Trials and Errors (5 page)

He sucked in a huge, wet breath and stepped out from the sheltering force of Nikolai’s grip. Toward Ma—
No, the slave in the chair, just some slave in a chair
. Toward the bound slave. A foot closer. Another foot. Nearly there now. He was crying. Powerfully, helplessly, endlessly. Didn’t matter. He’d performed through tears before; he could do it now. The tied-up slave was crying too, but silent, stoic, like Dougie wished he could be. Just tears and tears and tears, soaking his trembling cheeks and jaw. His teeth were bared around the penis gag. He wasn’t making any more noise. He looked . . . resigned. Sick. Helpless. All the things Dougie had put behind him—forever, he’d thought. This slave was an animal. Untrained, wild. Dougie wouldn’t be like him, not again. Never again. He
wouldn’t
.

He dropped to his knees between the slave’s bound-open legs. Stared at the soft cock resting, forlorn, against the firmness of his left thigh. Uncut, like his own. Of course it was, they were broth—

No. Shut up shut up shut up don’t think about it he’s nothing to you he’s nothing he’s nothing he’s nothing.

Dougie picked up the lube in one trembling hand. Fought with the cap. Lost. Felt a sob overtake him, and next he knew, somehow, he’d thrown himself into Mat, chest on his lap, cheek pressed to his stomach, arms around his waist and the chair back, sobbing and sobbing and wishing Mat’s hands were free so he could shove Dougie away (
stroke your hair
), show him how much he hated him (
hug you back
), how vast the differences between them had become (
he’s still your brother, always your brother, nothing will ever change that
). But Mat’s hands
weren’t
free, of course, and Dougie’s master was looming over him now, and the anger was coming off him in waves. Anger, but also disappointment, which was so much worse, God, but as much as Dougie wanted (
don’t want at all, you fucking monster
) to please his master, he couldn’t. He couldn’t do this to Mat. He’d take the punishment, he would. He’d take the punishment for both of them, he’d take another baseball bat up the ass, he’d even bear Nikolai’s disappointment and go back into the dark room alone and slowly starve to death. He’d let himself be sold to a master who’d castrate him and break his feet and make him crawl every day for the rest of his life.

“Douglas, you have one more chance to please your master. Get back on your knees
right now
and put that slave’s cock in your mouth. Consequences, Douglas. Worse than you’ve ever known, do you understand me?”

Mat arched his back, bumping their chests together, as if trying to knock Dougie off him. “
Hws
,” he grunted through his gag, the sound so high-pitched there was nothing it could be but “Please.”

Oh god, he wanted to, he
wanted
to. Wanted to obey, to make Nikolai happy, to show him he was a good boy, such a
good boy
. Wanted to throw himself at Nikolai’s feet and beg, plead, kiss and cling and suck his cock and let Nikolai beat him until he bled, until he couldn’t stand, couldn’t think, couldn’t
screw up
so badly anymore, until he’d never, ever question or doubt Nikolai again. But he just . . . couldn’t somehow. Found himself—half to his utter horror—tightening his grip on Mat instead, pressing his cheek to Mat’s chest and listening to the sound of his hammering heart. His brother’s heart. His brother’s blood pumping through his brother’s veins. The same blood. There was nothing that could overcome that, not even Nikolai’s most complex psychological machinations. Not even his own disgust at how pathetic it was to be clinging to someone who’d discarded him, especially when Nikolai, sweet good loving Nikolai, was
right here
.

But look what he’s making you do. If he really loved you, would he ask this of you?

Yes
, he thought.
Yes. It’s a test. A coming of age. Hard love, but love all the same. Important. Necessary.

And yet still his body betrayed him, his mouth opening, his tongue forming words his mind railed to keep inside. “I’m so sorry but I can’t, sir. I won’t. I won’t do this to Mat. Anyone else,
anyone
, but not Mat.”

“Fine.”

Oh thank God. Thank you, master. Thank you.

“The two of you can stay here, then, until you decide for certain where your allegiances lie, Douglas. I’ll give you the night to make up your mind and will return in the morning to hear—and to see you prove—your answer. Just know that if you choose wrongly, both of you will suffer the consequences, and the consequences will be
dire
.”

Yes, punish me,
punish
me, I’ve been bad, I don’t want to be bad, I want to be a good boy,
your
good boy.

“Yes, master,” Dougie sniffled, ear still pressed to Mat’s chest, awash in his heartbeat. Mat had gone still, perhaps seeing the futility in trying to dislodge Dougie. “I’m sorry, master, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry . . .”

“We’ll see how sorry you are, Douglas.”

And with that he took his leave, closing the door behind him, softly as ever but the
click
of the latch in the strike plate sounded so horribly
final
somehow this time. Dougie couldn’t let it be. He
wouldn’t
let it be. He just needed some time, that was all.

Time, time . . . He glanced at the clock. Not even six yet. That meant he had nearly fourteen hours to get his head on straight, fourteen hours to figure out a way to silence that fucking
voice
and do what his master ordered. He pulled himself away from Mat—easier, now, that Nikolai wasn’t standing over him with his demands; he didn’t feel so cornered anymore, so needful to hang on—and put some distance between them. Mat made a noise at that—
Thank God
, probably, though Dougie’s “before” voice told him it was
No, come back
. Well, even if that were true, it was probably just because Mat felt so alone that he’d settle for Dougie’s company despite his hatred. Or maybe because he was jealous that Dougie belonged to Nikolai now, even though Mat didn’t like him, didn’t want him, thought him a burden. Dog in the manger and all that. Well, fuck him. He didn’t get to just throw Dougie away and then expect Dougie to come back to him at the slightest hint of bitter affection. Dougie was stronger than that now. He didn’t need Mat anymore.

