The Art of Discipline

THE ART OF DISCIPLINE

Chapter One
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It had been two days since he'd last seen Lou, at another of the boring parties that seemed to make up the better part of his life these days. Two days, and David had been jonesing for a fix of the man ever since. It'd been a while since he'd last been with the American, and seeing Lou that night had reminded him just how pleasant his company could be. He had intended on going home with him that night, but Angie had insisted he come home with her - as it turns out, to entertain a few of her "friends" back home.

She had decided to take another of her little "vacations" shortly afterwards. He was fairly convinced that she'd only just cooked up the idea over breakfast, although she insisted that she had told him about it weeks ago. He didn't mind. He was glad to have her out of his hair for a while. She'd taken Zowie with her - probably dumping him on Danielle, he thought - and while he had to admit he missed his son, he was happy with the other activities he had planned to keep his mind (among other things) occupied.

New York was cool this time of year but not unpleasantly cold, and he wore no jacket as he jogged across the street towards Lou's building. He was dressed to the hilt in silky, ass-hugging trousers and a button-up shirt of the same material, which was laid open just slightly in a way that seemed unintentional but was definitely a plotted move. His heart beat quickly in anticipation, his shoes clicking in time against the tile floors of the empty lobby as he entered Lou's building.

This building did not have a doorman, so he boarded the lift and pressed the key for Lou's floor, straightening his clothes a bit as he waited. He knew he looked divine. He smiled wryly, knowing the irony of the gesture, because it would not be long before his clothes were lying in a rumpled heap on Lou's apartment floor.

The chime of the elevator arriving at it's destination brought him back to reality. He stepped out into the deserted hallway, taking a moment to gather himself, listening to the vague din of police sirens somewhere outside. He wondered what Lou had in mind for tonight. He had a few ideas himself. Knowing Lou, he was certain it would be something interesting.

Standing outside Lou's front door, he knocked twice and then smoothed his hands one more time over his clothes, more out of reflex than anything. There was a long moment of silence before he heard someone disengaging the locks on the inside. His heart gave a little flutter in his chest, a sort of giddy, schoolgirlish excitement. The door opened a second later to reveal Lou leaning just inside the doorjamb, his eyes exquisitely made-up with black eye shadow. His lips were painted as well, either black or dark red - in the low light it was hard to tell. He smiled when he saw the younger man, the sort of expression a spider might hold as he invited the unsuspecting fly into his parlour. "Hello again," he said huskily, his eyes fixed to David's, dark and unblinking.

"It's good to see you again," David said awkwardly, suddenly feeling a bit foolish. Lou just smiled slightly, more like a smirk really, and stepped aside, opening the door to grant him access. The flat was fairly large but scantly furnished, and the air held the lingering scent of different people's colognes. There was a rather large window on the wall opposite the door but the curtains were drawn over it, obscuring the view. David didn't mind. He was too busy looking at Lou's ass through the skin-tight leather pants he was wearing.

Re-locking the door, Lou turned to face his companion, staring at him for a long moment as if trying to decide if he was acceptable or not. "You look gorgeous," he said finally, his eyes roving unabashedly up and down David's slim figure.

David smirked. He was feeling more confident now. "I know," he said playfully, bringing a soft laugh from the other man, and then Lou's arms were twining around his waist, their hips drawing close together. The leather of Lou's pants slipped against the silkiness of David's own clothes.

Lou kissed him, lightly, leaving behind just a hint of the taste of cigarettes. David started to reciprocate but the American pulled back before the kiss could deepen. David looked momentarily disappointed, but Lou smiled darkly, an unspoken promise, and took his hand, leading him towards the hallway where, just beyond, lay the single bedroom. David followed him slowly, coyly, his free hand tracing lines down the wall of the narrow hall.

The bedroom at the end was dark, lit only by the light that managed to gain entry through the drawn curtains at the window, and Lou did not bother to turn on the lamp. Instead he embraced David again, kissing him more deeply this time, their tongues meeting, tentatively at first, then more aggressively, hands wandering to undo a button here and a zipper there, feeling the simple pleasure of satin and leather against their fingertips.

When they finally ended the kiss, breathlessly discarding the last of their clothes, David was already becoming quite aroused. He fell back on the bed, draping his lithe body seductively across the mattress, tempting Lou to come get him.

Lou wasted no time in doing so, climbing onto the bed on top of him, straddling the smaller man. The bright, seedy city lights filtering in through the curtains cast the room in a strange, washed-out glow; David could make out Lou's features clearly, but in the darkness his expression seemed sinister and inhuman, reptilian. The American gave him a smug smile, lifting his chin a bit, and even this simple gesture was enough to make David feel slightly inferior. "What'll it be, eh?" Lou asked in a rather saccharine, mocking tone, still smirking as he stared down at the other man.

David held his ground. Two could play at this little game, and if he had anything to say about it, he would be the one who would be calling the shots. "Fuck me," he commanded, punctuating the statement with a defiant smirk. "Now."

