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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
- 8
- 9
- 10
Chapter 9
Always Greener on the Other Side
Laxus had a leather flogger in his hand. In front of him, stretched out with hands and neck bound in stocks, was some fat piece of flesh. He didn't know the name, and he didn't care. The man was familiar, likely some politician or maybe even an actor. Laxus had no clue, only that he had seen this man's face on TV. Now he was just another client, some sick fuck who wanted the God of Thunder to crash apart his world.
Music blared through the room. Rather than the dance tunes at the club, when Laxus worked a client his music was darker, ominous, meant to make the person's heart race and instill fear.
Fear of him! Obedience!
Right then, Metallica's Ride the Lightning was blaring, guitars shredding.
Flash before my eyes.
Now it's time to die.
Burning in my brain.
I can feel the flames.
Normally, this put Laxus in the mood to dole out pain, remembering the past, the pain, the terror, all trust sliced into pieces as his own father hurt him, cut into him with surgical precision, did things to him, experiments that were excruciating, things young Laxus did not understand. Maybe his father's experiments worked. He had been a feeble child, almost died many times from fevers and easily getting injured. His mother had constantly fretted over his health.
Now, he never got sick, he was large, muscular, taller than almost everyone else he knew. People around him whispered about steroids. Likely, that was part of it. Maybe more. Laxus had no clue.
Sometimes, he wished it had not worked. If he was still weak and sick all the time, maybe he would have stayed indoors, studied more, focused on school and friends, instead of being an outcast, everyone terrified of him, roaming the streets just to escape his family life, so consumed by anger that things like an education were secondary to his lust for revenge.
He slapped the flogger over the flesh. Lumpy fat jiggled, and the skin darkened with serpentine red marks.
"Sickening!" he muttered.
Just seeing this man was disgusting. No wonder he never got aroused before. He used to think that just the act of hurting someone should be enough to arouse him, so he thought maybe he was asexual, since none of his clients, nor the women he had dated, stirred him. Nobody aroused him!
Now, he had come to know an athletic body, thin and taut muscles, firm flesh toned with youth and hard work, not saggy and wrinkled like this man. There had never been pleasure in his job before, but now Laxus was intensely revolted.
"Master!" the man groaned.
"You're repulsive," he sneered.
"Yes! Yes, I am, master."
"Shut up!" Laxus cracked the flogger over the flesh. The man groaned in masochistic pleasure, and the sound turned Laxus' stomach.
When Freed had called him master, that desperate whimper had shocked Laxus. Freed said the title as if nobody else in his life would ever be master, only Laxus. Only him! He liked that. He liked knowing there was a man who wanted that sort of exclusiveness.
This fat bastard had probably had dozens of Doms before hiring Laxus. He certainly had a wide variety of devices, his own sado-maso playroom in his mansion's basement, designed to look like a dungeon, so he was experienced in this sort of perverted play.
"The butt plug, master. You promised. Twenty lashes and I can have it."
Gross. Laxus wanted to vomit. This man's flabby ass stuck out, stripped red from the lashes he had been getting all night. Laxus had made the requirement of twenty lashes because he sincerely hoped the man would not make it that far. Either his arm was swinging too gently, or this man's pain tolerance was incredible.
Laxus set the flogger aside and pulled on latex gloves.
He remembered Freed had asked about using gloves. They were because Laxus never knew if these men has diseases. Of course, they all claimed they were perfectly loyal husbands, and they only needed this pain-play once in a while, a breather from the mundane world, the stress of constantly striving for perfection in their aristocratic empyrean. Under the Thunder God's dominance, they could be reduced to a mere mortal, gross flesh, carnal cravings, and escape from all that pressure. Still, Laxus never knew how many whores these men might have on the side. At least three of his former clients had been reported in the news for scandals with prostitutes, interns, or secretaries.
If only the news knew about the male strip dancer those same men had hired to whip and paddle their asses into submission. More than once, Laxus chuckled about how he could write a tell-all story one day and humiliate a third of the politicians in his jurisdiction.
"Master, you're quiet tonight. Are you okay?"
"Shut up," Laxus grumbled.
