39. Kyle

CHAPTER 39

Kyle

K yle was busy alternating between cursing and cooing at the misbehaving runes of the office printer when Akira returned to House Epsilon.

"Master!" Kyle yelled, making Mish startle at the unexpected noise, and rushed to where the man stood tall in the office doorway. Akira tried to shoo his concerned hands away but Kyle ignored the efforts, turning his boss this way and that until he was satisfied he hadn't been fatally injured.

"You were right," breathed Misha with relief. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor amid a mess of torn paper and tangled cables, having been attempting to fix the printer's malfunction through more conventional means. "You said the cops wouldn't have anything to charge him with."

Kyle had said it, wanting to offer reassurance to his agitated friend, but he hadn't believed it until now. Stars, he'd been so worried.

Akira made a vague noise that signified neither agreement nor protest, shrugging off his waistcoat to reveal the burgundy shirt he wore beneath. It was untucked, the silk hanging loosely around his hips in enticing yet unfamiliar casualness.

Kyle reached up and brushed his thumb over Akira's split lip.

"What the fuck did they do to you? he asked, helpless fury coiling up his spine at the sight of the dried blood.

The other man shook off his concern. "I'm fine," he said, but from the uncharacteristic way he had tensed under Kyle's touch, he wasn't.

Or maybe…maybe Kyle shouldn't be touching him at all. It was hard to keep straight in his head, between the no and yes and that was your mistake and please Sir, I'll be so fucking good for you?

"You sent me away," he accused weakly.

Akira raised one perfect eyebrow, somehow having retained all that refined poise despite having been fucking arrested .

"Would you like to lodge a workplace complaint?" His voice was cool.

Prick, Kyle said in response, but silently and in his head because he wasn't suicidal.

Akira picked invisible lint from his sleeves even though the only damage to his clothing was clearly at the knees, where the dark grey fabric of his trousers was uncharacteristically scuffed. Kyle swallowed back bile and lifted his head, hooked by Akira's gaze when he found him staring back.

There was something burning behind those brown eyes. Something fiercely, pleadingly intense that wasn't mirrored by the Master's straight-backed pose or the precise, controlled way he spoke.

"I..."

But before Kyle could ask again what had happened tonight, Mish had hopped to his feet and retrieved one of the House's many first aid kits from the shelves near the window. It was something Kyle should have thought to do, yet he couldn't bring himself to move even a step away from Akira. They'd taken him from this very room while Kyle had been on some bullshit errand to House Theta, and he couldn't sort out where his anger lay: with Theta, with the Xerxian police, with Akira himself for knowing what was coming and not letting him even try to help...

Misha fished out a bottle of antiseptic and surgical strips from the kit with the careless efficiency of a Dom who was used to patching people up, yet as he approached them he hesitated, and dropped the items back into the bag.

"Here," he said, abruptly pushing it into Kyle's hands. "You take care of Master. I should get home."

He'd remained past the House's closing time, insisting that he was needed here for a reason he hadn't bothered to explain, although Kyle hadn't protested too hard. The company these last few hours had been very welcome, and as much as Misha was a friend, he was also an employee. That had kept Kyle in the role of soothing, level-headed manager when what he'd really wanted to do was scream, rage, and charge out blindly into the multi-levelled city in the hope of accidentally stumbling across where Akira was being detained.

Vin had gone missing. So had Ben's sister. Kyle had been terrified that Akira would be the next victim swallowed whole by Xerxes and never seen again.

"I'm fine," Epsilon repeated irritably, giving the first aid kit a dour glance as though it had been personally responsible for the state of his lip. Then he turned on his heel and passed back through the doorway, cutting off their fussing. "Would you like me to walk you home, Misha?"

Left alone in the office, Mish and Kyle shared a concerned look.

Then his friend shrugged, sighed, and mouthed your problem now, sweetheart . Kyle pulled a face at him.

"I'm good, Master, thank you," Misha yelled out after their employer's departing form.

"Then get out of my House, boy," Akira called back. He sounded like he was already halfway down the first flight of stairs. "If you think I'm paying you overtime for destroying our only printer, think again."

"We were trying to fix it!"

"And clearly not succeeding," the Master said dryly as they caught up to him on the second landing. His eyes wandered over them both, and Kyle definitely wasn't imagining it this time: when they caught on Kyle, there was something feverish hidden in their depths. Yet his tone remained as professional and lofty as ever.

"Did you finish the performance reviews for the staff?" Akira asked, continuing the ridiculous pretence of normalcy.

Two could play at that game. Kyle was an expert in ignoring the uncomfortable.

"Yep. They're on your desk."

"That just leaves yours," Epsilon said as they descended the final flight of stairs to the ground floor.

Kyle beamed at him. "I did that one too. Aren't I helpful, Master?"

