40. Akira

CHAPTER 40

Akira

W hen Akira was directed down onto the floor after they reached Kyle's room, his gut briefly surged with trepidation that held threads of fear.

But it was not Benedict Mackenroth standing over him now, and Kyle would follow safe words, wouldn't go too far, would...look after him. Wouldn't he?

But Akira had asked him to do his worst. Had begged and threatened to get it, so he didn't have the right to hesitate now that it was happening.

"Cross-legged," Kyle corrected when Akira went to his knees. "You're going to be down there for a while."

Akira was relieved. He needed Kyle to scrub the memory of tonight from his flesh, but being on his knees again so soon felt too much like reliving it.

Let him ache in different places. Let him bleed from a different vein. Let it be Kyle's body that rendered him helpless and vulnerable, not those of strangers and a man to whom the city bowed.

Akira shifted to sit as instructed, watching as Kyle placed three items on the floor in front of him.

His runepad.

A box of tissues.

A folded blanket.

Kyle left the room and Akira stared at the items, wondering what he was in for. He may have been Kyle's introduction to kink when the man had begun his employment five years ago, but any momentary guilt he'd felt at corrupting the bright, cheerful blonde had quickly caved to the realisation that Kyle was built for dominance: he had such natural care, creativity, and on-demand cruelty that it was hard to imagine him being anything else. And while Akira's influence had sat heavily on him at first, Kyle had learned much from his clients as the years passed and Akira could no longer guess at what was in that gorgeous head of his.

Kyle reappeared at his shoulder a couple of minutes later with a mug from the staffroom that read wrap both hands around me and swallow, which he balanced on top of the cracked runepad. It was two thirds full of some type of liquid, and Akira couldn't stop his lips twitching into an exasperated smile when he realised Kyle's runepad was being used as a coaster. A courtesy that was solely for his benefit, he was sure, because Kyle didn't bother with such trivial precautions as coasters . The state of the rest of the room was evidence of that. He might have only been living here for just over a week, but it was already a mess of clothes and cat toys and dirty plates.

Akira had bitten back the scolding that had soared to his tongue the first time he'd seen the disarray, terrified that Kyle would take it as a reason to leave the House. But he needn't have feared: the other man had taken one look at his expression, snickered, and proceeded to deliver the lecture himself in the haughty accent that Kyle liked to call his ‘Master Epsilon voice'.

"Oh but Kyle ," he'd said, the precise vowels and melodic pitch nothing like how Akira spoke, "this is positively filthy ." He'd given a loud, disdainful sniff. "Are you unable to perform even the most basic of menial chores?"

Yet it seemed the mocking self-chastisement had had no impact on Kyle's inability to keep his surroundings tidy, and Akira was hardly in the mood to call him out on it now.

"Relax," the younger man breathed, resting his hands on Akira's shoulders from behind. Those same hands began to move, massaging out the knots from his neck and shoulders with firm, steady pressure.

"Ben messaged," murmured Kyle in that distracted way of his where he flitted from topic to topic as if nothing could stick in his head for very long. "He'll be returning to work tomorrow."

That was...strange talk for foreplay, but Akira was willing to roll with whatever he was in for. Kyle liked to toy with his food sometimes, and Akira had put himself at his mercy.

"Is he sure?" he asked. "He's welcome to take more time if he needs. I understand they still haven't found his sister."

"No," Kyle said, and then let out a soft, sad sigh. "But he insisted. Maybe he needs the credits."

Akira shook his head, careful not to dislodge Kyle's hands from his shoulders. "It's not that. He's being paid while he's off work."

"Oh? Why would you do that?"

Akira narrowed his eyes at the items laid out in front of him, suddenly realising what they meant.

Tissues. A blanket. And what, from the light, pleasant scent now wafting around the room, was almost certainly tea.

The bastard.

"Why?" Akira drawled. "Because it serves my own business interests to retain a profitable employee, and whores are well used to being bought off. Why should I have to bother training up someone new?"

He felt Kyle stiffen.

A gust of bitter gratification had shot through Akira as he tossed out the callous words, but it was now replaced by the same regret he felt whenever he took it out on Kyle. It was fear that drove his tongue to such grim extremes, the momentary panic of being cornered, and the regret was his only constant. In this instance, it had been triggered by Kyle being nice , of all things: something that was so inherently him, Akira didn't know why he was even surprised that the man had brought him to his room to offer comfort instead of pain.

After a moment of startled silence, Kyle began to move again. Firm strokes of his thumb and fingers against the tension of Akira's muscles through his shirt, delivering a touch so soothing that it was all Akira could do not to groan aloud.

"Sorry, that was insulting," conceded Kyle. "I didn't mean to trick you."

This man, really. Was he capable of blaming someone else for their bad behaviour, or would he always try to take it on himself?

"I just wanted you to admit that you're a decent person underneath all that prickliness, Master."

