Edgeplay

° Title of the Fanfic: Edgeplay
° Pairing(s): MelloxMatt
° Rating [R or MA]: MA
° Kinks/Warnings: Everything on the competition kinks list.
° Wordcount: 6432


Three things to know about Matt. The first was that he loved games. The second was that he was a masochist. The third was that, if he put his mind to it, he could be a fucking Houdini in escaping cuffs and unpicking locks. Two things to know about Mello. He was a sadist and he always mastered a challenge. Therein it began. The rules were simple. If Matt could extract himself from any situation he was placed into, then nothing similar could be tried again for one week. If he couldn't, then he stayed put dependent upon Mello's will. It was genius mind versus genius mind and one of the few occasions when Matt actually played the game in direct contest with Mello. (The other occasions had all involved digital games and so, to Mello's mind, didn't count.) That had been two years ago. Six months ago, a change had taken place best described as Total Power Exchange. Some might answer that Mello had won, but then they would have been asking the wrong question.

The redhead cried into his master's shoulder. It was proper wracking sobs, all snot and splotchy skin, that was bound to end in puffy eyes and a headache. Mello held him even closer, rubbing the arms which must have been stiff after being bound behind his back for the best part of the last sixteen hours. He made no move to release them now. That was just the way it was. For over a year, there had never been a moment when Matt was completely at liberty. The ensnared part of his body altered frequently, because atrophied muscles were no good to either of them, but there was always something restricting his movements. "Ok, Matty, get it out. It's ok." The redhead reacted by bawling even harder. There was a note of hysteria in it that might have had Mello slapping his face to calm him down, but for the fact that the blond had his own misgivings about this place. Mello needed to fathom out how he felt about it, before he could even begin to decide upon how his lover should be reacting.

The situation was highly unusual. Ordinarily, Matt was not allowed to leave their home and therefore had not actually encountered another human being, excepting Mello, for well over a year. Mello had thought that a public display might be interesting, especially since some members of his on-line S/M forum had started to even doubt that his sex slave existed. The club and its accompanying outside carnival, at the height of the forum convention, had been fascinating. It had been hot, sexy and intoxicating as Hell from the moment that he had led Matt in, gripping tightly onto the leash to cover his own nerves, its pressure on the collar directing the redhead's movements. They had sat - Mello sprawled on a comfortable chair, almost instantly uncomfortable with the pressing need inside his tight leather trousers, and Matt kneeling on the floor between his feet - watching the weird and wonderful exhibitions of sexual domination; some of which even their collective minds hadn't conceived of before now.

Ten feet away, a dominatrix, holding the leashes of adult identical twins, sat down facing Mello. They exchanged nods of polite acknowledgement, then she pulled on the collars of her slaves. They knelt, naked and gagged, and she played with them both until they were hard, kissing her legs right up to the top of her leather clad thighs. Mello squirreled that away for experimentation later, wondering if she could even feel the touch of their mouths through the stiff material. Then it occurred to him that he had the tools to find out right there with him. A quick tug on the collar had returned Matt's wide-eyed attention back to himself and a short word had the redhead's lips upon him. It looked more erotic than it felt. There was just too much leather for direct sensation. Across the way, the dominatrix smiled faintly and ordered her twins to fuck each other on the floor at her feet. Mello frowned. He only had one slave. He couldn't compete and it rankled.

Mello rose and yanked on Matt's leash a little too roughly. The redhead fell off him and nearly choked, spluttering with the pressure on his Adam's Apple with a purpling face. He would have clutched his throat had his hands been free to do so, but they were secured tightly behind his back. Mello sighed, glancing at the amused dominatrix, then reached down to haul his lover up with a hand under his armpit. No longer effectively hanged, Matt's colour righted itself along with his panting breaths. The look that he gave his master was less than submissive, but Mello smiled, leaning in to kiss the neck he had abused. Matt's head went back to allow access and the blond bit at the sensitive skin there, holding the redhead close. It was animalistic, the alpha wolf grazing the skin of the lesser male; the subordinate trusting that his throat would not be ripped out, though placing himself in a position where it could be. Mello opened his mouth wide, teeth covering the larynx, sucking on it. He growled and felt Matt jump slightly in his arms, pressing himself closer. It was erotic as Hell. A final hug and Mello drew back, aware that if he didn't, then he was going to have his lover there and then. He wanted to prolong this a little longer.

