Chapter Text
"Are you actually crying?" Laurent sneered at the grovelling creature at his feet. One of his clients - his worms. The name wasn't important. The names never were.
Tonight the worm was on his knees, ropes binding his arms from wrists to biceps, fat tears dripping into the small puddle where he'd spent himself. Laurent had ordered him not to come but the miserable thing hadn't been able to hold back. Verbal stimulation alone. Pathetic.
Laurent deliberately stepped in the mess as he walked to his seat. Footprints of cum trailed behind him. He sat cross-legged to give a good view of the underside of his soiled boot. Deliberately he cast his eyes over the scene. Gave the worm time to take it in. The post-orgasm clarity. The three slimey marks on the floor. The long line of Laurent’s body, lounging as it was, unaroused.
When he was certain he had the worm’s full attention, he let his lip curl. Showing disgust was the easiest part of the job.
"This is why nobody will ever fuck you."
The worm's shoulders shook as he snivelled out an apology. A slew of apologies, in fact. He was sorry for disobeying. Sorry for being substandard. Sorry for making a mess. Laurent quietly watched him babble on and on.
This was what his clients really booked him for. To be stripped of any dignity; brought so low that they could confront how inadequate they felt inside. What this worm needed - under a veil of fetishism and gratification - was a witness to all his shortcomings. There were many. Laurent had heard them all. Even so, he listened. Or at least affected to listen while he considered what to get for dinner later. Only when he was certain the worm was done with his impromptu confession did Laurent speak again.
"Are you quite finished?" He drawled, painting the perfect picture of thoroughly bored.
The worm swallowed. Dry mouthed after all his talk. "Yes, Sir."
"Good. Now that your tongue isn't busy, you can clean up this foul mess you made."
It had started as a bar gig.
Aimeric had been working at Chalis for a month, bringing home good money. Stripping, he'd said. Dancing. Laurent hadn't questioned it. Aimeric liked attention. He always had. It made sense. Why wouldn’t he take a job where all eyes could be on him?
When the job on the bar had come up and Aimeric recommended Laurent for it, that had made sense too. Wherever they went it was often hardest for Laurent to find work. Recognised in Toutaine. Fake ID confiscated in Chasteigne. They'd come to Aquitart because it was the kind of city where a man could disappear, and still he'd been thwarted by a lack of references.
It was becoming difficult for them to get by on one set of wages. Often Laurent would go without to make sure Nicaise got enough. The youngest in their group had hit that phase of puberty where he grew out of all his clothes immediately and wanted to eat everything in the cupboards. The situation was not sustainable.
Thankfully Chalis had taken Laurent on Aimeric's word. The lounge where he would be working was separate from the performances. Laurent didn't have to take his clothes off. It seemed perfect.
Right up until his bar supervisor offered him a collar.
"To show you belong to the house." Vannes had explained with complete nonchalance, pointing out the club logo embossed on a silver tag around her own neck. "So the guests know you're busy working."
Obviously Laurent had declined to put it on. There was no universe in which he belonged to anybody. Least of all an employer. The very suggestion made him want to go straight home. Actually, it made him want to shake Aimeric by the shoulders and ask what the hell kind of place he’d dragged him to.
But Aimeric liked his job, and Laurent wasn’t sure he could bolt without fucking that up for him. Besides, Vannes hadn’t pressed the issue. She just shrugged and told Laurent to suit himself. He knew he could stick it out for at least that shift. Plus they needed the money. So he spent the rest of the night pouring drinks, learning the till, and explaining to customers that no, he wasn't available to scene - whatever that meant. The hours ticked by and it became clearer and clearer that his friend had not been honest about what kind of establishment Chalis was. Laurent was far from an expert but he was reasonably certain patrons didn’t typically show up to strip clubs in full bondage gear. Vannes, though friendly, had little to say that wasn’t at least a bit explicit.
Laurent took it all in stride, letting his murderous feelings towards Aimeric brew under an easy exterior. At close, when Aimeric came to find him, he smiled like nothing was amiss. He was not going to make a scene.
