The Maiden, chapter eleven

[maculategiraffe]

I swear we are getting out of the house/bedrooms/kitchen/office sometime this year, but all this stuff kinda had to happen first.




Sean lay awake in the faint predawn light from the window, holding himself very still.

The room was a guest room, Rita had said, so it had been designed for a woman, and it showed. The bed was soft and wide, and there were three fluffy pillows at his head; the sheets were soft and white and smelled like lavender, and there was a blanket and what seemed to be a silk coverlet over him. Even in the dimness he could see that there was more furniture in here than in Rita's own bedroom-- a desk with a chair, another armchair, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers.

The other men were going to hate him.

Maybe not Kyle, though. Rita had said Kyle didn't want a room of his own, so maybe Sean getting one wouldn't upset him. Or maybe Kyle had been smart enough to realize that cutting himself off from the other men was a great way to wind up with no friends, and would despise Sean for not making the same choice.

Sean really didn't want Kyle mad at him, especially now that Kyle was acting almost friendly-- or at least he had been at dinner last night. It was nice to feel you had-- well, if not a friend, then at least a tentative ally. It would be even nicer if Kyle could become a friend. Sean missed having friends. He'd had a few when he was a kid, but at the center he seemed to have lost the knack for making them, and acquired a knack instead for getting beaten up and raped.

He shuddered and pulled the covers up to his eyes, trying not to think about that, trying to think good thoughts: he had a protectrix now, and aside from apparently intending to cut off his dick with a knife, she seemed nice.

(She couldn't really have been going to cut off his dick, of course; she needed it functional, and his balls too, if he was going to be any use to her. Besides, Sean knew boys who'd lost their maidenheads in high school, and they'd always seemed just fine the next day. The taboo on talking about what happened to you inside a circle would explain why none of them had ever mentioned the part with the fucking knife; the same taboo would keep him from asking Kyle, even if he could trust Kyle to tell the truth. But whatever it was, he was going to stand still for it next time if it killed him.)

But Rita had been almost apologetic-- no, not almost, downright apologetic, she'd actually said it was her fault too-- ever since. And she'd actually promised not to send him back to the same center as before. Not that he had any guarantee she'd keep her promise, of course-- but she'd had no reason to make it, either, if she didn't intend to keep it.

Sean stretched and sighed; the window's rectangle of light was brighter now, and he wondered what he was supposed to do. Dress and go down to breakfast with the other men? Wait here until someone came to get him? He certainly knew which he'd rather do-- he wasn't at all eager to confront the other men, and he wouldn't mind having Rita come looking for him. She'd surprised him last night, first with her questions about the center, and then with her sudden, startling comment: if it frightens you to sleep in the men's dormitory... The last time anyone had seemed to care what frightened Sean, he'd still been in high school.

No, that wasn't true-- Kyle had apologized, too, after the ritual, for having been rough with him before. Sean guessed he wouldn't mind having Kyle come looking for him, either, if only to see whether Kyle was still in the friendly, caretaking mood he'd been in last night at supper. Keeping his mouth shut had seemed to work fine to keep Sean out of trouble. Keeping his mouth shut and holding still: those were going to be the survival skills here. Sean could do that.






"Wake up," said Rita softly, and Kyle opened his eyes and smiled sleepily up at her.

"Hey," he said, and reached for her; smiling indulgently, she let him pull her down, close to his chest, and kissed his shoulder. He kissed her hair, lifting one hand to stroke it, and they lay together, nuzzling lazily, for a while before she said into his neck, "Time to get up."

Kyle grunted in protest. "Five more minutes..."

"Well," said Rita, and nestled a little closer against him. "Five minutes."

"You want to talk to Drew after breakfast, yeah?" Kyle said eventually.

"Yes," said Rita, opening her eyes, though she couldn't see much but Kyle's neck and chin. "Tell him to come up to my office. And don't worry, Kyle."

"I'm not," he murmured. "Thank you."

She lifted her head to kiss his lips, and then rolled out of his arms and said, "Up."

Kyle sat up, yawning, flexed his shoulders in an elaborate shrug, then glanced around the room, as if remembering, and looked at his clothes, still lying on the floor from last night.

