Boy-on-boy amuse-bouche

[maculategiraffe]

Thank you so much to everyone who has responded so far to my poll (friendslocked, but I'll always friend you back if you friend me and don't appear to be a robot. I like getting to know my readers). I'm writing a thinky-thoughts post right now about my creative process as it relates to Slave Breakers Original Flavor (tm), Intake Counselor, and The Maiden, and how it's affected (and not affected) by audience reaction. But while I'm hashing all that out, for all my sweet slash-loving readers who are so kindly sticking with me as I wander afield into sexually-frustrated girlslash and femdom-het and weird crackly hands, how about some early-era Holden/Yves?

Set between this and this (and relatedly, god, how badly do I need to update the index page? I'll try to do that tonight).








Holden had spent the night in Yves' bed again, an occurrence that Yves was beginning to accept as normal, even though he'd never slept in the same bed as any owner before, let alone a married owner. The first time it happened, he walked around most of the next morning in mortal dread of running into Alix, but when he finally did see her she gave him a perfectly friendly smile, so Yves had to assume that she really didn't mind her husband leaving her bed to cuddle a slave through the night. Yves wasn't going to question his master about their arrangement; he was just grateful that they seemed to have one that didn't involve him getting caught in the middle.

Holden was still asleep, now, and Yves was wondering whether he should passively wait for him to wake, be daring and wake him with caresses, or-- and this was what Yves really wanted to do, but it required a great deal more daring-- reach for the book that lay on the nightstand and keep reading.

Some part of him recognized that this would be insanity-- his reading privileges could easily be rescinded, and surely would be if Holden saw Yves reaching for a book in preference to himself. Another part of him really wanted to keep reading, and the book was right there, and Holden seemed to be sleeping so soundly... Yves could always say he didn't want to disturb his master's rest, and Holden really didn't seem to mind his reading, he'd bought this book for Yves...

Yves put out his hand, as cautiously as if the sleeping Holden were a sleeping and potentially starving lion, and gripped the book, pulled it towards him, and opened it. His heart was pounding as he started to read, sending several nervous sideways glances at his master, who slept on, peacefully, his lips slightly parted, looking younger than he did when he was awake.

The book was so absorbing, though, that a few minutes later Yves nearly died of shock when a sleep-hoarse voice beside him said, "I guess you did like that book."

Yves slammed it shut and turned to face his master, who was smiling.

"Hey," he said, and reached to touch Yves' cheek. "You look like you just got caught screwing the bookstore owner. You know I don't mind if you read. As long as you don't mind putting the book down for right now."

Yves put the book back on the nightstand so hastily that it thudded to the floor behind him as he turned to his master, still trembling a little from the shock of getting caught-- well, not getting caught, exactly, since apparently it was okay, but still.

Holden reached out his arms and pulled Yves in close, kissing him on the neck.

"Hey," he said in Yves' ear. "I want to try something."

"Yes, master," said Yves automatically.

Holden nibbled his earlobe, then said, "Go get me a cane."

Yves' heart missed another beat, and for a moment he couldn't move. Holden tried to pull away, and Yves, stupidly, instinctively, clung to him; Holden put his hands on Yves' back and hugged him tightly.

"You don't have to," he said, and kissed Yves' temple, right beside his ear. "If it scares you-- forget it."

Yves lay still in his arms.

"I was just thinking," Holden continued, "about what you were saying, how when Cal had the cane you wished he'd-- touch you-- without hurting you. With the cane. Since he wasn't allowed to touch you with-- anything else." He licked Yves' ear, delicately tracing the tip of his tongue along the outer, curled rim, and Yves shivered. "I thought-- that had potential. For fun. But..." He managed to shrug without letting go of Yves. "Not if you wouldn't like it."

"Which cane should I get?" Yves asked after a moment; he'd seen three, in the training room, one wickedly thin, the kind that tended to draw blood.

"Whichever one you want," said Holden, kissing him again. "In a minute. I want to kiss you a while first."





By the time Yves got out of bed and slipped his tunic over his head, he was steadier on his feet than he expected as he made his way to the room where his owners kept their instruments of punishment on display, headed for the right-hand wall, and chose the middle-sized cane. It was light and simple-- rattan wood, he guessed, nicely honed and balanced, with a black leather grip and a leather thong knotted through the end for hanging it on the wall. For the first time, glancing around the room, it occurred to him to wonder why his master and mistress even owned so many implements; it wasn't as if they had a lot of slaves, and it certainly wasn't as if they were sadistic enough to require such a huge array of things to use in punishment. Yves hadn't had a single one of these things used on him yet, and Greta certainly didn't seem cowed enough to justify the theory that they were all for her benefit.

He could ask his master.

When he got back to the room, Holden was already dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking at the first page of Yves' book-- well, not Yves' book, Holden's book-- which he'd apparently rescued from the floor. He looked up at Yves with a rueful smile.

"I can't make head nor tail of this," he said. "You'll have to explain it to me sometime, okay?"

"Yes, master," said Yves, smiling back, the cane light in one hand. "I-- master? May I ask you a question?"

Holden closed the book and carefully replaced it on the nightstand. "You may."

"Why do you have so many-- things--" Yves lifted the cane in illustration-- "like this?"

Holden laughed, and gestured to Yves to come sit next to him, which he did; Holden put an arm around him as Yves rested the cane lightly across both their laps.

"It's a little intimidating, huh?" he said. "Came with the house. Long story."

Came with the house-- Yves had already gathered that the house had been given to Holden and Alix by their former master, as part of a settlement that Yves didn't really understand. Holden didn't seem to like to talk about Argounov, so Yves hadn't asked any questions; there were things he'd picked up, like that Alix didn't like it when Holden called Argounov a variety of colorful names, and some things they said seemed to imply that Holden himself had been part of the settlement in some obscure way that Yves didn't understand either. If so-- and if that particular room had come already furnished with so many tools of punishment--

"So," said Holden, interrupting Yves' train of thought, "you up for this?"

