Chameleon Knights

Chapter 6- Forplay for S&M Yaoi

It was hard to concentrate on the sculpture he was destroying during his 8 o’clock class. It was supposed to be a replica of a famous monument and art work, but he had just sheared the David’s manhood cleanly from his body and one of his legs was thinner than a twizzler. Slamming his chisel into his tool caddy, Treize slumped ducking his head into his hands. I have screwed up. I fucked my roommate, ruined my mid-term project, pissed Rin off and am due to deal with that arrogant bastard in less than an hour. If the cold, dissecting look in Rin’s eyes hadn’t been torture enough. She had stared at him strangely as she passed him on his way out of the bathroom and seemed on the verge of speaking the entire ride into town. At least she had looked good in her borrowed clothes, one of his silk ties over her strings of opaque beads, Jaz’s only button down shirt, deep sienna, open to the line of her cleavage and her torn jean skirt resting low on her hips. He had missed his roommate, but at least the younger teen had seemed satisfied when they had parted. I’ll have to talk to him, later, decide what were going to do. Will that happen again? Do I even want it to? He wasn’t so sure he knew.
“Earth to Schreyer?”
What the hell was I thinking? His inner monologue smirked; you weren’t, unless you’re in the mood to be honest. In that case you wanted it to happen.
“Are you just gonna sit here and piss and moan?” the female graduate assistant demanded, ignoring the stares of her other students. The guy hadn’t heard a word she had said, she was sure of it. “Hey!” Angela Moyers, art major and irate instructor, snarled poking her obviously deranged student in the shoulder. He was so not going to keep ignoring her. What the hell is this nut on?
Registering the sharp jab, Treize started so hard, he flipped his stool over landing with a clatter of tools and an explosion of plaster and stone. “Neh?” Coming back into focus, he zeroed in on his startled teacher, her features crumbling in a mix of horror and dark amusement. “What?”
Reigning in her urge to unleash the evil cackle tickling at her throat, Angela smiled petulantly down at her student, “Are you having a nice conversation with yourself, Herr Schreyer?”
“What?” His confusion was utter, his shift to his feet impeded by the various supplies and chunks of decimated sculpture rolling under his converse sneakers.
“A little advice, don’t let your girlfriends find out about each other and you might want to pick all this up before you’re late for your ‘meeting’,” this was more amusing than the time she had busted her now ex, screwing one of the models in the closet. Who knew a Makita Drill could be so much fun.
“What?” Masculine features bunched, still lost.
“You’ve been babbling aloud for the past half hour and quite frankly you are freaking everyone out. And it looks like your project is going to be easy to grade this time around.”
This is not my day; he groaned staring at his teacher with strapped displeasure. “My apologies to everyone.” The other students in his class stared back at him with varying expressions, most hedging toward amusement or pity. It was no secret that Moyers was a vindictive hag that despised most human beings, especially those of the male variety. Offering a small chagrinned smile for their understanding, he dismissed the incident. Those that were hungry for gossip would latch onto his personal affairs, let them. Glancing at the clock, he noticed the woman was right; he had only twenty minutes to make his appointment with Whetstone. “Would you have a broom?”
Snorting indelicately, the shrew pointed to the supply closet and stomped off. In her going, she skidded on a hunk of stone and nearly kissed the floor. A titter went up and Treize deadened his expression before she could right herself and turn an eye to him. It was in poor taste to find joy in another’s embarrassment, but those of little regard took their pleasure where the might. Biting his lips to tame his expression, he hurried to the closet. There were other, genuinely important, matters with which to be dealt.
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Rin grimaced at the back of her band mates head as the class roared with ubiquitous laughter. Why couldn’t he have just been born mute instead of retarded?
The prankster was kicked back in his chair enjoying the havoc that his innuendo laced response had caused. He couldn’t help it if the teacher was twenty-two, stacked and hot. If the admin expected him to act right, they should have put him in one of the haggly biddies’ classes. Nothing was a bone killer like English with a fossil.
Mrs. Markham colored to her neckline and stomped up the aisle to the cocky punk that literally managed to ruin her mornings. She saw the girl behind him blanch and watched as a long, boney hand clawed into the juncture of neck and shoulder.