"You're not insulting me as much, master."
Laxus had the gloves on, but he suddenly grabbed the old man by his graying hair, yanking his head up harshly. "Are you ordering me, bitch?"
"N-No, master."
"Good. Then do me a favor and never call me master again. You are a disgusting, fat, motherfucking sonuvabitch and unworthy of having me as your master."
The man moaned pleasurably at the insult. "Uh, then what should I call you?"
Laxus wondered about that. He only wanted Freed to call him master, and he knew that Freed was the only one he wanted as a slave. These sick fucks were too disgusting to be his slaves. They were pigs, mere fodder, pieces of meat he could hit. However, today he could not keep his mind on the act of taking revenge on his father. His mind kept slipping to green hair.
"Call me son."
The man raised his head and looked back in confusion. "Son?"
"No, never mind." Although that would definitely remind him of his father, if this bastard started to beg for more, then calling him son would be awkward as hell. "Call me Lexus."
"Oh! Like the car? Is that your name?"
"No, idiot," he said coldly.
Laxus grabbed up a butt plug and a bottle of lube. Disgusting cow! He wanted this to be over with already. He wanted to go home, put the whole day out of his mind, and think about that lithe body squirming over twisted sheets. Now, every time he watched porn, Laxus pictured long, green hair sprawled across the bed. Almost every night, Freed haunted him with the memories of him begging weakly and arching up in pleasure.
Laxus looked down. The sweet memories were stirring his pants, but seeing this client, this rich pervert who had to pay money to get this sort of treatment, killed his boner in an instant.
He sneered, "You really are pathetic."
"Yes!" the man groaned.
"Disgusting! Putrid pile of flesh! You couldn't get a nymphomaniac to suck you off."
"Nnnngh! Mas-…"
"Don't fucking call me that! You're not worthy of calling me that. Who would want you as a slave?" Laxus slicked up the plug and rammed it in without any attempt at being gentle.
"Ahhhhh! Mas-… Lexus!"
The name was too close. Shit.
"The vibrator, please, Lexus."
"You are ordering me way the hell too much! Disgusting, greedy fucker!"
Laxus reached to a table with an array of sex toys and picked up a heavy paddle with the word BITCH imprinted on it. He weighed it in his hand, took aim, and slapped it hard over the man's ass. BITCH was left behind amidst bright pink skin.
"You're way below me." Slap! "You're just some needy, pitiful slug." Smack, smack!
"Oh God, yes!"
"Fuck your vibrator! I will beat the shit out of you. That shitty cum of yours. Just shit! Disgusting pimple! Pop your white shit out. Sick fucker!"
Laxus was honestly furious. This was not about his father anymore, though. As he paddled the man over and over, he realized he was angry at himself, at this lifestyle, at the sort of man he had grown to become.
Still, he needed this. He needed to hurt these men. It was like needing food or oxygen. As repulsed as he was by them, they were the only ones he could hurt, because he really did not want to hurt Freed like this. He wanted to give him the sort of pain that tingled all through him. He wanted to hear those desperate moans and watch his face as he struggled to hold back from coming. He wanted that man so much, it drove him crazy.
It scared Laxus, and so he held back on giving Freed a call. Just one phone call and he could have that man!
But if he met Freed while feeling this way, he would want more than just doling out pain and watching the effects. He had loved touching Freed, and then at the end, touching himself, both of them together, taking pleasure in feeling that body writhing between his thighs … something amazing had sparked between them, something sensual, a shared euphoria.
He wanted more!
And part of him feared that desire.
He was still swinging the paddle over and over when he realized the client had cum dripping on the floor. Laxus did not feel any sort of fulfillment. He did his job. He would get a ridiculous amount of money, funds he was saving up so he could search for his father. One day, he might need to pay off police or find one hell of a lawyer when he finally tortured and murdered that bastard.
He had no clue what he would do after that. He wouldn't need these men. He wouldn't need to imagine torturing his father. His quest for revenge would be over. Would he still even be a sadist? Probably, but he doubted the anger issues would still be around.
