Disclaimers are in Part One.
Author’s notes: As in the other parts, and any other fic I write about Quatre, he is a Muslim, following the Islamic religion.
Although in this fic he is not a devout follower, since he consumed alcohol in the first part, (something that is usually against
the rules of their religion, depending on what sect he’s a part of) he may be devout in other fics I write. Just wanted to let you
know. Hope you like this fic.
Quatre looked at himself in the mirror. He adjusted the collar of his turtleneck, trying to cover the huge bruise that went all the
way around his neck. It was still so sore.
He remembered how it happened. How could he forget? Peter had just gotten caught up in the moment, the last time they had
made love. He hadn’t meant to nearly strangle Quatre to death. It was an accident. At least that’s what Quatre kept telling
himself. But there was a nagging doubt was in his mind, telling him to be careful.
Strong arms wrapped around his waist and he saw Peter’s reflection in the mirror. “Are you sure you’re well enough to go to
work?” Peter asked. Then he gently kissed Quatre on the shoulder.
As he spoke, he put his hand to his throat as the strain of speaking hurt his already sore throat. “I have an important meeting
this morning.” Quatre replied, his voice rough and strained.
“Maybe you should see a doctor.” Peter suggested.
“No. I’m fine, really.” Quatre said. He didn’t want to go to a doctor. They would ask far too many questions about how it
happened. He didn’t want to get Peter in trouble.
Quatre pulled himself from Peter’s embrace, knowing he had to get going or risk being late. He turned toward Peter, smiling as
best he could, although his throat hurt so badly. He gave him a quick kiss on the lips before leaving.
For the rest of the day, Quatre tried to speak as little as possible. Whenever anyone asked what had happened to his voice he
told them all the same lie. He couldn’t believe that anyone would believe him, when he said that Peter had taken him to a soccer
game and he had strained his voice cheering for one of the teams. Quatre thought for sure that Rasid would know he was
lying. But the older man didn’t say anything.
Over time, the bruise on his throat healed, his voice returned to normal. Eventually, Quatre forgot about the nagging voice in his
head that told him to be careful.
It was weeks later, when Peter came home from work in a bad mood. Peter stormed into the house, slamming the door shut
behind him. For the first time in a long time, Quatre had actually gotten home before him.
Peter was muttering about a business deal gone bad. Something about how the investors had backed out of the deal he was
trying to make. Unfortunately, Quatre decided to try and calm him down.
“Sometimes business deals fail.” He said, trying to cheer him up. “That’s how these things go.”
The look on Peter’s face when he turned to Quatre, startled the young ex-pilot. There was a fire in his eyes, a look that chilled
Quatre to the very bone. Before Quatre could say anything else, something smashed into his face. To his shock and horror, it
was Peter’s fist.
When he woke up, Quatre was lying down on the sofa. He sat up, his head aching as he moved. He looked around, his one eye
unable to open completely. He could feel the swelling, knew he was going to have a black eye. When he saw Peter, his heart
began to race.
“Are you okay?” Peter asked, his voice sounding concerned. He reached his hand out.
But Quatre didn’t want to be touched by him, and he pulled away. “You hit me.” Quatre said, his voice sounding accusingly.
“I didn’t mean to. I was just frustrated. You know how it gets when you get angry because something goes bad. You just
want to hit something.” Peter said, as he ran his hand through Quatre’s hair.
Quatre was scared, but didn’t move away this time. What if Peter got mad again. Would he hit him again? Quatre had to leave,
had to get out before it was too late.
“I have to go.” He said, standing up. He put his hand to his head as he stood, feeling a bit dizzy.
Before he could even take one step, he fell back down. The room was spinning far too much for him to make it all the way to
the bedroom to pack. He leaned back against the sofa, knowing he wasn’t going anywhere just yet. He kept an eye on Peter,
fearing that the older man might hurt him again.
“Please Quatre, don’t leave me.” He grabbed Quatre’s hand, holding it to his cheek as he cried.
Quatre couldn’t help but feel a pang of remorse. Maybe it was just a one time thing. He loved Peter, maybe he could forgive
him this once. But he knew that if it ever happened again, it would also be the last time. He wouldn’t hesitate to leave if Peter
hurt him again.
Trowa paced around his room, not knowing what to do anymore. It had been so long since he had seen Quatre, since he had
heard his voice. He still berated himself for not telling the blonde how he felt about him, how he had been to afraid to express
his feelings. He should have just told him. Then Quatre wouldn’t have left.
The video phone rang. Trowa walked over and pressed the receive button. “What?” He asked, although he wasn’t interesting
in talking to anyone.
He was surprised to see Rasid on the other end of the line. “I have something very important to discuss with you.” Rasid said.
Trowa slumped into the chair in front of the phone. “Is it Quatre?” He asked, hoping for the best, but fearing the worst.
“Yes. Master Quatre has become involved with a man named Peter Clark.” Rasid stated.
