Early Jer & Holden miniseries, part 4

[maculategiraffe]

"Pull yourselves together," said Alix, putting her stack of clothing down on the bed, on top of the little leather briefcase whose mind-blistering contents she'd just shown them. "We don't have much time."

Jer stared at her, at Alix, Alix, suddenly a free woman, Holden's mistress, as she wiggled out of her tunic and stood naked, her scar on full display--

What the fuck did he do to you?

It's his name.

I can see it's his name.

So what are you asking?

--before beginning to dress herself, quickly and efficiently, in what looked like an insanely complex series of sheaths and straps and supports. Women's underclothing. Free women's underclothing.

"Alix," said Holden, begging, terrified, and she turned to him swiftly and said, "Yes, dearest."

He practically fell into her arms, clutching her so hard it looked like he'd break her, burying his eyes against her neck. She held him back, good and hard, and looked up at Jer.

"We don't have much time," she said again. "Laura's pissed enough as it is. But if I say I need to talk to him about-- oh, money, I guess, and the logistics of home-owning-- I'll come up with something-- he won't say no. I can drag that out for a while, while you two-- but you have to let me get dressed first, Holden. I can't wander out there in my bra and stockings." She laughed then, a quick staccato laugh. "Or maybe I can. 'Please, my lord, I can't figure out how these lady clothes go on...' Holden, honey, I know, but let go. Let go of me."

For once in his life Holden obeyed--

--his owner--

--and sank to his knees on the floor, wrapping his own arms around himself instead, while Alix's swift, unerring fingers seized the crisp white blouse from the top of the stack of clothing, shook it out, and buttoned it up all the way to her throat. She stepped into the heather-gray skirt, pulled on the matching jacket, and slipped her stockinged feet into a pair of pumps.

"Ow," she said, looking down at them. "Fuck. I'm going to need different shoes. Okay." She looked up at Jer for the first time; her eyes were looking very, very green.

"Jer," she said. "I don't know what to--"

She looked back down at Holden, kneeling on the floor, and without taking her eyes off him said, "I'm sorry, Jer. Take-- I'll give you-- as much time as I can."




But they wasted time in shock anyway, Holden on the floor, his head raised now, looking at Jer, Jer sitting on the edge of the bed, looking back at him. Jer's mind was working too slowly, as if someone had poured syrup into the gears, and Holden's probably wasn't working at all; it took much too much time before Jer understood that the reason why he couldn't think what to say was that there was nothing to be said.

He got up instead, walked to Holden, reached down, and dragged him roughly to his feet. Holden didn't really resist or cooperate either one, as if his body were working just as slowly as Jer's brain. He was trembling.

Jer got him by the arm and swung him around; Holden stumbled and almost fell, and before he could entirely get his balance back, Jer pushed him the rest of the way down, onto the bed. Holden squirmed as Jer climbed on top of him, pulling at his tunic so hard that the flimsy white fabric ripped, which didn't matter because Holden wouldn't be wearing Argounov's tunics any more anyway. His fingers dug into the pale skin of Holden's shoulders. Holden pushed back against him, in protest or encouragement, Jer didn't know and at the moment didn't much care. He shoved back hard enough that the bed frame groaned, and Holden gasped and went still.

Jer went for his mouth, not bothering to soften it up with a kiss before he started to bite. Lower lip, then the upper; he ran his tongue between them, feeling them swell, tasting the blood rising just below the surface of the thin and tender skin. Holden was breathing hard, his cock hard at Jer's groin; his lips parted and his tongue brushed against Jer's. Jer pinned the twitching hips down with his own hips, trapped Holden's wrists in his hands; he growled, and Holden gasped again as Jer bit the blood into his lips and sucked and licked, that taste, that sweet and salty taste.

Wanting to lick more blood, he lifted his head and pulled his hand back to hit Holden across the face, but Holden's hand shot up and blocked him. Holden grabbed Jer's arms and was rolling him over on his back, pinning him down with an arm across his throat, cutting off his air. Jer bared his teeth and struggled, black spots swimming in front of his vision, water splashing his face because Holden was crying, his tears falling onto Jer's cheeks, and still somehow stronger than Jer right now. Jer went still for just a second, to get the pressure off his windpipe, but then he couldn't remember a good enough reason to start fighting again, and he lay there limp while Holden's mouth came down on his, Holden's hands in his hair, just tasting him again.

There wasn't time, though, there wasn't much time, and he surged up again, flipped Holden over onto his face, yanked his legs apart, spat in his palm (no time; also no need to be gentle, since Holden's ass wasn't going to get fucked again any time soon) and rubbed his cock before he drove in. Holden yelled out and Jer smacked him, hard, on the back of the head, to shut him up; Holden buried his face in the pillow, fists yanking the bottom sheet loose from the mattress, while Jer bent down to the pale dark-fuzzed nape of his neck and bit again. Holden was groaning, muffled, into the pillow, but not struggling. The neck tasted like bruised fruit; Jer bit and fucked, rhythmically, tasting, hurting, filling.

