Page 45 of Seth
He couldn’t delay any longer, but a part of him was reluctant to finish the sculpture, the building. The longing had never been this strong before, but the feeling of loss increased. The severed arm made him realize that he had never managed to say his farewell, to watch Justin’s body burn, to let go of the last physical anchor that chained his thoughts to the past and didn’t let him move forward.
The more he thought about it, the stronger Justin’s presence around the house became. The walls closed upon him to the point where he almost felt claustrophobic in his own home. He needed to get Justin out of his system, and he knew only one way to drain his darkness—pain.
Seth stoodwith his armsfolded over his chest and the sole of his foot pressed against the wall. The mixture of scents condensed the air: leather, sweat, sex, perfume, and antiseptic, all so common for a BDSM club. Tonight was busier than ever; even the soft-drink bar that most of the days stood half-empty now had no available seats. The squeaking of leather rubbing against leather hung in the air as people brushed against each other.
Men of all kinds and ages gathered here to explore themselves and one another. Unlike them, Seth wasn’t here to explore. He needed a willing prey to drain his hatred, to accept and consume his rage, to reset his mind and settle his emotions.
His attention bounced off faces before stumbling over a flock of uncollared submissives, ball gags hanging from the necks of some of them. He knew them all, except for one. He peered into the fresh face, examined dark curls, big, muddy-green eyes. The boy blushed under his attention, and Seth realized it was one of his first visits to a place like this. His interest in him withered. It had always been hard to play with people who didn’t know him, nearly impossible with someone inexperienced. And today, he needed all the experience he could get.
He scrutinized the crowd looking for someone strong, trained, easy. Someone who could share his darkness, help him drain it. Someone who craved the pain he was ready to offer.
The blue, green, and yellow lights splashed over the room, glinting against leather and latex. Moans and slapping sounds, drifting from upstairs, informed him that people had already begun their scenes, yet Seth didn’t have a partner yet. His usual choices didn’t appeal today as all the boys he used to play with seemed too frail, too breakable.
Ungluing from the wall, he drifted past the bar. On the other side, tables for two lined up along the brick wall, shackles hanging from embedded iron rings above each. He passed a couple; a muscular submissive had his hands cuffed above his head as a slender dom laughed and fed him from a baby bottle with a sticky, whitish liquid that looked like cum or egg white. The submissive gulped with effort amusing his dom further. A pang of jealousy bolted through Seth as he realized this sub would be perfect. With his black eyes and dark hair parted on the side and brushed away from his face, he resembled Gustavo.
Breaking someone like him would feel good, maybe too good.
A fervid fantasy of a bloody back, torn skin, watery eyes filled Seth’s head, too appealing to resist hence the most dangerous. With effort, Seth looked away and turned to the socializing area. A lonely figure occupied the last table.
As if sensing his interest, the boy lifted his head. Their eyes met. Haunting, longing, restless, Ignaz’s gaze begged for something. The pool of darkness in the pit of Seth’s stomach swirled.
Now you look at me again, huh?
The slight irritation and the promise the pain slut offered inched him closer, yet Seth wavered. Ignaz was a bad choice for many reasons. He looked innocent and pure, frail and breakable, hence appealing, exactly the type Seth preferred. But he’d already known Ignaz wasn’t the one. All his chosen ones were bright, almost blinding to look at. Like small suns they emitted golden light that always attracted Seth, promising him the warmth he’d never known.
Unlike them, Ignaz was shadowed, and in the darkness resonating in this boy, he saw glimpses of himself. They were alike yet disparate. Just like Seth, Ignaz was engaged with Death but in a different way. It cocooned him in an almost visible cloak. Whenever he saw Ignaz in a scene, the acute knowledge penetrated Seth’s mind—where Death reigned, very little remained to harvest. Just like Seth, Ignaz didn’t like to be touched. Just like Seth, Ignaz didn’t engage in sex. Just like Seth, Ignaz limited most of his relationships to occasional scenes in the club.
Ignaz’s bruises had almost healed; just the yellowish skin remained around his eye. Maybe because of it, he was still alone tonight. He had lost weight since their last encounter, and now his pointy chin looked blade-sharp. Attachments hung from his white straitjacket; they jingled as he moved. His blue eyes feverishly glinted on the pale face accenting the mad look.
Seth knew he should overlook him. In his state of mind, the pain slut would be a terrible choice, too compelling to get carried away with, but something in Ignaz’s look paralyzed his will. It was the same irritating gaze that unsettled him during the last scene.
Seth had never played with Ignaz before, but he’d seen him play many times. The willingness to bleed, to hurt, both fascinated and disturbed him. The boy was in his early twenties, yet Seth remembered his back and thick, white scars hatching his skin. He had already been blacklisted from most BDSM clubs for not following safety protocols.
Seth knew he shouldn’t engage. They were bad chemistry. With Ignaz he wouldn’t be able to stop, yet he kept peering into the dead sea of the blue eyes, unblinking. Behind the dilated pupils, he saw emptiness, darkness, and the crystallized salt of unshed tears deep in his soul. This all looked too similar to his desert.
Seth’s skin crawled.
Walk away. Now.He isn’t the one.Instead, he stepped forward and made a faint motion with his chin, offering Ignaz to play.
Suppressing a small smile, the boy jumped to his feet and surged toward the locker room. He’d always played rough, and to avoid having infections, he only used his personal equipment. No warming up, no sex, no kissing, hugging, caressing, no skin-to-skin contact were Ignaz’s iron rules. Cold canning did it for him—the bloodier the better.
When Ignaz emerged carrying a long rattan cane, Seth nodded.
Under his scrutiny, a shiver ran down Ignaz’s body, prickling his naked legs, raising tiny, light hairs. A simple reaction that could have been caused by a draft muffled the already quiet voice of reason in Seth’s head.
With his fingers wrapped around the sharp elbow, Seth ushered the boy toward the playroom. Scrambling to catch up with his wide strides, Ignaz didn’t argue, didn’t pull back; his tall leather boots stomped, disagreeing with the beat of the trance music.
A few glances licked their backs but quickly lost interest, as everyone knew that Ignaz would go with anyone who promised him pain.
Skirting around the workshop area, they entered a dim corridor with doors on both sides, some closed, some invitingly opened. They passed them all, emerging into the familiar black chamber generously lit with spotlights. The upbeat music died as soon as Seth shut the door behind them.
Seth never liked playing in clubs. He didn’t like seeing his partners spread over furniture that had known many men, absorbed their body fluids. Even though it had been wiped clean after every usage, he still couldn’t shake off the deep-seated revulsion, the same one he experienced whenever he visited a public restroom, restaurant, or gym. The revulsion that had been gently cultivated in him by his late pedantic father.
He could have taken Ignaz home, but the darkness condensing in his chest threatened to overtake his mind. Here, surrounded by people, under the watchful scrutiny of CCTV, the chances of him getting carried away were slim. Here, he wouldn’t cause unnecessary damage.
He released Ignaz’s elbow and accepted the cane before lifting his chin to encourage the boy to pick the equipment. With a slow nod, Ignaz sauntered toward the spanking horse in the most secluded corner. He sprayed some antiseptic over the leather before wiping it with a paper towel.
The fittings and attachments of his straitjacket dangled around his legs. Seth noticed his sharp knees, blue veins standing out against the milky flesh of his thighs, and the signs of another man’s presence—yellow bruises above his knees.
