The Art of Discipline

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Chapter Three
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When David awoke some time later, regretting to see that he was indeed in Lou's bedroom and that the night's goings-on were not merely a twisted dream, the sun was setting, throwing a heady golden light over the room. He couldn't be sure of the time; there didn't seem to be a clock anywhere. He lifted his head, glancing warily next to himself, but the bed was empty. He was alone.

Confused, he leaned over the edge of the bed to peer into the bathroom across from him; the door was swung wide, the lights off. He couldn't see down the hallway, but he heard no sounds from the living room. As far as he could tell, he was alone in the flat.

Feeling a bit paranoid, he swung his slim legs over the edge of the bed, slowly getting to his feet so as not to disturb the bed springs too much. He could still see vague pinkish marks on his wrists - the ropes had been tighter than he had realized. They were no longer on the floor, though - Lou must have cleaned up while he'd been sleeping, because all the evidence of what had gone on had vanished, except for David himself, left alone and nude on the bed.

He found his clothes folded up neatly on top of the bookcase. He couldn't imagine why Lou had bothered to fold them. But then, why Lou did most of the things he did was a mystery to David. He dressed quickly, thankful that he'd worn long sleeves - he didn't want to look at the rope burns.

Stepping onto the cold tile in the bathroom, he flicked on the light and stared at his washed-out reflection in the mirror. His skin looked even more pallid than usual in the florescent light, and the dark purple bruise on his cheek seemed to scream for attention. There were smears of dried blood on his nose and lip as well, and oddly the sight of that disgusted him more than the dark bruise. He turned on the tap, running a few bits of tissue under the water flow, and carefully scrubbed the blood from his face. The rusty stains washed away down the drain, but watching the mess slowly pollute the clean whiteness of the sink made him feel sick again so he kept his eyes firmly above him on the light fixtures until he was finished.

Shutting off the light he made his way into the hallway. He could hear no sound from the front room, but the vague flashing of bluish light reflecting down the hall indicated that the TV must be on. He stood in the darkness, wondering what to do. He wondered if Lou was even home at all. If he was, it would be impossible to leave without him knowing - the only exit was the front door, unless he wanted to try to climb down the fire escape, and it was a long way to the ground if he should happen to slip. He decided against that particular option. 'Who cares if he sees me leave?' he said to himself, but avoided the thought even as it entered his mind, because he realized then that he wasn't sure he really wanted to leave at all.

Sidling through the shadows, he eased down the hall and paused at the end, peeping nervously around the corner. Lou was indeed home, seated on one of the armchairs, watching TV with the sound turned off. David couldn't help but find the scene amusing. The look in Lou's dark eyes was slightly distant and glassy, making David think he must have just recently come down off something. He watched a moment longer, then slid unassumingly out of the shadows, clearing his throat lightly.

Lou turned around, catching his eye with a slight smile, but David dropped his gaze to the floor, finding himself unable to meet the other man's even stare. "Come here," Lou said, not in a commanding way. In fact he sounded rather genial. David stared at him warily, not moving. Lou looked amused. "Come here," he said again, gesturing for emphasis. "I'm not gonna hit you."

That last comment surprised David slightly, but he went ahead anyway, slowly, as if he was afraid Lou really would hit him. He wasn't - now unbound he was confident that if Lou tried to get cute he could get away from him and leave. His hesitance had more to do with the fact that he wanted to go - at least, part of him did, but another part was urging him to stay, to go over to Lou and receive more of his violent blows and cruel humiliation, and that had him feely slightly sick again.

He stood mildly next to the chair, wondering what Lou wanted to do. He was rigid and rather prim, arms hanging at his sides but not slack. Lou stared up at him for a long moment, smiling rather fondly, before grabbing one of his dangling arms and tugging him towards the chair. David allowed himself to be drawn up onto Lou's lap, the American wrapping one arm around his waist and the other resting on his knee. He did not look at Lou, but instead fixed his stare to the dingy greyish carpet.

Lou did not seem to mind the other man's standoffishness. He concerned himself instead with the black-purple bruise that marred his lip and cheek. The swelling had gone down during the night, but it was quite sizable and nasty-looking. Frowning, he dabbed at it lightly with his fingertips. David flinched and pulled away. "Sorry about that," Lou said truthfully. "I didn't mean to hit you that hard."

David did not know what to say to that. He was fully aware of how ridiculous the comment sounded. Lou seemed to be too, for he gave a soft laugh as if reading his mind, a slightly self-deprecating gesture that melted David just a little. Lou's hand had begun to wander a bit, sliding surreptitiously past his knee and onto his thigh. He hated to admit it, but it felt good. He sighed softly, closing his eyes as Lou's fingers played with the fabric of his trousers, drawing slow circles through it onto the soft flesh of his thigh.

Lou leaned in closer, nuzzling the back of his neck. "You liked that, didn't you, Davey?" he whispered against David's ear. "You liked what I did to you." He planted a soft kiss against the man's cheek. "You like it when I hurt you. Don't you?"

He wanted to say no, but instead he whispered, "Yes."

"Mmm," Lou said approvingly. "Good boy." He placed another kiss at David's jawline, then traced a line with his tongue down his long, feline neck, punctuating it with a soft bite. His fingers brushed lightly across the redhead's wrist, a tingle of pain as they rubbed the pink-tinged flesh where the ropes had cut into him, and David let himself relish the feeling - just for a moment.

Abruptly Lou leaned back, surprising David a bit. "Are you hungry?" he asked, gesturing to the kitchen. "I ordered out while you were asleep."

"No," David said, giving him a coy smile. "Not for food, anyway."

That was obviously something Lou could relate to. He gave him an evil-looking smile, kissing down the side of David's neck, moving eventually down his collar bone and onto his chest. Something seemed to infect both of them then, some desperate animal lust, and before David knew it his shirt was off, his own hands fumbling to remove Lou's, both of them tossing clothes haphazardly to the floor as they went. Lou dragged down David's trousers, his fingers burning against the smooth flesh beneath, nibbling at his throat as he went. "Oh, God, Lou..." David murmured, too enamoured in the feeling to think straight enough to concentrate on getting the rest of Lou's clothes off. The American took care of that for him, though, wiggling out of his own pants awkwardly, his stiffening cock pressing against David's ass, a hint of what was to come.

Something suddenly moved Lou to action, and he got up quickly, forcing David to his feet in the process. "Come on," he said softly, tracing a finger up the redhead's throat, drawing it under his chin, beckoning. He stepped slowly backwards, as if teasing David into following him.

David hesitated, just for a second. He could see the dark hallway behind Lou, a glimpse of the bedroom just behind that. He knew that if he followed now there would be no turning back. But Lou looked so good standing there, tempting him to taste the forbidden fruit. He let the other man take his hand, drawing him towards the hallway, and with slow footsteps he followed him into the darkness.