In the meantime, Yves

[maculategiraffe]

I've been sort of ignoring all the NaNo stuff, since I'm already in the middle of "Lee" and such, and since the process NaNo is designed to encourage (write however horribly you need to so that you have a copious amount of crap to work with before you start polishing) is already pretty much my process, but I hadn't realized it meant several of you would be posting your slavery-containing NaNos-in-progress! *bounces happily* Reading material!!

Anyway, speaking of crap, I'm still trying to get chapter three of "Lee" into a readable state, so in the meantime, here's the second in what's developing into sort of a miniseries about Yves' first couple of months with Holden. (Blame aerialsprite for her request--I had four ideas for what to write to it instead of one, and I am not the type to sit idly by while bunnies in waistcoats go hopping past me muttering about being late. Chase 'em down the hole, is my motto.)

---

It was three weeks and approximately three billion questions from his new master before Yves got up the courage to ask one of his own-- but then, there was only one question on his mind that hadn't yet been answered. Not counting the questions no slave with half a brain would ask, like so, master, exactly how much longer are you planning to be this nice to me? Even the question he'd finally determined to ask wasn't one he was sure he wanted answered. Was it really sensible to bring it up before he couldn't avoid it any longer?

The elder Lord Chernov, at the conclusion of those first miserable days, after Yves had more or less gotten his equilibrium back, had patted him conciliatorily and told him he was a sensible lad, and he'd decided he liked the word. He was sensible-- docile, competent, phlegmatic. Not an excellent slave, by any means-- none of his owners had found him more than acceptably attractive and pleasing, and Ivan Chernov not even that-- but not a worthless one either. There were worse things to be called than sensible.

Of course, there were better things, too, and Yves was feeling less sensible by the day as Holden heaped an entirely different set of descriptions on his head: gorgeous, sexy, fascinating, brilliant, wicked, irresistible, some kind of genius. This last after Holden had showed Yves the small library and Yves, stupid with astonished joy that his new master was going to encourage him to read-- Lady Katya had strongly implied that access to her library was an enormous indulgence not many owners would have the kindness to grant-- had failed to hide his disappointment at its poverty in the area that interested him. He'd expected Holden to hit him for the first time, then-- surely even Holden's seemingly endless patience wouldn't stretch to such flagrant ingratitude and implied disrespect of his master's tastes. Instead, Holden had put his head on one side in an increasingly familiar gesture and asked Yves what kind of books he'd hoped for. Yves tried, stammering, to explain the odd interest he'd developed in his long stretches of empty time at Lady Katya's, and though at the time Holden had only ruffled his hair and made the comment about having some kind of genius on his hands, the next time Yves dared the library he'd found four more books on mathematics, all at a considerably higher level than the ones that had been there before.

But he was still-- just barely-- sensible enough to realize that his good luck could come to an end as abruptly and inexplicably as it had begun, and that moment of abject terror in the library had brought the possibility closer. An owner as extravagantly kind as Holden might well prove equally extravagant in displeasure, might devote the same creative energy to misery as he had so far to delight, or even sell Yves as impulsively as he had bought him.

So it was in bed, in the dark, clasped close in his master's arms after some extremely satisfying sex, that Yves, like a sensible slave, chose his moment.

"Master?"

"Yes, my dove."

Yves smiled at the ridiculous endearment-- nobody could accuse his master of being sensible, not that masters had to be. Yves had picked up enough of his master's history to know he hadn't always been the master; he could picture Holden equally well as Pavel's worshipped darling and Argounov's unmanageable brat. But he tried not to dwell on such thoughts; whatever Holden had been, he was Yves' master now, and Yves would do well to remember it. "May I ask you a question?"

"You may."

Yves took a deep breath. "May I ask what to expect when you punish me?"

Holden moved in surprise, shifting and pulling away slightly. "When I punish you? Why, have you done something to be punished for?"

Yves grimaced in the dark, but he'd been prepared for the obvious question. "No, master, at least I don't think so, though it's for you to judge. But I'm not-- arrogant enough to think I'll never displease you. And I'd like to know-- and you've been very generous about telling me-- what to expect."

"Hmm," said Holden. "Fair enough. Suppose you tell me first what you came to expect from Lady Katya. When she punished you."

That question, for some reason, he hadn't been expecting. But now that he thought of it, it was logical. Why change what had obviously worked? It wasn't as if he'd been sold for behavioral problems. And it could certainly be worse.

"Yes, master. When my mistress was displeased with me, she would have Cal-- that was her, um-- a slave she'd had for a really long time. She'd have him cane me."

"Uh-huh. In front of her?"

"No, master, she didn't want to watch. She didn't-- relish pain." Lady Katya had always stressed how lucky Yves was to have a mistress with no taste for sadism, who corrected him only out of duty and for his own good, but was distressed enough by his pain that she couldn't bear to actually watch. "She'd inspect the welts afterwards, to make sure I'd been-- that the punishment was to her satisfaction-- but she wasn't actually there-- during."

"Hmm." Holden sounded disapproving, but after a moment all he said was, "Well, if I ever have to punish you, I'll do it myself."