They headed down to the market, into a melee of people in a variety of tantilising costumes. Everywhere they looked, there seemed to be another carnival freakshow, the street theatre of the seriously warped. If they did nothing else, then standing back here and just watching would have occupied their fantasies for a week. The stalls added to the effect, a surreal Wonderland of tools, toys and services. They paused beside a brightly lit area, its hygenic sterility seeming at odds with the sleaze all around. It took a few minutes before they realised what was happening in there. A man was having his penis split in two, with properly prepared instruments and his mistress holding his hand. Mello automatically crossed his legs and glanced at Matt. The redhead froze. They were long past the point in their lives where he could seriously say 'no', but his whole demeanour said it now. Mello laughed. He leaned in and whispered, "I've never felt so underdressed before." Matt was not allowed to speak without permission, so he didn't, but his gaze dipped to his own lack of attire. He had communicated his sassy response well enough.

They crossed to a stall showing knives. From swords to scalpels, a little card stating that they were for ornamental purposes only. Mello laughed and Matt smirked. The blond lifted out a gutting knife and tested its weight in his hand, before glancing at the redhead. He turned with a predatory glint and placed the cold steel against Matt's abdomen. It wasn't sharp, though it could be if he bought it, even so some primal instinct sparked fear in Matt's eyes. The store-owner rushed forward. "No using the knives in here, please!" He pointed in alarm at a poster discussing AIDS and other fluid related viruses. "Not unless you're buying it." Mello didn't blink. He held the knife out with an outstretched arm, until the store-owner took his from his gloved hand. Then Mello leaned down and took his own knife from his boot. This one was sharp. This one cut in a shallow, bloody line down Matt's naked chest. Mello bowed down, his tongue lapping along the laceration, sterilizing with saliva, licking the droplets from his lips. With bloodied teeth, he kissed the redhead hard, breaking away with a smirk. The store-owner backed away.

The next stall along held aphrodisiacs in every conceivable form. Foods, pills, liquids, drinks, serums to be injected, enemas and patches all sparkled enticingly from the displays. Mello frowned at the oysters, his quick mind already speeding through possible food poisoning and onto the cures for salmonella. There was nothing here that attracted him. He hated the thought of his mind being clouded by anything not produced by his own body. A slight tugging on the leash in his hand caused him to look behind him. Matt had turned away, watching something in the aisle outside. Mello frowned. Though he was curious as to what the redhead was looking at, this had not been sanctioned. In short, Matt was not supposed to be looking at anything that Mello hadn't directed for him to do so. He was supposed to either be watching his master for directions or else have his eyes dipped to stare at the floor.

It was difficult to effectively wrench his slave towards him in the press of people around the stall, but Mello managed it. Matt careered closer with a startled expression, to be pushed against the metal framework of the canopy. His arms collided with it and pain flashed through his green eyes. Mello's eyes narrowed, glaring ferociously inches from his face, "Don't you even think about rebelling against me in this place." His hand pushed down to grasp Matt's genitals, twisting and squeezing cruelly. "What have you got to say to me?"

"I'm sorry, Master." Matt breathed, his pelvis moving forward to force himself further into Mello's torture.

"You look at me and me alone. Is that understood?" His hand snaked up the length of Matt's member and a thumb pressed into the sensitive tip. The redhead's eyes watered and he gasped, but he nodded and did not try to move away. "Good boy." Mello smirked and turned his attention back to the stall. While he did not want his own mind clouded, it was sometimes a sensible thing to confuse the genius mind at the end of his leash. His gloved hand kept up the abuse on Matt's dick and balls, while Mello's eyes scanned the wares. He decided upon a vial, those contents promised to be fast-acting. He paid for it and immediately turned to his slave. "Open your mouth, Matt." The redhead did as he was told and the liquid was poured onto his tongue. "Swallow." His throat moved in compliance and Mello smiled. "Let's see what that does."

