Page 32 of Xerxes Ascendant
Kyle
“Akira,” Kyle murmured, tugging on the man’s hair to rouse him. It was longer than usual, untrimmed; another sign of how the Master of House Epsilon hadn’t been taking care of himself. The man he knew would never have let his carefully cultivated appearance slide like this, but the crumpled suits and heavy shadows under his eyes told Kyle that the time he’d lost in the hospital hadn’t been any kinder to Akira.
Hazy, lidded brown eyes blinked owlishly up at him. His submissive had gone deep into subspace during their scene, lost to the drifting euphoria it could invoke, and Kyle wished he could leave him in it forever. But the House’s business stopped for no man, not even its venerated Master, and Kyle couldn’t keep them sequestered away like this all night when an hour had already been pushing their luck.
Still. There was always time for aftercare, and he made sure to spend several minutes massaging each of his sub’s wrists and his neck as he detached the cuffs. They hadn’t been on tight but abrupt removal of something that had provided such security and comfort could fuck with the head, so Kyle replaced the leather with firm strokes of his fingertips, easing Akira backinto a state where he stood equal with him, and indeed, his hierarchical superior.
Kyle wouldn’t have it any other way. Akira was gloriously exquisite in his submissive state – look at how beautifully and completely he’d surrendered – but his authoritative, ruthlessly competent self was equally part of his identity. He was two halves of a whole, a ying and yang that were as intrinsically entwined as they were dichotomous, and Kyle loved both with a fierce, agonising yearning.
He scratched bitterly at that thought as it bloomed in his mind. A brothel was no place for love.
Akira had known that. He’d held half his heart back when engaging with Kyle, and kept true love separate from casual dalliance. There had been fun, enjoyment, affection...he’d even spoken the wordloveto Kyle, but it had been confessed with the man’s hand on his dick and was clearly the result of either over-excitement or callous emotional manipulation.
“Eat,” Kyle ordered when Akira began to push away his hand like an obstinate toddler. A sign he was returning to his haughty, independent state, but not one Kyle would tolerate when it was clear he needed the sustenance. Stars, his skin would slip from his bones if he lost any more weight.
Akira snatched the protein bar from Kyle’s waggling fingers with an unimpressed look, but Kyle didn’t let him up off the floor until he’d swallowed the final bite. A shame he couldn’t force feed him something more wholesome, but the rooms stocked only basic energy-recovery food. It was a whorehouse, not a restaurant.
Yet despite the attempts at grumpy indignance, there was a relaxed ease to Akira’s movements as he got to his feet; an absence of the scowl-ridden tension that had infected him earlier. Hopefully the scene had done him some good.
“The Coterie reached out to follow up on your testimony, Kyle,” Akira said as he tied the food wrapper into a neat silver knot and tossed it deftly into the bin without looking. Kyle’s appreciative whistle punctuated the unwelcome statement. “I planned to let them know that you’re still recovering and sorting through your memories of that night.” Then he faltered. “If that’s...alright with you?”
“I guess.” Kyle wrinkled his nose in distaste and sighed. “I just don’t like lying. Even if it is to avoid having to lie about something else.”
Akira went very still.
Damn it, that hadn’t been an accusation. But when something so huge lay between them, it was hard not to read into every little thing either of them did or said.
He cleared his throat in the futile hope it would also clear the air. “Is that what brought you in here earlier?”
“No, that could have waited,” Akira said stiffly, clearly trying just as hard as Kyle was to keep things at the requested level of professionalism. “I heard about Tyler’s change of heart with his training. I came to help.”
Kyle snorted. “You mean, take over.”
The Master’s mouth twitched with a wicked thread of mirth. “I’ll admit that I didn’t expect to find you on your knees,Mr. Randall.”
“I was just doing my job.”
“You were trying not to inconvenience or upset anyone,” corrected Akira. “As you always do.”
Kyle hummed, neither confirming nor denying that. “So do we just wait for Tyler to work out for himself that dominance isn’t synonymous with strength, and that he can have the power he wants as a submissive, too? With a few pointed reminders to help him to that realisation, of course.”
“And preferably less complaining from his trainer sub.”
Kyle wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know how you put up with it. I’m sore and aching and grumpy.”
“Hence the complaints,” Akira said dryly. “Would you like me to handle his training moving forward?”
“I can do it,” Kyle said instinctively. Then he gave it more than a millisecond of thought, and sighed. “Together? Tyler said he wants to be like me-”
“Rather understandable.”
“-but I’d appreciate your guidance, Master. And your...submission for him to practice on.”
His employer gave him a wry, knowing smile. "Didn’t enjoy your experience? I thought you looked rather good down there, chafing at your leash."
Kyle smiled; mild, unconcerned, keeping the other man at ease. Then he reached out to seize a handful of his tie.
Rewarded by a gasp and an uncharacteristic stumble as Kyle tugged on the tie sharply, he yanked his startled submissive close. Their faces came to rest only inches apart.