He backed up to his bed and very deliberately didn’t let himself look at Mat’s face. Too hard to get his thoughts in order while watching those silent tears fall. Mat made another noise. And another, more desperate than the last, as Dougie continued to ignore him. “Just
shut up
,” Dougie snapped. “I need to think
.
Please. Just . . . stop.”

Mat stopped.

“What do I do,” Dougie moaned, putting his face in his hands. “I hate this. I
hate
this. I hate
you
.” His “before” voice shouted in his head, made him add awful, awful lies: “I hate Nikolai. I hate myself.”

Mat moaned, mournful. Or maybe encouraging. Dougie couldn’t tell, wasn’t willing to look at him to find out. “I said shut up,” he said instead.

He almost wished Mat wouldn’t, because every reason he could think of for why Mat
would
do as he asked just complicated the situation even more.

Screw this. Dougie couldn’t be in the same room with the man, not right now. Couldn’t stand to be reminded of his old life
or
his catastrophic failure in his new one. He stood, paced to the door, had his hand on the knob before he realized he couldn’t face
anyone
out there right now, not while he was still being a
bad boy
, not until he’d been punished for it, punished
but good
, forgiven and taken back into the fold.

Which just left the bathroom. Dougie went inside and slammed the door behind him. Turned on the shower. A good hot soak always did help him think, and at least with the water running, he had no chance of hearing those awful little noises Mat might make.

For one long, horrible, vomit-inducing minute, Mat had actually thought Dougie was going to go through with it. And then he’d felt like absolute shit for being so relieved when Dougie didn’t. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? For Dougie to give in to Nikolai’s desires? To not
suffer
anymore?

But it seemed that even not suffering was its own form of torture, a torture that maybe didn’t hurt as much as punishments and
consequences
, but chipped away at you just the same. He couldn’t sit by and let that happen to his brother. Nikolai’s logic sounded okay in theory, but that was what Nikolai
did
, just kept talking and talking and talking until you believed what he said, until you accepted his worldview as your own. Guys like Roger weren’t happy in their submission, they were
dead
inside. That wasn’t happiness, that was numbness. And maybe if your only options were numbness or pain, you would choose numbness, but at what cost? And what if your only options
weren’t
numbness or pain? What if freedom was still on the table?

Yes. They could get out. Mat would save them. Dougie still had some piece of himself left, but it was a light going out fast, flickering like a fluorescent bulb on its last legs. Mat had to get him out of here. God, if only he didn’t have this fucking
gag
, he could talk to him, tell him everything. Tell him about his deal with Nikolai, tell him he was sorry, tell him he loved him more than anything, more than his own life, and he’d save him even if he had to die trying.

But he supposed that was why Nikolai had gagged and tied him in the first place. The fucking bastard. He’d promised to let them see each other; he hadn’t promised to let them speak to or comfort one another. He hadn’t promised not to turn their meeting into another torture—to the contrary, in fact; he’d warned Mat to be careful what he wished for.

I should’ve known. I should’ve seen this coming somehow
.

Now if he could just get out of this fucking chair. He was pretty sure he understood why Dougie hadn’t untied him, why Dougie probably
wouldn’t
untie him. No mistaking the confusion, the torment in his brother’s eyes. The self-recrimination. The helplessness. The desire to please Nikolai, the fear of failure. This whole setup might’ve made Dougie question, but it wasn’t going to make him risk more than that. So Mat would be stuck in this fucking chair all night, wouldn’t he. Probably end up pissing himself. He balled his hands into fists and twisted his wrists again, glad for a moment of the penis gag to bite down on when pain flared breathlessly sharp in his torn skin. Nikolai would punish him for doing that to himself, but he didn’t fucking care, wasn’t even afraid of the serum, not if it meant he could get his hands free, get this gag off, talk Dougie back to him, back to sanity, to resistance, to escape.

No dice, though. The rope was thick, the knots solid. Maybe if his skin got slippery enough and the ropes wet enough—enough sweat, enough blood—he could pull his way free. How much time did he have left to try? Dougie’s room, unlike his own, had a clock for some reason. Six thirty. Dinnertime.

He went back to flexing and torquing his wrists. Ignored the pain, ignored the trembling in his overtaxed muscles, ignored everything but the goal. He thought maybe the left rope was starting to feel a little looser. Not enough to pull free as of yet, but progress was progress.
Keep at it. Don’t think. Just do.

It was after seven when next he looked up, breathless and bloody, unable to continue without at least a few minutes of rest. His body had had enough, arms and chest and back muscles so overtaxed he could barely move. The pain was starting to poke through his concentration with barbed hooks. And Jesus, was Dougie still in the fucking shower? What was he
doing
in there? Why was it taking so long?

Was he . . . was he okay?

Oh God, what if he
wasn’t
okay? What if he wasn’t okay and it was Mat’s fucking fault for insisting he be allowed to see Dougie when Dougie clearly wasn’t in a position to cope with it?

Mat had to get out of this fucking chair. Had to be sure for himself. Had to be the big brother. He rocked forward, the soles of his feet hitting the floor, then pushed himself back with every ounce of strength he could muster.

Let himself fall.