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Catch the Thunder	By : Rhov Category: +. to F > Fairy Tail Views: 17785 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: Fairy Tail is the property of Hiro Mashima. I make no money, I just do this for my own pleasure.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
Chapter 3
A Cheap Motel

Freed walked out of the club, and he heard heavy boots striding just behind him. No one had ever called Freed short—he was taller than many of his friends, although not towering—however, standing next to this blond god, he felt tiny. He rushed to his car and hurriedly opened the passenger door for the burly strip dancer.
Sharp eyes glared down at him, sending a spiking thrill through Freed's nerves. "I can open a door by myself, ya know."
Freed's mouth opened, but the words caught like a scared mouse in a trap. "Th-The handle sometimes sticks," he said in an excuse, cringing that he was treating Thor with too much attention. A man like this would probably hate basic chivalry. He rushed around to the driver's side and slid in. He waited until Thor buckled his seat belt. Then he started up the engine and pulled out of the strip club's parking lot.
"Turn right," the blond said laconically. "Three lights down, make a left."
"Are we going somewhere?" Freed asked, making the turn onto the street.
"A little place I use. It's the cheapest motel in the city, hourly rates, more or less clean, rents ten bucks an hour to us strippers. That way our clients don't have to use up a crapload of money."
"I'm not a client," Freed insisted.
"Well, it's true that you didn't offer to pay me. I figured we'd work that out when we got there."
Freed's brows tightened. "I don't want to hire you."
"Then ya ain't getting much. I don't do shit for free."
Freed sighed in irritation and decided not to complain. He figured if he could just talk to this man, they could find some common interest, something that could make them friends. He wondered just how often Thor got clients, but he figured it was rude to ask. He probably did not want to know, anyway.
"What's after the left?" Freed asked as he came up to the light. Thor had his hand to his mouth. "Hey, are you all right?"
"Yeah, I tend to get motion sickness in cars. I'll be fine once we get to the motel. Keep straight for a mile. Look on your right for the sign with a neon igloo. That's the one." He went quiet again with his hand fisted up and pressed to his mouth.
Freed smiled sympathetically. So, the almighty Thunder God got carsick, huh? He felt like he was learning new things about this man already.
Not long later, he saw a flickering motel sign. Pole Palace, and sure enough, there was an igloo in white neons with a suspiciously phallic North Pole. Freed parked the car, and the blond practically catapulted himself out of the vehicle. They went in together, entering a little foyer where Thor told the worker they wanted the hourly rate. Freed disliked that the worker seemed to know Thor by sight. Just how often had he come here?
"As usual, the corner room," the worker said, handing the blond a key. "One hour charged to your card now, sir," he said to Freed. "Additional hours are charged at the time you return the key. It's a twenty-four hour time limit. Good evening, sirs."
They walked out and passed by other motel rooms. Some had sensual moans coming out through the walls and windows.
"Prince … nnngh, Prince."
"You're sensitive like usual, you pink bastard. Now, roar for me."
"No, not there. Your hands are too cold. Oh damn, so cold! So good! Oh God, that's … ahhhhh!"
"That's the sexy sound I like to hear from you."
Freed toned out the groans coming out of almost every room. It was like walking past an orgy. (He had that experience once in college, a party he would rather forget ever happened.) He probably could end up just like all of them: a moaning voice in the night, paying for a release of sexual desires. Freed did not want that, though. The thought of hiring Thor, like some cheap prostitute, was repulsive to him. Thor was a god, not a hooker. He wanted to worship this man, bow to him, obey him, but he did not want to pay. He wanted Thor to want his adulation.
"He said this was your usual," Freed mumbled questioningly as they walked along an ill-lit corridor to find the motel room.
"My clients tend to upset other people here," said Thor.
"Noisy?"
"Very." He looked disgusted, but he said nothing more. "If you need to scream, it's fine. The corner room has the best insulation."
Freed frowned. "Scream?"
"You're a masochist, right?"
"I … well, I think I am."
Those narrow eyes glanced down at him, and for the first time Freed saw their natural color. They were a lovely shade of blue.
"So, you're still experimenting with the whole scene, eh?"
"Huh?" Freed had no clue what he meant.
"We can experiment. Tonight, we'll see what you like, how far I should take it, where your limits are."
"Take … it? How far?"
They got to the door, and Freed let them both in. He decidedly did not hold the door open this time, but marched straight in. The room was definitely the worst he had seen. The bed was neatly made, but the walls were cracked and peeling, stains marked the carpet, and the place reeked of cleansers and an overload of air fresheners that vainly tried to cover the smell. He could see why the motel rented hourly. Likely, no one would want to stay a full night in one of these rooms, let alone twenty-four hours.
Thor tossed his coat off and marched over to the bed, not even taking his shoes off. "So, let's work it out now."
"Wait, wait," Freed cried out. "I'm not hiring you for sex."
"Of course you're not. You said you didn't want sex. That's the only reason I agreed. No sex. Straight up BDSM."
"No!" Freed blushed as he remembered what Thor had said about bringing his own supplies. "I don't know if I want that sort of thing."