Then they got to the car.
"It's not a strip club, is it?" Laurent demanded.
"In my defence," Aimeric had the audacity to look amused, "I thought you might be too frigid to notice."
Laurent threw up his hands. Shots at his sexuality were cheap and entirely besides the point.
"You work in a sex club!"
"Actually, we work in a sex club."
The bastard really did think he was funny. It wasn't funny. Okay, fine, Laurent hadn't seen a lot. Vannes had kindly explained the lounge he'd been placed in was the tamest part of the club. Even so, some of her running commentary on the proclivities of the regulars was going to haunt him forever.
Laurent lowered his voice to a whisper. "Are you fucking people for money?"
The silence was deafening. Aimeric raised an eyebrow. Laurent went from angry to sickened. He knew, of course, that Aimeric wasn't like him. Laurent guarded his autonomy with modesty; Aimeric got a kick out of giving himself away. To an extent Laurent could at least respect that. They both just wanted control. But selling wasn't giving . Selling made it feel... Exploitative. When Laurent thought about how the money Aimeric had been bringing in paid for their rent, their food, he felt like he was exploiting him too. He wasn't sure he could live like that.
What made it worse was that Laurent wasn't the only one Aimeric was making complicit.
"What kind of example are you setting for Nicaise?" Laurent had argued.
"That he gets to do what he likes with his own damn body?" Aimeric held firm, unshaken by Laurent's reservations. "I think I can live with that."
They wouldn't see eye to eye on this. They'd had similar arguments before; when Aimeric had started bringing boyfriends home. Laurent insisted they set an example to the youngest in their trio. Aimeric countered that was exactly what he was doing.
He doesn't need both of us to show him what repression looks like. Was the particularly scathing remark that had finally made Laurent back down. Back down and give Aimeric the silent treatment for about a week afterwards. He'd gotten an apology in the end, but they still disagreed on what constituted a good influence.
"Look, you can quit if you want, but you have to work somewhere, Princess.” Aimeric sighed. If he had left it at that, Laurent may never have set foot in Chalis again. Instead he added, in a small voice close to breaking point: “I can't do it alone."
Laurent stayed. It was just a bar job, after all. What did it matter to him what went on in the rest of the club? If he picked up a little about the culture it was only to know that his friend was being safe. And if he learned some knots it was only to show Aimeric they weren't that hard to tie. And if he figured out that some regulars tipped when he flirted, but tipped bigger when he was hostile, then that was just good business.
From there it was only a matter of time before the inquiries came flooding in. Laurent soon found himself in their boss's office, being asked if he was interested in making some ‘real’ money.
The end of a session was always the worst part for Laurent. Even in his personal life he wasn't known for being a warm person.
Occasionally charming.
Fair more often than not.
Kind? No.
He didn't particularly care that it was considered bad form to skimp on the aftercare. He hadn't gotten into his line of work to do emotional labour for the worms. In fact he found the idea of comforting them completely abhorrent.
The boss agreed to look the other way provided Laurent was upfront about it. He would not have his clientele knocking on his door demanding their dues back. Or worse, waving therapy bills. For this reason Laurent was rigorously selective about who he would scene with. When he did consultations he laid out the expectation clearly: He would have no part in the recovery phase. He was happy to lose business over it. His sanity was worth the sacrifice.
Even with his terms stipulated, there were always a few terrible minutes in the aftermath when Laurent thought it would come to naught. It had happened a handful of times, in the years since he’d taken on Dom work. If the worm crumbled in the moment then he would probably have to hug somebody. Fabricate them some praise, even.
Anybody who needed that kind of looking after had no business talking to him, let alone booking him.
Tonight's worm may have been a disgusting middle-aged salesperson, but he had an excellent rally. He took the water Laurent offered him, shook the feeling back into his arms, and quickly returned to his natural - insufferable - self.
"Fuck, you're really something else." The worm blathered. "I couldn't believe it when you made me nut like that, I was knelt there like, no fucking way."
