“You said you bought it at Boots.”
“I probably lied and you’re gullible as hell,” Angelo said simply. “Did Lord Dickface forget all about aftercare? Or fucking restraint?”
“Nah,” Yuri assured him in a tone that he wanted to sound light but didn’t quite hit the mark. “Francis is excellent with restraints.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Angelo’s voice was tight and full of tamped-down fury. He was angry, but Yuri didn’t know who it was directed toward. He wanted to curl into a tiny ball like the princess Angelo always called him and hide, but his body protested at that thought and he let out a tiny involuntary moan of dismay.
“Yuri?” His voice had gone back to whisper soft.
“I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I’m… sore, but it’s nothing that won’t go away, given time. I don’t need you.” Which was such a deep and terrible lie that Yuri thought lightning should have struck him dead on the spot.
Angelo gripped the sheet covering Yuri and before he could say more than, “Don’t—” it was pulled off his body and thrown down by his feet.
“Fuck,” Angelo said, his tone flat and distant. “I’m going to kill him.”
Even though Angelo couldn’t see it, Yuri rolled his eyes. “No, you’re not.”
“The fuck I’m not. Yuri, this is…”
“Nothing,” Yuri insisted.
“Assault,” Angelo countered.
Yuri barked out a laugh then regretted it as it moved muscles he’d rather had been still. “Then you’re far more guilty of assault than Francis. You’ve been doing this shit—with my permission—for years. This is the same.”
“Did you enjoy it?” Angelo asked. “Did you ask for it? Did you keep asking for it?”
That depended on one's point of view. Francis would vehemently argue that Yuri had asked for it every step of the way, but Yuri was sure he’d asked Francis to stop. It was hard to remember. He’d said a lot of things.
“Not in so many words,” he eventually said. “But you’ve been saying I’ve been asking for it for as long as I can remember, so I’m not sure why you’re not pleased when I finally got it. Unless you wanted it to be you. Are you cross another dog was pissing on your tree?”
“That’s not funny, Yuri.” Gentle fingers started to spread cool cream over his back, buttocks, and thighs. “What I did, what we did together, had nothing to do with this… this bullshit. I would never hurt you. Never. This is… so wrong. So wrong.”
Yuri wanted to protest that Angelo had hurt him, over and over and over, but it had never been with his hands. He was too tired to argue, however. “Whatever,” was the only protest he could come up with.
“What did he strike you with?” Angelo asked, his voice back to dry neutrality. “The bruises…” He stopped and cleared his throat. “They’re deep. And he’s broken the skin in a few places. This had to have taken a long time. I don’t know how you stayed quiet. Dammit, you shouldn’t have been quiet.”
He’d been gagged, willingly, of course, so he hadn’t been able to make more than muffled sounds as Francis beat him and beat him and beat him. It had seemed to go on forever, but his clock said it had been only around a half-hour. Francis was good at that—stretching time out into infinity.
“He used a cane, not that it matters. I told you I liked it rough. I asked for this. Leave it alone.”
“If he cared for you at all I wouldn’t need to be here.” Angelo was quiet for several moments but he kept applying the cream. “Should we call him, then? Your Francis. Have him come over and fix the mess he left of you? I’m sure his number is in your phone. All I have to do is look.”
Before he could think of a calculated response, Yuri’s mouth said, “No! I mean… fuck. I don’t even know anymore.” Angelo’s fingers continued to gently spread the cream over his painful, burning skin and Yuri started to cry. Silent tears, but it was more than he’d ever shed with Francis. He wanted to cling to Angelo and beg him to never leave him, but that was stupid. Angelo was stuck with him forever. He’d never leave, but he’d never be there, either. Not enough of him, and never in any ways that counted.
“This can’t go on,” Angelo said.
Yuri sighed and snuffled into his pillow. He tried to sound like he wasn’t crying. “I know. It’s tearing me apart.”
“If you can’t tell him to stop, I will.” Angelo was resolute and immoveable, like the mountains between Mirea and Tanzhir.
“That’s not what I meant.” Yuri was so tired he felt like he could sleep for years.
“I know.” The two words hung in the air between them. “I can’t… I’m not… but something has to be done. You can’t go on like this. I won’t let you.”
His words sliced Yuri apart like knives. “Later.” It was more question and plea than statement. “Can we deal with this later? Please? Because right now I just can’t”
“Sure, princess. Later,” Angelo agreed, his voice soothing as the cream he applied so carefully.
Yuri’s heart ached with the injustice of it all. He’d thought Francis would be the perfect lover—handsome, charming, urbane, and he fucked like a dream. He’d even been receptive to Yuri’s hints that, from time to time, he needed discipline. And at first it had been exactly what he wanted and needed, but slowly, it had turned into something else. So slowly that he hadn’t realized how far things had gone until Jacki had come over to help him, taken one look at his backside, and went into the bathroom to vomit.
To himself, if to no one else, Yuri acknowledged that Francis had gone too far. He’d probably gone too far months ago, but Yuri had let him, knowing that if he made Francis leave, he’d have nothing at all. The occasional pain seemed worth it for the trade-off of being seen and