They passed through a group of cross-dressers, mostly men laced into tight, boned corsets and tiny skirts, everything revealed under the petticoats. Here and there amongst them though were others dressed as Alice or in bunny-girl costumes. Almost without exception, they tottered on crippling heels, whose straps were locked on with tiny padlocks. Matt stared at the floor, feeling hot and tingling; but Mello watched them. He personally didn't get this, femininity as degradation, whereas he had always found such things to be empowering. People often confused Mello's gender, the blond, shoulder-length bob and his slender build emphasising the anima over the animus, until the testosterone kicked in and no-one was fooled anymore. His gaze took in the fishnet stockings and made up faces and he saw nothing there of shame. In fact, he wouldn't mind trying on some of the costumes himself. Putting thought into action, he towed Matt into a nearby stall and started flicking through the items on the rack. Tight-fitting bodices, laced and frilled, all designed for men. He nearly spoke aloud, commenting to the redhead that these seemed a touch too 'girly' for Mello to contemplate wearing, but he was afraid that, despite everything and all the restrictions placed upon him, Matt might laugh.

Reminded again of his lover, Mello glanced up. Matt's head was bowed, his skin red and blotchy, clammy to the touch. He kept swallowing, trying to re-hydrate a parched mouth within a burning face. He was achingly hard. His sex erect and dripping with pre-cum, on display for all to see. Mello raised his eyebrows and smiled. So that was what the drug did. His eyes drank in the sight of it, then, with a libertine swagger, Mello took the couple of steps to press himself against his lover. Matt was hot, in every sense of the word, fever breaking across his brow. Mello pulled Matt's head up by the hair and kissed him deeply, tasting for himself the dryness of his mouth behind the hunger of his kiss. The redhead wanted it badly. It was testament to his self-control or training that he hadn't already forced himself upon his master. He wanted the relief of sex over the need, more urgent to anyone else watching, for a drink of water.

Mello propelled him out of the dress stall and into the aisle. Pushing him ahead and feeling how the redhead had started shivering with overheating; a remarkable feat in someone nearly naked. They nearly collided with a woman knelt in the act of giving her own master a blow-job, right in the middle of the market, but Mello grabbed Matt by the collar and jerked him to the right just in time to avoid them. An emerald stare turned in his direction, filled with absolute desperation for the same thing to happen to him. Mello laughed. "All in good time, Matty." He held the redhead up against the white metal wall of a refreshment stand, cool against his skin and claimed another probing kiss. Matt's mouth was like sawdust, grasping, frenzied, his tongue invading Mello's mouth with wild wanting. The blond had to practically force their lips apart again. "You are such a fucking whore. The biggest slut I ever met." He smirked and turned to the vendor. "Bottle of water please." It was paid for and Mello held it while Matt drank most of the bottle in one long, gulping swig. The burning of his skin lessened, but the hunger was in his eyes and every movement. Matt was really struggling with being docile right now.

With no intention of salving his lover's state just yet, Mello tugged on the leash, trailing Matt into another stall. It was a purveyor of quality masks and Mello brightened considerably. As a usual rule of thumb, he preferred to see his lover's beautiful face; he was turned on by the fear and the gorgeous expressions of pain and lust that Matt could produce when all his inhibitions had been torn away. However, they were increasingly experimenting with ever deeper ways for power to be transferred from Matt to Mello. The past few weeks especially had been a study in trial and error, in exploring just how far Mello could dictate every look, thought, movement, action and reaction. It was a long way from the initial bedroom based games of domination and submission; it was a million miles away from their original coupling of friendship sex grown into actual love attraction. Masks would really assist in creating a state of sensory deprivation for Matt. Without sight and hearing especially then he would have no option but to trust Mello to prescribe his world. It was just one step up from the bondage; an extenuation of the same. If, until now, Matt had been kept in a state of restricted movement, then there could always be some part of the day where the senses were removed too.

Mello chose two, one which covered the entire face and another which had a wide hole for the mouth to be accessed. The latter would allow meals and blow-jobs; the former would help enslave the mind as well as the body that had already submitted. That was after all the goal and the greatest challenge between them, the true subjugation of Matt's mind. At the moment, it was simply willing; but if Mello could play this correctly, it would eventually cross over into something less tenuously accepting. Only then would the total power exchange be complete.

