Unacceptable Losses

Ten minutes after the door closed behind the reformed AI team, a showered Xander made his way back to the lobby. Under the pelting heat of the water, he made a decision. Who knew when he would have another chance to get out of the hotel unescorted, and the need burned through him. Training with Spike and Faith had helped mitigate it some, forcing him to focus purely on the physical moment, exhausting him beyond the capacity to think or feel. Working out took him out of himself nearly as effectively as making his way to the bottom of a bottle. He still hadn’t decided which method had the more difficult side-effect, the pain of hangovers or the pain of being in the company of people who knew Buffy and even worse, who cared about him.

Xander focused on his goal, determined to be well gone before the others got back. He strode around the lobby counter and settled in front of the computer. Hitting a key, he let out a deep breath. Jackpot. The computer was turned on and didn’t require a password. During his quick shower, he had considered calling his club back in London and asking for a recommendation of a place here in LA, but he determined that a long-distance call left the kind of trail that the internet wouldn’t. A simple clearing of the browser’s cache and history of pages visited would remove all evidence. He sent a small word of thanks to Willow for the computer basics she had insisted that everyone learn.

Quickly, he typed “Los Angeles Dungeons” and scrolled through the list. Figuring speed took precedence over in-depth research, he ignored the nagging voice of Mistress Eleana, who pounded it into him that play should be safe above all. And read that for a literal pounding, he chuckled to himself. If she saw him now, she’d have him stretched out against the wall in manacles with his skin burning from the strap. His skin twitched at the thought, and his fingers fumbled over the keyboard. There. Chambre de Sade. That would do. He scribbled down the address and quickly cleared all evidence of the search away. Dialing information, he got the number of a cab company, and within moments, he climbed into the waiting taxi clutching his duffel bag with club clothes safely stuffed inside.

******************

The interior of Chambre de Sade belied the bland stucco exterior. Clearly the place had been converted from an older complex done in the Spanish style. The exterior appeared non-descript and unassuming, but as soon as he walked into the reception lounge, Xander recognized the trappings of a professional dungeon. The receptionist managed a goth/business attire that he never imagined would be possible, but here in the public area of the dungeon, she seemed to promise the reality of the darkness behind the closed doors while maintaining an unthreatening professionalism.

“Welcome, can I help you, sir?”

“Yes.” Xander set down his duffel and ran his eyes over the brochures in their clear acrylic holders on the reception desk. She followed his gaze and pulled out one of the brochures to open it for his perusal.

“What type of services are you looking for this evening, sir?” Her eyes ran him over, searching for the first dom/sub clue.

Xander scanned the glossy text with discrete photos. Punishment. The word flashed out of the page at him, and he pointed with a finger that he willed not to shake. Hell, he was an adult and it wasn’t like he had never done this kind of thing before.

“Very good. Fill out the basic consent and services requested form and then we can begin.” Xander noticed that she dropped the ‘Sir’ appellation, and he realized that she must have recognized him as a punishee rather than a punisher.

Xander nodded and accepted the clipboard and form that she held out.

“Please sit at the table over there. Return the form to me when you have filled out all the required information.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he stifled the shudder of anticipation that ran through him.

Settling himself at the table, he ran his fingers through his hair as he contemplated the form. The instructions were minimal, with only the commands to fill out the form accurately, completely, and honestly and to return it to the receptionist with a valid form of photo ID.

Xander worked quickly, continually aware of the alarm his absence from the Hyperion would cause. Suddenly he wished he had at least left a note of some kind, but it was too late for that now, so he shoved the thought away and focused on filling out the form.

Next of Kin or Other Contact Information. He stifled a groan. Who the fuck could he put down as a contact? Using any of the folks in London would be less than ideal given the distance, and using his parents, well, that wasn’t really possible since he couldn’t be sure that he had access to any of their current contact information with him. Although imagining the look on his father’s face in the rare event that something did happen, it was almost worth considering putting the old bastard’s name down. He sighed, and scratched his nose as he thought through the only people he knew in LA. Faith might actually get off on the place, so she was a possibility. Definitely not Dawn, god, even the thought of her knowing that he came here made his blood run cold. Angel? He’d be no stranger to this kind of place, but Xander dreaded drawing any of the brooding vampire’s attention these days. Illyria had the potential to be hilarious—at least for the first few minutes—but then who knew if she even took phone calls, besides, the last thing he wanted was another bizarre conversation like the one earlier in the afternoon. That left Spike. Somehow that seemed fitting. Dawn may have been the one to corner him into agreeing to come to LA, but Spike seemed to be the acting Xander-keeper these days. Xander smirked. Wanna keep an eye on me, bleach boy? Well, here’s your chance to be official about it.

Xander carefully wrote in “William T. Bloody”. He looked at the name. It looked stupid, and it looked fake, especially considering the circumstances. Fuck it. Time’s a wastin’. He quickly filled in the Hyperion’s phone number, which Angel had grilled the newcomers on until they each proved that they had memorized it ‘just in case.’

After signing the consent for services pages, he circled medium spanking, flogging, and whipping along with being blindfolded and restrained and selected a male Dom. With only a half-hour, he needed the time to be focused and intense, which meant no branching out this time. Further, he didn’t need any of the psychological punishments, since he provided those a’plenty for himself, and somehow he never really got the appeal the humiliation involved in hardsports or watersports.

With a hurried flourish, he signed his name and returned to the reception desk, shaking off the discomfort at this clinical aspect of getting into the club. She inspected his form, made sure he had signed that he understood and would abide by all rules, and then in return for his entrance fee, she gave him a key to the locker room and directions to the area where he would meet his Master for the evening.

Finally, the heavy wooden doors opened, and Xander made his way into the club, the barriers holding back his grief and loneliness buckling under the need to translate that pain from the emotional to the physical at the hands of someone able to make the pain blossom into release, if not redemption.