Lucien Noir was something of an unabashed bastard. Indeed, he often gave others the impression that he was only capable of seeing the misery of the world…and rather reveled in it. It was almost as if he was living under a perpetual dark cloud, with nary a ray of sunshine in sight.

This was particularly true at Christmas, where the crass commercialism only served to rile him up further. It was barely mid-October and the gaudy decorations had already begun to go up about the city putting him into an even blacker mood than usual.

It’s not even Halloween yet, for fuck’s sake!

The one consolation about the festive season was that he didn’t have to work at Christmas and could happily spend the day locked securely away in his apartment safe from all the incessant false cheer and forced family togetherness.

It wasn’t that Lucien was an inherently bad person, mind you. It was more that he didn’t really care a great deal about anyone apart from himself, often coming across as lacking in empathy and about as emotionally available as a refrigerator. He wasn’t exactly heartless, per se, rather he made damn sure his heart was kept well out of sight and protected from the world.

From an early age, life had taught Lucien repeatedly – and with quiet some force – that the only person who he could truly depend on was himself. His parents hadn’t been fit to raise a pet rock, let alone a child, and the succession of lackluster foster families that had followed had only cemented his abysmal view of humanity.

Lucien had been in and out of juvenile detention centers since he was ten years of age. The caliber of acquaintances he’d made in that time hadn’t been particularly conducive to keeping him on the straight and narrow. If anything, it made Lucien more unruly and resentful of any type of authority figure whatsoever, which in turn contributed to his high turnover in the foster system, causing him to act out even further. It was a painfully vicious cycle that gnawed at his spirit and stripped away any hope he may have once possessed.

His bi-racial heritage also hadn’t helped matters, as he’d been constantly treated as an outcast and never had the feeling that he truly belonged. He’d been teased, harassed and beaten simply for the color of his skin, which was either too dark or not dark enough, depending on the preferences of his tormenters. Lucien had soon discovered that it was a battle that he would never be able to win, so he had eventually given up trying.

Unsurprisingly, Lucien developed a hard outer shell and uncaring attitude as a defense mechanism that had served him well throughout the years. It was perhaps because of this aura of aloofness that he was one of the most popular attractions at Seventh Circle – a fetish club located down by the docks. While he had kept his first name, Lucien had taken a new last name for his stage persona – and to wipe away the last trace of his abusive parents. As Master Noir he put on several delightfully debauched shows a week and had a whole host of eager private clients on the side, all quite desperate for his special brand of discipline. His tall, muscular build, shaved black hair, bright green eyes and smooth mahogany skin also undoubtedly contributed to his appeal.

To say that Lucien enjoyed his job as a Dom would be an understatement. He had taken to his new profession with a malicious glee, deriving great pleasure in inflicting pain and punishing all those in his path.

Everyone is guilty of something.

Despite this, there was one person who had managed to penetrate his armor and cause Lucien to feel a small semblance of affection – well, as much as his heart could muster at any rate – his former foster brother, Oliver. Lucien had come to Oliver’s parents, the Walkers, when he was seventeen years of age. They were lovely people but by that point he was too far too damaged, by his years in and out of juvenile detention, to appreciate their kindness. Lucien did, however, get along with their son, Oliver, who was only two years younger in age. Oliver had been far more welcoming than any of the other foster siblings Lucien had encountered during his time in the system.

Not rebuffed by Lucien’s tough guy persona, Oliver had happily shared his life with him – freely lending him clothes, his beloved computer games, or whatever else Lucien had taken an interest in.

Naturally, Lucien had been mistrustful at first, unwilling to believe that someone could genuinely care for him and ask for nothing but friendship in return. He’d thought that Oliver simply saw him as another of the many stray animals he was constantly bringing home to look after – it was lucky Oliver’s mother was a vet. As the months passed, however, Lucien had slowly let his guard down and begun to let Oliver in.

Sadly, this friendship wasn’t enough of a stabilizing influence and his self-destructive tendencies eventually resurfaced. After he’d been with the Walkers for just over six months – the longest placement he’d ever had – Lucien reconnected with some of his less savory friends and was soon back to his delinquent ways – petty theft and vandalism being his rebellious acts of choice. It wasn’t long before the police turned up on the Walkers doorstep, threatening Lucien with the possibility of doing real jail time. Lucien felt he had no option but to leave. He ran away to New York shortly afterwards, just before Christmas in fact, without a backward glance. Not to say he didn’t have a twinge of regret at leaving Oliver, and his earnest friendship, behind.

Lucien’s plan of fading into the anonymity of the big city went swimmingly for about five years. It was then that his past unexpectedly caught up with him in a gay bar in Hell’s Kitchen.

“You’re so fucking hot!” murmured Lucien.

He’d been making out with the handsome stranger against a wall in the barely lit back corner of the bar for a good twenty minutes.

“Thanks Luc,” the boy whispered back.

“Have we met?”

“Well, you were my brother,” the stranger teased.

“Oli? Fucking hell!”

Lucien was shocked, although that hadn’t diminished the size of his erection that was still pushing up against Oliver, where one of equal excitement was pressing back. To be fair, it was unlikely Lucien would ever have recognized Oliver; such was the difference in appearance. Gone was the clean-cut boy he had known and in his place was a stunning man with punkish blue/black hair, tattoos and a dirty attitude.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“More fun this way,” replied Oliver cheekily, before diving back in for another passionate kiss.