Page 173 of Naughty Dreams
DJ moved onto the stage, gripping his wireless mic. The first five lines had no instrument accompaniment, pure acapella. If there had been a crowd, the spotlights, the starbursts spiraling on the black screens behind him, would have drawn their attention, bringing a hush to the vast arena, a wave of whistles, the water-rushing sound of indrawn breaths.
The sound cue came through his in-ear monitor, and he began.
You covered me
Surrounded me
Caged my heart
Freed my soul from the pain
Restrained me
That verse had come from Roy covering him, holding onto him, when DJ learned of the death of his brothers. His voice faltered. It wasn’t planned, but the demand of the song took over.
Music had been his Master until Roy arrived in his life, and they would always hold him between them. Unless Roy didn’t want him.
The drum intro started, then that bass slide, followed by the guitars. DJ turned to the left side of the stage, where the first dancer stepped out, two dancers twisting behind him in urgent, tight moves. Their hands reached for him, though the Dom made a dismissive motion that sent them to their knees and spinning away.
Muscular, leather pants, no shirt. He had fiery eyes and hands in half curls at his side. He stared at DJ across the stage like he already owned him. Wanted to own him.
Held me - hold me.
You bound me in my pain
Burned its lines into my soul.
My flesh, my bones, my mind
I’m a pillar of fire
Becoming ash in your hands.
Time for the chorus.
I am yours
I am blissful as nothing
Lost in you
Part of you
Obviously.
DJ moved toward the Dom, at first eager, but when he started to drop to one knee, he hesitated. He wanted to surrender, but it wasn’t right.
This one wasn’t the right one.
As he launched into the next verse, he pivoted. Another Dom emerged on the platform to the back right. He had a 1950s look. Loose tie, fedora, fitted slacks, smoking a prop cigarette. He flicked it away and beckoned.
DJ came to him, executing the dance steps, a step forward, a step back, a turn or a sway, this way or that, body loose and fluid. Dancers flanked him, emerging from three directions. As their hands lifted toward the Dom, matching DJ’s gesture, they displayed the crisscrossed rope over their knuckles, glittering copper fringe feathering their wrists.
When they fell back, leaving him alone before the Dom, DJ’s dance, his body language, communicated his wariness but also his wish, his hope, that this Dom was the right one.
He wasn’t.
Those lights darkened, and red lights highlighted the back left platform. This Master was blond, with a buzz cut and hard jawed face. He wore jeans and boots, and had a whip, like Roy had had that night. When he threw the end, DJ reached out. It coiled loosely around his arm, and he caught it in his hand, letting himself be pulled toward the male.