His orgasm took him unawares-- it seemed a bit beside the point-- but it reminded him he wanted to make Holden come good and hard too, so he pulled out, impatient with his own trembling and spasming muscles, and dragged Holden over to the side of the bed, setting him squarely on his freshly fucked ass and grabbing Holden's erection with his mouth. Holden yelped as one of Jer's incisors caught on the head of his cock, and Jer eased off, sucking carefully, gripping and kneading Holden's balls just hard enough to put an edge of pain on the pleasure. Holden tasted good, every inch of him tasted good, and when he came it was good, and then Jer got up, wiping his mouth, and opened the door to the dormitory and strode out into the hall.

Alix was out there, standing by Argounov, and they both looked up in surprise at the sight of Jer, who was suddenly aware of the sweat that covered him-- sweat and other fluids-- but couldn't really bring himself to give a shit.

"Leave now," he said to Alix.

"Jer," said Argounov, in the cold tone with an edge to it, the last tone before punishment.

Jer didn't look at him.

"Leave," he said again, to Alix. "Take him and go, now."

Alix nodded, and looked up at Argounov, whose cold and edged expression matched the tone.

"Please," she said softly. "He's in shock."

"Shock at what a sickening little suck-up you are," said Jer, breathing hard. "He kicks you out on your ass and you're still licking his for him? I can take care of myself-- and I'm going to be doing just that, from now on, so you can take your little bitch boy and go, you cunt, and don't forget to--"

The back of Argounov's hand smashed across his face, and half from necessity, half from well-trained reflex, he went down, the taste of his own blood overcoming the lingering taste of Holden.

"Please," Alix cried again, and he didn't know if she was talking to him or Argounov. Argounov didn't follow the blow up with anything, though. Jer knelt on the floor and watched as Holden in his ripped and sweat-darkened tunic came stumbling out of the dormitory, his face wet and swollen with tears, and then just stood there. Jer looked away.

"You will apologize for your insolence to a free woman," Argounov snapped at Jer, who narrowed his eyes up at his master and said nothing.

"Please," said Alix for the third time. "Master-- I mean-- my lord--"

"Call me Nikol," said Argounov gently, and reached out to touch Alix's chest, just where the blouse and jacket and underclothes covered up the scar. Alix went red and backed up a step, and Argounov pulled his hand back.

"Nikol," she said, quickly, as if it hurt. "Don't make him apologize to me. Please. Holden, come here. Let's just-- go."

Holden obeyed her, but when he got to Jer, he got down on his knees beside him. Jer turned his face away.

"I love you," said Holden.

Jer didn't answer. After a little while, Holden went away.




After another little while, Jer bent his shoulders and bowed his forehead all the way to the ground.

"Jer," said Argounov, levelly, back at the second- or third-to-last tone before punishment. "I understand that you're very upset, so I won't punish you for your outburst just now. I would punish you for your insult to Alix, but since she asked me to be lenient, I will."

"My master is generous," said Jer to the carpet.

"Yes," said Argounov. "Now go clean yourself up. You'll be sharing my bed tonight."

Jer got about halfway to his feet before he got slapped back down to his knees; taking the hint, he crawled on all fours back into the dormitory, and then got up to head into the bathroom.

Shower first-- he shed his sweaty tunic and turned the spray on as hot as it would go, ducking underneath it. Scratches on his back-- when had those happened?-- stung like a motherfucker; his muscles ached and relaxed under the scalding rain. He poured shampoo onto his head, worked it through his hair, scrubbed carefully all over, erasing sweat and everything else, letting it wash down the drain.

Then he got out and dried himself to a ruddy glow, pulled a fresh tunic over his head and past his hips, and sat down in front of a mirror to check the damage. Split lip, and a purpling bruise. Not much point trying to hide either with makeup, and not much point trying to make himself look like a succulent little whore with lip gloss and mascara when the marks of his master's displeasure were still on him. He put a little brightener under his eyes, a little light shadow on the lids, but that was it.

Candys walked in behind him; he saw her in the mirror, but he didn't turn around.

"Jer," she said softly. "I'm so sorry."

"I'm fine," he said. "Thanks."





He was ready to get hurt that night, but instead Argounov was gentle, maybe as gentle as he'd ever been with Jer. He undressed Jer and stroked his back, kissed his bruised face, lubed him up himself before he fucked him, and after he'd come, he did what he almost never did; he pulled Jer into his arms, and held and caressed him.

"You're a good boy, Jer," he said softly, in Jer's ear. "My good boy."

"Thank you, master," Jer answered.

Argounov patted his back.

"You'll be all right," he said. "We'll both be all right."

"Yes, master," said Jer, unable to shift his voice into a tone that wasn't utterly flat, but Argounov either didn't notice or didn't care.

"Good boy," he said again, and Jer lay still, waiting for Argounov to fall asleep.

After Argounov fell asleep, he started waiting for morning. In the morning, he could start waiting for it to be night again.