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Chapter 5

The Wolves dropped Othello off in the hospital parking lot. With plans to think on things and meet up in two days. He was given his first mission: to "Manifest". Make something of the Spirit exist in the Material. Tangible and visible to them. Frustrating, considering his childhood would likely be very different if he had any idea how to accomplish this.

With the passing of the full moon, the Fog, or Shroud, or whatever had started to fade from his vision. It was a relief. Maybe the weirdness would die down...

But he had to wonder if that's really what he wanted.

Sure, he could go back to suppressing it all. His knowledge of monsters. The knowledge of his "condition". This new validation of it all.

What made him special.

He laughed, there in that parking lot. Like a madman, he laughed at the great cosmic joke that was his life. He hadn't noticed Angel until he found himself staring down into the watchful sub's eyes.

"Master?" Angel asked from his kneeling position. "What is it? Why are you out here?"

Othello let his boi fret him back up into his room and back into bed. He told Angel everything. The Grim Doctor, the Wolves, he did leave out their offer, though, as Angel knitted his brows and grunted.

"You don't believe me..." Othello sighed.

Angel scowled, but nodded. "Please, Sir, speak with your therapist first."

Othello threw his hands up. "THEY ARE REAL, ANGEL!" He shouted. "They're real, and... and I have power over them! I can affect them now!"

"I need you..." Angel ventured slowly, "To consider, for a moment, okay... that your wolves were... hobos, or a dog-fighting ring... or a cult? Maybe a combination of the three."

"Wow, skilled mental gymnastics, my pet!" Othello sneered.

"Sir, I need you safe, and stable... To keep me good, remember?" Angel's pale blue eyes were starting to shimmer. "I love you, and I need you to be well..."

Othello laid back, glancing away to think. After a moment, he took Angel's head in his hands and touched his forehead to his boi's. "Consider this," Othello muttered. "I was never better. Never well. The delusions were ignored for awhile, but never went away. But now that I can fight it, maybe I can cope."

"So... fighting them..." Angel said softly, looking into his man's eyes, "Treating Them like a challenge, instead of ignoring Them... Helps your recovery...?"

"It's the only thing that's worked," Othello said. "It will make me better... US better. Okay?"

Angel's eyes squeezed shut, and tears rolled. "You're scaring me, Sir..."

"Believe it or not, I'm scared, too..." Othello kissed the tears away, "Will you see me through this?"

Angel piled all six and a half feet, and two hundred and ten pounds to pin his Man, enveloping him in bulk. "Of course, Sir... I'm yours," he sniveled. "I'm yours, and I'm proud..."

"And you're scared... are you sure?" Othello wasn't sure he could bring Angel into this journey. If Angel was right, then Othello was dangerous, to himself and possibly to others, right? If Angel was wrong... Then he was in even more danger by staying close to Othello. "Please, boi... I need you to be sure, because I'm not. Like, at all."

"I love you, Sir..." he smiled tearfully. "I'm sure you need me, and I want to be here for you. When I'm not, I'll run away. I'll protect myself, I promise."

That had to be enough. "I love you too, Angel..." Othello sighed. "I don't say it often enough, but I do love you..."

"Thank you, Boss," Angel squeaked and curled tighter. "Can we go home, now...?"

"Yeah," he started shoving at the blonde. "Let's go where shit makes sense..."

"Okay," Angel sighed.

* * *

Shit makes sense here.

Where the scents of leather and sweat and surrender turn the air into thick soup. Where pain is spice and pleasure is honey.

Angel made sense, down on his belly, clad in only a jock-strap, sneakers and socks, shining the side of Othello's boot with his tongue. The way he gripped Othello's calf and heel made sense.

Othello, standing over the beefy back of is boi made sense. The weight with which he pressed down on his back with his other boot, making Angel moan, made sense.

He had the power. The power gifted to him by this willing slave. He twisted the belt in his hands, and pressed down harder, making it hard for Angel to continue his worship.