“Could I speak to Jason for a moment, Mrs. Markham, please?” Rin, easily her most capable, engaging student, pleaded.
“Why don’t you and while you’re at it, please remind Mr. Kine that he is seriously being considered for expulsion by the board,” the attractive red-head replied sweetly and low enough to ensure that only the three of them could hear. Mrs. Markham smile as the devil-may-care grin faded from the teen’s face. Gotcha, ya little perv.
“Yes, ma’am,” the down soft voice answered, as the Asian teen urged her companion from his seat with a steely grip. “We’ll be back in a moment.”
The room has stilled during the brief anti-climatic confrontation, hoping no doubt to catch the conversation, when she turned to address her pupils, she could have heard a pen drop. “Now, where were we?”
A spindly, blonde, with more freckles that scruples muttered, “We was at the part where Odi-puss was about to marry his ma.”
Sighing, she tromped toward the front to take her lectern, “It’s Oedipus, Eugene, and thank you.” One battle at a time, the grammar would come next. With some it was going to be a lost cause.
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In the hall Jaz was staring at his feet, avoiding Rin’s intense glare. He had heard it all before from the administration and he was sore to hear it from her too.
“What are you going to do if they decide to kick you out?”
He just settled back onto his hip, gnawing at the inner corner of his lip.
“You can’t keep harassing people just because you think it’s fun, Jaz. She could have you arrested for that, not just kicked out of school. How would you pay Treize back then?”
Biting through his cheek brought a warm trickle of copper under his tongue.
“Just think, please. Life is hard enough without looking for trouble.” Especially if it usually finds you first, Rin apprised herself.
“Okay, I get it,” the boy snapped, fingers hooking into his belt loops over the studded leather band around his waist. His shoulder was throbbing from the crescent gouges from her nails, but he be damned if he gave her the satisfaction of rubbing at them.
“Then act like it, Jaz. Enough already,” she hissed stalking around him back into the classroom. I, for one, value my education. It took me a long time to be able to get one; I am not going to waste it on him. Flopping into her seat, she peeked at the book on the desk beside her, catching the owner’s eye. Craig Johnson, their high schools star running back, gave his characteristic lopsided grin and scooted the book to where she could see.
Bowing her head in thanks, she flipped to the correct page in time to be asked to read. Jaz, oblivious to the exchange between the football player and the vocalist, sauntered back into the room moments later and took his seat, docile as a lamb. No one commented and class flowed smoothly.
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The Jetta came to a rest in front of the Hollows with four minutes to spare. The blonde would never admit, but the constriction in his chest and the desert dry clime in his throat screamed that he was anxious. He had had dealings with men like Whetstone in the past, his own parents were close with some of the Organization leaders, but never had he been in this position. Swallowing against the grainy emptiness in his mouth, the ashe blonde squared his shoulders, striding to the blackened door behind leading to the wolf’s den. I will do what I must in order to ensure their safety, nothing more.
Pounding on the door, he waited denying his muscles the inclination to fidget. It seemed an eternity before the oiled slide of metal had his eyes seeking the peep hole. Wine colored orbs noticed him and the shield clicked shut. The door was pulled open by the Asian man that had led them around last night, Rouen, his name was.
“I have an appointment with Herr Whetstone,” he stated unnecessarily.
Kouga scrutinized the body in his view thoroughly. The blonde was dressed in a tight gray t-shirt tucked into low riding carpenters jeans secured by a wide black leather belt. The ensemble, though plain, molded to the musculature beneath in an appealing fashion. The man’s hair was smoothed down, falling in sweeping strands around a lean, chiseled face. He could model for one of the A&F catalogues, the Triad scion mused stepping aside to allow the scowling personage entrance.
Not at all intimidated, he led the musician inside, securing the door behind them which deepened the existing frown, and led the way to the stairwell that was usually under guard during business hours. “Mr. Whetstone has been expecting you.”