Thor crossed his arms. "You've been really weird all night. So what do you want from me?"
Freed blushed and looked away. "Not much, I guess."
"Standard spanking?"
"No! Look, I … I don't know if…" He growled in frustration.
"I'm sorry, Greenie," the burly dancer said softly, hoping to calm him down. "I forgot, you're new to this. I've never had someone new. Here's how it works. You decide what you want me to do. I might say no. I don't do a lot of kinky shit. For the things I agree to do, we negotiate a price. I do what you want, for as long as you want. My prices are set for half-hour intervals. No half price if you only last fifteen minutes, got it? You want another half hour, all activities cost you again. So if you want spanked, but then want to be my dog, and thirty-five minutes later you want more spanking, I charge you again."
Freed shivered at the idea that Thor had worked out such a precise system of payment for sexual favors. "Do I have to pay you just to talk?"
"Talk? Like dirty talk?"
"Like … talking. Two people, mouths moving, intelligent conversation."
"Talk is free. Dirty talk is base-rate five bucks."
"What about kissing? Do I have to pay just to have you kiss me? What if I kiss you and you don't kiss back?"
The scarred eyebrow raised high. "What the hell? Kissing? I thought you said you don't want sex."
"I'm not going to pay you for sex, but do I have to pay just to kiss you? If I do, I won't kiss you. I don't want to have to pay you to do anything."
"Not pay … oh shit, I have no clue what you even want." The blond rose to his feet and paced away in frustration. He stopped by the restroom and suddenly spun around. "Is this a game already? Is that the deal? If you're playing I-don't-want-it games, that falls under rape fantasy and that's fifty bucks."
"It's not a game. I just don't want to force you to do anything."
"Look, Greenie—"
"Freed."
The dancer looked over in confusion.
"My name, it's Freed. Freed Justine."
One hand ran through his spiky blond hair. "That name is way too weird to be a cover-up. You know, normal policy is that a dancer and client never learn one another's names."
Freed looked sad and disappointed. "Your name isn't Thor?"
The blue eyes narrowed. "Do I look like a fucking Thor?"
"Yes," Freed answered instantly.
"Well, it's not my name. I don't give out my name. That's some stage name my jackass boss came up with, because of this." He pointed to the lightning-shaped scar on his eye. "Look, someone probably told you about my job situation. That's why you're doing this, right?" He watched as Freed blanched a little. "I'll be honest: it's the only reason I went with you tonight. A kid like you, I would normally turn down."
Freed felt like a rapier had just stabbed into his heart. He remembered what Ice Prince had said about not being Thor's usual type. "Why? Do you not like me?"
"I don't even know you," he snapped. "Besides, I'm not the sort of man you think I am."
"I don't think one way or another. I want to get to know you, so I can make my own opinions. Even if I'm not your type, I thought…" Freed stopped and looked away with a sinking feeling of disappointment. "Well, maybe this isn't usual, but we're about the same age. We could hang out after work, maybe even be friends."
Thor stared at him hard for almost a solid minute of tense silence. "Friends?" he said softly, in total disbelief. Then he yelled angrily, "Fuckin' friends?" He let out a bitter, scoffing laugh. "Dammit, you really are something, kid."
"Please, call me—"
"You're a kid," he roared. "You're a goddamn fucking kid. I bet you're younger than me, and you ain't bad-looking, so why the hell are you hanging out in a gay strip club? It's supposed to be just old men and perverts, and you wanna be fuckin' friends!"
Freed backed up a step. "Is that your type? Old men?"
The stripper froze for a moment, and Freed saw a swallow get stuck in his throat. Then he turned away angrily and took a few steps in the opposite direction. "It's what I normally take. Look, I … I'm not anything at all what you think. Hell, I'm not even gay."
Freed's eyes widened. "Not … but … then why…?"
"I'm a sadist who uses and abuses old men, all right?" he snapped, still looking in the opposite direction.
"Uses? I don't get it."
"My clientèle is extremely limited, but the men who like this sort of thing will pay good money for it. Jellal only cares about numbers, not how much I can make from those few men, since most of that is private, on-the-side money. Jellal only gets his money when one buys a lap dance or V.I.P. room, and those are always just to arrange a meeting after work for … private sessions."
Freed felt uncomfortable hearing all these details about the inner workings of a stripper. "So, why only old men if you're not gay?" he asked in confusion.
"I told you, I'm a sadist, and I don't hit women."
"So you hit old men?"
He chuckled darkly. "I beat the motherfucking shit out of them. They pay a lot for it too."
"But if you're not gay—"
"I beat them. I don't fuck them. I might have done a handjob or two, but I've never once fucked a client. There aren't many men in this town who want that sort of thing, and then they only want it once in a while, a breather, how rich old men deal with stress, so it's not exactly a full-time job. This dancing gig is just to cover bills between jobs and make it easier for me to find new clients. I know how to dance, and I know how to tease without giving a person what they want. That's what I do: tease the old bastards and beat them until they come on their own. They get their kicks; I get to work out aggression."
