre's back, and shifted in his seat as his blood heated from the thought.

Simone threw the gloves to the side when she fucked Sabre, her face flushed with exertion and her short hair damp with sweat, but she was murmuring to him as she fucked him with the toy, enjoying herself. It likely wasn't enough to really hurt, but Sabre would enjoy the sensation of being fucked while his back burned from the scratches.

"He doesn't get to come, even if he begs," Laurent said, setting his wine glass down and crossing one leg over the other. He didn't think Sabre was in any danger of begging to come just yet, and he was in a cock ring, just in case, but he liked the way Simone's smile when sly and wicked and she reached around to stroke him, the way Sabre stiffened and gasped at the sound of Laurent's command.

"Good little slut. Look at you take that cock," Simone said, and her dominance was different than Laurent's, a bit subtler, more like a fast-acting poison than a blade. "Having fun, then?"

"Oh, yes ma'am," Sabre breathed, and the look on his face when Simone slammed into him, hard enough to shake the stocks, was positively blissful.

This wouldn't be nearly enough to get Sabre out of his head or satiate the masochism that blazed like a hungry wildfire through his veins, but it was a good start, and if this opening act was any indication, Laurent was going to enjoy the rest of the show immensely. Then, he would close it out himself, since they could hurt Sabre, but Laurent would be the one that made him come.

* * *

Sabre needed this.

He could feel the knot of desire tightening in his core as Simone left him trying not to writhe in the stocks, moaning at just the anticipation of who might touch him next. He couldn't tell where they'd come from, what they'd do, or how long they would use him, and that was better than a long bath and scented oils for soothing months of wrangling the Starian court. He dragged his lower lip between his teeth and heard Laurent chuckle softly.

The door opened. Footsteps approached—light, maybe boots, with a slight heel that clicked as they moved. It was the cologne that gave the man away, in the end. Lord Alder, one of Sabre's allies at court and a man known for passing amusing notes during council sessions, liked the scent of pine. It drifted in the air as Lord Alder slapped Sabre's cock just enough for it to sting, and Sabre's thighs tensed as he tried to suppress the sudden spike of pleasure.

"I can always do it again if you convince King Adrien to build that bridge," Lord Alder said. He was an older man with a warm voice, with just the slightest hint of a rasp at the edges.

"Don't make him use his safeword so soon, my Lord," Laurent said, and Lord Alder laughed.

"I must be the only noble who prefers to talk politics in bed," he said. "Does that have bells on?"

"Give it a try and find out," Laurent said. Sabre tried to remember what toy had bells attached, but he didn't have to wonder for long, as Lord Alder tugged and tweaked his nipples before attaching a pair of heavy clamps. He smacked Sabre's ass once, and bells attached to the clamps jingled as Sabre moved.

Lord Alder kept up a pleasant conversation with Laurent as he paddled Sabre's ass and thighs until Sabre was clenching his fists and grinding his teeth, trying desperately not to come. The bells jingled sharply as Lord Alder asked after Laurent's business affairs, the state of the roads, where they planned to holiday—and then it all began to fade, the world narrowing down to the pain in his thighs and the agonizing swing of the bells. Lord Alder came over Sabre's back with a faint groan, and Sabre let out a sharp gasp as he removed the clamps.

"That's a good boy," Lord Alder said, and ruffled Sabre's hair. He'd done the same once at council and had apologized profusely for it, face beet red—Sabre suspected Lord Alder secretly liked to spoil his submissives with praise.

Sabre didn't recognize the next guest. They came in, grabbed Sabre's hair in a clenched fist, and fucked him so hard and rough that the stocks started to clatter. They were silent the entire time, like Sabre was just a convenient hole to fuck into and nothing more, and Sabre moaned and tried to rock back into their thrusts, his cock hard and aching, desperate for friction.

"Oh, he's a mess," Yves said, when Sabre was still gasping in the aftermath. He felt empty, raw, like he'd been broken open, and the relief of not having to hold himself together was almost too delicious. "Charon! You look so good in that—Oh, okay." There was the thump of Yves falling to his knees, and the subsequent sound of him scrambling to get up again. "That was a lot of dominance in one look, Charon. What did you need me for?"

