He really had to stop thinking like this.
“There,” said Isaac, pushing away his plate and standing from the table. “All finished. Come this way.”
The pieces of the puzzle were about to fall in to place, at long last. Marcus had no idea what the picture would look like when they did, but at least he'd finally have a grip on the situation that had been toying with him for the past few days, so intense that he could barely think of anything else. Part of him wanted to claim exhaustion and excuse himself, pressured by the bizarre, renewed strength of his attraction to Isaac and the fear of what it might cause; of course, he could never really walk away right now.
Isaac led him down a windowless corridor and down some steps - “Beneath the swimming pool,” he advised – and finally came to a halt at a heavy-duty door. It looked almost like a bank vault, with a security pad right beside the entrance. He wondered if it might be a private bank or wine cellar; he knew that wine could be incredibly valuable. But what would that have to do with Marcus?
“Alright,” said Isaac, tapping at the keypad. “The security code is 17421886. If it helps, think of it as the years – 1742, 1886. You'll need to remember this.”
“What's the significance?”
“There isn't one,” said Isaac. The vault door was beginning to slide open. “But it's absolutely vital that you don't forget this code.”
“No pressure, huh?”
Marcus grinned, but when Isaac turned back to look at him, there was no amusement in his face. This was evidently not something he felt playful about.
As they headed into the vault, door ominously open behind them, it felt like they had stepped into another world. The background noise that had been present in the rest of the apartment wasn't audible in here – and a low, generator-sounding hum that Marcus hadn't heard outside was. Clearly, this place was extremely well soundproofed, but that wasn't the primary thing that Marcus noticed.
His eyes fell straight on the chains and locks against the far wall.
“Oh.”
“Chain me up,” said Isaac, slipping his jacket off his shoulders and beginning to unbutton the top of his shirt. Marcus didn't move for a few moments, watching as he discarded the expensive fabric and hung both items up on the back wall. “Now, please.”
Marcus moved forward, uncertain about what was about to happen. So – it was something sexual after all? Some kind of BDSM kink? It seemed odd that they would leave the door open if that was the case, but he couldn't understand what else this might mean. Why else would Isaac want to be chained up? Despite his uncertainty, however, he did as he was told, and secured the metal cuff around one of Isaac's wrists.
He kept his eyes very firmly off the well-cut form of Isaac's body.
“I know what you're thinking,” Isaac said, after a while. “But no – it isn't that.”
“I don't understand.”
“That's the way I'd like to keep it,” he said, lifting his other arm so that Marcus could close the cuff around it, too. “Now, the collar.”
“Are you sure about this?”
“Positive. It's not sexual. I'd do this all myself if it were physically possible.”
With the collar locked in, Marcus stepped back. “That's all?”
“Yes. Tell me the code.”
“Uh...” he cleared his throat. “1742… 1886?”
“Make it a statement instead of a question, Marcus. It'll be an awful pain if you forget.”
He repeated it again, more assertive this time. He doubted Isaac would like it, but he fully intended to key it into his phone as soon as he got back to his room. Better that than let it drift out of his head overnight.
“Good. Lock the vault behind you, then return at 6am to let me out. On time, please.”
“That's all?”
“Ah...” he paused considering. “There's a panel in the wall. Check which playlist is loaded.”
Marcus made his way over, head spinning with the bizarreness of it all. “Uh… classical?”
“Play it for me.” Soaring violins filled the room, and Isaac sank to the floor; the chains were long enough to allow very little movement beyond this. “Alright. You're excused. Goodnight.”
With that, it seemed his obligation was fulfilled. Uncomprehending, he left the vault and locked the door behind him as requested. As the door shut, he caught sight of his employer with his eyes closed. The sound of the violins was smothered as the door locked into place, and they were replaced with a deafening silence.
If Isaac was to be believed, he was alone in the penthouse now. It was an incredible amount of trust that this man had placed in him. That alone was dizzying. He thought of little else but the muscular lines of Isaac's body, folded up against the floor of the vault – and when he drifted off to sleep, every person he encountered in his dream was burdened with unwieldy chains.
Chapter Six
Despite the plush sheets and soft mattress – and the distinct lack of popcorn-throwing roommates – Marcus did not get a good night's sleep. Not by any stretch of the imagination. He was plagued by the idea of forgetting the code and leaving Isaac locked in that infernal room with the chains and the violins, even though he had written it down immediately, and committed it firmly to memory.
The thought of being late terrified him too. Right now, Isaac seemed to think he had bad timekeeping, and for some reason it felt very important to him that this perception be changed.
For some reason, it felt very important that Isaac liked him.
With all that behind him, his hands were curled tight into fists by his sides, white-knuckled, as he made his way to the vault door. Knowing the pool was above them, he felt the weight of the water baring down on him.
He waited until six exactly, then raised his finger to the keypad and dialed in the code.
17421886.
His relief was immediate as the vault door started to give, but it faded back out into concern as he surveyed the contents of the room. He had been expecting to see Isaac much as he'd left him – chained up and sitting on the floor, perhaps still asleep. What he actually saw, however, was something else entirely.
