Holden and Yves discuss punishment 2 (Yves' Revenge!)

[maculategiraffe]

Another story-in-reply-to-several-different-comments, on several different recent stories.

(I do think maybe a new, post-Lee Yves miniseries is in order. What say you?)






Yves hadn't been quite sure how to negotiate bedtime when it was no longer just a question of which slave or slaves the master would choose to share his bed tonight. He had been sure he needed to be with Holden alone tonight, especially since Holden, who'd tended all three of them very sweetly through their hangovers, had actually flinched when Yves grumpily batted his hand away.

He decided to be methodical about it; once everyone had more or less recovered from their hangovers, he'd approached first Jer, then Bran, then Alix, and finally Holden himself, to make sure they were all in agreement that tonight would be his.

"Sure," said Jer. "See if you can't settle him down a little. He's jumpy as a long-tailed cat today."

"I think that's a good idea," said Bran earnestly. "Be nice to him, okay?"

"Of course," said Alix. "Do you think you can-- I don't know-- say something to reassure him?"

Holden just nodded and smiled and didn't say anything, the whites of his eyes showing a bit more than usual.

That evening, he and Yves played chess with undefined stakes, and Holden took a very long time between moves, until, the game still unfinished, Yves touched his hand, nodded towards the door, and said softly, "Shall we?"

He slipped a hand into Holden's as they both got up, and Holden squeezed it hard. Yves could feel four pairs of curious eyes on them as they walked out.





Holden stopped just inside the doorway of Yves' bedroom, as Yves closed the door behind them, and stood straight and tense against the doorframe. Yves paused, too, watching him.

"You look nervous," he said.

Holden nodded. "Well. It's our first-- it's the first--"

"My first sober night as a free man," Yves supplied, smiling. "And you look even more scared than you did when I was drunk."

Holden didn't smile back as he said, "I meant what I said last night."

Yves examined him. "Which thing?"

"That I don't mind if you want to hurt me."

"I meant what I said, too," said Yves, shaking his head. "I'm not like you."

Holden swallowed.

"Oh, Holden," said Yves remorsefully, moving towards him, and touching his arm. "I didn't mean it like that. I just meant I don't have any-- urges-- like that. I don't have the same needs. It wouldn't give me any... satisfaction. Though you're sweet to offer."

"But there must be things you've wanted to do to me," said Holden. "That you couldn't. Aren't there?"

Yves smiled, and then he sobered, and took Holden's face between his hands, looking at him with love.

"You want to know how I'm going to punish you," he said. "Don't you?"

Holden hesitated, and started to speak, and then just nodded.

"For everything," Yves went on, taking Holden by the elbow and leading him towards the bed. "Everything you ever did to me. Every way you ever hurt me. Now that I can."

Holden nodded again, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Yves sat down next to him, facing him, cross-legged.

"I was just playing with you last night," he said. "You know that, right? Just teasing. I've always teased you, as much as you let me. That was nothing. You want to know how I'm going to get even."

Holden sat still, waiting.

"I am going to do something that will hurt you, Holden," said Yves softly. "But it's not a punishment, any more than it was a punishment when you used to beat me. It's just something I need to do."

"Okay," said Holden.

Yves sighed and took Holden's hand in his. "I'm going away to university."

"We already talked about that," said Holden, his brow furrowed, puzzled by the anticlimax. Then pure panic distorted his face for a moment. "Are you-- are you not coming back?"

"I'm coming back, dearest," Yves promised, the word springing spontaneously to his lips and bringing a quick small smile to Holden's frightened face. "And I know you know I'm going. You've encouraged me, you helped me gather information, you even offered to pay, which was really generous of you. But I'm not sure you understand how much it's going to hurt you."

Holden nodded. "I'll miss you-- of course I will. We've never-- I mean, for twenty-two years there's hardly been a night we haven't spent under the same roof--"

"And there's never been a night where I wasn't under your roof," Yves agreed. "Under your protection, and your authority. So yes, you're going to miss me. You're going to feel abandoned and deserted and rejected, and you're going to wonder if I'm ever coming back, no matter what I say."

"Ah," said Holden quietly.

Yves reached up and stroked his cheek.

"You're also going to wonder if I'm okay," he went on steadily, "if I'm lonely, or being bullied and mocked and a social outcast, or working too hard. You're going to wonder whether I'm eating and sleeping, and whether I'm talking and laughing. And if I am-- with whom, and whether it's someone who can offer me things you can't, and how I feel about that. You won't know, see. I'll write, and we'll talk on the phone, if there's a phone the students can use. But there won't be any way for you to know. Or to do anything about it, if you did know. You aren't going to be running my life any more."

