La Maison 2: Differences (Complete: BDSM mxm)

December 8

François

Ellis has been behaving in an exemplary manner since his most recent therapy session. He isn't seeing Dr. Marvin until Monday, and he's promised to tell him the things he told me. I'm hoping that the doctor will have more suggestions to help Ellis in addition to the steps I've already taken.

Because he's been so good, I'm taking him out to his favorite restaurant. Fortunately, it's one I own, as I want him to wear his full collar rather than his more subtle day collar. It's rather large and leather, with diamonds and a subtle platinum plaque that reads 'owned by Master François', but it symbolizes to himself and others that he is mine, which I hope will make him feel safer. I can tell he's reluctant, but I remind him it will make me happier to know he's appropriately marked, and besides, he can keep his warm winter scarf on until we get inside. I'll be honest, the tight black jeans and equally tight white shirt, with red undercuffs that I have him wear rolled up, that I have chosen for him are more for my own sake. It's driving me gently mad not to be able to take my beautiful boy, but at least I can watch him looking effortlessly sexy, and the collar is very visible as I have him leave the top four buttons of his shirt unfastened.

Though I didn't book a private room, I do have them seat us in a booth, as I don't want him to become conscious about his collar – I want him to feel safe because of it. The young lady who arrives to take our order does stare, but I suspect that has more to do with the diamonds than anything, as I have been bringing collared subs here for years, as have many other Doms from the club. Unless she's new. Because she does gape a little when Ellis calls me Master, though I am pleased to see he's remembering his new requirements, even if he does blush.

Nikolai

I do not think I've ever felt colder. Perhaps it's worse because I spent the afternoon in the warmth of the City Library. Some fool finished with his borrowed computer and left without logging out and I was pleased to see he still had forty minutes of his session remaining. He was lucky it was me and not some person with nefarious purposes, and I got the information I needed quickly. I took the few remaining minutes I had to see how they're doing back there, where I came from, just by looking. I saw my brother was online, saw the message from him pop up as he must have noted the same about me, but I clicked out quickly, not wanting to pain either of us with a conversation.

I spent the rest of the afternoon reading, allowing myself to get locked into a story of humor and betrayal and fantasy. My love of reading is one of the reasons I am so good at English, despite the fact that I had no real reason to speak it since I was a small child. It does sometimes lead to embarrassment when I try to pronounce words I've only ever seen written down, but there's a lot you can get away with when you have a thick accent. But luckily for me, my father is also a voracious reader and the house has always been filled with many, many English books. I will return to the library soon, I think. It's a cozy space, despite its vastness; perhaps something about the warmth of words in great numbers, somehow filling one's mind even from a distance. The workers seem accepting, or at least indifferent, to people like me and I think as long as there is no pervading smell they understand why people would want to come in out of the cold.

But now, I'm in a more usual position; outside in the cold and the dark. I got my information but I don't even know what to do with it, as I stare up at the imposing stone building. The main gates are locked, but I see there is a smaller wrought-iron pedestrian gate still open, presumably for people who live in the dormitories. I don't know if he does. I don't know where he lives. I don't even know if he's behind those gates at any time. There are other places, this just seemed the most likely. I ask a couple leaving the gate, but they don't know who I mean. Perhaps I need to come back during the day, but too many people means too many potential witnesses.

I set off walking, to I don't know where, but walking is warmer than standing. I haven't been paying attention, but I get a waft of heated deliciousness as I pass an alleyway. The smell of cooking coming through a vent and blasting into a space that would normally be filth and stench. I stop, at the mouth of the alley, my stomach making those gnawing noises of hunger as though the organ is eating itself.

As I stand, uncertain, wondering if the risk of rejection is worth the potential reward at the kitchen door, there's a hand on my shoulder, a large hand, and I spin, though unsteady through hunger.

"Hey, hey, steady there boy," the huge man says, grinning a grin I don't like, one little bit.

"Sir?" I ask, confused because he's speaking in a tone that suggests he knows me, but I know he doesn't. His hand is still on my shoulder, possessively, and I don't like that either, not from a man who makes me feel short, and I'm not short at all. The only man who normally does that is my father, who towers above me, but his attraction to very small women suggests that his children will only ever be of average height. Not that I'm completely average. I am six feet tall, and I managed to inherit my father's easy musculature rather than my mother's delicacy, unlike my poor younger brother who is tiny and more than a small bit feminine. It is not an easy time in our house to be that way, though there is some irony, when I am the gay one and my brother is certainly attracted to women at least.

The man is continuing to stare at me through my thoughts, a leer on his face.

"A pretty boy like you shouldn't be alone on a cold night like this. Come to my house." It is an order, but not one that I am going to follow, although I am feeling a little dizzy with this hunger, that has snuck up on me, and I realize I didn't eat anything at lunchtime or breakfast, saving my last few bits for the evening, and now here I am, distracted by unobtainable smells, still empty.

"No, Sir, I don't want to." But there's two of them now, crossing each other in a hazy watercolor dance, and I hear seemingly distant shouts as the man grabs at my arm, trying to pull me, as I move so very slowly, pulling away but with no strength at all, pushing with my hands, which are like two floppy toys, no use trying to drag his hand off my arm. The shouts are getting louder and my legs are getting weaker and suddenly there aren't two of the man, there are none because my vision has gone.

It must only be for the shortest moment because the man is still there when my eyelids flutter weakly open. He's arguing with someone and I move my eye muscle across, so I can see; oh! Maybe there are two of him. But I realize the new man is different; still big, huge, even, and muscled like a fake television wrestler that my baby brother loves to watch on Saturday afternoons, you can tell that even under his fancy suit, but his face is much more handsome than the first man. Kind eyes. You can always tell by the eyes. And he's telling the first man off. Wait? Did the first man just say I was his boyfriend? It sounded like that. But it's a lie. I don't want to go with him, I must tell Kind-eyes that he is telling an untruth, I do not belong to that man.

"No," is all I manage to get out, but then there's someone else in front of my aching eye muscles. And that can't be right. Because he's here. I must be hallucinating; there's no way that the person I'm seeking can be just standing there right now.

"Are you okay?" the hallucination asks me. I must respond, even if he isn't there, that's the polite thing to do.

"I will be okay. I am not that man's. Please don't let him take me." Hallucination moves then, going to stand next to Kind-eyes, who tries to make him move away. Huh. Kind-eyes can see Hallucination. Weird. But he whispers, pointing at me, and then Kind-eyes shouts loud at the first man and he slinks off, a subdued hyena who's lost the hunt.