"Oh, dear," said Rita, following his gaze. "I should have put those away last night. They'll be all wrinkled, now."

Kyle smiled, climbing out of bed and heading for the clothes. "It's okay with me."

"Catch," said Rita, and tossed him his underwear from the bed; he caught it on a fingertip and grinned at her. "Kyle?"

He looked up as he stepped into his underwear. "Ma'am?"

"When you were at the men's center," she said, "before I brought you home-- did anyone ever-- rape you?"

"No," said Kyle, startled. "No, they-- the guards-- they wouldn't have let that happen. I mean, I got shoved around some, and-- well-- grabbed-- but they never let it get that far. Why?"

"Sean told me last night that he was raped, at the center he was at," she said. "Repeatedly. Almost every night, he said."

Kyle paused, bare-chested, his T-shirt dangling from his hand. "Whoa."

"I know."

Kyle pulled his T-shirt over his head, tugged it down past his waist, and ran a hand through his hair before he said, "That's... rough. Poor kid. No wonder he's so skittish."

"I may visit the center, later," she said. "See if there's anything I can do to improve conditions."

"That's nice of you," said Kyle, rather absently, and added carefully after a moment, "Uh, so... you were with Sean last night?"

Rita nodded. "I went downstairs to talk to him, after you fell asleep. Oh," she added struck, "that reminds me. Did anything happen with the other men, last night, before I sent for you? They all seemed completely paralyzed with terror at the sight of me."

Kyle tensed, and Rita raised her eyebrows.

"What?" she said. "Is it a secret?"

"Not exactly," said Kyle slowly, still a bit tense, and watching her carefully as she dressed herself. "We were just... uh, running our mouths, when Bonnie came in. Jonas was talking about some old play he'd read-- you know he's always reading-- and there was something in it about a man murdering his-- wife. I mean, it was just something he'd read. But Bonnie walked in right then, and she looked sort of mad. They were probably scared she'd told you, and made it sound-- worse than it was. You know."

"For heaven's sake," said Rita, buttoning up her dress. "I'm not quite that much of an ogre, that I'd punish men for discussing pre-Enlightenment literature."

Kyle smiled at her. "You're not an ogre at all, Rita."

"I hope not." Rita took hold of one edge of the dirtied sheet from last night. "Help me change the bed."

As they put on fresh, lavender-smelling sheets from the drawer, Kyle started humming, a cheerful-sounding little tune.

"You're in a good mood this morning," Rita observed, amused. "What are you singing?"

"Oh-- just something my mother used to sing," said Kyle, and sang, suddenly and slightly off-key, "'Lavender blue, ditty ditty, lavender green...'" He smiled at her again, shaking a pillow into its fresh case. "Sorry. I'm just... feeling lucky, that's all. To be here. To have you."

"Such sweet talk." Rita sheathed the other pillow and set it on the bed, drawing the coverlet up over it. "Now run, or you'll be late for breakfast."

But instead he came towards her, dropped to one knee, and brought her hand to his lips before he rose and hurried out, humming under his breath.

Rita stood still for a moment, the silly little tune singing itself in her head, before she went to waken Sean.






Sean had discovered a little bathroom just off the room he'd slept in-- a private bathroom, this had to be a mistake-- and had taken advantage of it to have a quick shower before he dressed; his hair still damp, he was debating whether he dared use the fresh razor in the bathroom to shave his face, when the bedroom door opened and Rita came in.

"Good morning," she said, and came forward to kiss him on his still-prickly cheek. "How did you sleep?"

"Very, very well," he said fervently, and she smiled. "Thank you, magistra-- for-- for the room."

"I'm glad you like it," said Rita. "You may consider this your room, until further notice. I see you found the bathroom-- was everything there that you needed?"

"May I use the razor?" Sean blurted, and Rita laughed.

"You may use anything you find in here," she answered. "And if you need anything that isn't here, let me know. I'm glad to see you're up and dressed-- the other men are probably already at breakfast."

"Oh," said Sean, rather flatly. "Right."