That prickliness was Akira's entire personality. There was nothing beneath.

"But I'm not," he hissed out, shrugging Kyle off him. He didn't deserve to be fucking pampered.

Yet Kyle, with a casual and unconcerned ease, shoved him back down into place and continued to massage his shoulders.

Beneath the blonde's talented fingertips, Akira seethed. "I told you to make it hurt. Are you incapable of following simple instructions?"

And there he went again, lashing out without thought of who may be in range of his acidic tongue.

Kyle didn't even falter this time, his movements strong and steady. If Akira had been in his place, he would have already been throttling him, but of course he'd had to go and fall in love with a star-blessed angel. Kyle was too good for Xerxes. Akira wanted to give him the Earth with all its former splendour and beauty and freedom, but what use were grandiose dreams and pointless wishes when the planet would be forever a ravaged mess?

"You told me," Kyle said mildly, "to make you feel. To make you forget. You don't get to choose how that happens, pet."

"Damn you," snarled Akira.

Kyle made a noise of amicable agreement without pausing what he was doing.

Akira glared at the floor between where his legs were crossed, wanting to leave but unable to do so.

He ignored the snide voice in his head that mocked the pathetic excuse. He could incapacitate Kyle in an instant if he wanted.

He was choosing to stay, Akira knew, because he was an unapologetic masochist.

...or was it because it was Kyle , and deep down Akira wanted what was being offered?

Wanted the salvation and acceptance he denied to himself?

He bit his tongue to stop the faint groan that threatened to erupt from his lips. His mind might be in turmoil but his body felt more relaxed than it had in months. Years.

"I just want to come," Akira said instead, despite the fact that his dick lay lifeless beneath his clothes. Deflecting, once again. Perhaps he really was the heartless robot he'd been so frequently accused of: only capable of responding in one way when things got too much for him.

Kyle chuckled but made no move to comply. "I'll get you off, pet," he promised. "Later."

"I need it now," Akira insisted, being difficult.

"Sweetheart," murmured Kyle, settling down behind him so his chest was pressed to Akira's back and his arms were wrapped tightly around him. He showered light kisses down Akira's neck before nuzzling into his collar. "I decide what you need, remember?"

It was quite incredible what those words did to him; how they simultaneously excited and calmed him, made his heart both race and settle, and grounded him while also setting him free.

Akira dropped his head and nodded, chastised and elated.

He didn't have to plot or think or worry. Sir was in charge and would make all the important decisions for him. He could just… be, for a while.

"Good boy," Kyle said. "Now we're going to talk. You don't have to tell me anything," he assured him before Akira could freak out all over again. "Just repeat what I say. I'm safe."

"I'm safe," said Akira. He was. Encased in Kyle's arms, with the reassuring warmth of his skin and subtle scent surrounding him, it felt like nothing bad could ever reach him that wasn't already prowling around inside his head.

"I'm a good person."

Akira tipped his head back to look up at him, and raised an eyebrow. Kyle just beamed.

"Say it, sweetheart."

"It's not fucking tru-"

"Say it." The pleased expression on Kyle's face didn't falter, but his tone had taken on an insistent quality that made Akira want to obey, if only so he wouldn't disappoint his Sir.

He sighed. "I'm a good person."

He wasn't.

"I deserve to be happy."

Stars . Kyle really was torturing him.

"I deserve to be happy," said Akira in a flat voice. He'd never been less convinced of anything in his life.

When there was no further prompting, he peered around at Kyle.

"Satisfied, Sir?"

Kyle snorted. "It's not magic, Master. A few syllables aren't going to miraculously transform you."

"If only spoken once," he added meaningfully, and then grinned. It was a grin full of mischief and smugness. "Which is why you're going to say it into the mirror every day. And with conviction, like you're trying to sell it to a client."

"Kyle…"

"You want to safe word?"

Even the accusation of it made his lips curl back from his teeth into a snarl. Sir thought he couldn't handle a couple of words and a fucking mirror?

"I'm safe," Akira growled. "I'm a good…damn it. I'm a good person. I deserve to be happy."

"Again," Kyle murmured into his shoulder.

"I'm safe. I'm a good person. I deserve to be happy."

"Again."

He repeated the words until his throat was sore. Took some sips of the tea when Kyle offered it to him. Continued.

"I'm safe," Akira whispered. He eyed the box of tissues warily. His eyes weren't wet, but they were...something.

Tired. He was going to go with tired. He felt heavy and drained, but as though he already knew, Kyle was wrapping the blanket around him and helping him onto his bed.

"I'm a good person."

A few moments later, the black cat, Mayhem, was deposited into his arms. Akira petted its silky fur, feeling the resulting purrs resonate through his body like a low hum. Kyle settled himself at his back once more, stroking Akira's hair in much the same way.

"I deserve to be happy."

And starting – just starting, but it was something – to believe it for the first time in his life, Akira felt himself drift away.