Maybe he and Freed could settle down somewhere, live a normal life. The guy was apparently wealthy. Laxus could live in luxury. He would not have to work at the strip club anymore. He could read more, listen to music, maybe attend opera concerts with Freed. It was a nice thought.
'What the hell am I even thinking about?'
These sorts of daydreams scared him. He had never known a normal life. How could he possibly expect to fit in with polite society?
Freed was way above him, a fortunate eldest son born into plutocratic privilege. That was why Laxus liked to bring him down, make this green-haired angel just another mortal. Although he pompously claimed the title of thunder god, Laxus knew how simple and miserable his life really was. He wanted Freed to be at his level, to break those wings and bring him down, make him suffer the pain of mortals, if just for a little while, just enough so Laxus could finally touch this emerald angel.
He focused back on the client. He set the paddle down, pulled the plug out, and put it in a dish to be sterilized later. He never dealt with cleanup. When he unlocked the stocks, the man collapsed to the floor, wincing in pain and panting in sexual exhaustion.
"Money," Laxus demanded curtly.
"The butler will have it, as usual, plus a little extra for your silence."
Laxus never asked for hush money, but most of his highest profile clients, particularly politicians, added that in.
The man wiped sweat off his forehead. He was dripping all over his obese body. "Can you help me up, Lexus?" He reached a hand out.
The blond pulled away. Touch that sweat-drenched hand? Sick! "I don't help you. You are an ant before a god, and I don't give a shit about what happens to an insect like you. I'm only here to make you understand: all of your money doesn't change what you are."
"I know," the man groaned, smiling to hear the insults. "Tell me what I am. Tell me!"
"You're a fucking sick bastard who still thinks he can order me around." Laxus put his boot lightly on top of the man's penis. "I could crush you easily, like a cockroach, and not even all the money in the world could buy back what I could steal from you."
The slight pain, humiliation, and degradation made the man shudder erotically. Laxus bet this idiot had no clue that what he really meant was that, with one well-placed call, he could end this man's perfect outward appearance, shatter his happy family life, ruin his reputation, and socially end him.
Laxus turned and strode out of the room, ripping off the latex gloves and throwing them over his shoulders. He knew already, he would never agree to see this man again, not since he knew a name that was too damn close to Laxus' real name. He was rich, he obviously had years of collecting BDSM gear, he would find another Dom in no time and hopefully forget all about Lexus.
At least it was not master anymore. Laxus never wanted these filthy pigs to call him master again.
Right now, he just wanted to go home, put on some porn, lean back in bed, and stroke off to thoughts of creamy limbs bound with his belt and verdant hair sprawled across the pillows.
Freed was sitting in his dorm room trying to study a business model, comparing the class project instructions to what he had written up, and cross-referencing that with three textbooks and something he found online. Flute music played over his iTunes. He now had a large collection of classical flute music pirated off websites. If he ever got to go driving with Laxus again, he wanted a whole soundtrack to ease the man's motion sickness.
He paused. Just thinking about Laxus made him want to reach down and stroke himself, but he really did not feel like dealing with that, not when his roommate could come home at any time. Not for the first time, Freed wondered if he should look into off-campus housing before his graduation. He could easily afford an apartment, and he had a car to drive to school. Living in a dorm with a roommate was supposed to be part of the whole "college experience." Instead, it was annoying and distracting, especially when he wanted to quickly jerk off so he could focus back on school work.
He sighed, shoving Laxus out of his head. The man had not called or texted him, and he wondered if maybe he would never hear back. Was he just another person in the prolific escapades of the strip dancer? Was it all just some incredibly elaborate dream?
No … he had the butt plug, cock ring, leather pants, and male thong to prove that their night together really happened. Those were hidden away so his roommate would not see them.
Freed focused back on his homework. He wrote in a few notes to adjust the statistics, when suddenly his door was kicked open, followed by laughter.
A man with orange hair swaggered in, obviously drunk, with two ladies on either arm. They were young and incredibly gorgeous, but the sight of them made Freed immediately on guard. He felt this had to be some sort of karma, feeling wary of women yet winding up as the roommate of the campus's biggest playboy, Loke.
"Freed, dude, whatcha doin', roomie?" Loke asked. The two ladies had their hands all over him. One was already trying to unthread his belt, eager for the fun to start.