Misha barked out a laugh. He ducked into his room to collect his coat – a bright pink, plastic monstrosity that drew as much attention as the flamboyant man himself – and emerged just as Akira levelled an unimpressed stare at Kyle.

"I hope you gave yourself a zero for initiative," he said. Testy .

"Sure," Kyle agreed readily, in a tone that confirmed he'd done no such thing.

"And if you find my review has full marks across the board," Mish interjected brightly as he bounded across the foyer, "don't assume it was because I sucked off the assessing manager."

Kyle rolled his eyes. "Well now he's going to think that," he muttered, and playfully ushered him through the exterior door Akira was pointedly holding open. Considering the performance reviews didn't have numerical marks, the imaginary bribe was nothing but a nice fantasy. "See you tomorrow."

The other two murmured polite farewells but the moment the door clicked closed behind Misha's pink plastic ass, Akira's mouth was on Kyle's, hungry and demanding. His whole body pressed up against him, fingers clawing wildly at his neck and shirt collar, and Kyle tasted blood as the Master's lip split open again from the rough way he was conducting himself.

"Akira," Kyle admonished, and when he didn't stop, brought his hands up to his chest to cease the relentless attack.

The wildness he'd seen simmering earlier in the other man's eyes had broken free: now they burned , alight with fervour and primal need.

"Are you alright?"

Akira smacked his hands away, making the skin sting. "Shut up and fuck me."

When Kyle just stared, he hissed in displeasure. " Fuck me , Kyle. Use me and hurt me as much as we both know you want to."

Clever fingers dove beneath the waistband of Kyle's trousers, seeking out another method of persuasion. Kyle caught his wrist.

"No," he said. "Please talk to me, Akira. Tell me what happened?"

The Master's teeth abruptly latched onto Kyle's bottom lip before tearing away with a brutal jerk. Kyle gasped.

"I want to forget it," snarled Akira. "I need you to make me forget it."

Kyle reached up to touch his mouth and his fingertips came away bloody. Now the pair of them bore identical wounds on the outside, but what internal, unseen damage had been done to his brave and proud Akira?

" Now ," Epsilon insisted.

A subtle glance down between his legs, to where the man's expensive trousers showed no signs of being stretched by arousal, gave Kyle the conviction to shake his head.

He'd seen a lot of people try to use sex as a coping mechanism for trauma, and he wasn't sure it had ever ended well. Not without some serious psychiatry involved, and Kyle was far from a shrink. Sure, he was used to being paid to fuck people's problems away, but he didn't want to be that for Akira.

He wanted to be...more for him.

To mean more to him.

"Fine." Akira's voice was cold now, his expression growing distant. He drew himself to his full height. "Then I'll find someone who will."

Folding his arms, Kyle gave a soft snort when Akira reached for the door handle. "You think Misha will give you what you need?"

Mish could edge like nothing Kyle had ever seen, his provocative touches and creative teasing designed to drive men wild, but he wasn't physically cruel. Even if Akira could somehow convince the man not to ask why he wanted to be hurt, Misha wouldn't abuse him in the way he was begging for.

Still, the thought of the two of them together...or rather, without Kyle , made him scowl.

The corner of Akira's mouth lifted into a vicious sneer. "No, but I'm sure Master Theta will make me feel it."

Moving deliberately slowly, he pressed down on the handle and began to draw the door open.

Devious bastard.

Sometimes Akira's manipulations were so subtle that Kyle didn't appreciate them until months afterwards. He imagined that some were even more so, such that he'd never grasp how he'd been manoeuvred and coerced exactly where the Master wanted him.

And sometimes the manipulations were so fucking obvious that Kyle itched to bend the man over a chair and make him howl for showing such a pathetic lack of effort.

Which, of course, was exactly what Akira wanted from him. It couldn't be said that he wasn't effective, even when half-assing it.

If Kyle had a bone of deception in his own body, he might have called the bluff. Waved Akira off with a smile, told him to pass on his regards to Master Theta, and waited for Akira to fold.

Only...what if he didn't fold? What if it wasn't a bluff at all?

Kyle couldn't let the man leave, not in the half-crazed state he was in. Theta would show no hesitation in giving him all the unhealthy things he was begging for, and then Kyle would end the night peeling a broken Akira off his floor once more.

No.

"You want to feel ?" asked Kyle, letting a dangerous note slip into his voice.

Akira nodded. The movement was wild and agitated, his eyes appearing almost black in the low light. "Do your fucking worst, Sir."

Wrapping a hand around his Master's throat, Kyle heaved him away from the door and threw him in the direction of the stairs.

Akira staggered. His arms came out to help him catch his balance, and he let out a low, pleased whine before glancing back at Kyle for instruction.

"Room thirteen," Kyle ordered. "Move."