"Aggression?" Freed pouted, sensing a deeper darkness in this troubled man.
"Do you really wanna know?"
"I want to be your friend, Thor."
"Dammit, don't call me Thor. I hate that name."
"What should I call you, then?"
The blond glanced back over his shoulder and eyed the thin, green-haired man up and down, assessing the level of danger in him. He sensed nothing bad. "I'll tell you why I do it. If you run away, you can keep thinking of me as Thor. If somehow you don't run for the hills, I'll tell you my real name, and we can play this your way."
Freed gave a small nod and braced himself for whatever turbulent past this man had.
"Come here." He beckoned with a wave, and Freed eagerly got closer. Thor pulled off his tight, black shirt, exposing the tattoos. "Look closer, but don't you dare touch me."
Freed kept his hands behind his back to show he would not touch. He inspected the swirling tattoos. They were truly a work of art, such smooth lines that enhanced the shape of his muscles. However, he noticed something odd.
"They're on top of … scars?"
The blond nodded slowly. "I got the tattoos to hide the scars. Shit load of scars, right? How do you think I got them?"
Freed honestly had no clue. The lines were too straight to have been caused by knife fights. "Surgery?"
"Close. My bastard father was a scientist, a real cracked one. He would … do things to me," he said softly.
Freed looked up in horror from the black tattoos to the darkness in the man's deep-blue eyes.
"I was a really scrawny and sickly kid, so he would inject me with things to make me a son worthy of his legacy. Steroids, protein concoctions, Devil knows what shit he used on me. I was the human test subject in his mostly-illegal research. Hell, maybe he was trying to create a super-human like some comic book. One day, he decided mere shots were not enough. I needed something more, something permanent. I still don't know precisely what he did to me. I just know it was … painful." His eyes tensed up with childhood memories. "It's not a time of my life I like to remember."
He pulled away and yanked his shirt back on, covering the tattoos and the scars.
"Luckily, my grandfather realized what he was doing, took me in, and sent my father away. He's an internationally wanted criminal now, part of a whole criminal organization called Raven Tail, rather famous on the INTERPOL lists. I haven't seen the bastard since that time, but I know that if I do, I'll kill him … slowly. I'll torture him over many months, like he did to me, and when I've had my fill of hearing him scream, I'll beat the motherfucker to death with my own fists. That's why I take old men. I pretend they're him, I humiliate them, I whip them, I beat them until they either come or they use a safeword on me, and then I leave. I get out aggression, and I experiment to see what sorts of things I can do, how much pain I can inflict, before they use a safeword."
"Safeword?"
"A word that tells me I've gone beyond what they can handle, something stronger than just yelling Stop. So yeah, that's what I do. Consensual torture. I beat up old men to train myself so I can one day torture and kill my father. If the old men get their kicks in the process, good for them. I don't give a rat's ass what they want or what they think. They're not allowed to even touch me. I don't kiss them, I don't hug them if they cry, I beat their cocks rather than jerk them, and I sure as hell don't fuck them."
Freed nodded thoughtfully, trying to digest this horrific tale. Inside, he was shivering. He truly could not imagine what this man's childhood must have been like with a father who would cut him and do experiments on him.
"Hey," Freed said quietly, "if you ever find that father of yours, let me know. I'd like to get in a few punches as well."
The blond stared at him in shock. "You … you're not … sickened by me?"
"I'm sickened by him, not by you."
"I'm the one beating up old men."
Freed just shrugged. "They're masochists. They like it, and it's how you deal with your emotions."
"I thought you'd vomit and run away."
"I don't run out on friends."
"We're not friends!" the blond snapped.
"Not yet," Freed said, shrugging lightly, "but I care about you."
"You care about Thor, some asshole slut who prances around on a stage."
"I care for whatever man is standing in front of me right now," Freed objected, looking firmly into those oceanic eyes.
The blond's brow tightened at that, crinkling his forehead. For a moment, the two men looked at one another, and a clock ticked away the seconds. Finally… "Laxus. My name is Laxus."
Freed held his hand out to shake. "Nice to meet you, Laxus. My name is Freed."
He snorted a wry laugh, yet he took the hand in a crushing grip. To his surprise, the man held back just as firmly. Laxus raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"You're stronger than you look."
"Thirteen years of fencing lessons builds up your hands and arm muscles."
"You continue to impress me, Freed. How about we go out for drinks? We can talk about something more normal."
"Normal is boring," Freed said with a wily smirk, "but I could use a drink. You laid quite a crapload of stuff on me just now."
"You didn't run away."
"I told you, I don't run on friends. I stay by their side and fight with them. That's my way."
"I like your way," Laxus said in amusement. "Come on, you owe me a drink."
Freed went outside, past the moans and huffing grunts. He walked back to the front of the motel and returned the key.
"That was fast," the concierge muttered.
"We had a misunderstanding," Freed said, smiling happily now that he was slowly straightening things out with this thunder god.
Next Chapter: Whiskey and Gin
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Catch the Thunder