The Administration Series (108 page)

By the time Toreth returned, he had regained a tenuous hold on calm.

"Ah," Fran said. "Yes. It's beautiful, isn't it? We've had it for a while now. I'll be sorry to see it go."

Toreth smiled. "It's going to a good home."

"His place? I thought so. Let me show you something."

Fran reached into the cabinet and he heard a click. The back panel slid out in two pieces, revealing metal cross braces and the edge of the frame, with sturdy brackets to secure it to the wall.

"All fairly self-explanatory, I think. Do bolt it in place, though, into a solid wall, or you might not be coming back to buy anything else. It's been professionally restored, and the frame has been tested to — " She glanced at Warrick, then at Toreth. " — more than adequate weight limits."

Toreth nodded. "It'll need new cuffs."

"I'll find some pairs for him to try."

"Hang on. Do they have to be padded?" Toreth asked.

"Up to you, of course. But I'd normally recommend it, if you're planning to take his weight off the ground with them."

It was strange, standing there while being discussed in the third person. Strange, and strangely relaxing — another way to surrender. He'd chosen the gift, and now Toreth was filling in the details, the fine planning that Warrick knew always turned him on.

"Okay. Padded."

"Suspension cuffs . . . suspension cuffs . . . " Fran turned slowly, surveying the room. "I think . . . over here." She opened a large unlabelled drawer, revealing a tangle of metal with glimpses of leather, satin and silk.

Toreth picked out half a dozen pairs, sizing them by eye. "Give me your hands."

It wasn't until the second pair had been tried and discarded that he even remembered Fran was there, watching, and that he hadn't been going to do this in public. Too late, now. The feel of the bonds around his wrists was too intimately connected with the game to be anything other than intensely arousing. By the time the best-fitting pair had been chosen he felt light-headed from the on-off sensation and the heavy click of the locks. He could hear his own breathing, quick and shallow, but couldn't steady it.

"Do the ankle cuffs fit him?" Fran asked.

"I don't know. Try them."

Fortunately, they did. He didn't think he could bear another fitting session.

"Now," Fran said, "I'm afraid we get to the painful part."

It took him a few seconds to realise what she meant. She was talking to Toreth, of course, not to him.

"Including the new cuffs and delivery — "

"Hang on," Toreth said, and then turned to him. "Go away."

"What? Why?"

"It's a present — you're not supposed to know how much it costs." He smiled slightly. "Sara explained that to me once."

Warrick had wondered. He wanted to hear at least the starting price, though, because he had a feeling that Toreth was going to buy it even if it was a ridiculous amount of money, even if he couldn't really afford it. The damn thing — the lovely thing — was clearly an antique as well as being beautifully made.

"I just want to know how much."

"Well, you can't always have what you want. Remember?" Toreth's voice hardened into the tones that these days he had to fight to disobey. "Go away. Play somewhere else until we're done."

"No, I — "

Toreth hit him, backhanded, not very hard, but the surprise made him gasp. Fran didn't even blink.

"I said, go away." He smiled again, a cold shark smile. "And, as I know you're not fucking deaf, if you don't go right now you're going to regret it."

God, he doubted that. He still went anyway, while he could still stand, and because he didn't want to find out how far Toreth was willing to go in this strange kind of public. As far as Warrick would let him, he suspected.

It was Toreth's money, after all, and he could spend it how he liked. It wasn't as if he'd get nothing out of it.

Warrick wandered through the jumble, feeling strangely disconnected from it now that the choice had been made. Eventually, he stopped in the central room with the bookcases. He picked a book out at random and sat on the set of library steps.

He'd spent ten minutes trying and failing to read the book — mostly illustrations anyway — before painfully out-of-key whistling heralded Toreth's reappearance. Fran seemed to have gone another way, because he was alone.

"All done. Are you done?"

The image flashed into his mind of the couple he'd seen earlier, with himself kneeling. Toreth would certainly appreciate it. But . . .

"Yes." He stood up and replaced the book. "Let's go."

That could wait for another time, because he knew that they'd be back.

It was late, but not too late, by the time Toreth got to the flat. Late enough that Warrick would have begun to wonder if he was coming round this evening or not. When he pressed the comm for the flat, Warrick answered more quickly than he'd ever done. He must have been sitting, waiting for it — all evening, probably.

"Can I come up?" Toreth asked.

"The door's open." Despite the hair-trigger answer, he looked calm enough.

Let's see how long that lasts, Toreth thought.

As it turned out, it didn't even last as long as it took for Toreth to go up in the lift. Warrick stood in the open doorway, waiting for him, pale and only a whisker away from shaking.

"When did you do it?" he asked.

"Yesterday afternoon." Toreth came in past him, closed the door and locked it, while Warrick watched him. "I took the time off work and had them bring it straight here. They fitted it, too, so you don't have to worry about my dubious D-I-Y non-skills."

He walked down the hallway to the bedroom, and after a moment Warrick followed him.

The cabinet had been bolted to the wall opposite the windows. He'd had it put there because the late afternoon sun hit the wall in that spot. He liked the idea of Warrick chained in the sunlight. Toreth brushed his hand over the closed doors, admiring. Out of the gloom of the Shop, the grain of the dark wood was even more beautiful.

"Is it all right here?" he asked.

Warrick was still standing in the hallway outside. "It's exactly where I would have put it."

"Good." He sharpened his voice. "Come here."

They stood in silence, looking at the cabinet. Warrick waited beside him, not asking the question he so obviously and desperately wanted to. Toreth waited, too, letting the tension build, then said, "Is there something you want?"

"Yes."

"Then ask."