"I live here," Freed said blandly.
"It's Saturday. I thought you hit up one of your twink clubs on Saturdays."
Freed flinched. Loke was usually really cool about Freed's homosexuality. "More chicks for me" was what he said laughingly when they were first put together as dorm-mates. However, Freed could smell the booze from his desk. Loke was drunk, and he often did not realize what he said when intoxicated.
"Gay, huh?" one of the ladies purred, eyeing Freed, making him feel even more on edge. "Care for a foursome? I wouldn't mind watching two hot guys going at it together."
Freed coldly stared at her. "Are you serious?" he said bitterly.
"Whoa, easy there, kitten," Loke laughed to the buxom blonde. "Freed is one hundred percent all boys club, no girls allowed."
"Do you two ever…?" she began to ask.
Freed slammed his folder shut, turned off the music, and tapped a few keys to screen-lock his computer so no one would tamper with it. "You have until two AM when the bars close, Loke. Either they're gone, or all three of you are asleep. And not on my bed!" He began to walk past, but he leaned over to his roommate. "And just so we're clear after last time, I do not make breakfast for your girls."
"I know, dude, I get it. You're a pal. Go out, have fun, live while you're young, or you're gonna end up as some old geezer paying dudes to blow you."
The girls laughed at that, but Freed stormed out. For some reason, that comment made him remember Laxus. Was he out there somewhere with one of his clients?
He kept trying to assure himself, Loke meant well, and he did not know about Laxus yet. Freed had no clue how to even begin explaining how he had hooked up with a stripper, and he was not even sure if he and Laxus were really together. Freed knew that Loke meant nothing by the comment. He just made a really bad drunk, and when it came to ladies, the man was an animal.
Just after he shut the door, Freed heard Loke say, "Nope, sorry kitten, but that's Freed's bed. Don't touch his stuff. He's a good friend."
Hearing Loke respect his privacy made Freed smile, reassuring him that, indeed, Loke was a fairly decent roommate…
"The fun is over on this bed. So, which one wants eaten and which one wants to ride the lion?"
… An insatiable male pig, but a decent roommate.
Freed yanked his coat on. It was drizzling outside, so he took one of the umbrellas the dorm provided. It was dark at 8PM now, and he was not really sure where he could go this late at night. All around Magnolia University, weekend parties were going on. There was some sort of sports game out by the stadium. Was it football season? Freed had little interest in sports besides fencing. He thought about heading to the 24-hour gym and getting in some workout time, but eventually he began to wander a route he knew well.
Laxus was late to work yet again. It wasn't like he had to put on any special clothes or have makeup done before his dance like some of the people in the club. Still, when he entered the backstage of the South Pole Club, he already heard Talking Heads' Popsicle playing, which meant Gray had begun his show.
"Dreyar!" a voice boomed. Only one man called Laxus that. He slowly turned and glared at Jellal. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"
"Not time for my dancing," Laxus said softly.
"Your shift began an hour ago."
"I don't need to primp myself like some of these whores," Laxus said, not caring if other dancers heard him and took offense. Most were already too drunk or high to care anyway. "I don't start making you money until the light on that stage turns yellow."
"You don't make me money period," Jellal shouted. "That's the problem. I gave you a second chance when I saw that green-haired mouse. He was a regular with lots of cash, but he hasn't been back since that day. Did you scare him off? You didn't hurt him, did you?"
"No!" Laxus shouted, angry he would even accuse him of that.
"I don't want another one of your clients calling up here because you left him beaten half to death."
"I didn't do that to him," Laxus insisted furiously.
"You drove away a regular. You're not making this club money. Do you know what you're doing? Wasting my goddamn time! Using my reputable stage to prostitute yourself in the hopes that you'll get another filthy rich masochist. Do you really want me to threaten to blackmail one of your mewling submissives for money just to pay for the goddamn medical insurance I have to buy for you?"
"Threaten the wrong one, and you'll end up with this club repossessed and your license to sell alcohol revoked permanently." Laxus leaned into Jellal. "I can do that with just one snap of my belt. You don't threaten my clients, got it? Some of those bastards are more powerful than you can imagine."
