Who: Raksha & Izzy, appearance by someone from Raksha's past When: After 10:30pm July 25, 2008 Where: Fifth Floor, another dance club/lounge in SF What: The bunnies go out for some fun and have a run-in with someone Raksha hoped never to see again Status: Complete Rating: R, sexual stuff, language, etc
Izzy tapped his cards against the table, watching the people sitting around him. Continuing to tap his cards in an even pattern, he picked the other players apart in his mind until he finished with each of them... Then, too lazy to make the jump from English to Spanish as the other players babbled at each other, he wondered if his boyfriend was having fun. Izzy hadn't ever really gotten into dancing so much, but he knew Raksha enjoyed it. Which made the torture of having to sit with people he didn't know or particularly like to play poker so his boyfriend could dance and have fun a little... easier to deal with.
Raksha could feel the throb of bass vibrate through every muscle. It was almost painfully loud, so he avoided parts of the dance floor too close to the trembling speakers. Heat of others washed against his skin and their moods pressed his awareness in a way not quite true empathy nor solely physical sensation. A few dared to come close enough and sometimes he allowed it, brief moments of teasing dance, an empty promise. Arousal, alcohol induced and not, flavored the air. He moved to the music pounding in his ears, movements filled with a fluid sensuality. Though a shirt was required to enter, he'd long since tucked the near-silky sleeveless tee in his back pocket. He kept Izzy in sight, looking for signs that his mate had had enough of this place.
The others at the table kept babbling. Izzy found he didn't care what was being said. The round ended and he laid his cards face up, really disinterested in how they stood up against everyone else's. He shifted his weight a little, watching the table, and hoping that something would happen. Poker wasn't really all that fun if you knew when people were lying. Crossing his arms, he shot a look up at the ceiling, looking at the lighting, and then back at the people he sat at the table with. Why did they insist on talking so much, and about practically nothing?
He noted the faint irritation in the older male's expression as he glanced over to the table again at the end of a song. Contemplated whether he could convince his mate to join him on the dance floor. Maybe soon. A female, in short skirt and strip of near-nothing top slid close until he flicked a look at her that screamed "you are prey". It stopped her for the moment, until some of her friends started over. Not wanting his mood ruined that fast, Raksha managed to shift out of their line of sight, using the song starting to play to literally dance to another part of the floor. If nothing else, he was saved from the torture of their overdone perfume. Instead he picked a mixed group who'd started to eye him with interest, allowing them teasingly close as a faintly wicked smile played across his mouth.
If he heard one more teasing comment, he was going to throw some cards at people. And if he heard one more taunt about how he didn't say anything, he was going to start tossing paperclips. He was about two seconds from getting up, heading to the bar, and getting something to drink. Which would most likely lead to a few more, and then he'd end up giggling and...it just wouldn't be good. He stretched one arm out behind him, then dropped the hand into his lap, watching the others around the table. Was it really that hard to be quiet?
Adrenaline simmered in his veins at the press of bodies close to his. He'd always enjoyed this, the heat of it, the drawn out game with no real ending. Sometimes it would lead to a quick fuck in some dark corner or a nameless apartment. It pushed his senses near to overload, hard to distinguish the details in the myriad of sounds that swamped every sense. The group had long since wandered away and Raksha found himself with space to breathe for a few moments. Needing a break, he moved for the dim hallway containing a bathroom somewhere along its length. The noise dropped by more than half though his ears continued to ring with the echoes. Yellow eyes closed briefly, as he savored the quiet, faint chills along his skin as sweat dried. He felt more than heard the presence behind him just as an unfortunately familiar scent reached his nose, the voice making his body tense in more than just defense, "Hello again, pretty cat."
Izzy leaned back in his chair. Another round, new cars, and new chatter. He contemplated folding and going to do something else, but he didn't want to drink, and he didn't like dancing, and he didn't want to make Raksha leave the club. He kinda figured Raksha was having fun. At least... he hoped Raksha was having fun.