Beside him, Matt had survived the heat of having masks tried on him and the enforced standing still with a martyr's grace. His lips swollen and red, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed, he already looked like he was in the midst of an orgasm, but Mello kept him at arm's length. Only now, as they left the mask stall did the blond see something that intrigued him enough to consider ending his slave's suffering. It was a mechanical device, strewn at its base with notices that explained it all, but still left fascinating questions. The banner stated that it was only for those who dared enough to risk it. Couples and groups hung about it, giggling in horrified, titillated speculation, as, in this place, fear and sex were the same thing. Anyone using it would have an audience, no doubt consisting of half the market's population once the word was spread. Mello quickly took in all of the information, noting the first aid facility half-concealed at the back of the stall and inspecting the workings of the contraption. He made his decision, turning with a smirk to the lust-crazed redhead half a step behind. "You're going on that. Hey! It's practically Cyberpunk!"

Matt's head rose and he surveyed his immediate future. To his credit, he only blinked twice. His gaze slid sidewards towards Mello to ascertain if he was actually serious. He was. Matt took in the information with an eidetic snapshot of a glance, as Mello dragged him by the leash towards the stall's owner. There was an awkward moment, when the shopkeeper required the consent of the person who was going to be used on the machine. Mello gave Matt permission to speak his languid, 'Yeah', but the man wanted a signature. He intercepted the annoyed look that Mello flashed at his lover's bonds, pointing out that the handcuffs would have to come off anyway, if he was going to be strapped down here. Nodding, Mello unlocked the cuffs and a pen was thrust into Matt's hand. His wrist stiff and aching, Matt scrawled something which might have been his name and might have been an illegible, random scribble. Then, to the mounting excitement of all spectators, he was taken from his master, shorn of leash (but not collar), and led onto the platform.

He was spread-eagled on the rubbery dais, raised up so that all could see him, with most of his body weight held by the ropes around his wrists. His ankles too were tightly secured by ropes, yet another wrapped loosely around his neck. More cutting were the ropes forming a harness at the top of his thighs and around his waist. Experimentally tugging, Matt found himself held fast gazing out across a growing crowd of wide-eyed people. Above and around him, there were mirrors and he could view his own nervous expression in kaleidoscopic repetition. Matt had once had a reputation of being closed and insular, content to let his best friend do the talking for them both. It had owed less to shyness than to a total disregard for the world, but now, more exposed than he had ever been in his life before, Matt searched with a skittery stare for that best friend now. Mello was there, close enough to the controls to switch them off if necessary; and armed enough to enforce it should there be dissent. He watched Matt with the riveted interest of a genius working out how it was going to work, but also with pure, unadulterated sexual intrigue. Mello caught the gaze upon him and smiled back reassurance, though there was no word of reprieve from this ordeal.

With a soft humming and ever-increasing vibrations the robotics began to work. Tentacles emerged from the folds in the dais around Matt's body, rubbery but no less real for their mechanics. They twisted and slithered around his limbs and torso, one tip pressing at Matt's lips until he had no option but to open his mouth. It forced its way inside as a gag, stretching the skin in parody of a scream. Water sprayed from hidden sprinklers, allowing the lubricant to fix suckers fast against his skin, along the length of the slimy appendages. If he hadn't been pinioned into place before, he was now; no amount of struggling would have gained even a fraction of an inch's movement within this enfolding possession. Mello tore his gaze away to see how they could know the shape of his lover's body. The owner was concentrating on a laptop, a grid mapping out Matt's body. Mello grinned and called. "Hax0red, Matt."

Stage two was in operation, the longest tentacle yet displayed snaked out now from the very bottom of the dais. It gleamed in the bright lights, extracting squeals of wonder and awe from the dense crowd of onlookers, as it made its slow progress up to the very fork of Matt's spread legs. His own eyes watched, in alarmed apprehension, through his reflection in the mirrors. More water sprinkled down and it seemed to take an eternity for the giant limb to reach its goal. Everyone held their collective breaths, pondering on what would happen when it did. It made it, the tip now looking even more impossibly big in comparison to the anus it was now prodding, rimming the edges with lubricant slime. "There is no way..." A woman proclaimed loudly from the front of the barrier, but at that moment the very top of the limb disappeared. A general tensing of Matt's muscles and the broadening of his eyes in shock told them that penetration had, indeed, taken place. Every tentacle vibrated, its humming filling the air, and for the first time in his life, Matt came without Mello's direct intervention.

