Chapter Text
Marcus walks into a small drab room. There are two women sitting on folding metal chairs, a dead potted plant between them. Marcus clears his throat. They don't so much as glance at him and keep staring at the cracks in the cinder block wall or the scuffs on their shoes. He takes the closest seat, the worn chair creaking under his weight and the shrapnel in his leg making him wince in pain. He had expected some major awkwardness and he is not disappointed. Marcus can't help wondering how these women found their way here.
Without the Marine Corps, without the adrenaline rush he'd come to love more than anything, Marcus had been adrift. He'd tried to use his injury as an excuse to settle down and it had worked for a short while. He'd moved in with Cottia, a woman he thought he loved, but monogamy had left him feeling as empty as sleeping around. Maybe love –the so-called secret ingredient– and all its traditional trimmings were not for him after all.
Almost as soon as he'd entered his relationship with Cottia, Marcus' ability to climax had all but mysteriously disappeared. He enjoyed satisfying Cottia in other ways, but they both knew something was wrong. He still possessed a libido; he knew, because he was able to get aroused when imagining certain scenarios. He didn't know where one got his sexuality from, or where tendencies of this kind came from. Maybe it was a perversion created in his childhood that never manifested until now.
As there was nothing wrong with him physically, Marcus had consulted a sex therapist who'd recommended spicing things up in the bedroom. When he told Cottia about the fantasies he wanted to fulfill, he learned she found the idea of blending sex and violence revolting and had no intention of participating. After a few weeks however, she announced she was willing to let him explore that facet outside their relationship in order to save it. His own girlfriend had suggested he should hire a professional dominatrix.
Even though Cottia had given him her permission, Marcus could feel she already resented the time he spent researching BDSM online, learning the basics and figuring out what he might be interested in trying. When he contacted a couple of women who were willing to dominate him, it drove an even wider wedge between them.
The first visit was awkward and disappointing. Marcus had wanted to start with something he felt was harmless. It indeed was. And that was the problem. He liked how the leather collar felt around his neck, and there was something alluring in being at someone's feet, but pet play didn't really rev up his engine like he thought. Maybe with the right person holding the leash... Marcus had ended up dropping his plastic bone on purpose, just so he could get the spanking he'd been threatened with. That part was more exciting, but Marcus already knew this wasn't what he was looking for.
The second visit was a bit more satisfying, but not quite up to Marcus' expectations. He really enjoyed the flogging, but he wished the dominatrix would have pushed him further. He's not an innocent boy, he's a soldier who's been through hell and back and got off on it. All the same, the mistress preferred to err on the side of caution and take things slow. It sounded sensible, of course. But since when had Marcus done the sensible thing?
To avoid the strain on their couple, he would put off his visits to the dominatrix as much as possible, keeping them to the bare minimum. As a result, though his forays into the BDSM world had been partly successful, they hadn't brought him the satisfaction he craved. Marcus felt he had become obsessed with chasing a spark that rarely grew beyond a simmer.
Then, by pure chance, Marcus ran into Sophie, a former lover of his. Marcus had confided in Sophie, who suggested Marcus try something a bit different, something more drastic, considering Marcus had been such a thrill seeker all his life. Sophie knew how to contact a man called K. K mostly saw women, but he had been known to accept a man from time to time. Marcus defined himself as mostly straight but the idea of having a man dominate him was strangely appealing; it's taboo, new and exciting.
K had a reputation for being violent, and Marcus was desperate to regain something he'd lost along the way. If pleasure and pain were really two sides of a same coin, then maybe K could help Marcus find his way back to the former through the latter.
So, here Marcus is, sitting in a shabby room with perfect strangers. After only a few minutes of waiting, Marcus notices a blurry shadow moving behind the door, pulling him back to reality. The knob turns, and a woman comes through, but Marcus doesn't even see her because she's followed by a young man: K.
He's a few inches shorter than Marcus and a few years younger. He has short dark blond hair, an aquiline nose, high cheekbones and steely gray eyes. He's wearing a plain gray shirt and black jeans; a long way away from the latex and leather Marcus had gotten used to. Marcus doesn't know what he'd expected; maybe a bulky bald man in leather chaps, or a rough looking dude with tattoos, but not a young handsome guy who belonged in one of those high fashion Burberry ads. K looks at the two women first, but it's Marcus he addresses.
“Who are you?” K asks coolly.
Marcus takes note of the British accent. “I know what you do. I'd like to be one of the people you see,” Marcus explains tentatively. K shakes his head minutely as Marcus speaks.
“That's of no interest,” K tells him, already turning away. “Madame,” he calls. A pretty blonde in a fur coat goes through the door, and Marcus notices that she avoids looking K in the eye.
Marcus shifts nervously on his seat, but he doesn't get up. He has to insist; he can't leave at the first rebuttal. Maybe it's a test. Maybe K is trying to assess how badly he wants it. Whatever it is.
Shortly after, another woman comes in. She stares at the floor as she scurries to the chair next to Marcus. He can practically feel the anxiety that emanates from her. His eyes are drawn to her hands, as she wrings them nervously on her lap, then Marcus spies lash marks on her legs. If Marcus still held any doubts he'd come to the right place, they had just evaporated. The fluttering in his stomach intensifies, and he feels himself blush slightly.
It doesn't take long before K returns to let the blonde out. Marcus wonders what happened back there and why it took so little time. K notices the newcomer right away, and steps up to her.