"Hmm…” Laurent considered, never breaking character. “I may need to implement a cock ring, next time, if you can’t control yourself.”
This gave the worm pause. It was good to give them a little something to anticipate after the session was over.
When Laurent left the room it was to the sound of:
“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”
Nicaise would hate for anybody to imply he was plain. Unfortunately for him the fact remained that he could be difficult to find in a crowd. He was petite, his brown curls innocuous. He usually drew the eye through his audacious dress sense, but in Chalis everybody dressed to be seen. Sometimes it took longer than Laurent liked to check on him.
It was one of those nights tonight.
Nicaise wasn't chatting with anybody in the communal lounge. Nor was he anywhere to be seen in the harem where the house subs congregated. A muscle slid in Laurent's jaw. Of course the little pissant was going to make him check the open play dungeons. Anything to make him squirm.
Laurent loathed open play. Not only did he hold the very un-Veretian opinion that acts of debauchery should be done in private; the dungeons in the club were considered 'sex-positive'. Laurent himself could not be considered the same.
If only it weren’t Aimeric’s night off. He could have gone instead. He would have fun doing it.
Laurent took a breath and forced the easygoing posture he was used to adopting. With little more preamble he pushed open the soundproof door.
Immediately he was hit by music and heat. The floor felt like it was vibrating. A theme night. The club put them on sometimes. Turned on the strobe lights and let people live out the fantasies they couldn’t fulfil in an ordinary nightclub. Back in Arles Laurent had hated how people danced like they were practically humping each other. It was almost comical that these days he worked in a place like this by choice. The Chalis patrons were doing a lot more than gyrating
If I catch Nicaise fucking somebody in here I'll have to bleach my eyes. Laurent thought grimly.
Ignoring every instinct to avoid the crush of bodies, he strode deeper into the room. The crowd moved for him and his cast-iron reputation. He had come to trust that. He didn’t need to weave. People watched him with hungry gazes but they didn’t ever touch.
Of course every rule had its exception.
He found Nicaise alone. Thankfully. He was lounging across the entirety of a settee at the edge of the room. Nearby people stood with drinks waiting for a seat. They would be waiting a while. Nicaise held space shamelessly. Self-serving as an oversized feline. Complete with his ridiculous bejewelled cat ears.
“Look who's being needy again!" He grinned. Possibly a little bit tipsy.
Laurent crouched down to better hear him over the music. There was no chance Nicaise was going to get up to talk to him, after all.
"Did nobody want to play with you?" Laurent baited.
As predicted, Nicaise looked affronted. Finding company had never been a problem for him. Ever.
"I have a new friend. He's in the bathroom."
"Hope he isn't too long, we're leaving in half an hour."
Nicaise let out a loud, theatrical boo.
"I wanna stay!" He pouted.
He was a bratty thing in subspace. Surprising no one. Laurent couldn't abide that in anybody else. Petulance. Nicaise was a different matter. The soft spot Laurent held for him was as indelible as his hostility for almost everybody else. It weighed heavy on his conscience that he and Aimeric had so normalised their lifestyle to him. Nicaise had joined the house almost the second he came of age. As if sex work was as simple a thing as a job at a convenience store.
There'd just been no reasoning with him. Nicaise said he liked it. And reminded him that he was an adult who could make his own choices. And "You're not my fucking Dad, Laurent, lighten up."
So Laurent indulged him. In whatever small ways he could, he protected him, too. The belled collar Nicaise wore did not bear the name of the club. It was the loopy L of Laurent’s signature. Uncomfortable as it was for Laurent to pretend there was something erotic between the two of them, he knew nobody was going to mess with a pet with a sufficiently intimidating Master. Nicaise himself had his own mixed feelings on the matter. Some nights he was glad to have Laurent chase off unwelcome advances, others he would snarl that Laurent was scaring off anybody ‘fun’. When he was really mad he’d flirt with him, knowing Laurent wouldn’t outright reject him in public, and force him to play along.
