Lee chapter five

[maculategiraffe]

When they got back to the room, the doctor was back, and Alix was listening to her talk with frequent references to a clipboard; Bran moved unobtrusively closer to the two of them, and the doctor actually smiled at him.

"I understand you're very interested in the details of your friend's treatment, young man," she said, and Bran looked down shyly. "I was just telling Ms.-- your mistress-- that we'd like to start him on solid food today, and she says she thinks he'll eat if you do the feeding."

Bran nodded, still looking down. "Yes, ma'am. I'll be happy to do anything I can."

Holden had crossed to Lee's bedside; he saw to his pleasure and slight surprise that the boy looked at him with eyes that, though still extremely wary, were alert and interested.

"Hello, Lee," he said, in the tone Pavel had taught him for talking to spooked horses. "How are you feeling?"

And again with the rattling cuff, as the boy trembled. Holden realized, annoyed with himself, that the simple question, when it came from him and not Bran, must sound like a setup to the boy. He was probably afraid of punishment if he complained, but an obvious lie, like claiming to be feeling fine when he was flat on his back in a hospital bed, probably wouldn't strike him as a good move either. And silence in the face of direct questioning was obviously not safe. Poor kid.

"It's okay, Lee," he said gently. "I'm not going to hurt you. You've been hurt pretty badly already, and I don't think you deserved it, so right now all I want is for you to rest and heal, okay? And if you feel like talking to me, that would be great, but I won't punish you if you don't, or for anything you say. So try and relax for me."

Lee swallowed. "Yes... master."

"Good boy. Is there anything you need right now? Anything I can do for you?"

"I–" Lee looked faintly alarmed, his eyes darting past Holden to Bran, and Bran caught the look from across the room and came quickly to stand between Holden and Lee, almost protectively. Relief spread across Lee's face again, and Bran smiled.

"It's okay, Lee," he said, without looking at Holden.

Lee nodded and gave Bran a tremulously grateful look, sending another shockwave of memory through Holden: it was the same look Bran had given Holden on that first day when he'd said, puzzled by the kid's tearful apology, I'm not angry with you. Remembering the look, the tears, the kid huddled shivering at his feet, Holden wanted to reach out and touch Bran, measure the healthy solidity of his flesh, the warmth of his skin, the lack of shivering, to feel that he was safe. He laced his fingers together on the bed rail instead, scolding himself for letting this get to him.

"Do you think you could eat something today," Bran was asking softly, "if I feed it to you?"

Lee nodded, and Holden smiled at the unguarded eagerness on his face before he realized Bran was giving him a look that said With all respect, you're in my way. When Holden moved to step away from the bed, Bran moved too, dodging any possibility of Holden's accidentally brushing against him, before he bent over Lee, smoothing his hair gently back from his forehead and clasping his hand, with a loving smile down at him.

"I'll be back," said Holden quietly to no one in particular, and without waiting for a response, went out, down the antiseptic-smelling hall, then into the small, deserted waiting room. He sat down on the bile-green couch and rubbed vaguely at the bridge of his nose; he was getting a tension headache.

"Darling?" Alix asked softly from the doorway. He looked up at her with an effort at a smile as she came and sat down beside him and put a hand on his back. "Are you all right?"

"Sure," said Holden automatically, then, "Oh, I don't know. I'm feeling wrong-footed, is all. I don't know what the hell to say to this Lee kid. Maybe I've lost my touch."

"The boy's very attached to Bran," said Alix neutrally.

"Yeah, and that's a good thing, right? I mean, he's doing so well. He is doing well, right? He looks better. What did the doctor say?"

"That he's doing wonderfully, that the young are very resilient, and that if she lets us take him home day after tomorrow I must solemnly promise to give him his medicine and plenty of food and rest, and not to let anyone enter him at least until after a two-week checkup," Alix recited.

"Enter him?" Holden repeated.

"Strangers don't like to say fuck to me. It's my lady-like appearance."

"What does she think, that that's how I get off? I'm licking my lips over the prospect of getting a raped and torn-up kid home so I can flip him over? I mean, honestly, Alix, do I just look like a fucking rapist or something?"

"I don't think it's a commentary on how you look, dear," said Alix, examining him thoughtfully.

"Well, clearly you look trustworthy enough to protect him from your evil husband," said Holden, "and Bran--"

“Yes?" Alix scored his back softly with her fingernails. "What about Bran?”

Holden smiled mirthlessly. "Honestly? I think I’m jealous. Of Bran-- and Lee. Isn’t that ridiculous?”

