Make Me Soar (7 page)

“Get used to the idea,” he said in a low voice, “because I’m not leaving your side.”

Dorian stiffened for a moment and then went limp in his arms, sagging against him. Alan stood still, cradling the submissive carefully in his arms, his heart sinking when he felt the tremors that rippled through him. Alan guided him into the bathroom, his arm around Dorian’s waist as the boy stumbled into the small room, sending out low noises that spoke of pain. Dorian hissed again when Alan’s hands came into contact with his back. Alan kept his hands still and waited. Dorian screwed up his face in the harsh light and then relaxed his features as he grew accustomed to it. Alan turned on the tap, waiting for the water to warm up. Dorian stood beside him, his weight resting against the washbasin, eyes fixed on his reflection in the mirror, his breathing shallow and erratic. Alan glanced at him now and again as the bath filled steadily.

What is he seeing right now?

He found Dorian’s silence unnerving, but right then he had a job to do.

When the bath was half-full, he helped Dorian into it. The sharp hiss when his arse entered the warm water went right through Alan.

“C-can’t sit,” Dorian croaked. He knelt in the water, and Alan pushed him with gentle hands so that Dorian leaned forward, anchoring his arms on the edge of the bath, shoulders hunched over, his knuckles white. As his back bowed, he jammed his fist into his mouth and whimpered. Alan let his gaze travel down Dorian’s spine to the bandage. Carefully, he removed it and caught his breath at what lay beneath.

Oh my fucking God
. There was a word in German burned into the flesh:
LOCH
—Hole.

They fucking branded him
.

The bastards had used an electric pen, plainly having gone over each letter again and again until they were burned into his back, just above the swell of his buttocks and his tailbone. Alan stared at the hateful word, one thought tumbling over and over in his mind.

Does Dorian know what they’ve done?

He thought quickly, bringing to mind everything he knew about branding aftercare. At least they’d had the sense to apply some ointment to the brand. He squeezed bodywash into his cupped palm from the wall dispenser and then began to move his hands slowly down Dorian’s back, keeping the motion slow and gentle. He could feel the raised skin beneath his fingertips as he brushed over the stripes.

Dorian hissed. “S-stings. Hurts
so
much.”

“Easy, boy,” Alan soothed. “This has to be done.” He decided against the bodywash and resorted to using his cupped hand to pour warm water down Dorian’s back.

“Oh God, please, stop,” Dorian rasped, shifting forward as if trying to get away from Alan.

“I’ll make this quick, okay? I know it hurts, but I have to clean this.”

Dorian’s shoulders shook, and it was obvious the lad was fighting to hold back his sobs. Nevertheless he managed a small nod.

Alan cupped his hand, dipped it into the water, and then let it trickle down Dorian’s back toward his arse, the bathwater now tinged pink as it washed away the crusted blood. When the water sluiced down over Dorian’s crease, the lad’s spine became more rigid. Gently, so very gently, he parted Dorian’s cheeks to get a better look. Dorian’s breath escaped in a loud hiss, and he flinched, moving once more out of the reach of Alan’s hands. From what Alan had seen, there was a small tear to Dorian’s anus.

Cold flooded through Alan’s body, and an icy hand clutched his heart. It didn’t take much effort to imagine what they’d done to him. Dorian’s body shook, and Alan knew he was crying.

He knelt on the floor beside the bath and put his arms around Dorian, turning him to hold him against his chest. Dorian was stiff and unyielding at first, but eventually he leaned against Alan, and his head came to rest on Alan’s shoulder. Alan could feel the lad’s tears, hot as they soaked into his shirt. Dorian shuddered in his arms, his body racked with silent sobs.

“I have you, Dorian.”

Alan knew it was little comfort, but in that moment it was all he had. He held the submissive, biting back his own feelings of rage and helplessness. After a while, Dorian’s shudders died away and he disengaged himself carefully from Alan’s arms, leaning instead against the side of the bath, letting his arms take his weight, his breathing rapid.

“Does your arse still sting?” Alan asked him.