The clothes that Isaac had not removed last night were in scraps around him on the floor, as if he'd ripped them off his body. He looked exhausted in a way that Marcus had never seen a man look, as though he'd lived a year in a night. He was awake, but his eyes were so vacant that you'd be forgiven for wondering if he was one of those people who slept with them open.
“Isaac?” he ventured, taking a few casual steps forward. Evidently the classical music playlist had not repeated, as there was an eerie silence in the air around them. “Are you okay?”
“I'm fine,” he said. His tone might suggest otherwise. It sounded like he'd been screaming. “Press the chain release, please.”
“Of course.”
Isaac's arms felt like branches as the cuffs opened, palms slamming against the open, cool floor. He closed his eyes, finally leaning back. “Thank you.”
“Are you… sure you're okay?”
“I'm fine,” he repeated, getting unsteadily to his feet. He didn't seem ashamed of his nakedness, though Marcus could barely stand to look in his direction. It was enough that he'd already glanced, and confirmed that he was desperately handsome beneath his clothes; it didn't seem the right time to think a thing like that, even as a basic human reaction he couldn't control. There were other things to focus on. “You can go back to bed now, if you like. You look tired.”
“I look tired?” Marcus asked, incredulous. He wouldn't deny it, of course – but surely Isaac understood how ridiculous what he'd just said was? He was fine, but Marcus wasn't? “Isaac...”
“Please leave it alone, Marcus.”
And as Isaac pulled clothes from a drawer that Marcus hadn't noticed, built directly into the wall, he did try to leave it alone. He honestly tried. Unfortunately, he clearly wasn't as well-suited to this job as Isaac had imagined, as he just felt too responsible. He'd been the
one to lock Isaac in this room; he had to accept some of the blame for whatever had happened to the older man in there.
He lasted until Isaac was just about parallel with him, about to head out of the door, and then it spilled out, entirely without permission, and with one hand out to try and halt him. “Okay,” he said. “I'm sorry, I can't. You look like you're in pain, and I know I put you in there, and...”
“Marcus, I'm asking you to stop.”
“I'm not saying I need details,” he insisted. “I don't know why you need to be in there; I'm not expecting to hear anything specific. I just… I need you to know how rough you look right now. Of course I'm going to be concerned-”
“Marcus.”
The air felt suddenly thick between them, filled up with the heat of the anger in Isaac's cool gray eyes. It had been a fast escalation from mild irritation to this, which was almost inhuman – and then, it changed again, in an even less predictable direction.
One second, Isaac's eyes were on him, furious and full. The next, he'd closed the gap between their bodies to press their lips roughly together.
It happened too fast for Marcus to react, hands trapped between them and pressed up against the hot, bare skin of Isaac's chest. He kissed like a wild animal, and not in an unpleasant way. It just reminded Marcus how long it had been since he'd last been kissed; he felt like a virgin all over again, useless against the onslaught of Isaac's brazen sexuality.
Half-hypnotized, it didn't occur to him to pull away – not until it was over. Isaac let him go, lips still close enough to brush together until he finally leaned back. His breath was heavy, the anger finally absent from his eyes.
“I'm fine,” he repeated, into the silence.
Marcus swallowed, and did the only thing that made sense. He stepped closer again, eyes shut and hands uneasy on his waist.
For a moment, Isaac was a statue under his touch, unmoving and disinterested – but thankfully, after that, the reciprocation came. His tired, aching body pressed back in against Marcus's, still shameless in nudity, and the kiss grew rough again. He pushed Marcus up against one of the vault walls, pinning him there with his kiss as much as his legs and his hands. Marcus could feel himself already getting hard with the intensity of the contact, so drawn by this man he was so attracted to, and still knew so little about.
Intoxicated by his touch and taste, Marcus was putty under his hands. There could be no pretense of control on his part. In this moment, he felt he'd follow Isaac off the edge of the building if that was what he asked of him.
“Wait,” said Isaac, rough as he leaned to press a line of kisses across his collarbone. Marcus couldn't even look at him for fear of losing his mind, eyes squeezed tight shut and focused solely on the sensation, and the sound of his voice. “Perhaps we shouldn't.”
“Perhaps we should,” said Marcus, far too fast; Isaac laughed quietly at his eagerness, non-malicious, against his skin.
He pulled back, and brushed his thumb over Marcus's face. Marcus opened his eyes to look at his boss again, if only to work out why he'd stopped. Unfortunately, it didn't yield much information. Isaac was looking at him like he was a species previously undiscovered, like he couldn't quite work Marcus out. It made a change from the self-assured expression he usually wore, as though he understood everything in the universe with equal confidence.
Isaac shook his head, finally stepping away to pick the clothes back up and start to dress. “It's not a good idea. We're working together.”
“I'm fine with that.”
“No, Marcus,” he said – but he certainly wasn't angry now, at least. It didn't sound like a very final 'no', either. “I'm sorry for initiating that. I just had to stop myself getting angry and… it was too easy to get carried away. It won't happen again.”