"Would you rather not eat with them?" Rita asked, and Sean answered hastily, "No-- I mean yes-- I mean, I don't mind, magistra."

"Well, all right," said Rita, "but remember, if any of them frighten you or make you uncomfortable, you should let me know."

"Yes, magistra," said Sean, bowing deeply. "I should-- may I go?"

"You may," said Rita, and turned to watch him thoughtfully as he scuttled out the door.

Yet again he arrived after the other men had already started eating, but this time there was a place set for him, on one side of the square table, while Kyle and Drew shared another side. All four of the others looked up at him with raised eyebrows, and he hesitated before sitting down. The food looked even better than it had at dinner; Sean hadn't had breakfast yesterday, because of the ritual, and there were platters covered with brown wedges of buttery toast, scrambled eggs, tomato slices, sausage; pots of honey, sugar, salt, pepper, and at least three kinds of jelly; a pitcher of milk; and what looked like a silver coffee pot. Sean smelled coffee, and his mouth watered; he'd only been allowed to drink it for about six months before his eighteenth birthday, and he hadn't come anywhere near it since then. All the men had mugs at their places; Sean's was empty.

"What happened to you last night?" Jonas asked, passing the platter of eggs at him. "We thought maybe you were having a three-way, but Kyle says not."

"Uh," said Sean, concentrating on spooning egg onto his plate. "I, she, she said-- that usually, a stud has-- a room, to himself."

"Well, aren't you the fancy man," said Nick, as Jonas poked the tomato platter at him and Sean shook his head. "How come you never rated your own room, Kyle?"

Sean tried not to flinch; Kyle answered, not sounding put out at all, "She offered, but-- it sounded lonely."

"Think you'll get lonely, Sean?" Nick asked.

Before Sean could think of an answer that didn't sound insulting to the other men, Kyle answered, "Maybe Sean could use a little peace and quiet for a change. Coffee, Sean?"

"If I may," said Sean, and Kyle poured it into his cup without looking at him.

"So," said Jonas, as if resuming a conversation, "you're pretty sure Bonnie didn't say anything?"

"Pretty sure," said Kyle. "If she did, the magistra didn't seem too mad-- and if she decides to say something later, I think it will be okay now. You can quit sweating bullets. Both of you."

"Man, I do not want to lose her protection," said Jonas, and speared a big tomato slice on the end of his fork. "Thanks, Kyle."

"Thanks," Nick echoed. "Jonas, you're going to choke, eating like that."

"Sorry, mother."

Sean didn't pay too much attention as the casual conversation went on around him-- he was too busy filling his belly, interspersing bites of food with sips of fantastically strong, aromatic, smooth coffee. It was even better than he'd remembered it being, and when it finally occurred to him to add sugar and milk, it got even better than that. His mother had always warned him that it would make him jittery, but it just seemed to fill him with the most wonderful sense of wellbeing, and he didn't feel quite so nervous as the men all rose to clear away their plates; he even asked Kyle, in an undertone, what happened to the uneaten food left on the platters in the middle of the table.

"The women put them away," said Kyle. "We're not supposed to take food out of here."

Sean nodded, and Kyle patted him unexpectedly on the shoulder before he turned away and put a hand on Drew's arm. Drew, who'd already started to follow Nick and Jonas out of the kitchen, turned, raising his eyebrows.

"I asked her," said Kyle.

Drew opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again to say just, "And?"

"And she wants to see you," said Kyle. "In her office."

"Oh, shit," said Drew, and closed his sky-blue eyes briefly. "Kyle--"

"No, it's okay," said Kyle, reaching to clasp Drew's hand in his. "I think it's really okay. She wasn't mad last night, when I asked, and she was in a terrific mood this morning-- and she promised not to hurt you, or-- release you. She just wants to talk to you. I don't really know why, but-- it's okay."

"Easy for you to say," said Drew, and then looked up at Sean, and back at Kyle, and said, "Okay. Wish me luck."

"Luck," said Kyle, and kissed Drew quickly on the cheek. "Go get 'em, tiger."

After Drew had left, Kyle looked at Sean, who just stood there-- hold still and keep your mouth shut-- and looked back at him. Eventually, Kyle smiled, a little.