"Yes, master," said Yves, offering the cane to Holden, who took it and hefted it lightly in his hand, as if testing the balance. Then he set it down on the bed beside him and reached to touch Yves' face again, cupping his cheek with one warm hand.

"You know I'm not going to hurt you," he said gently. "This is just for fun."

"Yes, master," said Yves, looking into his master's eyes. "Thank you."

"Okay," said Holden. "Take off your tunic, and stand in the middle of the room. And don't move."

Yves obeyed; Holden picked up the cane and came towards him, looking him up and down the way he had when he'd first been considering buying Yves; hungrily, lustfully, in a way that made Yves' body prickle all over with the thrill of being desired so thoroughly. He lowered his eyes to the floor in submission, then startled slightly when the tip of the cane touched his chin and urged it gently upward. Holden held his gaze as the cane traced the line of his throat, then flicked a curl of hair off his forehead.

"Beautiful," said Holden, stroking the end of the cane down to Yves' shoulder, pressing it gently to his bicep; the cool wood was a little ticklish and a little menacing, considering the cane's purpose. But the cane belonged to his master; its purpose was whatever his master chose to use it for.

The blunt tip of wood traced its way gently down the skin of Yves' chest, and paused at his nipple; Holden already knew Yves' nipples were very sensitive, and he couldn't help gasping as Holden stepped closer and shifted his grip from the cane's handle to hold it closer to the tip. He touched the tip to the hardened nub of Yves' nipple, then pressed gently sideways, so that the tip was pinched between the wood and Yves' own skin; Yves whimpered softly at the sensation.

"Cal was such an unimaginative bastard," said Holden, releasing the pressure and sliding the cane's tip over to the other nipple.

Yves smiled, aware that his cock was hardening and hoping his master was aware, too, and might give him some attention there sometime soon.

"I mean," said Holden, leaning in close to Yves' ear, "I can get pretty fucking close without touching you-- unless of course--"

He stepped back, looking down at Yves' stiffening cock, and grinned.

"Better be careful," he said, reaching with the cane's tip to touch the tip of Yves' erection; Yves shuddered and thrust his hips forward involuntarily, and the cane traced the length of his erection, then swiveled around to stroke the underside, and to prod carefully at Yves' heavy testicles. It traced one inner thigh, then the other, easing its way between skin and skin to lift up his cock; Yves whimpered again, as Holden stepped back once more, then walked around behind Yves. Yves couldn't see him any more, but he felt the cane's tip trace along his shoulders, hooking under his shoulderblades, easing a delicate path down his spine, to the cleft of his buttocks.

"I want you on all fours," said Holden. "Back to me-- palms flat on the floor-- legs apart."

Yves sank to his knees, a little unsteadily, and assumed the position; the cane adjusted him with quick flicks of pressure, a tap at the spine to push him forward, taps on his arms to slide them forward, two little swipes-- painless but a little unnerving-- at his inner thighs to push his legs further apart. Then the cane nudged between his cheeks again, prodding at the hole between them. Yves moaned softly, but it didn't go in; it went back to his cock and balls again as they dangled there between his spread legs, teasing their heaviness, tapping them gently so that they swayed from side to side.

"Now," said Holden softly, "is when-- if I were Cal-- if I had to make sure you were punished to our mistress' satisfaction-- I'd lay the first stripe across your ass. Nice and quick--"

The length of the cane pressed crossways across Yves' buttocks, cool and firm.

"--right there."

Yves was breathing quickly.

"How many would I have to give you?" Holden asked, and Yves answered, "It-- it would depend-- on what you were punishing me for--"

"Not me," said Holden, and the length of the cane slapped very softly down across the backs of Yves' thighs, not nearly hard enough to hurt, but enough to make the familiar, soft, patting sound of wood on flesh. "Our mistress, right? She'd be the one deciding. I'd have to give you-- however many she'd said. For-- absent-mindedness, didn't you say? Say she came into the room, and you didn't look up, because you were reading-- and she got pissed off because you didn't notice she was there-- how many stripes for that?"

Yves had to clear his throat before he answered, "Probably-- six."

"Six," said Holden, flicking the cane again, gently, across Yves' thighs. "But I'd have to, right-- if I were Cal-- no matter how fucking stupid I thought it was, to punish you for being brilliant, and interested in other things besides your idiot owner."

When his hand touched Yves' bottom, it startled Yves as much as if it actually had been Cal who'd laid a hand on him, for once in their two years together. The hand was warm, and firm, and squeezed Yves' buttock gently before it stroked up Yves' spine, dragging the soft tingly pressure of fingernails up to his shoulders; Holden was kneeling beside Yves now, on the floor, the cane nowhere in evidence.

"Good thing she doesn't own you any more, huh?" Holden said conversationally. "And that your current idiot owner doesn't actually mind that you're a million times smarter than he is-- because he already thinks he's pretty fucking lucky to get to do this--"

Yves laughed on a quick, shocked, delighted exhale when Holden's arm hooked itself around his waist and yanked him, swiftly, off his hands and knees and onto his bottom on the floor, between Holden's legs; Holden's arms slid around him, one hand sliding down his belly, one tangling in his hair, as a breathless voice said in his ear, "Gods, Yves-- my Yves-- kiss me--"

Yves kissed him, clutching at the warm, gorgeous body, as they rolled over, all their limbs a tangle on the floor; Yves registered it only vaguely when his bare, kicking foot caught the loop of the cane's handle and sent it skittering across the floor and underneath Yves' rumpled bed.