Undeterred, Angel kept up his strong, slow licks, even if half of it was drowned in carpet. He whimpered, though, and made his Master's blood fizz. Othello bent at the waist to loom over his sub. "You ready, boi?" He purred.

"Ahhhn!" Angel moaned under the increased weight, and scooped his knees under him to raise his ass high. "Yes, Master... Please."

Othello lashed the belt over the mound of pale flesh. Angel yelped and each muscle contracted to stand out. Angel moved to slobber over the textured criss-cross of his Man's bootlaces. Meaty hands clutched at Othello's calf-muscle.

"Thank you, Sir!" Angel groaned. "May I have some more?"

Othello's nostrils flared, as he breathed in that moment.

The lashes fell, slowly at first. However, it wasn't long before their little efficiency apartment rang with cries from the submissive, punctuated with the sharp SNAP of leather.

SNAP! Angel lurched, flexed.

SNAP! Angel squirmed and writhed.

SNAP! Angel Convulsed and started to gasp between shouts.

SNAP! All the while, Angel never stopped licking.

Othello finally stopped to admire the hot-pink streaks he'd left behind, and the deep blush that spread from Angel's neck to his shoulders.

His eyes traced those sweetly hot patterns and felt mirroring tingles along his own back and shoulders. It felt so good...

He gripped Angle's golden curls and hoisted his boi up to his knees.

That rosy flush was bright on his cheeks, highlighting the cool blue of his eyes. They sparkled when he cried.

"You're beautiful, my Angel," Othello raised his chin and leaned down, taking Angel's lips

between his own.

Angel craned up and moaned. Begging for the kiss to deepen. Othello pulled back, taking his lower lip in his teeth and tugging. Angel sighed relieved. The pain releasing the last few days' tension.

"Your gear," Othello growled. "Suit up."

Angel brightened, and scurried to the closet. He rummaged while Othello Pulled on the leather chaps over his jeans, and the bulldog harness tight over his dark chest.

When Angel returned, he presented his Dom with a hood and leather wrist and ankle cuffs.

Putting on the restraints was very much a ritual. The left cuff goes on, and Angel's left arm belongs to Othello. The right goes to the Master when he tightens that cuff, too. When the ankle cuffs were cinched, Angel felt himself sink into a certain sort of peace; there was no pressure to think. There was no "Angel" here. Just an extension of Him. Extra limbs to do his Master's bidding. This is where he was most at peace.

A Sensation-powered automaton.

"Welcome back Sweetness..." Othello cooed. With the utterance, Angel's transition was complete.

"My Master..." Sweetness huffed hungrily. "What do you wish to play, Lord...?"

"Present!" Was all Othello said. Angel promptly turned is back and grasped his ankles. His lush, still-rosy cheeks framed the winking pucker in between them. The sight was among the few things that could bring the Leather Master to his knees.

Not to worship, but to feast. His mouth clamped around the boicunt and, sucking gently to form a seal, began to slurp greedily at the fleshy hole.

Sweetness began to shiver, mewling out happily. His hole flexed against his tongue and tugged at the seal. He leaned back to grind himself against his Master's face.

Othello breathed in that scent of sweat and soap and shoved his tongue into the carefully trained hole for the taste of freshly cleaned ass. He couldn't breathe like this, but he didn't really want to. He was starving for this.

His skillful tongue rolled into each crevice, stretching and filling parts at a time. Hungry growls gave the sensation the barest of vibrations. Sweetness panted as his hole rubbed the tongue right back, forcing his walls into contact with the rolling tongue. Tender nerves eager to feel the intruder.

Othello ate out his boi with further voracity, clutching those cheeks to force them out of the way. His fingers dug and Sweetness gave a sob-like moan. This continued until Othello's lungs begged for oxygen. Upon coming up for air, instead of swallowing, Othello spit the accumulated saliva over His boi's hole.

"Yes, Sir!" Sweetness moaned out. "Sir, fill it up, please..."

Othello ignored him, growling as he landed a firm smack on Sweetness' ass. It jiggled and the slave yelped before pleading again for his hole to be stuffed.

