Catch the Thunder

Blessing

Laxus walked into what appeared to be a normal inner city club, except for the blacked-out windows and a wall separating the rest of the club from the entrance. The person at the entry desk nodded to him in familiarity, and Laxus walked down the short hall. He rounded the corner of the wall and saw the club spread out. This was no normal establishment: the red walls, the black leather couches, a massive steal structure on the ceiling with chains hanging down ready to be used, and two cages, one cramped and so low the person would have to be on all fours to fit, the other narrow, upright, and hanging from the ceiling.

Not many people were in the fetish club this early in the morning. Laxus saw only one, a man in a rumpled white business suit, tie so loose it was almost off, hair a mess, eyes glazed from alcohol. The lady on the phone said Llewellyn hardly left. For three days, he stayed there from opening until they kicked him out. Where he went, no one knew, but he was smelling worse by the day and drinking heavier each time.

Laxus strode up quickly and slapped Llewellyn's back so hard, the ring cracked through the room. "Hey there!" he said with a jovial grin.

Llewellyn choked and coughed out spittle and beer, then looked up and nearly gagged again. "Thor!" He caught himself and shook out his head. "Uh-um...?" There was another name, a real name. His ethanol-addled brain tried to remember it.

"Laxus," the blond said.

"Right. La-Lax-Laxus." He looked up again, and his eyes saddened. "I thought you'd left the country."

"Yeah. I'm back," he said, spreading his arms out, his grand return. He smiled and settled down in a nearby chair. "So!" he said like greeting an old friend. Then Laxus' face went stone cold and he sneered out, "What the hell are you doing here?"

Llewellyn stiffened in dread at that face that threatened extreme punishment. "I-I'm allowed t-to go wherever I want!" he protested, shaking already in both fear and thrill.

"You knew this is the place I used to work."

"Uh ... n- ... I ... No! Uh ... Y-you worked here?" he stammered, ending in a tense grin of feigned innocence.

Laxus shook his head at the horrific lying. "You knew."

Llewellyn sank and dropped his head submissively before the dominant. "Who told you?"

"No one. I know you. You're rich, and you can figure this out: where did I go to work."

Llewellyn dared to raise his eyes, looking hurt because he had been deceived. "You're not an electrician," he stated with a pout.

Laxus laughed. That was what he told everyone these days. "Well, sometimes I am. I did fix the lights." He pointed to the ceiling and saw they still worked. Then his eyes narrowed at the middle-aged man in front of him. "You were here to see me."

Llewellyn gave him his most appealing smile. "I was hopeful." His hand crept forward, wanting to touch him again. Laxus saw and pulled back, folding his arms. Llewellyn's fingers curled back, and his head dropped in silent apology.

"Goddammit," Laxus sighed. He really thought this was over. He had hoped there would be no more awkwardness. Fuck his life! Fuck his past!

Llewellyn muttered awkwardly, "Look, if you're here, somewhere in public, and you ... you happen to be working at a club..." Llewellyn stiffened stubbornly. "I'm allowed to go into that club!" He nodded firmly and stated in slow articulation, "I have the right to go where I want."

Laxus eyed him and saw the same proud expression as he had just seen on Freed. He knew now where Freed got that trait: those stiff and squared shoulders, the unsmiling face, the gleam in his eyes, even the way his thumb pressed down his other fingers until a knuckle cracked. All the same traits!