What Charon needed Yves for, apparently, was to fuck Sabre's mouth. Charon guided Yves through it, murmuring over Sabre's head as Yves gripped the top of the stocks and thrust his cock over Sabre's tongue, and Sabre could feel the tension in Yves' body as Charon started to move him. Yves was taking sharp, short breaths, and when he came down Sabre's throat, it was with a muttered curse. Yves' hands were shaking enough to make the stocks tremble slightly, and he stayed there for a few breaths before he withdrew—and moaned outright. The stocks jerked, and Sabre realized with a start that Charon was fucking Yves over him, using the stocks to keep Yves upright. It only made Sabre fall under even further, squirming in his bonds, praying that Laurent would give in and fuck him at last. But he had to stay there, trapped like a piece of furniture while Charon fucked Yves mindless.

"Sorry," Yves whispered, as the stocks moved a little too sharply with one of Charon's thrusts. "Not sorry, actually, oh, fuck, fuck me."

Charon made it last, the minutes stretching like hours, and Sabre was dry-mouthed and panting for it when Charon had dragged a boneless Yves out of the room. He strained against the stocks for a minute, unsure if he should beg but too wound up to care.

"Laurent?" It came out too much like a whine. "Laurent, please. Please, I'm dying."

"You're dying?" Laurent said, his voice dry.

"Yes. No. I don't know. I'm whatever you want, Laurent. Sir. Please, you don't even need to let me come, just fuck me."

"Giving me orders, are we?" Laurent sounded far too amused. "I might just stay here a while. There's still plenty of wine, and the night is young."

Sabre shook with the desire to get to his knees, but the damn stocks were too high. "My lord, please have mercy."

"Mm." There was the sound of a wine glass being refilled. "You can wait."

"My lord," he begged, but Laurent said nothing, and Sabre was left to writhe in the stocks.

* * *

Well, wasn't this a good idea?

It always was, because of how much Sabre needed it, and Laurent had promised when he'd married and collared Sabre to always give him what he needed, even if that meant going outside the boundaries of their own relationship. He liked to see this, Sabre falling apart and sobbing, that little smile that curved his pretty, swollen mouth even when he was begging and thrashing about in his bonds.

"Hmm," Laurent said again, and took a long drink of his wine, which did nothing to ease his suddenly dry mouth. That was all Sabre, and nothing would now satisfy him but fucking him until they were both exhausted and sated—eventually. But for that, Laurent wanted the mask gone, wanted to see Sabre's face. He finished his wine, put the glass down and crossed over to take the mask off, pleasure and dominance humming through him when Sabre could barely meet his eyes for more than a second before looking down.

"I don't know," Laurent said softly, lifting Sabre's chin with his fingers, forcing him to meet his gaze. "Why don't I summon the king's council, see if they're busy?"

Sabre, face messy and wet with sweat and tears, blinked at him. "You hate most of them, though." His words were slurred, and far too serious, like he was concerned Laurent might actually do that. Or he was probably aroused by the thought of it—in this state, worked over and under as he was, Sabre might want to imagine being given to people like that. In the normal world they lived in, where he was the king's left hand and best friend, never.

But the kingdom, the council, the king were all very far away right now, and Sabre shivered a little, hands opening and closing in the bonds. Laurent laughed softly and leaned forward, voice wicked. "No, no. They wouldn't get to touch you, but what would they say to see you like this? Covered in sweat and come, begging me after I allowed others to use you so cruelly–"

"Laurent," Sabre moaned, panting. "Please. Please."

The sound of Sabre begging was always arousing, and this time was no exception, cock hardening even if all Laurent had done thus far was watch. "Oh, listen to you—begging me not to show off what a cock slut my husband is, or begging me to show you off?"

Sabre gave him a desperate look and said, "Whatever you want."

"Then I don't know why I'm hearing my first name," Laurent said, voice sharp, and smiled when Sabre outright moaned just from the press of his dominance and nothing else. "Try again, little whore."

"My lord, please show me off, fuck me, let them all use me, just please, please."

Sabre even saying that about the council meant he was well and truly under, hurt enough that this evening was clearly a success, and Laurent was pleased, both with how wrecked Sabre looked and how he'd organized this to get him exactly where they both wanted him to be.

"Oh, I think I can manage that, but how about I fuck you and we leave the council out of it, hmm?"

Normally, Sabre would look up and smile or make some weak joke, but all he did was moan and nod his head, over and over, like Laurent might think he'd changed his mind if he stopped.