Lou stared at him for a long moment. David began to feel rather awkward in this stretch of silence. He was about to ask Lou what the matter was when the man suddenly grabbed both of David's wrists and slammed them down against the mattress, at the same time grinding their hips together with such manic zeal that it was slightly painful. As David stared up at him in surprise, Lou smiled serenely, his eyes half-lidded. "Beg me," he said flatly.

The words surprised David, but he hid it rather well, realizing immediately what Lou was trying to pull. He let out a slow, soft laugh. He wanted Lou - and bad - but there was no way he was going to beg him. "Fuck off," he retorted smarmily.

It was because of his cocky self-assurance that what happened next came as an utter surprise to him. Lou did not have a clever comeback for that. He didn't need one. Instead of answering he released one of David's wrists and drew back his own arm to deliver a harsh slap across the redhead's face.

The blow shocked David, as did the taste of blood as it dribbled forth from his lip and caressed his tongue. It was an odd experience, tasting his own blood, and in his befuddlement he was amazed to think that he was more concerned over that than the fact that Lou had just hit him. He started to say something, although he could think of no suitable response to what had happened, but Lou cut him short by jumping up from the bed and hauling the stupefied David after him by the arm. It happened so quickly that David had no choice but to follow, but no sooner had his feet touched the floor that Lou gave his arm another hard tug and sent him stumbling forward, crashing gracelessly to the floor on his knees.

Pain exploded in his mind at the impact, white-hot and radiating through the bones of his legs. Vaguely, through the haze of throbbing blood in his skull, he heard Lou clattering about with something behind him, but he thought nothing of that at the moment, being too outraged at the other man's sudden erratic behaviour. He was about to turn around and demand to know just what the hell had gotten into him when he heard a soft click and felt something cool and hard press itself to the back of his head.

He knew immediately that it was a gun. It was odd, because he had not seen it, indeed did not even know Lou owned a gun, had never even come in contact with one in reality, but he recognized the touch of cold metal against his skull as if by clairvoyance.

His mouth felt suddenly dry, his mind devoid of any idea of what to do. He held deathly still, too afraid to move or speak.

"I said," came Lou's voice reverberating through the muggy air, "beg me."

David, rebellious even in his final hour, hesitated a moment. When he did speak, his voice was timid and quiet, so much so that it surprised him when he heard it. "Please," he started, the word trembling on his tongue.

"'Please' what?" Lou pressed.

David swallowed hard. "Please, Lou," he said, disgusted at the whiney tone of his words. "Please don't do this."

A low chuckle behind him, and he could imagine Lou's smug grin as he stared down at him, cocky and all-powerful with that gun in his hand. "Don't you want me, Davey?" Lou questioned. "Don't you want me, you little bitch?"

David didn't know how to answer that. Lou was not satisfied with silence. He twisted his fingers into the other man's hair, giving it a sharp tug. "Do you want me to fuck you, bitch? Eh? You want me to fuck your pretty little ass? Or should I just blow your brains out right now?"

"Lou -" David said desperately, trying to keep the terror from his voice if only out of pride, but he was cut short as Lou gave his hair another violent tug.

"Beg me," he said again.

David shuddered visibly. "Please..." he whimpered, feeling slightly sick.

"'Please' what??" Lou barked.

"Please fuck me," David whispered, trembling as the words left his lips.

Lou gave a dramatic sigh. "Not good enough," he quipped, and pulled the trigger.

A click. The sound seemed deafening in David's ears, until he realized after a long second that the gun had not gone off, and that the contents of his skull were not splattered all over the walls of the flat. He felt at once relieved and immensely nauseous, and he thought for a moment that he might throw up until he noticed that both the gun and Lou's fingers had left his head. He opened his eyes to find Lou standing over him, giving him a most self-satisfied smile, the gun pointed harmlessly towards the ceiling. "Well," Lou said flatly. "I guess it's your lucky day."

Before he had a chance to reply to that Lou was pushing him to the ground, his arms around David's thin shoulders and his mouth pressed to David's own, his tongue invading the warm recess with such animal lust that for a moment David almost forgot the terror and anger burning in his belly. What horrified him the most was the realization that, at some level, he had actually been turned on by Lou's little act. The thought repulsed him - not the idea of such sadistic play, but the fact that he had let himself be the subordinate, the masochist... the bitch. He hated himself for that, and he hated Lou for exploiting that side of him, hated Lou for being able to tear those whimpering, cowardly pleas from his throat. He broke the kiss, disgusted, and tried to push the man away.

Lou, however, would not tolerate such. He grabbed David's wrists again and slammed them to the floor, pinning him down with his body, while at the same time closing his teeth on the smooth white flesh of the redhead's bare shoulder. David cried out at the bite, trying to wriggle out of Lou's grip, but the American caught him in another rough kiss, their teeth clashing together. David wanted to dislike the kiss, to despise the taste of the other man's mouth, but instead he found he enjoyed it, liked the feeling of the animalistic kiss and Lou's fingers tight on his thin wrists.