Yves liked the "if." Not that he doubted he'd avoid punishment forever, or even for very much longer-- he'd never gone this long without being punished, not since he'd had an owner who actually monitored his behavior-- but it was sort of nice that Holden didn't consider it a foregone conclusion that he'd eventually fuck up. Lady Katya had explained what punishment would involve at the same time and in the same tone as she'd explained where he'd sleep and what he'd get to eat. Yves was wondering if Holden meant he'd cane him personally, and was in the middle of suppressing a confused and not exclusively horrified shiver at the idea, when Holden's next question took him by surprise.

"So did you ever have sex with Cal?"

Yves went crimson, hoping it was too dark for his master to see. "N-no, master. My master knows I was-- I hadn't--"

"You could have been on top," said Holden, sounding amused.

"He wouldn't have-- he was a-- I mean--"

"Not the type you'd try to climb on top of, huh? Okay. Why not?"

"Master?"

"Why didn't you ever sleep with him?"

Yves squirmed, wishing he hadn't brought the subject of Cal up. "Our mistress forbade us to touch one another."

"Ever? What about when he punished you?"

"Even then-- she said-- only the cane must touch me."

"Did you want to have sex with him?"

"Master," Yves protested helplessly. "I don't-- I don't know."

"Don't know? You're not going to start up again with all that about how it's not a slave's place to want things, are you?" Holden moved closer, his mouth on Yves' neck, close to his ear. "I thought we agreed you weren't going to lie to me."

Yves drew in his breath. "No, master, I won't, I mean--"

"And you'd be lying if you said you didn't want things-- wouldn't you?"

With Holden's body so close and warm against his, surrounded by the smell of their sex from earlier, and with the husky voice whispering in his ear, Yves couldn't exactly argue. "Yes, master. I want-- things."

"I know." Holden kissed his ear. "You wanted those math books, didn't you? Were they the right ones, by the way? I flipped through them and couldn't understand a single word, so I guessed they must be good, since I couldn't understand a word you were saying when you explained what you wanted."

Yves felt tears spring to his eyes and tried desperately to blink them away before his master could notice or they affected his voice. He couldn't quite believe what Holden had just told him, though maybe it should have been obvious when the math books appeared-- but he'd somehow managed to convince himself that Holden had just been-- embarrassed by his oversight, embarrassed to appear less knowledgeable about some subject than his slave? Anything but believe that his master had gone out and bought books for no other reason than that Yves wanted them. It was one thing to be so unnaturally preoccupied with Yves' pleasure in bed, but this-- he couldn't imagine any way to express sufficient gratitude, wasn't even sure Holden would want him to-- he'd been so impossibly casual about it. But he had to say something.

"They-- yes, master, they were-- I've been-- enjoying--"

"Good. So how about Cal? Was he as appetizing as a math book?"

Yves managed a smile, but he was trembling, wishing fervently that he'd never initiated this conversation. Holden kissed him, tenderly, on the cheek, then on the lips, then drew him closer.

"Just answer the question, sweetheart. I won't be jealous; I know I'm the most beautiful man you've ever seen."

Yves giggled weakly.

"Yes, master. I-- Cal was-- big. Tall and muscular. And he-- didn't like me. I don't think he liked any of his mistress' little teenage boys. I mean, that was how he-- I was the only one, for most of the time I was there, but he talked about his mistress' little teenage boys. And she liked-- she'd bought another boy, a sixteen-year-old, a month or two before you bought me, master. I think she put me up for sale because I was-- getting older."

"Ah yes. Nineteen. Over the hill." Holden kissed Yves' cheek again. "So he didn't like you. Did he like punishing you?"

Yves swallowed. "I-- yes. I think so."

"How could you tell?"

"He. Um. He made me take off my clothes. She-- just told him to-- bare my ass, but he-- made me strip down to nothing."

"How did you feel about that?"

Another wholly unexpected question. Yves squirmed, but he couldn't think of any reason not to tell the truth. "I enjoyed it. I-- liked the way he looked at me."

"How did he look at you?"

"Like I was-- like he-- wanted me."

"Did he ever try to touch you?"

"No. He wouldn't have risked our mistress' displeasure-- for me."

"Did you ever offer?"

"Sif's sake, master," Yves implored, wanting to tear himself away, put his fingers in his ears, think about something else; he would have initiated sex again to make Holden shut up, if he'd thought he'd get away with it, but he knew he wouldn't. Why the hell was Holden always so-- interested in him?

"Okay, I won't make you incriminate yourself. So he beat you with a cane?"

"Yes, master."

"Was that her decision, or his? The-- implement?"

"Hers," Yves managed.

"Why?"

Yves pulled away, hard, out of Holden's arms, and rolled over with his back to his master as he snarled, "I don't know!"

Holden didn't move for a minute, and Yves held his breath, waiting, and thinking wearily that at least he'd brought Holden back to the original question; he didn't doubt that he was about to find out exactly what Holden's punishment would be like.

"Yves?" said Holden finally. Yves lay perfectly still, not knowing what to make of the tentative quality of his master's voice. "I'm-- sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." There was another moment's pause, then, "What's wrong? Was it-- did you really hate the cane?"

