Gabe was trembling. The tight strings cutting into his fingers. But the pain wasn't helping, and he moaned a tiny, desperate sound. Nothing would help.

"Gabe!" Laurent came into the music room, a look of horror on his face when he saw the mess Gabe had made of his fingers.

He picked Gabe up, carrying him easily downstairs and calling for Leeanna to bring the first aid kit. She tried to fuss; Gabe could hear her even with the roaring in his ears as he pressed his face into Laurent's chest. His hands were gently pulled away, but even the sting of some liquid across the tips of his fingers did nothing for him, and the tears fell from his eyes, saturating Laurent's shirt as he held him close.

Gabe vaguely heard more murmurs from Laurent to Leeanna and then a different tone that was Laurent on the phone, but he didn't listen for words, and he didn't react when he felt himself lifted and carried back up the stairs.

When he'd been laid on a soft surface and lost the warmth of Laurent's body, he finally opened his puffy, waterlogged eyes. He didn't recognize the dimly lit room, but he recognized what it was.

"Gabe, I need you to listen very carefully. Can you?"

"Yes, Laurent," he said in a whisper.

"François has given me permission to use his room. Are you comfortable being in here?"

"Green," Gabe responded, glancing around with a little more interest. He couldn't see all of the details with such low light, but he could see a St Andrew's cross in the corner and several large and ornate cabinets. There was a breeding bench to one side and he winced at the flash of memory. Laurent glanced to where he was looking and then moved to stand in front of it.

"I won't put you on that. How do you feel about the cross?"

"Green," Gabe responded, with something like a frisson at the thought.

"You're nervous," Laurent told him.

"I'm not, I promise." Gabe looked up at him with sincerity. He was the opposite of nervous now it seemed to be turning into a scene. He wanted to know where it was going and could feel himself getting hard at the possibilities.

"Not of this, Bambi. You're nervous about your audition."

"Oh, that. Well, yes, maybe." He shrugged, trying to play it off, but Laurent's sharp eyes were hard and knowing.

"Definitely. And I think you need to get out of your head about it. If you keep hurting yourself you won't be able to use your bow tomorrow."

How could Gabe admit that maybe that was the point? He shrugged again, instead.

Laurent went to a bag by the door that he must have taken from his room during their journey upstairs. Gabe couldn't see the things he took from it, laying them carefully on the cabinet to his side, but now he was beginning to tremble in the good ways, waiting from his next instruction, which came with a quiet but stern voice.

"Strip, Bambi, and go stand by the cross."

Gabe hurried to comply, neatly folding his clothes on the bed and standing by the cross, running his hand over the smooth, polished, wood, careful of the small bandages on his fingers. Laurent approached behind him, gently placing his hands on Gabe's shoulders, massaging residual anxiety out of them.

"How do you feel about me dropping you?"

"Can you?" Gabe pleaded, suddenly feeling all the force of the worry he was having about the audition. What if he wasn't good enough? He'd practiced, sure, but there'd been almost a year when he'd barely picked his cello or any of his other instruments up, and even after that it had been sporadic, not the focused, controlled mastery that had defined the previous dozen years. He needed to be taken right out of his self-undermining thoughts.

"Of course I will, Bambi, it will be my great pleasure."

Those words alone had Gabe beginning to untense, allowing himself to be moved into position, kneeling on a stable, padded, piano stool with his knees spread, his wrists wrapped in soft, thick fabric and linked to the upright arms of the cross, spreading him wide. Laurent placed a pillow, also tied to the cross.

"You can rest your head. No need to hold any position, and I don't want you hurt." He snorted at his own words, but Gabe knew what he meant, and it made him feel even more cared for, as he rested his forehead on the soft padding. He tested the bonds on his wrist and found them comfortable – tight and secure but soft enough he could hang off them if it came to that, depending on what Laurent had planned, although Gabe had a pretty good idea.

"These are the implements I plan to use. What's your color?"

Gabe looked at the tools in Laurent's hands. The short flogger was no issue, nor the riding crop. He bit his lip at the sight of the whip, his eyes flashing up to Laurent's.

"Um, green," he said, chewing at the flesh.

"You certainly don't sound sure. Shall I pack the whip away?"

Gabe thought. He didn't hate the whip. Sure, Sawyer had taken it too far with one, many times. But one of the good memories Gabe had was what he thought was the first time Sawyer had used one on him, when he was still being careful, and the whipping had been pleasure in the pain. When it had been for Gabe, not against him. And he trusted Laurent, in a way he'd never trusted Sawyer – even when he'd been tricked into thinking he did.

"No, please. I trust you. And I know you'll watch out for me."

"Like a hawk."

Laurent kissed the back of Gabe's neck, running his hands along his raised arms until Gabe was relaxed. He was humming softly, the vibrations tickling the small hairs on Gabe's nape, and he shuddered with need.

"Please," Gabe whispered, twisting his head to look at Laurent.

"I love that I can give you what you need," Laurent said, giving him another kiss.

"You haven't yet." Gabe pouted but couldn't help break it for a laugh as Laurent faked outrage with a gasp and a hand to his throat.

"I'd better resolve that, then," he said after a moment, his voice low and promising, and all amusement Gabe was feeling was replacement with a deep want for what Laurent was offering.

He bowed his head, resting his forehead against the cushion again and relaxing his shoulders, ready for what was coming.

The sudden sharp, stinging strike of the riding crop could have been a shock but instead it was perfect. Gabe's brain focused on the tiny square of skin on his ass that was hot with every nerve ending alight. When another strike landed, the feeling didn't spread, instead there was another point on fire, and then another, and another. Laurent started slow, giving Gabe chance to absorb every sting, but then he sped up, until Gabe couldn't keep up. When he couldn't count anymore, that was the chance he needed, to sink into it. To stop thinking.

He sighed as Laurent swapped the crop for the flogger, his breaths coming deep and steady as the tendrils were teased over the reddened flesh the crop had left behind. This stung too, when Laurent brought it down, hard and fast – no warm up this time. Gabe's skin was lighting up with goosebumps, his head fuzzy with that feeling that he couldn't find the words to describe. The one that was like that gorgeous moment when you were still awake, but so, so close to slipping into sleep.

The sting was pushing him, but he needed more, dropping his head back with a low moan, gasping wetly when he felt Laurent press up against his back, nibbling and sucking at his exposed neck.

"You have no idea, do you Bambi? No idea how you look like this, giving yourself to me, so freely, so perfectly. Your ass so hot under my hand." He matched his actions to his words, pressing a large palm against Gabe's overheated skin. "But you want more, I think. You want a few bruises tomorrow while you're playing, yes? A memory. Can you give me your color?"

"Green, please, more," Gabe managed to pant out, dropping his head to the cushion again, ready.

He didn't feel the pain of the whip at first – heard the crack, knew it had struck, but the pain came a moment later. He knew he cried out, could feel it in his throat, but it didn't stop, and he didn't want it to. Each strike thudded through his body, taking his worries in a slam of pure feeling. There was no space for an overactive mind here, with Laurent at the helm, looking after him in the precise way he needed.

Gabe slumped against his bonds, finally boneless, mind empty and calm. Laurent unwrapped his wrists and carried him to the bed, laying him carefully and wrapping him in strong arms. He hadn't come, but that was fine – it wasn't the purpose and he felt no desperate need to, not now that Laurent had made him swoop into the ideal drop, his problems vanished as the glorious pain filled his senses.

"So good for me," Laurent murmured as he kissed along Gabe's shoulders. "I think you're ready for your audition now."