47. Kyle

CHAPTER 47

Kyle

" N o," Kyle snapped, knowing he was being horrendously rude but unable to care when the object of his rudeness was Theta. "Not tonight."

Or ever.

Theta's eyes drifted over him dismissively. "How unsurprised I am to see you here, Randall. Am I to understand you're still living off your Master's generosity?"

"Give us one reason why he should even let you in that door," Kyle retorted crossly, moving closer and ignoring Akira's soft chastisement of them both. "Because I-"

"I can provide one million reasons," Theta said. "Measured conveniently in credits."

That drew Kyle up short, making his head spin with the enormousness of the debt. Akira owed him a million credits?!

He glanced at Akira, wishing he'd use some of that innate cleverness to somehow fend the prick off, but the Master's tight-lipped expression told Kyle that hope had been in vain.

Only a minute ago, his man had been all hazy-eyed and pliant from the provocative, filthy comments Kyle had been whispering in his ear each time they'd passed in the corridors over the last two hours: in the perfect state for Kyle to do bad, bad things to him.

And then comfort and snuggle and pet him until he felt on top of the world.

But it was clear Akira had now forced himself back out of subspace in a dangerously abrupt change of mood. Giving Theta a brisk nod of agreement, he stepped aside to let him in.

The older man patted Akira's shoulder in what might have been affection, but all Kyle could see was condescension. "Your office, I presume?"

Kyle grimaced. "Aki…Epsilon. Master. Please say no."

"It's fine, Kyle," Akira answered brusquely, hiding whatever he was truly feeling about the situation behind that veneer of mildly irritated professional politeness. He brushed off his suit sleeves with an unnecessary flick of his wrists, refusing to meet Kyle's eye. "We won't be long."

Theta made a noise of bemused disagreement.

"Shall we?" he murmured, the offer eclipsed by unequivocal command when he brought his free hand up to rest around the back of Akira's neck and steered him towards the stairs.

Nausea flared through Kyle's gut as he watched them walk away.

"I'll be here if you need anything!" he called out helplessly after them, feeling worse when Akira failed to respond.

Laughing, Theta shot Kyle an amused smirk over his shoulder. "You can be wherever you like. But if listening through the wall is your thing, Randall, I'll make sure your boyfriend moans good and proper when I split open his ass."

There was still no reply from Akira, and that was worse than the horrible things Theta was saying: the subdued drop of his shoulders and the way his head fell forward under the pressure of the other man's hand sent chills down Kyle's spine.

No.

As the pair disappeared up the first set of stairs towards the Master's office, Kyle slid his back despairingly down the closed door until he hit the floor, folding his arms around his knees and hoping to every star in the sky that there would be something left of Akira after the encounter. It had taken days for him to return to himself last time: how flayed would his soul be when Theta tossed him back to Kyle after tonight?

The whole situation reeked of dubious consent, and the brandy bottle Theta had been clutching made the whole thing more despicable. Ply Akira with drink, lower his defences, and then use the debt hanging over his head to force from him whatever the other Master wanted.

Kyle's imagination readily supplied the dark imagery he wasn't prepared for, taunting and terrifying in how real it could prove to be.

He felt useless. Stupid. Angry. The resigned look that had been in Akira's eyes... it's fine, Kyle .

It wasn't fine.

It was so far from fucking fine that Kyle couldn't even see what fine might look like, just a world that shredded all the decency and kindness from the good people left in it.

He slammed the back of his head against the door, taking savage pleasure in the dull thud and the resulting hurt.

Akira had protected Kyle. He'd kept Miles Mackenroth away from him, and then the mayor of Xerxes himself, despite how that risked both his career and his life. He'd offered him a place to stay when he'd lost his own.

And even before that, Master Epsilon had been protecting Kyle every day since he'd offered him a job five years ago: paying him a wage that kept him off the streets and out of the gangs, allowing him to set hard limits with clients in a way the other, more exploitative Houses would never permit, and giving him a family in the staff of House Epsilon.

And what had Kyle done for him in return? How had he protected Akira ?

By letting Theta take him, and take from him, that was how. By accepting it's fine, Kyle, when they both knew it wasn't.

Kyle blew out a breath and realised his hands were clenched into tight fists where they were wrapped around his knees. But instead of loosening them he squeezed them tighter, welcoming the sharp pain of his fingernails driving into his flesh. Logically, he knew that hurting himself achieved nothing. But emotionally, it felt right that he should suffer in at least some small way while his man was...

Damn it.

That was exactly what Akira was doing to himself, stars take him. Had Kyle not seen it last night when Akira demanded to be hurt and abused, and when he flinched at the comfort Kyle had offered in its place? And before when he'd fled drunk to House Theta, despite the years spent in its Master's employ ensuring he knew precisely what awaited him there.

Minutes ago, Akira had let that same monster lead him upstairs...not hoping that somehow this time would be different but counting on the fact that it wasn't. Because he thought he deserved it.

Because he thought he had to suffer to be happy.

Because he was punishing himself.

Didn't Akira know that the precious and exquisite responsibility of punishing him belonged only to his Sir? Kyle wasn't going to let anyone harm him, and that included the wonderful, beautiful, frustrating idiot of a man himself. Someone really had to set him straight.

Kyle pushed to his feet and ran for the stairs, more than ready for that someone to be him.