Jesse part eleven

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Part Ten and a Bit

The next morning when Bran woke Jesse up, he was naked, displaying a body spattered with bruises and bite marks.

"Uh-oh," said Jesse with groggy alarm.

Bran grinned. "Don't worry, I'm still allowed to wear clothes. I'm just showing off."

"You're hilarious," said Jesse, sitting up and examining Bran more attentively. "Did you get much sleep?" He put a hand on Bran's hip to turn him gently around.

"Some," said Bran. His back had more bite marks and several red, angry-looking scratches; there were a few mottled bruises on his ass and thighs.

"Doesn't that hurt?" Jesse asked, somewhat befuddled by Bran's obvious pleasure.

"In a good way," said Bran. "Like when you pull my hair."

Jesse tried not to show his surprise and pleasure at the comment. "Does he pull your hair?"

"No. He plays with it. Jer pulls it, sometimes."

"You don't mind being everyone else's fuck toy?" Jesse asked curiously. "Even though you're in love with him?"

"Early in the morning to be trying to make me cry again," said Bran, with a small grin over his shoulder at Jesse. "No, I guess he's right. You aren't trying to be hurtful, you're just naturally curious and not naturally over-endowed with tact."

Jesse flushed. Bran wasn't the mimic Holden was, but hearing himself analyzed in such terms and in Holden's speech patterns was unpleasant. He bit back the truculent answer he would have liked to give Holden, focusing on Bran and on his first sentence. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine. The others have fucking rights to me, but that was my choice when he first agreed to-- when I first-- you know. Figured it would make Yves and Jer a lot easier to deal with. Anyone else I sleep with is my choice, too. You heard him ask me about Lisa Kareyeva yesterday. He'd have let me say no." Bran paused for a moment, then added, "I guess I'd like it if he cared enough to get jealous over me, but I don't really want to spend all the nights he isn't with me alone."

"Tell me about the Kareyeva girl," said Jesse quickly, wanting to change the subject from his inconsiderate question and the ever-irritating topic of Holden's love, or lack thereof, for Bran. "They're coming over tonight, is that right?"

"Yeah. She's a really nice girl," said Bran, and Jesse was relieved at his warm, sincere smile. "Very gentle. Very shy-- with me, anyway; she seems to be able to hold her own with Miss Valor. But we've been sleeping together off and on for almost a year now, and she still doesn't quite have the hang of the whole 'sex slave' concept. It's all 'Do you think you could' this and 'Would you mind if I' that."

"Some of them get off on that," said Jesse wisely. "Does she like you to play rough?"

"No, no. I mean, I've never tried. I don't think she'd like that. She once saw the mistress slap a trainee's face and almost got hysterical. I'll have to prepare her tonight so she doesn't faint dead away at the sight of this." Bran slid a hand almost caressingly over his own marked chest.

"What about the daughter?" Jesse asked.

"Miss Valor? She-- has a strong personality. She's nice, though. She's settled down a bit since I first met her. I think Lady Lisa has a calming influence now that they're living together. Are you coming down to breakfast?"

"Aren't you getting dressed?" Jesse asked.

"I guess I should. Fox will be there. Not that she doesn't already know I'm a complete slut, but no need to rub it in." Bran hurried out the door and Jesse began to dress himself absently; he was still smoothing down his tunic when Bran came back in, dressed.



When they came into the dining room, everyone else was already seated around the table, food served. Holden reached out as Bran tried to walk past him and caught his arm, pulling him down into his lap. Bran looked up at him, surprised, and Holden pulled him close with one arm and reached for his plate with the other, lifting a piece of fruit to Bran's lips. Bran opened his mouth obediently and took it in, lapping juice carefully from his master's fingertips, then leaned his head back with a small sigh onto Holden's shoulder.

"I don't want to hear it," Holden said to Jer, reaching for another piece of fruit.

"I didn't say anything, master," said Jer, with a small smile. "Actually you two look very picturesque. Skirnir bargaining with Freyr."

"I always fancied myself more as Loki," said Holden, amused, as he fed Bran another morsel. "You're not religious, Jer."

"No, but my mom had a religious picture like that when I was a kid. You know, just printed cardboard, but I liked it. I thought when I was little that it was a dad holding his son on his lap."