Matt was shaking like a leaf, as Mello practically carried him through the cheers of the crowd. He would have reapplied the leash and towed him through, but Mello doubted that Matt's legs would hold him at this point in time. He took him into the relative privacy of an open-door cinema tent. On the screen, a similar theme was being played out. Prone humans, mostly female, were being ripped apart by alien invaders, whose phallic appendages invariably reached into vaginas, rectums and mouths. Blood splattered screams heralded each gory end. Even more important than the images on the screen was the fact that there were dark corners with cushions to deposit Matt upon and to slump down, smirking, beside him. As their eyes adjusted to the murky light, Mello lit a cigarette and held it between his lover's lips. Matt gratefully inhaled, savouring every gasp of the nicotine-filled smoke. As a rare concession, and seeing as the handcuffs had not yet been reconnected, Mello let him hold it, while he, himself, enjoyed a bar of chocolate.

"Are you alright?" Mello asked loudly, once he sensed that Matt had recovered enough for coherency. He didn't worry about disturbing those watching the film, there was no real dialogue in it anyway. It was difficult to tell whether the redhead had responded or not. His face was still hidden by the cushion at the side of Mello's leather-clad backside. He hadn't sat up, as the blond had expected, to nod or shake his head. Mello ran his hand along the naked, curled body and repeated the question.

Matt did sit up this time. An experienced glance told Mello that his lover was fine. As master in a myriad of potentially dangerous sexual situations, the blond had had to become adept at reading the bodily signs to assess Matt's well-being. The twin restrictions of a gag or forbidden speech generally rendering it impossible for the redhead to tell him himself. Green eyes glowered back at Mello. Even before the intensifying of their relationship, it was rare for Matt to rise to anger. These days, with his emotional state dependent upon Mello's instruction and his will given up completely to Mello's whims, it was not only unheard of, but highly prohibited. Nevertheless, Matt snapped now. "I fucking hate you sometimes."

It felt like two years work was unravelling before his eyes. Mello flinched an instant before raising his hand and slapping the redhead hard across the face. Matt didn't try to defend himself, even though his limbs were unfettered for the first time in months. He hit the cushions again without trying to break his fall, then rose again to his previous position. Mello slapped him for a second time, in the opposite direction, so that there would be no cushions to catch him. Matt sprawled on the rough, woven hemp carpet, but rose again. This time Mello fastened the redhead's hands behind his back with the handcuffs and reattached the leash. Fury rumbled beneath the blond's countenance, animating his body in sharp movements, as he wrenched his lover to his feet and marched them out of there.

Behind the stalls there was a wall. Though it wasn't precisely free of watching eyes, there were fewer people here and it was quiet enough to speak without shouting. Mello slammed Matt against the wall, not caring if his arms were grazed on the brickwork, and pulled out a gun. It was pressed into the redhead's temple and cocked. Mello screamed into his face, "How dare you speak to me like that? You still think you have an opinion? You still think you can tell me what you think and don't think?" The barrel of the gun was mashed into Matt's cheek, down into his mouth and forced between his teeth. "Might I remind you of a certain conversation we had? No safewords, no going back, no nothing. We had a trial, Matty. We passed the point of no return. You signed up for this! It was your fucking idea!" The green eyes were downcast. There was no attempt to speak over the cold metal of the semi-automatic, but no fear either. Everything in Matt's stance bespoke total surrender. Mello glared angrily, but withdrew the gun. "You may speak."

"I'm sorry, Sir."

The gun travelled down, drawing goosebumps across the skin that it touched. But Mello's temper was boiling, there could be no sensuality in this frame of mind, because he was liable to cause serious damage. He stepped away, growling, "This isn't the first time tonight, it's just the worse. You've been letting your mind wander. Getting distracted." He tore his attention away from the redhead, staring up the length of the narrow alleyway caused by the back of the stalls and the wall. It was obviously used as a makeshift urinal, it stunk. Maybe also used for more. Ten yards up the way, a bound and gagged man knelt under the steady stream of his master's piss, the golden shower drenching his hair and back. Mello turned the other way. A couple were having sex up the wall. "I've just about had enough of you. I need to calm down." The blond tugged on the leash and tied it to the back of the nearest stall guide rope. White tarpaulin created the backdrop against which Matt was shoved. Mello pulled a ball-gag from his jacket pocket and fitted it firmly into the redhead's mouth. Matt meekly knelt on the cobblestones, head bowed. "You'd better hope I'll be back."