He didn't turn immediately, didn't need to. He knew every cadence of that voice, every shade of the scent. The reaction was no less than the previous times he'd run into the other male in recent weeks. Cursing the animal mindset that linked sensation and memory so tightly, he finally turned to face the nightmare. Fought the shiver at the subtle change in Mason's ice blue gaze. The heat in it in, the way those eyes undressed him from three feet away. Memory surged, just as twice before. That voice mocking, taunting as the thick fingered hands made him squirm. Metal against his wrists, cuffs biting into the vulnerable skin. Yellow eyes stayed wary, his expression giving away none of the reaction the memories sought to spark. He held his ground when the ex-guard stepped closer, "Goodbye," he purred, deliberately matching Mason's tone, moving sideways to go around him.
Finally, Izzy'd lost his patience, folded, and walked away with the money he'd won earlier on. He made his way to the edge of the crowd, searching for the yellow eyes, dark hair, and shimmering piercings of the man he'd come with. His boyfriend, maybe more. Depending on how they stood. He thought they were doing pretty damn good. He frowned when he didn't see Raksha. Maybe he was at the bar? Shooting a look that way, he frowned when he still didn't see him. Maybe the bathroom...?
The blond moved, blocking his path. Raksha paused, muscles tense with coiled power. A familiar game, this circling and feinting. He remembered how it’d ended years ago. But there was no cell, no handcuffs this time and he had no intention of it ending the same. Even though a little part of him wanted it to, wanted what came before. Remembered the pleasurable agony the male across from him was capable of and arousal reared its head. Shifting to the other side, movements casual despite the slight flare of heat, he knew he couldn’t fool the blond forever. The bastard was far too adept at reading him. Mason closed again, blocking his path; “Don’t be leaving so fast,” that mocking edge entered the male’s tone, “Stay awhile for old time’s sake.”
He walked back towards the bathroom, moving a little slower than usual because he wasn't really all that enthusiastic about heading into a darkened hallway where no one else was around. Call it paranoia, call it a habit that had stayed with him since about fifteen or sixteen, but he didn't like dark hallways, and he didn't like going into them alone. He was kind of hoping Raksha would come out by himself, but just in case... Not that Izzy would be much help to Raksha if the younger man had gotten himself into trouble. He shook his head, hoping that wasn't the case. Raksha wouldn't get himself into trouble with Izzy there... would he?
Subtle tension flavored the atmosphere, a waiting for one or the other of them to give in. The fainter sound of footsteps other than theirs caught his attention, though he didn’t let it show. Defiance and dislike showing in his expression, Raksha deliberately stepped forward with all the tiger’s hunting grace, faintly pleased when Mason stepped back. The slightest whisper of scent reached him, familiar warmth and spice. “I think not,” he purred, tone dark and velvet, a subtle threat. Heat, tempting, prickled along his nerves with the closeness, memory enhancing the effect.
“You can play that game all you want, pretty cat, I know better,” the blond’s voice was full of smug mocking as Raksha started past him.
He walked down the hall, en route to the club's bathrooms when he heard something. Voices, maybe. Were they voices, coming from around the corner? The sense of unease continued to flutter in his stomach, growing with each tiny step towards the bathrooms. Maybe this had been a bad idea. He paused and swallowed. Who was to say Raksha was even in the building? Maybe he'd ducked outside for a cigarette. Izzy knew Raksha wasn't normally a smoker most of the time, but he'd seen him do it once or twice before. He bit his lip. Was it really such a good idea to go looking for Raksha? Especially considering the paperclips in his pocket only became lethal when Izzy wasn't startled badly and could see or at least aim for where his target was to be. Crossing his arms, Izzy thought about it for a moment, then started again, rounding the corner. What he saw made him stop short, eyes brushing briefly over the familiar features of his boyfriend before resting icily on the stranger. Something seemed... oddly vicious about him; reminiscent of other men Izzy preferred not to think about. "Who's this?"
Izzy coming around the corner was the last thing Raksha wanted at that moment. He’d been about to answer Mason’s remark but his mate’s sudden appearance startled him and no words came out. The tension heightened as past and future collided in the dim back hallway. Mind blank for the brief moment he stood caught between them, body tense in a mix of wariness, fight response and the most dangerous: arousal. The shift in air told warned him that Mason had taken advantage of the moment and yellow eyes met his mate’s darkened caramel gaze just as a familiar body pressed against his back. Rough hands caught his hip and jaw, digging into sensitive skin. “Well, well, must be the boyfriend,” Mason’s mocking tones broke the momentary silence. Raksha twisted, trying to pull away and felt those fingers tighten on his hip and froze, body reacting as it always did to that spot, breath catching.