She continued gently scratching his back. “A little. But it's not that strange. You’re the jealous type, love, we both know that. And Bran’s very wrapped up in the boy. I notice he seems a bit unwilling to touch you, too.”

Holden sighed. “That’s part of it. He just asked me not to touch him– in front of Lee. He’s afraid Lee will stop trusting him if he sees the two of us cuddling. Which is reasonable, I guess, but-- and then when he’s all over Lee. I know it’s stupid. But hey, if Bran can get jealous of the night nurse, why can’t I get jealous of Lee? Just because Lee happens to be horribly traumatized and desperately need Bran's care--”

"Bran got jealous of the night nurse?" Alix interrupted.

Holden smiled a little. “Not really jealous, I don't think, but he was ribbing me about him. That's another thing. One minute he’s laughing and confident and being a brat, and the next he’s acting all–- nervous. When he asked me not to touch him, he went through such a rigmarole about asking a special favor and please master don’t be angry-- and now we're back to what do I look like, some kind of monster?” Holden shook his head impatiently. “I– look, this is all ridiculous. Let’s get back. I think it's illegal for us not to be in there.”

“Only one of us needs to be in there,” said Alix gently.

He looked up at her uneasily. "Are you leaving? I'd rather you didn't leave."

"I was thinking," she said carefully, “maybe you should leave.”

Holden scowled, startled. “What? Why?”

“Well, you said yourself, there’s not really much you can do for Lee at this point. Bran’s doing it all. And with you obviously worried and upset, he's probably trying to take care of you too. I think you'd be doing him a favor to go home and... recharge for a bit. Let me stay here with Lee today and tonight, and come back in the morning."

Holden shook his head, fighting the intense temptation. "But this is my job. And Bran got a lot less sleep than I did, anyway, there's no reason I should be--"

"He's also half your age, darling. And he needs less sleep, he always has. You know how he stays up all night sometimes with my boys and girls and looks fresh as a daisy in the morning. Go home. Unwind a little, catch up on your sleep, and come back in the morning. I think you’ll find you feel much better about everything. Also," and she flashed him one of the quick, impish grins that made her look uncannily like the eighteen-year-old she'd been when they first met, "it'll give me a chance to see what all the fuss is about the night nurse."

Holden finally, reluctantly, smiled back. "Yeah. Okay. Alix, what would I do without you?"

"Do you really want me to answer that, my love?" Alix asked, and leaned to kiss him sweetly on the lips. "Come on. Let's get you out from underfoot."

When they went back to the room and Holden announced his intention of leaving until the next morning, Bran nodded absently without looking up, absorbed in watching another nurse administer saline and heparin flushes into Lee's needle. Trying not to sigh, Holden turned to kiss Alix again gratefully, gathered his things and the keys, and went, his head hurting worse than ever, from the hospital.




Yves must have heard the car; when Holden came in the front door he was already halfway down the stairs, and when he saw Holden his face lit up and he ran down the rest of them so quickly his arms were around Holden before the front door closed behind him.

"You're home!” he said happily into Holden’s neck. “I was hoping she'd be able to persuade you to– master,” he added as he pulled back slightly and looked into Holden’s face, “are you okay?"

"I'm fine. You just forgot what I look like. Hi, Greta. Your mistress packed me off home with instructions to come back when I can wipe the scowl off my face. Sorry about that.”

Greta, who had hurried in and tried to hide her look of disappointment at the sight of him, smiled anyway. “She told us she was going to try to persuade you to let her take a shift, master. I’m glad she did. You look... tired.”

Holden grimaced. “I hate to think I've reached the age where I can't lose a few hours of sleep without everyone I meet exclaiming over terrible I look."

"You don't look terrible," said Yves tactfully, kissing him as Greta eyed him cautiously. "Just-- worried to death. Not that we blame you. She told us about the kid and Dunaev and everything– is it not going well? Lee, I mean, the recovery.”

“It’s going fine. Bran's taking perfect care of him. So it was nicely pointed out to me that I am old and grumpy and of no use to anyone and should come home to be cosseted back into a good mood.”

“That’s your cue, Yves,” said Greta, grinning. “Let me know when you're done. I'll be hiding in the kitchen.”

“I'm bound to think to look there eventually,” Holden called after her as she retreated, then turned back to Yves. “Where’s Jer?”

Yves took Holden’s hand and tugged at it gently, drawing his master up the stairs; Holden followed readily. “Market. He’ll be back soon. So I guess we’d better make it the big bed. Come on, master, don’t be shy, I won’t ravish you against your will. Sit down and let me get these off. What’s got you so drawn-looking?"