“Oh, I'm happy for him.” Trowa replied, although he didn’t mean one word of it. His heart filled with jealousy, knowing that
someone else was with the one he loved. But he didn’t let it show on his face. He kept up the illusion of indifference as his
heart broke into tiny little pieces.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be.” Rasid said. “I believe he may be abusing Master Quatre.”
Trowa’s eyes widened in shock, as the words hit him like a brick wall. How dare anyone hurt Quatre? “Are you sure?”
“About a month ago he came to work with an extremely hoarse voice. I caught a glimpse of a large bruise on his throat that I
am sure was made by something being used to strangle him. And a couple weeks ago, he came in with a black eye.”
Trowa couldn’t believe his ears. “What did Quatre say about it?”
Rasid averted his gaze. “I have not confronted him. He told lies to explain the bruises. But I know that Quatre would not run
into a door. He is not that clumsy. So he could not have bruised his eye that way.”
“So why are you telling me this? Why aren’t you confronting Quatre?”
“I tried to warn him months ago, before he even moved in with the man, but he would not listen. He still holds you in the
highest esteem, although I do not see why. I thought that maybe you would be able to talk some sense into him.”
Trowa didn’t hesitate to reply, even though he didn’t appreciate the other man’s tone. “I’ll be on the next available shuttle.”
Trowa switched off the phone and slumped in his chair. He couldn’t believe that Quatre would let someone hurt him. And what
kind of a monster would ever hurt Quatre in the first place? He made arrangements for his departure. Unfortunately, he wouldn’
t be able to get there for at least three days.
He hoped that Quatre would be okay for that long. And if that Peter guy hurt Quatre again, he would have to answer to Trowa.
If he saw one bruise on Quatre, one scratch, Trowa wouldn’t hesitate to beat Peter within an inch of his life. No one hurt
Quatre, no one ever caused him pain without paying for it.
Quatre was laying in bed, reading a magazine. Peter walked into the room, dressed only in his boxers. Quatre glanced up at him
over the edge of the magazine and noticed that one of his hands was behind his back.
“What have you got there?” Quatre asked, smiling brightly. The incident, when Peter had punched him a couple weeks ago,
nearly forgotten. He placed the magazine on the table beside the bed.
“A surprise.” Peter replied, climbing into bed beside Quatre.
Peter held his hand out in front of him, revealing two pairs of handcuffs dangling from his thumb. “You've got to be kidding
me.” Quatre said, pushing his hand away.
“Oh come on, it’ll be fun.” Peter whined.
“That’s what you said last time, and I ended up unable to talk for a week.”
“But that was an accident. Handcuffs aren’t life threatening.” Peter replied.
Quatre found out just how persuasive Peter could be. And soon, he found himself handcuffing Peter to their bed. He didn’t
know how he let himself get talked into this, especially after what had happened last time.
As he was enjoying himself, plunging himself deep into his lover’s body, he looked up. His eyes caught sight of a small trickle
of blood, flowing from one of Peter’s wrists.
Quatre stopped, feeling ashamed that he had hurt Peter. He pulled out of him and reached over to the bedside table, grabbing the
keys. As he unlocked the cuffs, he apologized. “I'm sorry Peter. I didn't want to cause you any pain.”
After that, Quatre’s entire world was flipped upside down, as Peter replied. “But there must be pain. There is no pleasure
He grabbed Quatre and flipped him over, quickly grabbing one of his wrists and securing it to the bed with a set of handcuffs.
“What are you doing?” Quatre demanded, his heart racing. He struggled against Peter’s grasp, trying to fight him off with his
one free hand.
“Like I said. There can be no pleasure without pain. Someone has to be in pain.” He grabbed Quatre’s hand. Even though
Quatre struggled, he couldn’t break free, and soon both his hands were cuffed to the bed.
Peter got off the bed, as Quatre pulled against the handcuffs, wishing that they weren’t so tight. “Now, I’m going to leave you
here to think about what I’ve said. Maybe you’ll learn a lesson if you have some time alone.”
Quatre’s eyes went wide as he thought of what Peter had said. “You can’t just leave me here like this.” He said, his heart
racing in panic.
But Peter didn’t listen, didn’t even turn around as Quatre yelled at him to come back. He sagged in the handcuffs, giving in to
the situation he was in. In his mind, he yelled at himself for not listening to Rasid. He should have listened to the warning.
But now it was too late. He should have left after the first incident, when Peter had nearly strangled him. There was no way
that Peter would ever let him leave now. Tears formed in his eyes, as he thought of what a mistake he had made, trusting
Peter. Peter would probably kill him to keep him from leaving.
He let his tears fall, not caring how it looked. This was it, the end of his life. Even if Peter didn’t kill him, nothing would be the
same again. He should have just left moths ago, when he still could have. But it was too late. Far too late.
To Be Continued . . .