It didn't take long for Izzy to realize, or at least jump to the conclusion, that this man was one that had at least hurt Raksha in the past. He watched silently as the beefy bastard laid hands on something that didn’t' belong to him. Casually, Izzy leaned up against the wall, watching Raksha squirm. "The boyfriend? Wow. What an awful stalker you are." Izzy's voice was icy, revealing none of the sickening, dizzying anger and fear that he felt. "If I was stalking someone with a boyfriend, I'd learn his name, at least." He straightened, putting a hand in his pocket. "And, you know. If he's dangerous. See, I have a sharing problem. I'm not good at letting others touch my things. And you, my friend, are touching my favorite thing of all." A thick Spanish accent had crept into his voice, lacing with the ice as he went. "I have something in my pocket. Something I can kill you with. Which may just have to be how this ends if I don't get my boyfriend back."
“Are you sure you want him back,” Mason mocked, speaking to Izzy but Raksha could feel the blond’s mouth next to his ear. Sick to his stomach and blood on fire as the ex-guard continued, “This little cat isn’t a faithful one as you can see.” The fingers continued to dig in as Mason’s tongue swept across another spot just below his ear and Raksha swallowed the gasp it provoked. His body knew the blond’s touch too well and Mason knew all the right triggers. One hand released his jaw only to tangle in his hair, hard enough to hurt and his knees started to buckle, the other moved from his hip to tease the rings with a sharp yank. It dragged a soft whine from his throat, sending a bolt of heat and pain straight to his groin. “Look at that,” he heard Mason continue as he struggled to fight the response the blond had provoked, “How your boyfriend squirms for me. More like a cat in heat that’ll take any, than a faithful partner.”
Izzy watched the blond touch Raksha more. He wanted to rip the beefy man to shreds, and he had to swallow a growl. "Of course I want him back. I trust him. Better a cat in heat than a faithful bitch who I can't even trust to breathe properly. At least that one knows where to come home to." Izzy watched the blond and devised the best plan of action if it came down to such a thing as violence. Could he plan on Raksha's help, or would he be completely on his own? Better plan on having to handle it by himself, he figured. Izzy wanted to know, most of all, if Raksha knew that the banter with the thick blond brute was meaningless. He also wanted to know who he was, and how he knew Raksha. Was this the man that Raksha had described, talked about, in a discussion of his "episodes"? Izzy's fingers curled towards his palm in his pocket, clutching a useless paperclip. He couldn't try to kill the bastard if Raksha was in the way. "So." Izzy's voice had become as soft and smooth as butter, still laced with a thick, fiery Spanish accent. "I'll tell you my name if you tell me yours."
The words chased each other in his hearing, swirling in the memories the blond’s touch evoked. Hearing the same ice in Izzy’s voice only enhanced the desire to submit to the pain, the only difference was that his reaction to his mate was whole-hearted. But the only arousal he scented was his own. Thick fingers kept playing with the rings and he couldn’t get a deep breath through the haze of pain and pleasure. “You think I’m that much of a fool?” He heard Mason’s voice, still directed towards Izzy rather than himself. Reminded again of his mate’s presence the memories receded. Mate…that meant no cell, no cuffs…no one to help Mason force him. As freedom registered, jerking him back to the present, fury coiled in his stomach. The blond was distracted; he could feel it, noting the slight ease in Mason’s grip on him with a predatory awareness. A heartbeat was close to his ear, pumping blood through veins…so easily torn. He stilled, embracing the pleasurable agony the rough hands inflicted as fuel. The faintest hint of stripes rippled across honeyed-almond skin, mostly hidden in the dim light.
"Oh for the love of Almighty God," Izzy said, rolling his eyes at the blond. "Why can't you be as stupid as you look?" Shrugging one shoulder, Izzy leaned against the wall. "Well, if you're going to fuck my boyfriend, best get on with it. We haven't got all night. Our daughter's birthday is coming up soon and we need to get back to spend some time with her. I don't let him break his promises." He leaned his head back against the wall, sighing impatiently. "Well? What are you waiting for? A damned written invitation? He likes it from behind and up against something. Please don't touch his nipples anymore, and no blood. Come on now. Make it snappy."