"I think we had that picture too," said Alix, interested. "My parents, I mean. It must have been a popular one at the time."

"There was a whole series," said Jer. "Freyja with Brisingamen, the death of Baldur, Loki venom-eyed, all the old chestnuts. I just... liked that one. I liked the look on Freyr's face."

"I don't really remember it very well," said Alix. "I know Skirnir looked quite young."

"Yeah," said Jer, smiling again. "And he was all draped over Freyr, with this sort of 'c'mon, pleeeeease' look on his face, and Freyr had this little smile, like he saw right through him. But not angry at all, just, well, gentle." He paused for a moment as if examining the memory, then shrugged. "You know how you make things up in your head, when you're a kid looking at a picture. When I finally heard the actual story it sort of pissed me off."

"I always suspected Bran planned to sabotage me at Ragnarok," said Holden lightly, as Jesse examined Jer with interest; this was the most he'd said in Jesse's presence since the night of Jesse's arrival.

"I don't think it was deliberate sabotage in the story, was it, master?" Greta asked idly. "He just wanted the sword for himself."

"I thought he needed it to fight his way to Gerd," said Yves, diverted.

Jesse had already eaten all he planned to; he hadn't been particularly hungry since he came here, at least not for the textureless things that were all he was served for the good of his teeth. Nor was he interested in the theological chatter the five adults were carrying on with. Instead he watched intently as Holden fed Bran from his plate with his fingers. He had seen this game played before and knew that, like all games masters played with slaves, it was generally designed for the master to enjoy and the slave to handle either well or badly. The master got the pleasure of his slave's mouth, his hunger-sharpened focus, the catch of his breath as he waited between bites for his master's whim; the slave, if he was lucky and good at the game, got a half-full belly before his master got bored.

Bran was good, there was no doubt of that-- the way he opened his mouth, just wide enough that his master's fingers brushed against his lips, but not his teeth; the way he took in the food eagerly but not voraciously, gratefully but never impatiently, the gratitude implicitly for the master's kindness and not for the food itself; the slow sensual licking and sucking of his master's fingers as they withdrew from his mouth: all were part of the game, all would keep a master enjoying himself for as long as possible, maximizing how much you actually got to eat.

Holden cut a bite-sized piece from his omelette with a fork, then used the fork to delicately dissect the piece before lifting it to Bran's lips. He repeated the operation twice before Jesse realized he was removing the mushrooms from the omelette's filling before feeding it to Bran, and that Bran was looking at Holden with wide, startled eyes.

"You don't like mushrooms," Holden said softly to him, touching another bite to Bran's lips; Bran opened his mouth automatically, still staring at his master. Jesse blinked at both of them, somehow less able to absorb this tiny, mundane gesture than the myriad other shocks his expectations had received over the past three days.

It was certainly conceivable-- he thought-- that a well-nourished slave who routinely ate at the same table with his owners would grow confident enough about food to develop preferences, likes and dislikes. But Jesse couldn't imagine Bran picking over anything he was served. Holden was a trainer who wouldn't encourage young slaves in a dangerous habit like fussy eating, and in any case Bran would surely be horrified at the idea of such ingratitude as a refusal to eat anything his master was pleased to give him. He might privately dislike mushrooms, but Jesse would have bet his own life Bran would eat them cheerfully. Yet somehow Holden had observed the preference, and was taking the trouble to indulge it as he fed Bran.

Jesse would have felt sillier for being so profoundly affected by the odd little gesture if Bran's own eyes, now back on Holden's hand, hadn't looked slightly glassy.

Holden was feeding him pieces of apple and melon, interspersed with bites of omelette. Left behind in the bowl, like the small piles of mushrooms on the plate, was an increasing proportion of grapes.

When Holden's place was nearly clean-- only grapes left in the bowl, only mushrooms on the plate-- Holden began feeding Bran the grapes, one by one. Bran accepted them with his lips, crushing them in his mouth, licking the sweet juice from his teeth, and bathing his master's fingertips with kisses.

"An antler," said Holden to Yves, who had just asked something of the table in general. He offered Bran the last grape and added, "It doesn't matter, anyway. Ragnarok's rigged. Everyone loses. Freyr's just the first to go down. He might have lasted longer with the sword, but..." He shrugged, one-shouldered, while Bran sucked his fingers clean. "I guess he thought it was worth it."