Even know he was shifting onto his knees. Like he was about to put on an embarassing show of begging.
"You can have until I finish my drink." Laurent relented, amused by the look of triumph that lit up on the younger man's face.
"Plenty of time, then." Nicaise declared. "I told Vannes to ignore you."
Laurent flicked playfully at the bell on Nicaise's neck. "Bet she serves me anyway."
No good deed ever went unpunished. This was a truth Laurent often wished he would finally learn. He had barely stepped up to the bar when he found himself accosted. He recognised the man. Not one of his worms, just somebody who wished he was. They’d had a consultation. He did not make the cut.
Wretch.
"Sir, please, will you just talk to me? Please?" He begged. Entirely too needy.
It was a pity. Laurent had done the research before they’d met the last time. The guy ran a podcast where he counted down to pop stars' eighteenth birthdays. With commentary. He was exactly the kind of scum Laurent would enjoy whipping the shit out of. If only he wouldn't whine for his attention so much.
Without warning the wretch got up close enough to whisper into Laurent's ear.
"Look, if it's a matter of cost-"
The feeling of clammy breath against his skin made Laurent lose it. As if he would ever take a private booking with somebody who couldn’t even respect his personal space. When he turned his eyes on the man they held nothing but contempt.
"There's not enough money in the world to make me stoop so low." He hissed.
The wretch shuddered. It was a pleasurable shudder and it made Laurent feel a little bit sick.
Masochists: Accept or reject them, they always got something out of it.
"Anything." The wretch continued to beg. Embarrassing. "I'll do anything."
Vannes had come over to their end of the bar now. Laurent saw her eyeing security and shook his head. He’d sensed an opportunity. He was going to get the service Nicaise had tried to deny him.
"Anything? I'm not carrying cash, tip my friend here, would you?"
Instantly the wretch was scrambling for his money. One note added to the tip jar. Laurent raised an expectant eyebrow. He kept it raised as the wretch added another. Then another.
Almost too easy. He didn’t even feel bad. The guy had brought him on himself when he tried to make out that money was no object. Laurent would have let him keep going until he ran dry. It was Vannes who cut the game short. She placed one hand over the jar with a quick word of thanks.
She took the jar with her when she left to get Laurent his usual water.
While she was gone he addressed the wretch, who was now waiting expectantly for further instruction. "If you're going to grovel you can do it silently, with your nose to the ground."
He dropped to the floor.
"Nice work." Vannes commented on her return.
"It's a gift." Laurent sighed, long-suffering. They often joked about how he had to abandon her to pursue his true calling.
While he sipped his water they chat about her night. Vannes always did know all the gossip. Apparently some big-shot Dom who was a regular at the Kingsmeet club had just come into town. It had a lot of people excited. The house subs especially.
“Apparently he is insatiable.” Vannes told him. “I heard a story about this one time, when he booked with six - Hold on.”
A customer had flagged her to the other end of the bar.
No sooner had she gone than Laurent noticed somebody else in his periphery. Not the wretch, still on the ground. Too tall to be Nicaise. Taller than himself, even, which was quite a feat when he had his heels on. The figure seemed to be leaning around trying to catch his eye. Laurent did not want to give him the satisfaction.
"Can I help you, sweetheart?" He asked, eyes trained unwaveringly on the liqueur shelf in front of him as if he ever drank.
"Have we met?" Came the reply.
"Classic." Laurent scoffed. "What's your other line, 'Come here often'?"
"Laurent deVere." The surname got his attention. "All grown up and still a snarky little shit."
Laurent swivelled and found his face level with a tanned chest. Close enough that he could smell amber-scented body oil. The man was even taller than he'd thought. Shoulders so wide he blocked the rest of the room. A gigantic, Akelion beast. A beast from Laurent's past.
Fuck.
"Damianos Vallauris." It took some effort for Laurent to keep his voice in check, but affecting disinterest was something he was good at. "I'll be needing you to forget you saw me."
Damen smirked a good natured sort of smirk.