Izzy’s words froze his anger and Raksha shuddered slightly, caught between rage and the throb of arousal. He didn’t think his mate meant any of it, but a part of him wished Izzy did. Knew that if Izzy really wanted it, he’d succumb to the suggestion and knew he’d enjoy it. Sweat broke out on his skin with the effort of holding both the predator and masochist in him at bay. Yellow eyes turned a darker gold sought out the older male’s face, hunting for a sign that Izzy didn’t mean it. Stomach tied in knots at the possibility that his mate didn’t want him, truly meant to leave him to play whore for the blond ex-guard. Distantly he heard Mason’s voice answering, “Oh is that it, you figured out what a good little whore he is,” a sharp tug on his hair and Mason was shoving him against the wall, rough brick digging into his chest and stomach, “Hear that pretty cat? We’re gonna perform for your boy over there.” The blond pressed him into the wall, lips brushing Raksha’s ear as he spoke, “Show him how you like it when I fuck you, I want to see you cry.”
Izzy bit back a snarl as he watched Raksha watching him. Why couldn’t he just move already, so Izzy could hurt him? Beefy fingers were twisted in Raksha’s hair, and that pissed him off. Raksha’s hair was his to touch. His, and his alone. He tried to give his boyfriend a sign, anything he could, in his eyes, or his posture, or something; something that only Raksha would pick up on… Something that told him he’d never give Raksha up to the man for the world. That he didn’t mean anything he was saying. Just blowing smoke to get the blond to move so he could toss a paperclip at him. Unfortunately, when he did move, it was to drive Raksha straight into the wall, and to move his head right next to Raksha’s. Too much margin for error. “I didn’t say I’d enjoy the performance. Don’t let him cry. I want him presentable for our daughter.” He pulled his paperclip from his pocket, unfolding it slowly, and watched the blond. “And I’m not in the mood to drag the bastard into the bathroom to clean him up.” Then, very softly, he added, “And don’t call my boyfriend a whore.”
He only had a brief chance to read Izzy’s expression but it was enough. There was no pleasure or arousal in the older male’s body language or scent from watching what Mason was doing. Chills slithered down his spine at the words, a conditioned response to that type of talk, especially from someone he’d willingly submit to. As Mason pressed up against him, refusal boiled up inside and the banked rage won over arousal. Muscles tightened, prepared for movement. A low chuckle by his ear told him Mason assumed it was an aroused response. More the fool him. Fury filling his veins, Raksha twisted again, registering the shock in the ex-guards eyes when he broke the blond’s grip. He was dimly aware of the brick tearing skin off his back at the movement and the scent of his own blood touched the air. Like a cat that didn’t want to be held he slipped away, shoving Mason against the wall, claws pricking the bastard’s throat, instinct screaming to kill.
Izzy watched them, eyes going dark with anger as the blond pressed against a body that he had no right to touch. It took him a moment to register that Raksha was moving, and when he finally realized it, Raksha was shoving the blond up against the wall. It took him even longer to register the entire action, and he stood there, blinking for a long moment. Then, when he saw it, he stepped forward and put a hand on Raksha’s shoulder. “Hey. Before you kill him, I wanna know who he is.”
He growled softly before recognizing whose hand was on his shoulder. Warmth dripped down his back but the stinging pain accompanying it only heightened his mood. It took effort to keep his claws from shredding the blond’s vulnerable throat. Mason’s scent was tinged with fear, the blond finally seeming to realize what he’d provoked. Raksha bared his teeth, golden eyes full of predatory rage. Izzy’s touch sparked the heat of arousal again, which not gone, only been suppressed beneath the anger. He wanted to shred this prey; leave only so much meat then take pleasure in his mate with the blood still warm on his skin. Claws against the blond’s throat and the other hand pressed against Mason’s stomach, he flicked sharp glance back at Izzy, “Later,” his tone a velvet growl.
Normally, Izzy would have flinched when Raksha growled at him for touching him. Probably would have avoided looking directly at him for weeks, until he became comfortable with Raksha again, enough that he didn’t fear the anger boiling inside of his boyfriend. This time, he just tightened his grip. He could see the side of Raksha’s face, and the blond’s expression. Watching the bared teeth, Izzy squeezed his fingers against Raksha’s shoulder. He normally wouldn’t have let “later” slide by without a fight, but this wasn’t normal. “Be careful,” Izzy warned, voice soft. “If you kill him here, you risk being caught.”