"The fact remains," Jellal said coldly, "you're not making the club money. You're a waste of showtime. There are lots of pretty little boys out there happy to take up an offer to dance at this club, pleasure a few men, and get paid to do what's enjoyable to them. I know for a fact, you take no pleasure in men. Or women, for that matter." Jellal leaned in close and threatened, "I could replace you like that," and he snapped his fingers.
"Only with the street whores you bribe with weed, or people who your bastard twin brother manages to get out of prison sentences and have them work here as fucking indentured servants. I know that's how you snagged your claws into Gray. Lyon too. You bribe them or blackmail them. Not many come here willingly. I did!" he said, thumbing his chest. "You ain't got shit on me."
"I can still fire you. Work your ass on that stage, and I want you circling the floor. I'll even make an announcement: they can take you for a free spin tonight, but all tips are mine today."
"What?" Laxus roared. "You bastard…"
"Then hope someone buys a lap dance. Manage to get that, and you can keep the tips. Until that happens, you work the floor for free. See if that tames you some. If they realize you aren't as scary as you try to seem, maybe they'll buy more dances with you in the future."
"Fuck you!"
"Watch it," Jellal warned sternly. "Just because you came to this club on your own terms, just because you're not gay, just because you don't actually have sex with your clients, realize this, Laxus Dreyar: you are just as much a whore as the kids in this club who started off blowing old men in back alleys for a twenty. Right now, you're my whore. Now get out there, dance like Bob will give you a blow job if you don't perform like fucking Fred Astaire, and then get your ass onto the floor. Now, I have an announcement to make before your song starts. I get to tell those gentlemen that the Thunder God is free to play."
Laxus had half a mind to walk right back out of that club and go home. However, nothing waited for him there. He hardly had anything to convince him to keep waking up in the morning. Especially since Freed had not been back to the South Pole Club, coming to work was no longer enjoyable.
He had noticed long before that fateful night that there were a set of eyes on him in the audience. He thought of the man as simply "Greenie." Hardly realizing it, he had begun to dance for Greenie. He danced knowing that someone was enjoying it. He aimed most of his pelvic thrusts in the direction of those eyes in the dark that gawked with arousal. He did not even notice this until those eyes were gone, the darkness was empty, and no one cared if he gyrated in time to the music or not.
He heard Jellal make his announcement. Fucker! Knowing it was free, he would probably have to keep giving lap dances all night long. He hated that part of the work. He did not mind the dancing, but getting right up close to people … he wanted to beat the crap out of most of those men, and it was hard to hold back.
Gray came backstage, shirt missing, only boxers on, using a towel to wipe away the sweat from his hard performance. He went straight over to Laxus.
"Did you piss in Jellal's bourbon? He's never been this livid just because you show up two minutes before showtime, so long as you're on the stage when the music starts."
Laxus glared at the bright stage and the darkness beyond. "Why do you work here, Gray?"
"Eh?" He paused his wiping as he thought about that question. "I like it here. I like to dance, the money is good, and Pinkie isn't so bad. He's here again tonight."
"Do you love him?"
Gray's eyes widened. "What? Nats- … I mean, Pinkie?"
"Does he know your name?"
"Why would you ask that? You know Jellal's rules." He realized he was sounding desperate.
"Gray, you're here because you broke some rules, Siegrain got you out of jail on a technicality, and he told you to work off your lawyer fees by dancing here. You've paid Siegrain back, yet you're still here. You're a damn good dancer. You could dance professionally. And that pink brat, he seems devoted. You two could make a life together."
Gray looked aside just as Lyon passed by down the corridor. "It's more complicated than that," he muttered, watching the white-haired fellow stripper.
"He seems like a good guy. You've had him as a client five times this month alone. Do you ever do it for free?"
"F-Free?" Gray echoed fearfully.
"Do you ever feel attachment? Fondness? Love?"
"Laxus, what the hell?" Gray shouted, fisting up his hands to keep from shaking. These were taboo things to ask. The club's rules for strippers were absolute, and Jellal had fired people for forming a relationship with a person and becoming exclusive.