Dorian shook his head. “Stopped stinging… now… more of a burn.” He panted, his breath coming in short, staccato bursts. “And… once the burn passes…. you just want to… stay as still as possible so….” His face was white. “So it doesn’t come back.” He shifted and cried out in pain. “God, my back. Hurts every time I move.”

The words only served to fuel Alan’s fury. Questions kept flitting into his mind, questions which badly needed some answers.

Did Dorian agree to this? Did he safeword? And if that were the case, did they listen?

Alan heard a gentle knock at the door. “That’ll be Leo. Stay where you are, lad. I’ll be right back.”

Dorian gave a slow nod and then rested his head on his arms. Alan got to his feet and went to open the door.

Leo handed him the green first aid box. “I figured it was best to bring the whole thing,” he explained quietly. He peered over Alan’s shoulder into the room. “How is he?”

Alan took advantage of the brief respite to breathe deeply. He stepped into the corridor and pulled the door, his foot wedged to prevent it from closing entirely. He scraped his fingers across his scalp. “Christ, Leo. They branded him.” He forced out the whispered words.

Leo’s eyes went wide. “Fuck.” He placed his hand on Alan’s upper arm. “Do you want me to stay awhile?”

Alan shook his head. “I’ve got this. You go and get some sleep.” A thought struck him. “Wait a sec.” He slipped back into the room and picked up Leo’s overnight bag from where it sat on the floor next to his own. He returned to Leo and handed him the bag. “We can talk in the morning.” He glanced toward the bathroom. “Somehow I don’t think Dorian will be doing any talking.”

Leo’s expression was pained. “At some point he’ll have to. He can’t keep it all bottled up inside him.” He expelled a long breath. “But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Try to get some sleep, both of you, and I’ll see you for breakfast in the morning.”

Alan nodded. “I’m going to get some food into him first. That might help him sleep better. Thanks, Leo.” He patted Leo’s hand and then pushed open the door. Leo gave him a final nod and then walked off along the corridor toward the elevator.

Alan came back into the room and closed the door. In the bathroom, Dorian hadn’t changed position.

“Come on, lad, let’s get you fed and into bed.”

Dorian raised his chin, and his gaze met Alan’s. He swallowed, wincing, and then nodded.

As Alan helped him to climb out of the bath, his mind was a whirling mess of dark thoughts. If Karl had been in the room in that moment, Alan would have beaten him to a bloody pulp and then gone after the rest of them.

Then Dorian whimpered, and all such thoughts were driven from his mind.

I need to focus
.
He needs me right now
.

Revenge could wait.

“S
PIELZEUG
.”

“Loch.”

“Frischfleisch.”

Laughter. Pain. More pain. And then searing agony.

Dorian awoke with a cry, fingers clutching the sheet below him in tight fists. Sweat popped out on his brow, his skin cool and clammy despite the room’s heat. He was aware of the slow throb in his arse and sudden pain when he flexed his back as he tried to sit up.

What the fuck did they do to me?
The nightmare was still too sharp, too bright.

“You okay, Dorian?” The whisper rolled out of the blackness.

He froze, unsure for a moment of where he was. Then it came back to him. The hotel. Alan. Leo.

The light clicked on, and he blinked. Alan lay on the other side of the bed, propped up on one elbow, forehead creased in a look of concern, eyes heavy with sleep. Dorian fought to bring his breathing under control, his chest heaving. He couldn’t speak. The memories were just below the surface, too close for comfort.

Alan’s expression softened. “Try to sleep, yeah? If you need to, curl up around my back. I won’t mind.”

Dorian stared into Alan’s eyes, heart pounding. To his relief there was no disgust lurking there, no condemnation. Until that moment he’d never realized blue eyes could hold such warmth. He bobbed his head, unable to get the words out to express his gratitude. Alan smiled and then clicked off the light.

Dorian slowly let go of the sheet, his fingers aching from the fierce grip. He lay down, heartbeat still racing, his uneven breathing loud to his ears. He could hear Alan’s breathing, slow and regular.