Scowling harder would pull something; Treize decided releasing some of the tension in his jaws. Instead he followed the man clad in the gray silk cheongsam. The cranes are intricate, are those diamonds? The mandarin suit’s detail was exquisite, the water fowl wrapped the back of the garment, one eye glittering as the muscles of its wearer’s back shifted on mounting the stairs.
“It was made by my grandmother. She has exquisite taste, does she not?” Kouga smirked feeling the man behind him stiffen on the landing.
“Ja,” Treize offered, How did he know?
“Right this way,” that Chinese man commented turning left down the corridor that had led them to Whetstone the night before. The man had a strangely satisfied expression riding his lips as he steered his charge away from the main office and past the VIP rooms to the last door on the left. It had been at his urging for the meeting to take place in a more nuanced location. “Mr. Whetstone will be with you shortly. You may wait inside.” Pushing the heavy, re-enforced door wide, he motioned the hesitating bassist past. The man gave him a threatening, yet anxious glare during his internal debate on the cusp of what Kouga was sure would be the most pleasant hell on earth damnation could comprise. As soon as the blonde’s backside cleared the threshold, Kouga shut the door and engaged the keyless lock grinning evilly. Lucky bastard, someday that will be me. Loathe to go, but too damned booked to stay, the jealous manager strolled away. Other arrangements had to be completed to sate Kort’s varied appetites. Greedy oni.
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It took a moment of jangling the knob to assure himself that the thing had locked and the no amount of pounding was going to convince anyone to open it for him. No sense wasting the effort or skin. Resigned to the meeting by default, Treize relinquished the knob and turned to take in his surroundings in the low light. The room was sparingly furnished and most of the equipment he recognized. The tightening in the pit of his stomach and the heat in his loins reminded him of just how up close and personal he had been with several of the implements. A chaise lounge upholstered in black pinstriped cotton was angled to encompass the room, no doubt for voyeuristic pleasures. Chains and leather straps dangled from the free standing metal frame bolted into the floor at center stage. A padded sawhorse stood catty corner to the rack, heavy duty o-rings scarred and worn from use. An assortment of paddles and crops, brands and plugs lined the right wall. A wicked looking glove with a palm full of miniscule hooks lay on a low, antique table alongside an array of lubricants, leather harnessing, strings of metal beads of graduating size and cruel looking clamps.
His stomach started to clench, sweat beading his upper lip and trickling from his hairline. The room was unbearably hot and he could swear … Air smells strange?
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Reducing the flow of chemical enhancers in the room’s air supply, Kort kicked back to thoroughly enjoy the man’s growing discomfort. He knew the moment his prey had caught the change of scent in the air and his cock gave a baleful throb against his leather jeans. Glancing at his watch, he settled on five more minutes. Should be enough time for the drugs to have a decent hold without completely losing him. Leave him just enough dignity for denial—so much more interesting when they fight.
The blonde hadn’t moved from his stance in the doorway, nor did he take much note of the walnut framed mirror that failed to cast back more than a blurry reflection. If he had, he might realize I’m watching him. The auburn haired sadist trained feral intensity on the statue in his view, stripping the bassist shred by cotton shred. The first thing he was going to do was tan that pale skin rosy and listen to the growling bur whimper. Well, after ‘negotiating’ terms of contract.
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Where the hell was the twisted bastard? Treize snarled, his nerves pinched. His skin was crawling and the shirt he had on was about to strangle him. He felt so odd and the damned room was stifling anyway. Even if it wasn’t, he wanted to be away from here. Away from these contraptions… and why was he so hard? Why did his flesh refuse to forget the pleasures to be had beneath the grip of chains and bite of braided leather bands?
“Willkommen,” a roguish purr jarred his already bundled nerves contracting them painfully.
Swallowing the groan that demanded to escape him, he wheeled unsteadily on his heel, cursing softly as the friction incited his already pulsing erection. The sight of his ‘host’ made the flesh race, leather pants unbuttoned over sharp hipbones, defined abs and pecs braced on both sides by dove gray cotton. The fettering lines of ink jutted harshly from the cover of the thin material over the shoulders and upper chest. Sinking teeth into his inner cheek, he reigned in the lust that was drowning out his ability to reason, to hold anger and fear at bay. “Was ist die Bedeutung von diesem? Ihre Idee eines Witzes? [What is the meaning of this? Your idea of a joke?]”