"Yeah, well, love will do that to you," said Jer, without looking at either Holden or Bran.

The telephone rang, making Jesse's heart leap into his throat. Alix jumped up and hurried into the hall to answer it.

After a moment she came back in and said to Holden in a resigned tone, "Irina."

Bran got up quickly, as Jesse slowly swallowed his heart again. No news is good news, he reminded himself. Holden rose, looking slightly annoyed but not surprised, and grabbed Bran by the hand, leading the boy after him out into the hall.

Jesse looked after them for a moment, dazed, then was halfway up from his seat before he remembered to mutter, "May I please be excused, mistress?" Alix nodded, and Jesse jumped up to follow Bran and Holden, somehow unable to resist any chance to watch them together.

"Of course," Holden was saying into the phone, still holding Bran's hand. He nodded briefly to Jesse, and Bran shrugged to Jesse's questioning look. "No, not at all. Actually, Bran is right here-- would it help if I put him on?"

Bran blinked at his master, who grimaced at him.

"Fine," he said. "Here he is." He handed the phone to Bran, who took it nervously and held it up to his ear as if it might bite. After listening for a moment, though, his eyebrows shot up and he looked at Holden, who shrugged elaborately, as if to say What can you do?.

"As it please my lady," Bran said politely, and then after a brief pause, in a completely different voice, "Okay, she's kidding, right?

"Worried about what? Yes, gods forbid I actually get punished for public disobedience. You've got to be--

"No, yeah, absolutely. That's completely reasonable. He was actually in the middle of skinning me alive, but maybe if you irritate him enough with pointless telephone calls he'll go--

"Sure he did. In the car on the way home he raised his voice to me for two whole sentences." Holden, obviously trying not to laugh, held up three fingers in front of Bran's face. "Three whole sentences. He's been nursing me back to consciousness ever since.

"Kai! I cannot fucking believe she let you waste his time with this. I thought I was spoiled rotten. Give her back the phone.

"My lady? Thank you for permitting me to speak to you. I beg you to accept my humble apology for my misbehavior in your presence yesterday."

Chuckling softly, Holden took the phone back from Bran.

"Hi, Irina," he said. "No, I didn't. Yeah, he is." He laughed. "True. No. Of course. Imagine that. Okay, Irina, it's no problem. Glad we could help. All right. Goodbye."

He hung up.

"What was that about?" Bran demanded. "Master? You don't seem surprised."

"I'm not," said Holden. "He's been completely fucking paranoid about anyone under my power since... well, ever, but the phone calls to check up started after Greta got pregnant. Irina's always indulged him. You've just never seen it because you've never acted up in front of him before."

"For fuck's sake," Bran muttered. "You'd think after twenty years of no one ever showing up mangled or traumatized-- except for the pregnancy, and that wasn't exactly-- what are you grinning about, master?"

"You," said Holden, putting his arm around Bran. "You're adorable when you're indignant on my behalf."

Bran blushed, then laughed. "Well, if he's been doing that all this time I doubt I'm the first to tell him he's an idiot."

"Actually, I think you are," said Holden, and kissed Bran's cheek. "I'm not sure anyone else has ever felt the need to defend me with quite that degree of incredulous sarcasm. I wonder if he'll call again."

Bran laughed again and leaned his head against his master's shoulder. "Not worrying about me, master, because I'm not ever acting up at Lady Galenova's again-- but if he does, give me the phone anyway."

"I think I will." Holden hugged Bran to him. "Ah, Bran--"

"I love you." Jesse could almost hear the words, but Holden just hugged Bran and kissed his hair, and Jesse thought, I've got to figure this out or I will fucking go crazy before I even know if Quen is still--

The phone rang again. Holden reached out and picked it up without letting go of Bran.

"Larssen," he said. As he listened, a satisfied smile curled his lips. "Of course." He looked up at Jesse and silently offered the phone.

Jesse leaped for it, snatching it so eagerly that he nearly dropped it, and pressed it to his ear, barely breathing.

"This is J-- jesse," he stuttered.

"Baby?" said Quen. "Now do you trust them?"

Part Twelve