Othello wanted to, they both knew it. They both knew he would. But the timing wasn't right. They were just warming up.

"Hands," Othello barked.

Sweetness had his arms behind him immediately. Othello positioned them so the other was almost touching his elbows. He unlaced his boot and used it to tie his boi's shackles together. "Now. Kneel."

Sweetness fell heavily to his knees. Then spread them, pressing his chest to the floor. "Hurt me, Daddy... Make it hurt good..."

Two fingers plunged in. The soft, tender walls of the trained hole were almost moldable under Master's touch. The stretched and ripe tissue of the sub's walls responded to every manipulation. Not like when they'd first begun a year ago, when Angel's walls could only feel friction. This is what practice and conditioning do to an ass; make it into a fuck-hole.

"M-Master is... Making boi's hole... so hot..." Sweetness gasped. "Make it wet, Sir! Make it ready, please!"

This time, Othello obliged. Spreading his fingers against the natural resistance of a tight anus. Sweetness ate it up, even as the fingers forced him to gape the tiniest bit. Othello turned his wrist and hooked the fingers, rolling knuckles over the bitch-boi's spot.

"Ohh my god!" Sweetness drawled loudly. "Yessssssss...."

Othello tugged, almost as if intending to slowly draw the bitch inside out. But the walls only gave so much. His fingers slid against them to pop free of the entrance.

"Alright you..." Othello murmured. He stroked his boi's aching red ass. He mounted up, pressing the shaft between his cheeks. Sweetness moaned, and arched his back, trying to grind himself backwards.

"P-put it in!" He mewled. "I need it, Sir!"

Othello grinned and obliged, plunging in hard, almost too hard.

Angel yelped, "It h-hurts!! More!!"

Sweetness was already sweating, Othello worked himself into his own glossy sheen, working his boi with slow, deep thrusts. The way his boi's hole fit him so wetly. Restraint was difficult.

"Heaven..." Othello growled. He gripped his slave's hips and jerked him back into every thrust so those cheeks bounced and rippled, before easing Sweetness up his shaft again.

Sweetness yelped and begged and praised. He was helpless under Othello's assault. He moaned and thrashed. Othello was speeding up, and slipped into a rhythm that drove him deep enough to pop his tip someplace that caressed it lavisciously each time.

It was at this point that the steam rose; like the mists of Fog-Week. It coalesced from Othello's skin to eat over Angel's skin, seep into his pores, and fill his nostrils. Othello felt like he could better experience Angel more. Almost taste his firing nerves. Lap up the bursts of energy issued just before each moan.

Steadying his breathing, Othello began to imagine he could encapsulate those bursts, collecting the energies into Angel.

"M-Master!! It's t-too much! It's too good! IT HURTS!!" Angel drooled helplessly.

"I know, baby... I've got you... You've got this..." Othello cooed, sliding that energy down into the pit of Angel's gut. That was when he broke through, into Angel's inner-hole, touching that gathered power. The boi's true boi-cunt. He couldn't stay above the sensation anymore. He dove in. Popping the pud in and out of that special place inside his favorite toy. "Fuck, I'm g-gonna cum!"

"Ooohhhh!!!" Angel pleaded. "DO IT MAN! F-fill it up! Please...!" Angel slumped, opening himself up to his Master completely.

Othello slammed his dick as hard as he could into that gathered light and roared out triumphantly. That blob of energy burst, igniting the nerves in both men.

They came together.

* * *

"Master..." Angel murmured, finally coming up out of the scene enough to speak. "May I ask you something?"

"Sure, sweetness..." Othello huffed through a cloud of cigar smoke. The two lay together in bed, wrapped up in blankets as the adrenaline leaving them lowered their body temperatures.

"Why are you so afraid of Them?" Angel held up the bowl-like ashtray.

"THAT'S a hell of a thing to ask!" Othello laughed. "They ARE monsters, after all!" He laughed more, mocking Angel's apparent stupidity.

Angel blushed, but waited patiently. When the laughter died, he asked in a softer voice; "then why aren't you afraid of me...?"