Laurent was not planning on stopping. He kept on his gloves, because he knew Sabre liked the cool leather on his heated skin, and the smack against his bruises filled the room along with the soft little gasps that were all Sabre seemed capable of making at this point. He didn't linger, Sabre was hurt enough, and he was too turned on himself to deny his own pleasure for much longer.

He slicked his cock with the nearby oil, although he really didn't need it—Sabre was slick and open, and Laurent entered him easily, sinking to the hilt and throwing his head back with a groan as Sabre's body took his cock. It felt so good that he could barely think, might have been hard-pressed to remember his own name as he started fucking Sabre hard right away. It took some time to realize he was speaking, a combination of his native language and their shared tongue, but it was all the same sentiment—you're so good for me, you take my cock so well, love, you look beautiful when you're under.

Sabre was past the point of words, all heated sounds and twitching, shaking muscles, but when Laurent put a hand on his cock and closed his fingers around the ring, Sabre moaned loudly and bucked against Laurent so hard that Laurent almost lost his balance and overcompensated by half-falling on Sabre's back, laughing against Sabre's sweat-slick shoulder. "Someone's eager, aren't they, pet?"

Sabre nodded, or did something close enough that Laurent took pity and slid the ring off his cock. As soon as he did, Sabre came all over his hand, and while sometimes Laurent would punish him for not asking, he didn't think Sabre could in this state. Laurent bit him on the back of the neck, high up above the leather of his collar, and was pleased to see his instructions had been followed, no one bites Sabre there but me. Sabre's skin was flushed but unmarked, at least until Laurent sank his teeth in as he came hard, fucking Sabre into the stocks as he found his own release.

When Laurent managed to catch his breath, he felt the buzzing, elated sensation of dom-space filling him, making his entire body feel alive and all his nerves light up at once. Given the long night and all the work that had gone into planning it, and how he'd just ended it, he knew he'd fall into an exhausted sleep immediately, but the gentle buzzing sensation was helpful for getting himself cleaned up and dressed. He took Sabre from the stocks, rubbing his wrists and wrapping him in a thick, fleece-lined robe. It wasn't too cold, but he knew after what Sabre just experienced this evening, his body would appreciate it.

"Smells like you," Sabre murmured drowsily, smiling at Laurent with a soft, blurry gaze as he turned his face into the wide collar of the robe.

It smelled like Laurent because of the detergent and the faint scent of lavender, both of which would make Sabre think home and Laurent. Laurent said nothing, just kissed him lightly and then allowed Sabre to crawl after him to their rooms. He brought Sabre into the bathing room, and together they sat in the bath, Sabre drifting and Laurent playing with his hair, quiet and content.

"Mmm. Thank you." Sabre shifted and studied Laurent through the steam, his eyes clear and bright, a smile spreading wide over his handsome face. "You have no idea how badly I needed that."

"I have some idea," Laurent said, and drew him in for a kiss. "Was Lord Alder all right, then? I know you don't hate him like some of the others."

"I don't hate–" Sabre stopped at the look Laurent gave him and laughed sheepishly. "Fine, some of them are odious, but he's fine. Isiodore would find it funny that he was trying to get that bridge allocation passed while fucking me."

"Did he?" Laurent asked. "Only curious."

"I don't know," Sabre said, shrugging easily, moving through the water to straddle Laurent on the bench. "I was in favor of it. It's Izzy who's being a git about it."

"A git, is he?"

Sabre gave him a playful scowl and tugged a lock of Laurent's damp, silvery-blond hair. "Yes, yes, I know it's a terribly posh word, I am a noble."

"Very noble," Laurent agreed. "That is absolutely the word I'd use to describe you tonight, fucked mindless and begging in the stocks upstairs in a whorehouse."

Sabre flashed a grin at him, and Laurent's heart squeezed in his chest with happiness and the satisfied feeling of knowing he'd taken care of his submissive and his particular needs. "Wanna know what the word is that I'd use?"

"I think I already do." Laurent kissed him again, and Sabre shifted in his lap, arms around his neck, and his cock was growing hard again, he really was insatiable. "But go ahead and tell me anyway."

"Perfect," Sabre said, against his mouth. "It was perfect."

Laurent supposed he couldn't ask for better than that.