Mello walked away, back into the heat of the marketplace, where a woman this time was splayed at the mercy of the tentacles. He marched on at speed, with no destination other than finding some clarity of mind and a cooling of his boiling blood. He stepped out into the centre of the marketplace, an open area with areas of grass and a huge fountain in the middle. People were dotted or lying all around, coupling in a Romanesque orgy of public sex. It was slow and sleazy, many people doing it simply for the thrill of being watched. So many ways intersected here that it occurred to Mello that he could lose his way and never be able to find his lover again. That was on the off-chance that he even wanted to. Right now, that was highly debatable.

Matt's back-chat felt like failure. Mello had tried, really hard to make this work, but the upshot was losing. It was fine for the redhead, all he had to do was take the pain; but Mello had to think for the pair of them. Ok, he couldn't pretend that it wasn't hot as fuck to have the redhead so permanently at his mercy, in fact, Mello felt in a constant state of arousal. It was sexy. It was hot. It was erotic. Fine. But it also took over his entire life, because he had the responsibility to ensure the mental and physical safety of them both. Moreover, though it had been anticipated, the theory had not prepared him for the reality. Mello had, in effect, lost his best friend and the only intelligent conversation currently in his world. It was fucking with his mind. To have all of that, to agree to take control in this arrangement and then have Matt come out with crap like that. No.

Unwilling to walk back past the tentacle place again, Mello wandered into one of the more enclosed stalls. Its banner read 'Shota' and, in honesty, he wasn't too sure what that was, which made it even more perfect to hide inside. He could calm down in learning something new. The posters and literature told him at a glance what shota was. The stall itself opened up into a medium-sized cafe, lit with candles and smoky with intoxicating incense. Though he doubted any of the young people there really were underage, they certainly weren't very far over the age of consent and their baby-faces pegged them as much younger. Older men groped their shaved bodies, while the monitor above displayed scenes of proper shota. Mello turned away, subconsciously touching his rosary, and picked up one of the more explicit mangas to see what all the fuss was about.

It was working, he was calming down. He turned and spotted the selection of sweets in the cafe behind him, which included several bars of his favourite chocolate. Stepping over the writhing bodies on the floor, he joined the queue and readied his money. The half-naked couple in front of him, glistening with sweat, their eyes dilated with amphetamines, gushed happily about the things they were going to do next. "Anonymous sex." Decried one of them with enthusiastic nodding. "All you do for that is wait in the alley behind these stalls. The voyeurs are better off in the centre, but if it's a couple, they usually go around the back. It's easier to leave one person there to be..."

"Excuse me," Mello interrupted, his mind catching up with what his ears had heard. "Where did you say that the anonymous sex happened?"

"There's an alleyway running..." He didn't get any further, because Mello ran. He sprinted the short distance to the gore cinema and careered down the gap between the stalls, hearing the moans before he even saw the scene. There were three of them. One was already walking away, zipping up the flies on his PVC shorts; another was waiting in line; but the third was on top of Matt. Bound, gagged and tethered with a leash, the redhead had evidently still tried to put up a struggle judging by the blood on his face and the grazes from the cobblestones on his arms and knees. He had no way of knowing that Mello hadn't sent them for him; nothing to go on but his own intelligence, powers of deduction and knowledge of his master's mind. He had fought and they were raping him anyway.

The noise which erupted out of Mello was a cross between a roar and a scream. His own stupidity and failure and rage denoting into an anguished, "He's mine!" With lightning precision, there was a click of metal on metal and the first shot took out the kneecap of the man standing in turn. His victim hit the floor with an agonised, shrill cry, while the bald-headed man, frozen in the act of hitting Matt, stared up in horror. "He's mine! You fucking arsehole!" Mello paced forward; the man tried to run, but Matt kicked out, entangling his legs so he flew over the guide rope and crashed onto the stones on the other side. Mello turned and fired at the PVC clad man running away. He fell forward in a burst of blood and screaming. Mello glared down at the rapist at his feet. Spitting out his words, dripping with venom and menace. "He. Is. Mine." The gun fired for a third and fourth time, both kneecaps shattering with the impact.

"You left him here! This is where..." The waiting man began protesting, but stopped as Mello turned, insanity blazing through his eyes.