But when he closed his eyes, he was right back in Erich’s apartment, thrown once more into the middle of that humiliating, degrading, fucking
nightmare
. Their laughter rang out, echoing, taunting him. He could feel their hands, and much, much worse.

Dorian opened his eyes wide, shivering.
Sleep? Not fucking likely
. He felt cold inside, so fucking cold.

“I’m here.” Alan’s soft invitation crept across the bed, bridging the gap between them, offering him the promise of respite, if only for a few brief hours.

Dorian rolled carefully onto his side, biting back the moan of pain. The slightest movement of his back brought waves of discomfort. Alan had applied some cream to his lower back and had covered it with a fresh bandage. It had been on the tip of Dorian’s tongue to ask what they’d done there, but the fear was too great. Whatever it was, it would still be there in the morning. Then he’d bitten back a sob.

There for the rest of his life, probably.

He edged his way carefully across the mattress until he came into contact with Alan’s warm body, naked but for his boxers. He snuggled up to the wide back and rested his head against Alan’s shoulder blade, breathing in the comforting aroma. Dorian relaxed into a position that was comfortable, where he wasn’t flexing the skin on his back. Alan reached for his arm and drew it over his waist, pressed Dorian’s hand against his chest and covered it with his own. Dorian could feel the rhythmic thump of Alan’s heart beneath his fingertips, and for some reason this soothed him.

Just for a while
, he told himself.
Just to keep the nightmares at bay
.

He closed his eyes once more, tensing his body as he awaited the flood of memories, but was asleep before they took hold.

A
LAN
WENT
over to the breakfast counter and helped himself to more sliced meat, cheese, boiled egg, and bread. Leo came to stand beside him, glancing back to where Dorian was sitting by the window of the hotel restaurant, the winter sunshine reflecting off the polished surface of the table and lighting up his face. The young man’s expression was closed off, giving no hint of his emotional state.

It’s like he’s not in there
.

“He’s not said a word all through breakfast,” Leo said under his breath. “Has he spoken at all this morning?”

Alan heaved a sigh. “He’s said very little, but to be fair, hearing him struggle to get the words out was torture, so I gave him some paper and a pen.” If Dorian was aware of their scrutiny, he gave no sign. From the way he sat, it was obvious he was in pain. He was hunched forward, weight on his elbows, holding himself so still. The memory of his poor damaged hole and burns brought a stab of fresh pain. “Do you know how badly I want to find those guys?” Alan said with a low growl.

Leo leaned closer. “And then we’d
both
be looking for a lawyer, because I’d be right there with you, and we’d both be up on a murder charge.” His blue eyes seemed more glacial than usual. “I still can’t believe he won’t go to the police.”

Alan snuck a look at Dorian. “We don’t know what happened, Leo. And right now, he’s not telling us a thing. I asked him to reconsider this morning. He just wrote
no police
.”

Leo’s face fell. “Let’s get breakfast over with and then decide what we’re doing.”

Alan nodded and took his plate back to their table. Dorian merely gave them a passing glance when they sat down facing him. He’d hardly eaten a thing, but he’d drunk several cups of coffee. He’d barely managed more than a few mouthfuls of soup the previous night before he’d pushed the bowl away and climbed gingerly into bed.

Alan had awoken to find Dorian still pressed up against his back, arm tight around his waist, his breath warm on Alan’s skin. He’d lain there in the stillness, unwilling to move lest he disturb the sleeping lad. Heaven knew Dorian needed the sleep, judging by the number of times Alan had awoken during the night to hear him, soft noises full of pain.

Inside Dorian’s head was unsurprisingly not a good place to be.

Once Dorian had woken up, however, it had been a different story. He’d disentangled himself from Alan with such speed, it was almost as if contact with Alan had burned him. Alan had pushed aside the hurt this caused him and concentrated on doing what needed to be done with Dorian’s wounds. He’d unbandaged his lower back and applied more cream before carefully rubbing a gentle finger full of antiseptic cream over his hole. Dorian’s whimpers of pain went right through him. At least when he got Dorian back to his home, the bandage could come off, but it would be a week or so until it was healed and scabbed.