"Long story," he said. "I'm going to go work outside. You can come help if you want."






Her letter to the center addressed and ready to mail, her other morning correspondence well under way, and her first cup of tea drunk, Rita was ready for the knock on her door; she felt fairly serene as Drew, in response to her "Come in," sidled inside with a caution that almost amounted to furtiveness.

Rita knew him by sight, of course-- she knew all the men under her protection-- but she'd never particularly looked at him before. Tall, yes, and broad-shouldered-- tanned, since he worked outside, and with sun-bleached hair. His eyes were down, and as soon as he'd closed the door, he went to his knees, his hands clasped tightly together as if in supplication. Even if she hadn't been able to feel the coldness of his body and the rapidity of his heartbeat, there would have been no mistaking that he was afraid.

"Hello, Drew," she said, keeping her tone neutral. "I understand you're interested in a sexual relationship with Kyle."

He nodded without looking up.

"I appreciate that you sought my permission," said Rita. "Look at me."

His eyes were the blue of Carol's ceremonial robe.

"You are probably aware," said Rita, "that the last man to touch Kyle without my permission was castrated. Rather painfully, I'm afraid."

He went a couple of shades paler as he nodded.

"You, of course, don't have to worry about that," said Rita, watching him, "since you were wise enough to seek my permission before initiating any kind of intimacy with Kyle." She left a beat before adding gently, "Weren't you?"

He was sweating by now, and his nod was more like a jerk. Rita wasn't going to be particularly angry if Drew failed to mention the kiss; she was, however, very interested in whether he would.

"Of course," she probed-- it had worked with Kyle-- "there must have been some point at which you realized you were both attracted..."

"Magistra," said Drew, "please... the only thing... and it was completely my fault, I-- I accept any punishment-- it wasn't Kyle's fault-- but, well, a couple of weeks ago-- I kissed him."

That wasn't how Kyle had told it-- or rather, it was exactly how Kyle had told it, except that in Kyle's version, it wasn't Drew's fault. All right, so one was lying to protect the other. That was rather sweet, wasn't it?

Certainly it was.

Rita breathed in deeply, drawing her gathering power back inside herself, away from the kneeling man. She really must get this under control; there was no reason in it.

"Drew," she said, "if I seem stern, it's only because I care a great deal for Kyle, and I don't wish to see him come to harm. I think-- from what you've said-- that you can understand that."

Drew nodded, his shoulders hunched as if trying to make his big frame as small as possible.

Moving carefully, she rose and crossed to him; when she knelt down in front of him, he flinched visibly, but didn't try to move away. She touched a hand to his chin, lifting his face until his blue, blue eyes met hers.

"You're stronger than Kyle," she said seriously. "You must not use your strength to make him do anything he's not willing to do."

"I wouldn't," he said, his voice trembling a little. "I swear."

"I believe you," said Rita. "But I want you to understand, in case you're ever tempted, that if you do, I will hurt you very, very badly."

He went white as the fresh sheets, but he managed a very respectable nod this time.

"Good," said Rita, and released his chin. "Just so we're clear. One more thing-- do you object to being tested for sexually transmitted diseases? Just as a precaution?"

"No," he said, in an almost voiceless whisper, and cleared his throat. "No, I-- I don't object."

"All right, then," said Rita, and rose. "I'll make sure that gets done as soon as possible. In the meantime, I'll let Kyle know that I have no objection to your relationship. You're free to return to work."

He wobbled to his feet, looking dazed, and started to back away. Then he stopped to say, "Uh-- thank you-- very much."

"Not at all," said Rita, crisply and meaninglessly, and made a quick gesture of dismissal; he bowed, then turned and nearly ran from the room, leaving the door open behind him.

"Hmm," said Rita aloud. "That went well."

She sat back down at her desk, glanced at the next letter she needed to answer-- something about the weather circle; it was always the weather circle-- and bent to a patient reply, faintly irritated by the way the first bar of Kyle's foolish little song-- lavender blue, lavender green-- kept playing in her head, over and over, just that one line. She'd have to get him to tell her the rest of the words. Sometime.