"Baby, we've been through this," Othello grumbled. "You were a bully, not a monster."

"I WAS, though!" Angel protested. "I hurt people. Badly. For FUN."

"You were following a crowd," Othello snorted, already sick of this conversation.

"I was LEADING that crowd!" Angel pressed.

"YOU WERE PATHETIC!" Othello barked. "You ran with a herd, you were ripe for brainwashing by those extremist FUCKS. I have far better things to fear than a batch of half-baked racists who were out to prove a point!"

"I was going to murder you." Angel said flatly.

Othello had no response to that. "Liar."

"I still could," Angel rolled over to pin the his Dom and wrap meaty hands around Othello's throat. "I could squeeze, and watch you turn purple. You'd never puff on those reeking cigars again, Sir."

When Othello tried to do just that, Angel's grip tightened, cutting off his air. Othello's eyes went wide. Why was Angel doing this NOW?! He looked up into those blue eyes and saw... well, there was no way to describe that look. Not rage. Not hate. Nor love, or submissiveness.

Othello flung the cigar away and grasped Angel's thumbs. He bent them backwards, forcing Angel's grip open. Othello lunged up as hard as he could and felt the bridge of Angel's nose break against his forehead.

Angel rolled back, screaming as he held hands to fis freely bleeding nose. Othello was on him in an instant with the riding crop in hand. He stuffed the end into angel's mouth, silencing the screams with a gagging sound.

For a moment, there was silence, just Othello's ragged breathing. He refused to cough. Instead, he rasped out:

"I'm not afraid of you..." he panted, "Because everyone can see you for what you are. Because I know what the tattoos under those blonde curls mean. Because without them, you are weak. You are nothing. I know you, boi. I know you."

"So why not turn us in?!" Angel grasped the crop and pulled it out of his mouth. "Everyone else would have thrown us away after kicking our asses! Everyone I've ever known has given up on me! SO WHY NOT YOU!?"

Othello's head started to pound. "Maybe I just thought you were cute."

"You wouldn't have destroyed me the way you did if you thought I was cute, Tell."

Othello thought on that for a moment. "I saw how cute you COULD have been..." He

lay down over his boi. "I hated the wasted potential you were striving to be."

Another silence. The two just held each other, acknowledging the mutual fear of the other. "Do you resent it, baby...?" Othello whispered.

"No, Sir," Angel answered immediately. But then, "... Not as such... But I do at times wonder if I could have saved myself, you know? I wonder... if what I am now could survive without you."

"Do you ever want to?" Othello sat up. "This only works as long as you want it to, man." The last word was a clear and sharp break in their roles. They weren't Master and slave now. Angel knew he could speak freely and honestly.

"I'm committed to you, Sir..." Angel smiled, reasserting the desired roles, "I don't want a break. I don't want to leave. I want to be around to keep you good and safe. The same way you want to be here for me."

"You wouldn't lie to me about this, would you, sweetness?" Othello touched their foreheads together. "You don't get to lie to me over this, baby boi..."

"Of course not, my Man," then he smiled. "My ideal vacation is a full week of service as your cabana-boi."

The two laughed at that. Expanding on the details developed into making plans to dip into their savings. The world righted itself again. "You and I, love, will revisit this, but I want you to be confident that you don't need this to survive. I keep you because you are a good man. I need to believe that you are. In the goodness at your core... I didn't create it. And sometimes, I need to know that you're not... totally broken, you know?"

"I am yours, Sir. If I can offer you the goodness you see, It'd be an honor," Angel muttered resolutely. "So..." Angel ventured after a moment, "If you can fight them... If they have the power to make you afraid... isn't there potential in them as well?"

Othello gave a small gasp. He remembered the Wolves' Salamander.

They could be used... if they could be Dominated!

"Oh, baby boi!" Othello propped himself up, looming over Angel with a renewed hunger. "That brain of yours is your hottest feature. And that's saying something!"

"Master..." Angel used a small voice now. "You're h-hard again... Please. Use me?"

He did.

At least, until the forgotten cigar burned a hole in the carpet.