“Princess, I specifically said five days, and five days haven't gone yet. So... you'll have to leave. I'm sorry.” K doesn't sound that sorry, but he doesn't sound exactly angry either. For a few seconds, Marcus thinks she will protest, or insist. But no, she gets up and leaves, never raising her gaze to the man.
K is standing with his hands on his hips and says to Marcus, “You're still here? I, um... I don't think this is for you.” Then he disappears behind the door with the last woman.
This time, it takes almost an hour before K comes back with the brunette. Marcus keeps his eyes down, waiting for the woman to exit before looking up. He's alone with K and nerves twist his gut in a familiar manner. Why is this man making him feel this way?
“You are beginning to irritate me,” K says, arms crossed, frowning slightly at the floor. Marcus is silent. K eventually looks up to study him, and Marcus looks back at him trying to show that he wants to be here.
“Stand up,” K commands suddenly. Marcus' heart leaps in his chest and his pulse quickens. Yes. That's the feeling he's looking for.
Marcus stands up, K takes the chair he was sitting on and places it in the center of the room. K doesn't ask him to sit back on it so he waits, like a good soldier. K walks around Marcus, surveying him thoughtfully.
“Take off your jacket, put it over there,” he asks, pointing at the other chairs. Marcus does as asked, and he shivers in the poorly heated room. Marcus swears he can feel K's gray eyes on his skin. He wonders if K likes what he sees. Marcus had kept himself in top shape despite his injury, and he gets appreciative looks from men and women wherever he goes. Maybe K will ask him to take his shirt off.
“Sit down,” K orders. Marcus sits down, the pain in his leg forgotten in his excitement. He's a little disappointed he wasn't asked to get naked. “What makes you think I'd let you in?”
“I was told you sometimes take on a man. I just thought it would be worth a try,” Marcus answers truthfully.
K stares at him, one hand in his pocket, his gray eyes calculating, as if he's trying to figure Marcus out just by looking at him. He seems to finally make a decision.
“I just want you to sit completely relaxed... while I hit you in the face.” K pauses, giving Marcus time to process the words. “Nothing special. It's just a slap.” K's voice is low, almost gentle, and every one of its intonations makes Marcus' groin tingle pleasantly.
Marcus looks around nervously, his heart racing. K steps up to him; Marcus stills. “Are you ready?” K asks.
“Yes,” Marcus answers, lifting up his chin and closing his eyes.
K grunts as he slaps Marcus hard across the face, making his head snap to the side. Marcus gets back into position, gasping, shocked by the force of the blow. Marcus has to repress a flinch as K shifts his weight back again. The slap Marcus expects doesn't come until he's almost sure K will not slap him again.
K hits him even harder this time, and Marcus bends at the waist with a groan from the impact. His cheek stings, a blend of adrenaline and endorphins rushing through his veins. Marcus has to consciously hold back from hitting K. He'd never felt this impulse when women hit him. Marcus could probably knock K out with one blow. But he's here to submit and he means to do it completely. He shifts on his chair, sitting upright once more as warmth spreads to his groin. K waits for Marcus to straighten up, hands clasped before him.
“Let me tell you the rules then,” K starts quietly. “First rule is that I don't fuck you, and there isn't any discussion about that.”
That's the standard arrangement, Marcus tells himself. “Wait. How much is this going to cost me?” he inquires as his left cheek throbs.
“Nothing. I will not take money from you.”
“Then, what do you get out of it?” Marcus asks, tilting his head.
“That's my business, and I don't want you to mention it again.”
Marcus opens his mouth anyway, but K narrows his eyes at Marcus and the question dies on his tongue. No money. So, this is K's hobby, not his day job. Okay. Marcus can roll with that.
“The second rule is that we have no safeword. Meaning, that if you go inside with me there is nothing you can say that will make me stop any plan or procedure,” K adds.
Marcus tries not to frown at this. K's tone of voice is casual, but Marcus knows that the second rule is not standard. It's dangerous, and agreeing to it would be reckless; the idea just makes more blood flow to Marcus' groin.
“You must bring a brown used leather riding crop, and not one from a shop selling sex toys. It's not a masquerade,” K continues. “Third rule: If I choose to let you in, you have to be sitting out here. In other words, you won't know when. Only that it will be sometime between two and six at night.”
“I can't stay here that late. My job...” Marcus tries to protest, but K is leaving already. “You don't even know my name!” Marcus shouts, sounding more desperate than he intended. K turns around and pokes his head through the door.
“I'm not interested in your name,” the young man tells Marcus, as if the tidbit of information bores him to death. “Here, you're...” K looks up in the air, as if searching for inspiration in the discolored tiles of the ceiling. He looks at Marcus again, giving him a last once over that sends another wave of heat through Marcus. “Here, you're Soldier,” he decides before shutting the door.
Marcus blinks at the shrinking blurry form behind the glass door. How had K known he was military, Marcus wonders. Then he realizes that his t-shirt sleeve isn't quite covering the bold U.S.M.C. underneath the Marine Corps tattoo on his bicep, and that the outline of his dog tags are visible through the thin material. K isn't psychic, he's just very observant; no mysteries there.
Marcus exhales and collects his jacket, leaving his chair in the middle of the room. When K leaves, he'll have to put it back, or walk around it. Either way, Marcus wants K to be reminded of him.