Ice Angel stood, naked, save for his armbands and the shackles which trapped his slender wrists.

He was aware of sensations - of his bare feet in the thick wool pile of the carpet, the chill of the metal against his skin, and the lingering warmth of the hands that had touched him. Rough hands. Hands that could break him, if they tried.

But the hands had withdrawn as quickly as they had snapped the handcuffs closed.

He could feel his Master's presence, only a small distance away. It was a burning sensation, like the flicker of fire at the edges of his senses. With eyes lowered, he could see only the frayed cuffs of his Master's jeans, boots that were scuffed and reddish-black. But the boots didn't move, and he could hear no sounds save for the slightly ragged intakes of breath.

Ice Angel remained tensed, waiting for some sudden movement -- but none came. Why did his Master make no move? The stillness, the silence made him even more apprehensive than usual.

"Master?" He questioned warily.

But still there was no response, no reaction.

Ice Angel ran through possibilities in his head. Perhaps his master wanted a little more resistance, the illusion of wilfulness from his slave? Some masters enjoyed reprimanding him, disciplining him.

Tentatively, he tested out the cuffs, pulling the chain between them taut slowly, and then with a jerk. The chain rattled and the metal chafed against his skin, solid and unyielding. When his actions failed to get a response, he looked up, meeting his Master's eyes boldly.

They were dark and unreadable, staring at him with a hardness that he could almost feel. Ice Angel darted his tongue out to wet his lips.

This had gone on for long enough. It was time for action.

A lazy smirk blossomed on Ice Angel's face. "Not sure what to do with me now?" He purred. Slowly, he took a step forwards, sucking on a fingertip in mock thoughtfulness. The links of chain clinked as he popped the finger from his mouth wetly. "Perhaps... you are afraid of me, Master?"

The Master's eyes sparked dangerously, and Ice Angel felt a smug sort of satisfaction. The cracks were there. That meant it was possible break the paralysis that was holding him in check, to force him to lose control. "Are you sure you can handle me?"

The Master ran a hand roughly through his hair, pushing it back from his face. So close, Ice Angel thought. Just a little more.

"What is it that holds you back, Master? If you don't think you're man enough to take me..."

With the suddenness of a spring uncoiling, a fist lashed out towards him, connected. Ice Angel's mouth blazed with pain and he tasted blood, even as he was knocked from his feet to sprawl on the ground.

He hitched a breath, and then took another more deeply, trying to calm himself and put the pain aside. It would only get worse, from here on. Carefully, he set his hands beneath him and pushed himself into a sitting position, head still bowed. The loose white hair had escaped from behind his ears and hung over his face, veiling him, and long, beaded braids pooled around him.

The game has begun in earnest, he thought, with a small smile to himself. And he always won. It was only a matter of time before the next blow would fall.

Ice Angel probed his lip with the tip of his tongue as he waited. Split, and it stung, but soon enough it would be the least of his concerns. The blood soon stopped welling, and even the sting subsided, a little. And yet there was no movement towards him, no angry words.

Finally he looked up, to find his Master's back towards him.

He regarded the tight-set shoulders with confusion. Why had his Master turned away? By all rights, his Master should be standing over him, leering, ready to take him or beat him. If he wanted Ice Angel to stand, why hadn't he already hauled him to his feet?

"Master?"

There was no response, and Ice Angel tucked his heels beneath him, shifting enough to kneel. Confusion was paramount, but he knew he had to continue no matter what, until his Master was satisfied, or he was no longer breathing. They were the only two ways out.

He touched a finger to his lip, dabbed it pink with blood, found the smirk again.

"Do you think that was enough to silence me, Master? To shut my pretty little mouth? I think you will have to try harder--"

"Shut up!" The Master spun, hand upraised. He was absolutely furious, and Ice Angel found it difficult not to shrink away. "Just -- shut the fuck up." But instead of the blow Ice Angel expected, he tossed a small object, which landed at Ice Angel's knees. It was a small, silver key.

"Take the cuffs off. Put on your clothes, and go."