"He is mine." Mello lifted his knife and cut through the leash, unwilling to bother with knots pulled too tight with Matt's frenzied bid for freedom. He pulled Matt to his feet and started running, his hand caught under the redhead's arm. They ran until they were in the market square, with its concentration of people and many routes in and out, dodging the coupling bodies on the floor, and out into one of the outer ways. They cut between two stalls, into a place which housed only black bin-liners filled to the brim with rubbish. Mello sank against a wooden wall and pulled his lover tightly into his arms, kissing him fiercely, protectively, possessively. "You're mine! You're mine! You're mine!"

It was here where Matt sobbed helplessly into Mello's shoulder, choking on his tears until Mello unfastened the ball gag and held it dangling down Matt's back. "Ok, Matty, get it out. It's ok." The redhead broke harder. He never could have cried like this in the past, before his total surrender of self to Mello. There was a lifetime of hurt to be released in this submission of mind and psyche. Mello felt their past flashing through his mind, in a jumble of images, charting a journey like a runaway steam train. The early, fumbling hand-jobs; his taking of Matt's virginity when the latter was still a month underage, though Mello himself was only legal by a couple of weeks; the spanking that had led to increased roughness and violence; then dominance and submission; full-blown S&M; Matt's tattoo, a stamp on his arse, which read simply, 'Property of Mello'; the explosion of sexual torture, which had led directly to where they were now. Matt raped in an alleyway, because Mello was too hot-headed to pay attention to details. Too drunk on his own power and too self-absorbed to ask precisely what happened in that place, before he left the man in his care like a sacrificial lamb to the vultures. "Fuck it! Fuck it! Fuck it!" Mello held his slave tightly, remembering when he had been his best friend as well. "We're going home."

Mello waited until he was alone before he broke down too. To be precise, he held off until he was in their shower, where the gushing water would shield from hearing his own desperate sobs. He pounded the tiled wall with bloody fists and moaned with guttural whimpers. He was too lost in his own misery to realise that he was no longer alone, until arms caught and held him. Mello struggled and pushed back, but he recognised the red hair and needed the comfort too much to play his role. There had never been tenderness in their relationship, except accidentally, occasionally, in the frightened aftermath of another violent escapade; but, as the blond calmed, there was tenderness now. Matt silently washing him, with soap and shampoo lathered and gentle strokes.

The tears stopped falling and were wiped from Mello's scarred and unblemished cheeks, leaving behind them cowering hurt in his blue eyes. He had failed in his duty out there and now his slave was here, where he had had neither instruction or permission to be. Matt’s hands caressing Mello's balls and member, raising them into arousal, administering to them with feathery touches, until Mello groaned and forced him to go harder, faster, bringing him to the very brink, before the blond pushed his lover up the wall and claimed him back as his own. The water fell, cleansing, calming and their embrace beneath it a reclamation of some steadier ground.

Mello reached to turn the shower off and his gaze locked onto Matt's. A boundary had been breached here, because Matt had been left handcuffed on the floor in their room. He was a masochist and he loved games, but he could be a Houdini when it came to unpicking locks. When he saw and heard encroaching insanity in the mind of his master, then that, perhaps, was a good enough time to escape his cuffs but, by the rules of the game, he couldn't be bound for another week. Mello nodded. He was a sadist and the challenge had been great, but it needed to be redefined. "You can talk."

"Are you ok?" Matt asked immediately. "Don't worry, please. You didn't fail. It's just a set back and we'll just try again until we get it right." He smiled reassurance.

"Did I even nearly subdue your mind?"

Matt frowned. "Is that what you were trying to do? I did wonder."

Mello laughed. "God, Matty, I've really missed you." He held him close and kissed him, deeply, lovingly. "Next time, we go with my rules. Yours are too hard to maintain." His fingers stroked the soft, wet, red hair. "I'll tie you down and whip you until you're bloody, but afterwards we're going to discuss the intricacies of French post-mediaeval literature. I've missed your mind."

"We'll work it out, Mell." Matt smiled. "That thing we went to tonight, apart from the crap at the end, was really hot." He smirked. "Pretty amazing in parts."

"Whore." Mello tightened his grip in Matt's hair, pulling it cruelly as he bent his head back for another kiss. "Twisted, perverted, kinky whore. Love you."

Matt laughed. "Love you too."

So the great game went on, just with a week's respite wherein the redhead could not be bound or gagged nor left abandoned on a bedroom floor. Some might answer that Matt had won, but then they would have been asking the wrong question.