"I--" said Yves, utterly stunned by Holden's concerned tone, by the apology, and abruptly he was crying, for the first time in his new home, for no good reason at all except that he was overwhelmed by the number of unexpected things he was feeling. Holden put a hand on his back, and when he felt Yves's shoulders shaking with silent sobs, rubbed his back gently.

"It's okay," he said softly. "I won't cane you, if you hate it that much, ever. I promise. I can't stand paddles, myself. Whips, floggers, canes, whatever else. But not paddles. I think I just hate the noise they make. Is it the sting, or--?"

Yves shook his head and rolled over suddenly, presumptuously, back against Holden, who was startled for a moment, then wrapped his arms around Yves, holding him close, his cheek warm and slightly rough against Yves' own, as Yves tried in ragged sobs against his master's neck to explain.

"No-- it wasn't-- that. He did want me-- and he hated me-- and I hated that he hated me so much, I wanted to-- I wanted him to like me! I loved the way he looked at me, and I used to think about-- if he'd-- since she'd told him to touch me only with the cane-- but it wouldn't have had to hurt. I mean he had to stripe me-- but he could have touched me-- other ways-- with it. Too."

Holden, still clasping Yves close, let out a sudden, delighted chuckle.

"I really love the way your mind works, kid," he said. "And he didn't want to play?"

"No, I never-- he really hated me, master, I--" Yves caught his breath. "She-- she'd make him give her the cane, after, and after she checked me, she'd make me kneel down and kiss it, the cane, and thank her for correcting me-- and then I'd have to get up and kiss her-- and he'd be standing there-- fucking hating me, he hated me and it wasn't my fault, it was her fault!"

"Of course it was," Holden agreed calmly. "Twisted old bat."

Yves burst out laughing through his sobs. Holden kissed him gently on the temple.

"I have to admit I was starting to wonder," he continued. "Because you said at the very beginning that you got punished what, two to eight times a month? And you haven't done a thing to be punished for in three weeks. You're the math genius, but that seemed-- statistically unlikely."

Yves shook his head, still breathing raggedly. "You're so-- forbearing, master. I've-- deserved punishment-- from you. More than once. I-- like just now, when I raised my voice to you, pulled away--"

"Because some insensitive bastard kept interrogating you till you cried, right?" Holden rolled Yves over on his back and started carefully kissing the tears from his face. "What else have you deserved punishment for? What did Katya punish you for?"

"A lot of things, master," said Yves vaguely, somewhat distracted by the warm mouth that was covering his face with kisses.

"Like?"

"Uh-- well-- absent-mindedness. Not paying prompt attention to my mistress, when she spoke to me or gave me orders."

"Hmm. Maybe she should have tried giving more interesting orders."

Yves grinned. "Or-- getting a look on my face she didn't like."

Holden's tongue lapped a stray tear from under Yves' ear. "I can think of better ways to change the look on your face."

"Or failing to please her in bed."

"Well, cross that off the list of possibilities."

Yves giggled shyly. "I please you better than I pleased her, master. She didn't like me to get-- innovative."

"What a waste. And she apparently couldn't just tell you to do what she wanted, either, without some big routine about how it was punishment and didn't turn her on at all."

Yves was startled into laughing harder. "But-- what do you mean? You think she--"

"Got off on it? Sending her sweet little teenage boy off to be striped by her big grim favorite? Why else would she look so hard for reasons to punish you? Come on, tell me she wasn't all pink-cheeked when you did your little 'thank you mistress for my red ass and blue balls' ceremony. Can't you picture her hiking up her skirts, thinking about what was going on in the next room? I bet she told you to cry out just as loudly as you needed to, dear boy."

Yves was laughing hysterically. "Yes, she-- oh, gods, master, I really don't want to picture--"

"Now that you mention it, neither do I. Ugh. I'm very sorry. Let's talk about something else. Like how if--"

"Master, wait, I-- I'm sorry-- I can't stop-- laughing--"

"Good," Holden smiled. "Don't. You're adorable. But listen. If I decide to play some games with the cane-- and you're going to have to watch your debauched little imagination around me, you know, you never know what I might make happen-- oh, hello there--"

Yves' laughter, which had begun to subside, convulsed him again at his master's quizzical glance downward.

"--we'll play them and we'll have fun and I won't pretend it's because you must be corrected for having an unauthorized twinkle in your eye or whatever the hell. Okay? And the other thing is, if I do decide I need to punish you, you'll see it coming, you'll have time to-- understand. I won't just lose my temper and hit you, or anything like that. We'll talk about it first. What are you cackling about now?"

"I'm sorry," Yves gasped, now hopelessly lost to laughter, "it's just-- you said we'd talk-- you-- yes-- imagine that--"

Holden laughed back at him. "What are you saying? I talk a lot, or something?"

Yves kicked his heels against the bed, laughing and laughing, and Holden stared at him, grinning and shaking his head.

"You're crazy," he said, and as he flipped Yves unceremoniously onto his stomach, Yves, still laughing, couldn't help but think that useful as sensible had proved on many occasions, crazy might have distinct possibilities.