Holden's dark eyes were fixed on Yves, unblinking in a pale face.

"You'll be able to handle it," said Yves, gently. "You've got a major shift in focus to implement for the business, and there'll be a lot of social networking to get done, and a lot of logistics to work out. Money to manage, people to persuade. So you'll stay busy. And you'll have Bran, and Alix-- they'll both look after you."

Holden nodded.

"But sometimes you'll consider jumping on the train to come see me," Yves continued, "just because you want to see me. The way you used to be able to see me just by turning around, or calling my name. And maybe there'll be a time, late at night, when you can't sleep and you can't take it any more and you don't care if you sound pathetic if you can just hear my voice for a second-- but you can't. Even if there's a phone, and you call it-- maybe nobody will answer. And you won't know where I am, or if I'm there and not picking up the phone and what terrible reason there might be for that, and you'll tell yourself it's none of your business and to stop this, stop this. You'll have Bran to hold onto, but sometimes it will be hard for you even to take comfort in him, because you won't be able to stop remembering the day you brought him home for good, and how it made me cry."

Holden didn't nod this time; he was sitting unnaturally still, as if convinced lightning would strike if he moved a single muscle.

"Listen," said Yves, even though Holden couldn't have been listening any more intently if Yves were describing the final effects of a poison currently coursing through Holden's veins-- or maybe the complex and distant location of the only known antidote. "If you ever do start to feel guilty about bringing Bran into our lives, will you remember this? If it weren't for him-- if he weren't here to take care of you and love you-- I really don't think I could bring myself to go. And if I didn't go-- if I stayed for your sake, out of pity, if I denied myself this chance just because you'd be lonely if I left--"

"You'd start to hate me," said Holden. "And I'd hate myself, too. Okay."

Yves took his lover's hands in his; they were cold, and Yves lifted them, one after another, to his lips.

"It's not going to be easy for me either, you know," he said. "Leaving you. You're-- everything to me. My love, my best friend, my-- my shelter, I guess. My home. But it will be easier for me than for you-- because I'm the one who's getting to do something incredible. Something I'm so excited about I can barely sit still, especially now that I'm actually free and it's starting to sink in that it's really going to happen. You're the one who's getting left behind, in the old life, without me. It's going to hurt like hell."

Holden nodded, his eyes downcast.

"Will that settle the score?" he asked, not quite steadily.

"No," Yves said softly, and Holden's eyes flicked up at him, his lips parting slightly. "Holden, there's no score to settle. I'm not angry with you. I love you. And if I could do this without hurting you, I would. I just thought maybe it would help if you thought of it as-- taking the pain for my sake. The way I used to take it for yours. And bearing it with good grace, for me. For love of me."

Holden nodded.

"I think it will," he said after a moment. "Help."

"Good," said Yves. "I'm glad. And I'll do everything I can to make it easier for you. I'll tell you everything in my letters-- and I'll pick up the phone, if I'm there. If there's a phone. You still won't know-- but you do know I don't lie to you, right?"

"Yes," said Holden.

"Good," Yves said again. "So. Do you think you can relax a little? Now that you know."

"I think so," said Holden, and cleared his throat. "Thanks."

"You were always honest with me about what was going to happen," Yves pointed out. "It's the least I can do, to do the same for you."

"Thanks," Holden repeated. "Yves? Will you-- would you-- do something else for me?"

"What is it?"

Holden smiled a little. "Call me 'dearest' again."

"Dearest," said Yves, smiling back, and kissed Holden tenderly. "There's a whole new dictionary full of things to call you now, isn't there? I'll have to explore that when I write to you. Holden, dearest, darling, precious, honey, sweetheart, love, what else?"

"Cupcake," Holden suggested, the warmth and color beginning to return to his face as Yves slid arms around him and kissed the corners of his mouth. "Or dumpling."

"For Sif's sweet sake," said Yves, pained. "What do you take me for?"

"I've been calling you 'my dove' for decades," said Holden, and kissed Yves' cheek and ear, his palms spread tentatively on Yves' back, touching without quite holding. "I thought maybe some revenge was in order there, at least."

"Point well taken," said Yves, easing Holden over gently onto his back, and climbing on top of him, "my sweet magpie."

"Your sweet what now?"

"My darling little goshawk," said Yves affectionately. "Oh no, I know-- my peregrine falcon!"

"Peregrine--?"

"They dive down on their helpless prey," Yves explained, "like this."