Delay

Disclaimer: They don't belong to me. I wish they did - oh, how I wish they did...

The business meeting had gone well. Not quite as well as Arcane had expected, perhaps, but nevertheless it had reached a satisfactory – and certainly financially beneficial – conclusion. The first phase, at any rate, which had been to discover what the potential clients wanted, when they wanted it, and how much they were prepared to pay. After dinner he'd faxed the information back to the complex for the accountants to review, with instructions to contact him with their assessment by six tomorrow morning, so he could give the new clients a firm decision at breakfast.
     Dinner had been adequate – Houma was only a small place, and couldn't boast the amenities of a larger city. The clients, one representing an obscure arm of the military, the other a major agricultural concern, had been forgiving and properly respectful, obviously keen to acquire Arcane's expertise for their current requirements. They had parted amicably after brandies in the hotel's lounge, and now Arcane was in his room and restless.
     It had been a long day, he should be feeling tired – he was feeling tired, physically. But his mind was whirling. He knew, from past experience, that in this state sleep would be an impossibility. There was nothing on TV, no books, he hadn't brought any reading material with him, and going for a walk would not be wise, even if he wasn't probably the most unpopular man in town.
     He lay on the bed, gazing up at the ceiling, trying to pin down his thoughts. Some of the mental turmoil was natural, his mind already working on the problems posed by tonight's soon-to-be clients, but the rest...
     He frowned. Why did Graham's face keep coming to mind?
     Oh. Yes, of course. Something odd was happening where his assistant was concerned. Graham's attention didn't seem to be quite as focused on his work as it should be. Overall, he seemed happier, too. While Arcane wasn't automatically averse to his assistant being happy, it did tend to reduce the little sod's reliance on his boss. And we can't have that!
     And what exactly was the situation with that rather pretty guard of his? It almost looked as though Graham had entered into some sort of relationship with the lieutenant. Which was unlikely in the extreme. Graham, possessing any sort of libido? Surely not!
     Although... Arcane thought back to the rescue. Graham had most definitely been aroused – almost frighteningly so. He'd had no idea his assistant was so well-endowed. Such a pity he had no-one on whom to lavish the attentions of that... monster.
     Then again, Arcane wouldn't really want him involved with anyone. That would divert Graham's attention from himself, and that also couldn't be allowed.
     Arcane frowned. He hadn't really thought about it before but exactly why had Graham been in such a state? What had the kidnappers done to him?
     His eyes widened. Graham was gay? Well, insofar as he could be said to be anything, anyway. Hm. Yes, he could imagine one or both of Woodrue's thugs fondling the man, teasing him... or did they use drugs?
     Arcane wriggled, unaccountably feeling the first stirrings of arousal himself. Which was interesting. Why should the thought of Graham being molested, stimulated against his will, be exciting? Arcane really had very little regard for the feelings or needs of others, but he had never considered himself to be an actual sadist. Well, not without due cause, anyway.
     Arcane was aware of and happy with his own sexuality. After his mother had forced him to leave MIT – and hence also leave Alec Holland, his first and, it could almost be said, only friend – he'd spent a truly awful two years at Cambridge. After the liberty and resources of MIT, Cambridge felt cramped and outdated, and the work was nowhere near challenging enough to keep him happy. And for the first two terms he hadn't got on with his fellow students, although he'd had to pretend to in order to make life a little less unbearable. He'd dreaded having to go home for the holidays: he disliked his new stepfather and absolutely loathed his stepbrother, Randall, especially since his mother doted on the boy. The one time Arcane had made his feelings known, his mother had taken the riding crop to him: he still had several faint scars over his spine just below his ribs. For the first time he'd been so tempted to hit back – but she still controlled his trust fund, he didn't dare...
     Of course Randall took full advantage of the situation, flaunting his stepmother's preference any time they were alone. Arcane had promised himself that one day he would have his revenge – a vow that was fulfilled that fateful day Randall had helped him in one of his schemes to capture Swamp Thing.
     Just a pity he hadn't been able to drag the agony out a little. But at least the bastard was dead.
     Arcane dragged his thoughts away from that occasion and back to Cambridge... homosexuality hadn't been considered quite as reprehensible there as at MIT – at least, as long as it was kept quiet no-one interfered – and Arcane had been able to satisfy his needs, partially, at least. For the first time he took the dominant role, too, and found it much to his taste. And to his surprise, from his second year there he found himself oddly popular with the female students, who seemed to find him both pretty and exotic, so much so that after a small but enjoyable party he found himself being kissed and caressed by a lovely creature with long black hair and green eyes. She'd been welcoming, and charmed that she was his first, and he'd loved it, loved not having to persuade a bedmate that he wanted to, and rightly should, be on top. Sinking into her was different from fucking another man, softer and more sensual in a way, and she was responsive and exciting and he'd loved every moment of it. Afterwards he'd tended to fuck more women than men: he still enjoyed having a man under him (or occasionally over him, if he lost the battle for dominance) but women – much more malleable and controllable...

Perhaps he ought to find one now. It wasn't that late: the town hookers would still be plying their trade. He tried to feel enthusiastic about the idea, but failed miserably. He didn't want a prostitute, he wanted someone familiar, someone who cared.
     But there was no one. He'd destroyed Holland, and killed his own wife, in a roundabout way, even if he usually refused outright to acknowledge the fact. The only woman he had ever really, truly loved. The only man who had ever made him feel that he mattered.
     He covered his face with his hands, feeling tears threaten. So lonely... Here, in the darkness and solitude, he was forced to listen to the voices in his head, to accept that this was his own fault. The way he treated people – horrible. No wonder he was hated.
     And yet... he didn't want to change. He enjoyed power, enjoyed controlling those around him.
     It made him feel safe.
     He liked feeling safe. He'd spent so much of his life feeling insecure, not knowing from minute to minute what his mother was going to do next – the thought of going back to that way of life made him feel physically ill. And if he allowed anyone close, there was always the risk that they'd betray him, or only want him for his influence or money. It had happened before. He would rather stay lonely forever than have it happen again.
     But he didn't like being lonely...
     He pressed his fingers hard to his forehead, trying to fight off the incipient headache. This was useless; he was just going round in circles, resolving nothing. He needed to be alert tomorrow. He needed to sleep.
     Perhaps a little masturbation would take his mind off the matter and allow him to relax enough to drop off. He sighed wearily, wrapping his fingers around his cock. It was worth a try anyway. It had usually worked in the past.
     And it worked this time, too – although Arcane was distantly puzzled as to why Graham came to mind again as he drifted into an uneasy, disturbing sleep.

Outside Arcane's hotel door his guards quietly took the large wads of money - the amount agreed in advance - proffered and turned their backs as the young woman in short-short leather shorts and thigh boots, and the man in army boots and camouflage jumpsuit open to the waist, silently opened the door...