Eyes the shade of cool, fall earth sneered at him behind thin silver rims, even as the mouth smiled beguilingly. “Warum vergeuden Sie die Zeit? Ich lasse etwas Sie wünschen, ja? Ich habe eine Angelegenheit, die Sie annehmen. [Why waste the time? I have something you want, yes? I have a proposition that you will accept.]”
Treize snorted at the audacity. “Was bildet Sie also verdammtes sicheres [What makes you so damned sure]?” He bristled as the man stepped closer invading his personal space, smile turning smug and mocking.
“Unsere Körper liegen nicht, nicht wie die Werkzeuge des Verstandes. Die Lippen und die Augen können zum Trickery überzeugt werden, dieses jedoch, können Sie nicht. [Our bodies don’t lie, not like the tools of the mind. The lips and eyes can be persuaded to trickery, this however, cannot.]” Saying he slid a hand down his prey’s hipbone to cup his erection through his jeans. A harsh breath broke from the other’s throat before he reared back, stumbled more accurately. The smugness increased exponentially, a chuckle smoothing over his own break in rhythm.
“Nicht [Don’t],” the blonde hissed hip bumping the antique table, jostling the supplies and knocking over an expensive bottle of flavored massage oil.
“And why ever not?” Kort purred, switching to English and advancing on the blonde. He had no where to go unless he crashed through the table, the assassin observed catching the thought chase through the other’s mind. “I will have you or I will destroy you. Those are the options.” The lean, tall figure blanched under his scrutiny and tried to melt into the wall. Satisfied with the reaction, Kort stopped to retrieve the oil from the floor and plunk it back onto the table well aware that the action displayed the play of muscle under soft cotton to an advantage.
Insane, the bastard is insane. “You can’t be serious.” I damned well know he is. Why am I even arguing?
“Decide. You have three minutes before I take what I want and then enjoy ripping your existence and your two friends into confetti.” Amused by the disbelieving expression on the man’s face, he stalked to the chaise and folded himself onto the cushions, mindful not to put his heavy-soled, black boots on the fabric.
“You… what…” The German’s mind was on lock down and his tongue was running over itself to do something stupid. Anything could happen to them if I don’t comply. What about Jaz… and Rin? If I say no, what will become of them or me for that matter? Could he destroy our futures and our current happiness? The answer was crystal in his mind--He can and he will, rolled over and over a dooms day mantra. Calming at the cascade of assurance, he willed himself to a decision. “If I do this, you leave Rin and Jaz out of it?”
“If you agree to make yourself available at my request, I will agree to spare them the details of ‘our’ continued association,” he countered, fairly certain the man wouldn’t catch the loophole he had created.
“Agreed. I also will be allowed to set the terms for our encounters and you will abide by the rules and adhere to the safe word of my choice,” Treize wasn’t foolish enough to hand himself over without some personal assurances as well. I can’t afford to be down for long recovery times. I don’t fancy American hospitals much either, not for unusual injuries especially. I can just imagine a doctor’s face if he had to…
“Agree, but I set the scenes and have control over the implements used,” he knew the other’s mind had been wandering. It was hard to refrain from taking. So close and all mine.
“No sharps with intent to pierce or penetrate without my expressed consent,” he shot back staring at the hooked glove laying palm up on the table. He had seen the damage one of those caused and would be damned if he suffered from it himself inadvertently.
“I’ll change your mind, eventually,” Kort assured him rising from the chaise and passing him on the way to the wall of implements. Treize watched with hammering pulse as the ripped, auburn haired demon selected what looked like a ping pong paddle with holes the size of his pinkies drilled through the surface, before crossing to the table to gather a strand of anal beads and an unmarked bottle from the elegant, rounded, pedestal table. Still ignoring his, Whetstone moved gracefully, silent back to the chaise, lined up his selections with meticulous care and turned to him with hard, narrowed eyes.
“Strip and come to me on your knees.”