Laxus looked down with uncertainty in his face. "If Pinkie stopped coming, would you quit?"
Gray's mouth dropped in shock. "Wait, is this about that greenie kid? You and him … are you two…?"
Before he could ask, and before Laxus could decide what to tell him, the stage went dark. Jellal walked into the wings. He glared at the two dancers.
"Ice Prince, your dragon is waiting. Thor, I want sparks to ignite that stage! Fucking Mjolnir sparks, got it?"
"Whatever," Laxus grumbled.
"Oh, and Bob caught me just before I went on stage. Apparently, whatever god a thunder god prays to, it worked. You have a request. You're still working the floor for free, but go to that client first. He ordered a VIP room too."
"How long?" Laxus asked laconically. If it was a VIP room, it was likely one of his old geezers who he beat up sadistically. Right now, he could really use the stress relief.
"Believe it or not, a whole hour. You're still working the rest of the time on the floor, got it?"
"Whatever," he muttered again, and he walked out.
The lights were off, the club was pitch black, but Laxus knew this club well. He did not need lights to know where center stage was, where the pole was, and where was the edge of the stage. He took his usual stance and readied his mind. It was time to be the Thunder God.
The flashing strobe light and roll of thunder over the speakers helped to set his mood. When the music started and the lights blinded everyone in a sudden flash of yellow, Laxus had his eyes already gazing out fiercely. He could not see anything at all in the seconds following the flash of all the stage lights. That was fine. There was nothing to look at in the crowd anyway.
As he began the first set of dance moves and his eyes slowly adjusted, he thought he saw a piercing gaze in the crowd. He tried to look out. Sure, there were many people vying for him, especially since it had just been announced that he would be free later on. He saw nothing in particular, but he distinctly felt a solid stare from somewhere in the darkness.
He was in the middle of the chorus when those eyes caught his attention again. It was his imagination, right? He almost forgot to dance, but now his attention was to a side booth … the same booth as always. The stage lights flashed to another cymbal crash in the song synced with a thrust of his pelvis, and in the light he saw the gleam of green hair.
He was here!
Despite himself, Laxus smiled in the middle of the song. His eyes would not leave Freed's. He danced for Freed. He spoke to him through his body. He showed off, hoping Freed would like what he saw. All of his mediocre dancing was gone. He had a real audience now, someone who gazed at all of him, not just the bulging muscles and thick lump in the leather pants. He had a reason to look sexy now.
As the finale came up and Laxus began to unzip his pants, sliding that zipper lower and lower, he turned his body away from center stage. Maybe people on the other side of the room got a worse view, but Laxus didn't give a shit about them! He was showing that hidden treasure to just one man in that room, because only one man in the whole world had made him feel a stirring down there.
He added one little maneuver to his dance. He stroked sensually down the root that the leather pants just barely kept tucked away, and he nodded with a wag of the eyebrow to Freed.
'This is yours. Yours alone. You want it? Here it is. Beg for it!'
Then the lights went off, and Laxus rushed off the stage. He zipped his pants back up while backstage and yanked his shirt on in a rush.
As he began to walk by, another dancer, Lyon, was coming forward for his show. "Hey, Laxus, I saw you talking to Gray earlier and—"
"Be jealous another day," Laxus said dismissively.
He rushed into the audience. Plenty of hands reached out to him. Some flat out propositioned him.
"I've got someone first. Keep hot and ready for me," he said to these men, wishing he could beat the shit out of every one of them.
He walked up to Freed. The man smiled enigmatically, and it made Laxus uncomfortable.
"Ya wanted a VIP room, right?" he asked gruffly.
"Yes. I'm not sure where they are," Freed answered, sipping his martini, looking perfectly calm on the outside, but Laxus noticed the way a vein that ran up his pale, slender neck throbbed rapidly.
"Follow me." Laxus turned and walked away, struggling his hardest not to break out into a massive grin.
Next Chapter: "VIP Room"
A/N: Songs mentioned in this story include "Ride the Lightning" by Metallica and "Popsicle" by Talking Heads. I do not own either songs.
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Catch the Thunder