Sex in C Major

"We'll eat it for him."

Stefan took his prescription back, clutching it fiercely.

"I-I did it."

"Yes, you did."

"I did it."

"Yes."

Stefan swallowed. The corridor outside the diabetes clinic was cooler, but his skin felt too hot. The air felt too close. The paper in his hands was thin and precious, and could float away at any second. What if it tore? What if it was stolen? What if he lost it? What if-

"Stefan. Breathe."

"I really need a joint."

Daz's mouth tightened and he plucked the prescription away. Folded it up. Put it in his bag. Stefan watched it disappear with a tense feeling in his chest.

"You don't need any other drugs but that one," Daz said sharply.

His voice grated, and Stefan frowned. "It's it's just weed."

"You weren't on 'just weed' when I came for you."

"That was-no. But I don't need that this time. Just a spliff. Just one. I could go and see "

"You're not going anywhere."

Stefan flared up. His fingers were shaking. He was tense, for fuck's sake, and it was just a bit of weed. It was just like smoking a cigarette!

"You're acting like I'm some kind of drug addict."

"Weren't you?" Daz snapped. "You lived in a flat with a mattress on the floor and no gas supply. You were spending all your money on drugs."

"On T!"

"And the weed."

"I didn't have to pay for it all the time!"

Daz narrowed his eyes. "Why not, were you dealing it?"

"No, I-Dean used to lay it on for me sometimes."

"Sometimes."

Stefan suddenly realised he'd gone too far, and squirmed. "Just-occasionally. I'm not in debt or anything."

"When was the last time?"

It wasn't a question.

"When when I...left."

"What, you just got it for free?"

"I...I didn't..."

"What did you give him for the weed, Stefan?"

It wasn't. A question.

"I-I blew him."

The air turned to ice. Daz's knuckles paled around the strap on his bag.

He closed his eyes.

Breathed in. Once. Deeply.

Stefan could only stand there, mute and scared, knowing he'd gone too far. Knowing he should never have admitted it. Knowing he should never have done it.

"Tell me."

Stefan swallowed. "S-Sir."

"Tell me everything. Now."

"I-I was I wasn't coping. I needed to forget. But I didn't have any money. So-so I offered to blow Dean for-for some weed. And next time I went, he had a friend with him. And I blew his friend for some ket."

"Ketamine."

"Yes."

"You sucked off two strangers-"

"I know Dean!"

"You sucked off two fucking drug dealers for weed and horse tranquillisers."

Stefan swallowed. Dropped his gaze.

"I'm sorry, Sir."

When Daz spoke again, his voice was worse than Stefan had ever heard it. It was worse than the towering rage in his flat that day Daz had come for him. It was worse than the calculating master who was toying with him like a cat with a mouse.

It was pure anger.

Hostility.

Hate.

"You will be." 44

Daz said nothing the rest of the way home.

His face was like thunder. His stride was long and purposeful. But he said nothing-and that, more than anything, had Stefan shaking by the time they turned into the narrow street of terraced houses.

"D-Sir," he tried when Daz unlocked the front door. "I'm sorry."

"You will be," came the cold reply, then the door was slammed behind them. "Upstairs. Spare room. Now."

Stefan went, not daring to argue or hesitate. Daz had always said Stefan wouldn't like being punished. Yannis had said it, too. So what-what was-

Once in the spare room, he stripped, hoping to appease Daz's mood. The room was cold. But he didn't dare so much as sit on the bed. Instead, he folded his clothes on the end of it, and stood naked and exposed, shivering, and wondering what was about to happen.

Would he be beaten? Daz hadn't beaten him yet. And all masters beat their slaves, didn't they?

But Stefan liked the pain of rough sex. So how badly was Daz going to beat him to ensure he'd hate the punishment? Was he would he break something? Would he break bone? Or-

He heard Daz's boots moving around in the kitchen, then emerge and begin to ascend the stairs. Stefan dropped his gaze as they reached the landing, bowing his head. Should he have waited on his knees? Should he

"Bathroom. Now."

For a moment, Stefan felt paralysed by indecision-then dropped to his knees and crawled into the bathroom. The hard tiles were icy under his bare legs. The bright light was harsh. He bit his lip to stay quiet when Daz pushed him against the bath, and stayed limp as his hands were tightly bound behind his back. Picture hanging wire. It bit at his skin, but Stefan stayed resolutely silent

D-Sir would only be angrier if he argued.