“It's fine if it does,” Marcus called after him, rooted to the floor with all the surprise of the last five minutes, but there came no answer. All he heard was the sound of Isaac's footsteps getting further and further away down the corridor, carrying him away from Marcus's confusion, and the mystery of the vault.
Chapter Seven
Unfortunately for Marcus, his confusion didn't ease for weeks. Every day was the same routine of restraint and release – though he approached every morning wondering if this would be the time they'd sleep together. It felt inevitable now, like it was only a matter of time before the instinct overcame Isaac again. Marcus certainly didn't plan on resisting when it did.
So far, however, it had showed no signs of happening any time soon. Isaac had blamed the initial kiss on needing to manage his anger, and Marcus didn't really understand that, but clearly he simply hadn't gotten angry again.
The temptation to try to make him angry was, admittedly, ever-present – but so far, he had thankfully managed to resist.
Other than this cycle of hope and disappointment, life had gotten pretty easy for Marcus. Dinner with Isaac remained enjoyable, and they never seemed to run out of things to talk about. He was no longer a slave to the cycle of auditions and open calls; he had been allowed to make a few trips out to pick up his belongings from AJ's, but had not had to set eyes on the jerk since. With luck, he never would again. He spent most of his day in the library or the gym – and sometimes he and Isaac would share the pool, silently completing laps beside each other in the water, ever-conscious of the mystery that lay beneath.
There remained only one snagging point, and it had taken Marcus all this time to work up to addressing it. The time finally came over dinner one night, after a particularly vibrant conversation about what it was like to attend a casting call. Isaac was still laughing from Marcus's last anecdote – and it was, it had to be said, a very attractive laugh. It seemed a good time.
“You know,” he said, finishing off the contents of his wine glass. “As much as I make fun of it, I do genuinely miss it.”
“Surely not,” said Isaac, pulling his glass over to top it up. “It sounds like hell.”
“It is,” he admitted, “but it's not, too. There's a whole community around it; we're all in the same level of hell together. It's kind of exhilarating, you know? The idea that you're about to do something completely terrifying, and maybe something amazing will come out of it.”
“You're more than welcome to put on little plays in the library,” said Isaac, teasing.
“Actually, I was wondering if I could start actually going out and auditioning again for real.”
Isaac's smile faded a little as he finished pouring, pushing the glass back over towards Marcus. He took his time moving the wine bottle back to its original place between them on the table, and getting himself settled back in his seat. “You know it's part of your role not to leave.”
“At all?” Marcus pressed. “I left to get my things.”
“Of course,” said Isaac. “You needed your clothes – your possessions. You don't need to act anymore. This is your livelihood now.”
Marcus shook his head. “It's more than money; it's not a livelihood.”
“Because you never booked a job.”
He furrowed his brow, stung by that unnecessary harshness. Where had that come from? Marcus sat back in his seat. “I was new. I'll get there.”
“Not everybody gets there, Marcus. This job is certain; this is guaranteed.”
“It's not what I want to do for the rest of my life.”
Isaac's expression was steely, and for the first time in a long while, Marcus saw a glimpse of the anger he'd been hoping for in the mornings. Right now, however, the spell was broken. He didn't want to be sitting opposite Isaac, let alone kissing him.
“Perhaps it's all you'll have the opportunity to do.”
“You have no idea how I perform,” Marcus insisted, incensed at the judgment he was hearing. He still knew very little about Isaac, but Isaac didn't know much more about him, and he refused to to accept an insult like that from him. “You have no right to say I won't make it.”
“It's nothing to do with your talent, present
or missing,” said Isaac, testy. “It's about luck. There such a low percentage chance you'll ever be discovered, no matter how hard you work. You're in an extremely beneficial setup here. I don't ask for much in return, and I won't accept any less.”
Marcus shook his head, disbelieving. “There's not even room to negotiate? Not even to leave the apartment for one goddamn day a week to make some auditions?”
“I hired you because I need you,” Isaac told him, failing even to look at him now. “You can meet those conditions or leave. It's your choice.”
This was more than Marcus could take in one conversation, and he stood from the table, meal left unfinished in front of him. “Goodnight.”
“I'll expect you at 10pm.”
“Goodnight,” he repeated, already walking out – ignoring Isaac as he called his name.
The next time he saw Isaac was at breakfast the following morning. He looked worse than usual; there was a nasty fresh cut over his lip, and he looked more hollow and rough than he did most of the time. It gave him a brief pang of guilt until he remembered how cruel Isaac had been the night before. After remembering the sting of his comments, he suddenly didn't feel so guilty anymore.
Isaac broke the silence first. “You didn't turn up last night,” he said. “Or this morning.”
“Well,” said Marcus, failing to meet his eyes as he buttered his toast. “Maybe you ought not to speak to me like I haven't got feelings, and then we'll talk.”
The silence didn't last very long. Isaac sighed into it, admittedly sorry-sounding. “I can't say I feel particularly good about the way I spoke to you. I'll admit that.”
“Have you changed your mind?”
“I never really thought you were incapable,” Isaac insisted, leaning forward in his seat. “I want you to know that. It was just an easy way to make my point. Not the right way to go about it. I know that now, and I'm sorry.”
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