"I want to try it tonight. Please." Struggling to keep his voice level. "I've been thinking about it all day. All the very unproductive day."

He ignored the request. "When did you find it?"

"As soon as I came home. The flight didn't get in until quite late and I came in here to sort out my luggage. I tried to call you, to . . . to say thank you. But you weren't answering."

"No. Did you have a good night?"

Warrick smiled, lopsided. "I had to sleep in the spare room in the end. And I didn't do that very well."

Toreth had brought a bag with everything he might possibly need. Warrick would have the things anyway, but it was safer this way, just in case. Planning was important, because it was attention to the details that made something like this perfect. And he'd loved packing the bag, taking his time, thinking about what it meant.

While Warrick watched, he emptied the bag and arranged everything by the right-hand side of the cabinet, so that he wouldn't have to move away. A side pocket of the bag held the key to the cabinet. He'd taken it home with him yesterday to make sure this was the first time Warrick would see it open in place. He thought about the doors, and then decided Warrick would want to do it.

"Open it up."

Warrick did, fumbling with the key. The doors swung back, revealing the new manacles and adjusted chains. Everything perfectly prepared. Everything just right.

"I tried the cuffs yesterday," Toreth said.

Warrick stared at him, eyes wide.

"Only the wrist ones. I got the second one closed against the edge of the cabinet. They're a bit tight on me." He looked at Warrick consideringly. "That turns you on, doesn't it? The idea of me in chains."

Warrick nodded sharply. "Just the idea. The times we tried it, it didn't feel right."

"Good. Bores me rigid. Okay, strip."

He leaned against the edge of the cabinet and watched. "I fucked up the timers. I meant to set them for a minute and it was ten. I thought they were broken and I'd still be chained up there when you got back from wherever it was."

Warrick laughed unsteadily, folding his clothes. "New York. That would have been a nice surprise."

"For you. I'd have felt like a complete fucking idiot. I spent nine minutes planning how to kill Fran next time we go shopping, and then they opened."

Toreth stood up. "All right." There was a silence before he added, slowly and deliberately, "I can't chain you up and listen to you beg me to hurt you, and then hurt you and listen to you to beg me to fuck you, and then fuck you and listen to you scream, if you don't
stand
in
the
fucking
frame
."

He was rather surprised when Warrick actually managed to move.

"Reach up. Stretch."

He fitted Warrick's wrists into the manacles, feeling him shiver against him as the locks clicked closed.

"Spread your legs. Further. No, do what you're fucking well told to do."

Balance is an instinct. He'd known it would be hard for Warrick to trust the chains, to take the bite of the steel and let himself hang free. He'd hoped he wouldn't be able to do it.

Kneeling, he pulled Warrick's ankle to the side, fitted the cuff quickly, and repeated the action with the other leg. He stayed where he was, his hands resting on Warrick's heels.

"This is just because it's the first time. Next time, you'll do it properly. You'll do what you're told, when you're told to do it. Understand?"

"Yes." Breathless, from a combination of excitement and the strain of having his arms stretched. "Yes. I'm sorry."

"Sorry is no fucking good to me." He stood up again, picking up the belt from the pile of Warrick's clothes as he did so. "There. All done. Now there's nothing you can do. No way out. No way you can stop me doing anything I damn well want to you, is there?"

Warrick swallowed. "No."

"Can you move?"

"No."

"Try."

The frame didn't even creak. He watched Warrick writhing against the chains, feeling their solid strength. It was an easy and reliable way to get him going. Eventually he gave up and hung in the chains, not saying anything. Waiting for Toreth to decide what to do to him.

When the rush from that idea had died down, Toreth stepped up right behind him and said, "Do you know why I had my comm turned off? What I did last night, after I put this in here?"

Warrick's head came up. He didn't say anything, but he was so clearly listening that he didn't need to.

"I went out to a bar. I don't think you've ever been there. You wouldn't like it — some of the I&I people drink there after work." He moved the belt to his left hand, and began stroking Warrick with his right, long slow sweeps down his back, over his buttocks. "I went to a bar and I met a couple. They were looking for someone for a threesome. Did I ever mention that I do that kind of thing sometimes?"

Warrick still didn't speak, but Toreth could feel the tension in his muscles.

"I'm sure I must've done. Anyway, he was all right — attractive enough but nothing special — but the interesting thing was that
she
looked like Dillian." Warrick moved under his hand, a helpless twitch of his shoulders. It made Toreth want to bite him and so he did. Warrick moaned through gritted teeth, responding and very obviously hating that he had.

It took a few seconds before Toreth could carry on. "Not exactly like her, but enough that I noticed right away. Her eyes. Something about her mouth. And dark hair, in the same sort of general style. Interesting, as I said. And, come to think of it, it means she must have looked a bit like you. I didn't notice that, at the time."

He reached over Warrick's shoulder, brushed his fingertips across the smooth wood.

"There should be a mirror, just there. So I can see you." He stroked Warrick's cheek, then said, "Turn your head. Do it."

Slowly, Warrick obeyed. His eyes were closed, and his lips pressed tight together.

"It's not that important, I suppose — what she looked like. Or who. All cats look the same in the dark, as the saying goes. I didn't talk to her much in any case. He was the one who came up to me and it must've been his idea in the first place. I could tell she wasn't sure about it. She was only going along with it because he wanted her to. He wanted to watch me fuck her."

Toreth slid his hands up Warrick's arms, letting the belt trail across him. He'd love the touch of the leather, even as he hated listening to this. Toreth leaned closer, adding a little of his own weight and coincidentally bringing his mouth close against Warrick's ear. "So, tell me what happened in the end."