"If there's something you need from me, then you should ask me nicely, sweetheart . "
Down at their feet, the wretch made a shocked squeaking noise. Shocked to hear anybody speak to Laurent like that, no doubt. With Damen crowding him Laurent had forgotten he was even down there.
"Leave." Laurent spat, without sparing him a glance.
He obliged. With haste. Quickly up off the floor and lost in the crowd. Laurent made a mental note that he would need to find out exactly how much he had heard. Did he catch his full name? He didn’t need that spread around. At least he had left before the conversation got any further, but Laurent couldn't be too relieved with Damen still there, chuckling.
Laurent remembered that laugh. Remembered being fourteen, trailing behind his brother and his friends, wanting to hear that laugh more than anything. He actually remembered every conversation they'd ever had. The way he'd stammered through each one then gone back to his room and fucking journalled about it in the kind of sickening detail only a teenager with a crush could.
Dear Diary... He thought now. It's been ten years and Damen from Akeilos has only gotten taller and more stacked. Also it turns out he's kinky. Send help.
"That poor guy. What happened to your manners?" Damen was grinning ear to ear now.
"I left them in Arles with everything else." Laurent said.
The conversation was slipping too far from his control. Damen might have been smiling but he had this look in his eyes. If Laurent didn't know better he might even have thought he was being flirted with. Damen could not be flirting with him, though. Damen could not even be there .
He would tell Auguste. Like it was nothing. Wouldn’t it be a funny thing to post in their stupid dudebro group chat? Guess whose little brother is into BDSM? LOL . He'd think he was being hilarious as he brought Laurent's whole life crashing down. It couldn’t be allowed to happen.
"Seriously," Laurent reiterated, trying his hardest to get across how crucial this was. "You didn't see me."
"Seriously ," Damen copied him, not for the first time that night, leaning in conspiratorially. "Say: 'Please keep my secret, Daddy.'"
Laurent reeled back like he'd been slapped.
"Fuck off." He snapped, and flung the rest of his water into Damen's face.
It was far from his finest moment. Shockingly inarticulate, really. He was going to get into so much shit. He braced for the bigger man to retaliate.
Damen didn't move. His eyes glinted with something like challenge.
"That wasn't very nice, Laurent. I think I really will have to teach you some manners again."
"I'd just love to see you try." Laurent spat, already turning to leave. The sooner he got away the better.
Damen's hand caught his wrist.
There was a beat. Laurent did not like to be touched. The flick of his wrist to shake Damen off was minuscule but undeniable. And ineffective. Damen held him there. Maybe just to show that he could. The longer it went on the more Laurent felt a flush of humiliation creep up the back of his neck. What was he going to do? Keep him there while Vannes got his boss?
This time when Damen leant in close, water dripped from his chin onto Laurent's shoulder.
"Make sure you're ready." He murmured, before he let him go.
Nicaise was practically panting trying to keep up with Laurent's clipped pace on their way back to the car. He whined at him to wait up, definitely tipsy now and not wanting to run after him. Too bad. Laurent needed to get out of there.
When he got behind the wheel Nicaise was still several feet behind. Laurent beeped the horn and watched him jump in the rear-view mirror. Then he watched him give the finger.
He seemed to take forever to catch up and at that point it might have been deliberate. Laurent had practically yanked him off his playmate’s lap. He was clearly huffy about it.
When he reached the car he threw himself into the back seat.
"Drive me home then." He ordered, unclipping his collar and tossing it onto the passenger side.
Laurent rolled his eyes and turned the key.
A few minutes into the journey, when his sulk had worn off, Nicaise seemed to remember there had been a reason they'd bolted out so fast.
"Was that who I think it was, back there?" He asked.
Laurent didn't want to talk about it. How royally he had fucked up a delicate situation. He swallowed, then nodded.
"And you..." Even through the alcohol Nicaise was clearly trying his hardest not to make it worse. "Threw something at him?"
"Just water." Which was still technically assault.
They drove in silence a few minutes more.
"I guess we're moving." Nicaise sighed. “Again.”