It was Lou that broke the kiss this time, moving his fingers to grab David's upper arm, jerking him roughly over onto his belly. David found his face pressed into the dirty carpet, his sinuses filled with the musty smells there, pot smoke and dirty laundry and stale sweat and sex. Before he had time to comprehend what had happened Lou thrust inside him, so suddenly and roughly that David gave a cry of pain. But Lou was apt at what he did, and despite the humiliation that still burned in his chest the feeling soon dissolved to pleasure, radiating through him with each ragged thrust. Sweat trickled down his temples and dripped onto the floor where his fingers grasped at the ratty carpet, and he arched his back as Lou's body thrashed on top of him. He could feel Lou reaching down between his legs, fondling his testicles and sluicing his hand over his cock, and he lost himself in the primitive pleasure, forgetting his humiliation and helpless anger in the midst of Lou's well-placed touches. He came hard, spilling onto the rug and Lou's fingers, wordlessly moaning his pleasure into the dirty carpet. Lou came a moment later, his fingers digging into David's shoulder blade, trembling as the orgasm rocked through his bones, radiating from between his legs.

They remained locked together for a long moment as their orgasms subsided, David now lying panting flat on his belly. His brain was filled with the heady scent of Lou and of himself, drowning his senses, but the blind anger and gut-wrenching disgust at what had gone on was quickly enveloping him again. "Let me up," he choked out, his voice muffled by the carpet.

Lou, still breathing heavily, slowly slid out of him and got up. David scrambled to his feet immediately, his legs trembling beneath him as if they had grown too weak to hold up even his weight. He stared at the other man with an expression of almost disbelief. He had intended on ripping Lou apart, but now as he stood shaking across from him he could not think of a single thing to say.

Lou stared back at him, seeming genuinely confused. "What's the matter with you?" he asked breathily.

David was positively dumbstruck at the comment. "What's the matter??" he blurted out. "How could you do that? How could you..." He gestured helplessly, furious at himself for not being able to pull up the words.

Lou smiled knowingly. He glanced around David at the mess on the floor. "Looks to me like you enjoyed it."

David's face burned with shame. "You fucking bastard," he muttered, although somewhere inside him he wondered if he was talking to Lou or himself. He shoved past him before he had a chance to answer, grabbing his clothes off the floor as he went, and hurried down the hallway. Lou did not follow him; he remained in the bedroom, his back towards the door, as though he was not aware that the younger man had left at all.

Hastily tugging on his clothes with not near the precision he had used earlier in the evening, David chanced one last glance down the darkened hallway. Lou was no longer standing in the middle of the room; he couldn't see him anywhere. He wondered if he'd try to stop him. The thought made him feel sick again so he pushed it from his mind and rushed out the door before anything else could happen.

Waiting for the lift, he expected Lou to burst out the door and come down the hall after him, but he never did. The whole building seemed eerily quiet, the sounds of the busy street far below seeming muted and unreal, like a television left on in another room. When the elevator arrived with the accustomed chime once again, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

It was a dismal ride home, the taxi cold and hardly a word spoken the entire way, but fortunately the cabby had no idea who he was and David was grateful for that much. By the time he got home, he felt numb and unreal, like a projected copy of himself, awaiting the moment when the projector would be shut off and he would disappear. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, his clothes now dishevelled and carefully applied make-up smudged, but he didn't bother to wash his face or undress and instead crawled meekly between the sheets of the bed, feeling dirty but unable to find the willpower to get up and have a shower.

He fell asleep after a few minutes, thankful for the warm refuge of sweet oblivion, but it was not long before he began to dream. In this foggy realm of phantoms he saw himself on his hands and knees on a carpeted floor, and Lou behind him, holding on to his slim hips as he fucked him up the ass, sweat dripping from him onto David and from David to the floor. Pleasure pounded in his senses, all conscious thought forgotten in the midst of this primitive, animal euphoria, and his cock was swollen and dripping, begging for release. He could see, as if in the third person, Lou's hands slipping down beneath him, a razorblade now held between his fingers, slicing long gashes into David's exposed belly, blood running down his fingers and the blade and between David's thighs, dripping onto the carpet, sluicing over him, the rusty scent filling his head, and he was coming - harder than he ever had before, his thin frame wracked with jolts of orgasmic electricity, semen spilling onto the floor and mixing with the blood that dripped from his belly.

When he awoke moments later, the remains of the dream sticky between his thighs, he could still feel the damp sensation of fresh blood on his belly, the imperial closeness of Lou's body on top of him, and his guts twisted inside of him at the realization, the contents of his stomach pressing tightly to the back of his throat. He stumbled off the bed to the bathroom, grabbing the slick edges of the sink for some stability, and puked into the porcelain bowl.

He turned the water on when he'd finished, washing the mess away, and rinsed the putrid taste from his mouth. He could still feel it, though, lingering on his tongue as he slipped off back to bed - the bitter commixed taste of bile and Lou, not entirely imagined.