Ice Angel's head jerked up, shocked. Go? He was being dismissed? Terror grew within him, spreading like an icy wave from somewhere in his chest. Had he displeased his Master so greatly?

"Go?" He asked faintly. "Go where, Master?" If his Master relinquished his Key, unsatisfied, he would be punished painfully.

"Go! Away from me, I don't give a shit where."

Ice Angel picked up the key, confused and frightened. Was this just another part of the game? Did his Master want to hear him beg to be allowed to stay? It aroused many of his customers to hear him beg, as they revelled in their ability to grant or deny his pleadings on a whim.

He folded the key into one fist and then bent himself over his knees, head pressed against the backs of his hands.

"Please, Master, don't send me away!" His voice rose in pitch, conveying a fear not altogether feigned. "I'm sorry I made you angry, please forgive me. I'll do anything you desire..."

"I want you to go! You're supposed to do what I say! Get the hell outta here!"

Ice Angel could hear the crack in his Master's voice, and feel the anger, rolling in dark waves. He didn't dare look up. "But Master... I'm not allowed to leave these rooms without you."

"Fine, whatever, just get out of this room. I'm going to sleep, and I don't want you coming back in here, wakatta? Get it?" As Ice Angel floundered for a reply, the voice came again, even more insistently. "Get up and get out, NOW!"

The training to obey his Master's commands overcame any hesitation he may have had. He scrambled to his feet, head still bowed. "Yes, Master... I'm sorry, Master..." Ice Angel whispered, and then gathered up his clothes and fled the room.

Sekka remained standing in the middle of the room for some minutes after Ice Angel had left. His hands were clenched into fists and his shoulders shook. He felt cold and sickened, his insides twisting, threatening to spill the little he had eaten. He was furious with himself.

How could he have done that? How the hell could he have done that?

How could he have ever wanted to hurt someone that way, wanted to see them suffer? What kind of pathetic human being was he? How could he have ever wanted to lower himself to the kind of scum that paid money to inflict pain on some dumb kid, just to get off?

And what was worse, what was terribly, horribly worse, was that the kid expected it of him. He'd expected the pain, the blow. Hell, he'd encouraged it, he'd taunted until he'd got a reaction! What kind of sick, twisted place was this, that taught boys how to provoke people into hurting them?

Oh, fuck. The worst thing was that it had worked - he'd lost control of himself and taken it out on Ice Angel. '...Not man enough...' How many times had he been told to shut up and take it like a man, when he'd cried out in pain, or fear? How many times before he had learnt to perfect the sneering, uncaring facade?

But he wasn't a child any more. He was an adult, and responsible for his own actions, which meant that he was no better than those who had used him. No, he was worse, because he'd hurt a kid who had no choice in the matter at all. Not even a whore - whores had some choice, at least. The kid was a slave, his life owned, his body treated like nothing more than property. Very expensive property, but property nonetheless.

It was when he'd seen Ice Angel standing there, naked and so very vulnerable, hands cuffed in front of him, that he'd realised. There had been no fear in him. No resignation. Nothing, except complete acceptance, as if this was the only way he'd ever known life could be. Sekka had realised then how wrong it was, how perverted this whole freaking place was. And he'd found that he couldn't act at all. He'd been frozen, as helpless as if he'd been the one tied and paid for.

Until a match had been struck, to ignite him into action.

And the kid hadn't even flinched. As if he'd been hit so many times that it simply didn't matter any more. That was so utterly fucked up.

Sekka turned and paced across the room, agitated energy coursing through him. He wished he was anywhere but here, anyone but himself. He turned, paced back to the other side, and caught sight of himself in the full-length mirror.

He stopped, staring for a moment, and then slowly walked over to it. His reflection stared back, with dark, impassive eyes. His mother's eyes, so deep and brown. But hers had been so warm and alive, where his seemed dead and cold. Just like his father's.

He reached out a shaking hand to trace the reflection of his face. What had become of the little boy he had once seen there, the one who knew how to smile? When had he become this monster?

He despised what he saw. He despised himself.

And then he snapped back his fist, and put it straight through his reflection.