Instinct pushed for the kill; warred with the knowledge that there was no discrete way to do it here. It took effort to pull back from the edge, fear and blood scent too strong in his nose. Muscles quivered with tension, with the effort it took not to rip the bastard’s throat out. Izzy’s grip on his shoulder reminded him of the scrapes on his back and the blood, his, left on the wall. He leaned close to speak in Mason’s ear, the way a lover would, claws pricking skin just enough to bleed, “Never forget how close you came to dying,” he murmured in an almost sensual purr, if not for the hint of threat, “And never come near me or anyone close to me again.”
He could see the internal battle, instinct against knowledge. He couldn’t determine which was winning when Raksha’s muscles began to quiver, and Izzy was afraid that it was instinct. He swallowed, hopping that it wouldn’t lead to a murder. It shouldn’t have shocked Izzy so much when Raksha leaned forward, whispering in the blond’s ear. He couldn’t hear what was being said, but he figured it wasn’t a good thing, and he dropped his hand away, swallowing. It was hard to let go of him, drop his hand away and trust that it would be alright, but he did it, and the world hadn’t ended. At least, he didn’t’ think it had….
Raksha stepped away, holding Mason’s gaze like a cat and mouse. He could see the knowledge in the blond’s eyes that the balance of power had shifted permanently. Whatever hold the guard had had on him was at least partially weakened. When Mason looked away first, the instinct to kill eased. Finding the shirt tucked in his pocket; Raksha tugged it on with a soft hiss of pain when the silky material rubbed against the scrapes on his back. With a nasty smile, Mason moved away, putting on a show of dominance though all the subtle cues Raksha marked spoke the opposite. “Guess you get to keep the little cat,” this directed at Izzy, mocking in the ex-guards pale blue gaze, “But you’ll always wonder whose he really is.” Yellow eyes watched the blond’s retreat as he allowed the show of bravado they both knew was fake. Once the ex-guard was out of range, he turned back to Izzy, temper fully leashed.
Izzy’s gaze swept from Raksha to the blond and back again. He didn’t know what was going on between them, but he figured it didn’t bode well for the blond, if Raksha had his way. When finally Raksha pulled on his shirt, Izzy had to wince in sympathy. Raksha, he knew, was far more sensitive to touch than anyone else he’d ever known. Part of it was the tiger he was, Izzy knew… but he suspected that even had Raksha not been an animal, he would have been overly sensitive anyway. When the blond gave him a nasty smile, Izzy didn’t respond. His gaze focused on the blond man’s eyes, anger sparkling in his own. He waited until the blond was all the way out of earshot before he turned back to Raksha, biting his lip. “You know I didn’t mean that, right? None of it? And…” He hesitated, shooting another look back the way the blond had left. “I don’t wonder whose you are,” he added, very softly, and almost under his breath.
“Aye,” he murmured, leaving out that it hadn’t registered as false right away. Dim lighting added to the shadows in golden eyes, hiding the hint of conflict in them. The rush and heat of arousal and adrenaline had begun to slip away, leaving him a little more off-balance than he wanted to admit. He moved back towards the corner rather than exit the way Mason had gone, pressing one shoulder against Izzy’s briefly, unable to give into more comfort than that. Not yet, not here. He hadn’t missed the older male’s near inaudible comment, but no response came to mind, certainty shaken by the response the ex-guard had gotten out of him.
Izzy watched his boyfriend, shaking his head slightly as he moved back towards the corner. He leaned out to reach Raksha's shoulder, pressing fingers feather-light against the younger man's shirt. "Come on, baby," he said quietly. "Let's head for home, huh?" He was beginning to feel tired, whether from the recent encounter with the blond man or the fact that he hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours... whatever the cause he was tired, and wanted to be home, safe and warm in their bed.
Tensing slightly, not quite flinching at the gentle touch, Raksha gave a brief nod to acknowledge his mate’s suggestion. Mason’s scent still lingered in the hallway and he couldn’t relax, couldn’t quite shake the feel of the blond’s touch or Izzy’s words. Noting the exhaustion starting to show in the older male, he took Izzy’s hand, squeezing the fingers briefly and not letting go. His other hand went to his pocket, finding the car keys before starting towards the main room again. It would be best to go out the main door rather than spend too much time in a hallway now marked with his blood.