“I’m tired," said Holden, sitting on the edge of his bed as Yves knelt at his feet to pull off his boots, “and the world is fucked, and nothing I do is any use.”

"Two truths and a lie, is it?” Laying his master’s boots aside, Yves sat down on the edge of the bed beside Holden and cupped his chin, tilting his face gently into a sweet, lingering kiss. “My turn. My name is Yves, I have beautiful blue eyes, and I didn’t miss you one...” he punctuated the next words with kisses, his hands sliding down Holden’s body, “...single... solitary... bit.”

“So what’s your real name?” Holden grinned, grasping Yves’ wrists gently. “Not now, love. I think I just need to– lie down for a minute. Gods," he groaned as he suited action to word, "my poor decrepit back. You know you're old when one night on a cot wreaks this much–"

"Turn over," Yves ordered, climbing onto the bed beside Holden, who rolled obediently onto his stomach, and moaned as Yves' practiced hands began kneading the cricks from his shoulders and back. "So Lee is doing well?"

"Relatively." Holden sighed. "Remember Mona?"

"Yeah," said Yves quietly, his thumbs describing circles at Holden's neck. "Is it that bad?"

"Not quite. But bad enough. And he's-- little, and his skin’s practically translucent, and– oh, it's just really getting to me, Yves, and I don't even know why, it's just– Dunaev. That fucker. I want to fucking kill him."

"Let me just–" Yves planted an elbow just under Holden's shoulder blade, and Holden grunted as a knot of tension loosened. "There. Does this kid remind you of Bran?"

"Uh... not to look at. Too soon to tell much about his personality beyond 'terrified.' And he's much worse off than Bran was, when it comes to that. I mean Bran was terrified, but he was never unresponsive."

"No," Yves agreed, putting weight on the heels of his hands on either side of Holden's spine. Holden's head was already hurting less.

"But I keep getting flashbacks," he added. “Yeah-- I guess he does. He looks the way Bran looked when I brought him home–- his expression. And he barely speaks, and when he does it’s to apologize pre-emptively for crying when I rape him. It’s getting me down."

"Imagine that," said Yves, and did something that made warmth flood Holden's muscles; Holden gasped with relief. "Do you think Bran's having flashbacks, too?"

"Funny thing," said Holden, limp with pleasure as Yves worked over his back. "Gods, you're good at this. Bran’s all of a sudden talking about– his past. With Dunaev and all."

“That can’t be fun for you,” said Yves gently.

Holden smiled a little. “Not especially. I’m glad he’s talking about it, but– you know me. I want to kick the furniture to pieces, and that’s the last thing Bran needs. And apparently I’m the last thing Lee needs, too. Wow, that came out whiny."

“I did say tell me all your troubles.” Yves was stroking more than rubbing now. “Bran and Lee have really bonded, huh?”

“Yeah. Let’s not talk about it right now.” Holden closed his eyes.

"Okay, master. Hey, did you get any math done?"

"Shut up," said Holden, his eyes still closed, as they both heard the front door slam shut.

Yves climbed off of Holden. "Be right back."

"Yves--"

By the time Holden had peeled his eyes open, the younger man was already gone. He waited, trying not to fall asleep, until he heard two sets of footsteps pounding up the stairs in tandem, and smiled a little.

"Damn it," said Jer, hurrying into the bedroom and almost jumping onto the bed, as Yves came in, smiling, behind him, "of course you pick the one time I'm gone to come home,” and when Holden rolled over to be kissed, “Hey, are you okay? You look exhausted."

"I know, right?" said Yves, lying down beside Holden as Jer lay down on his other side. Each flung an arm across Holden's chest, pinning him between them to the mattress. "He looks like death warmed over."

"All right, you two wake me up whenever my appearance has improved enough that you can stand to look at me," said Holden grumpily. "Or at least be polite about it." He shut his eyes again, firmly, drowsy from the warm closeness of their two bodies, and found himself suddenly too contented and comfortable to think about sleeping. He lay very still instead, feeling the fatigue and tension drain from his muscles, his breathing growing slowly deep and regular.

"Is he okay?" Jer whispered eventually.

"I don't think he slept much," said Yves in a low voice. "And you know him. He's such a fixer. Goes nuts when there's something wrong he can't figure out how to put right."

"Yeah," said Jer thoughtfully. "Is the kid doing okay, did he say?"

"Which kid? They're both doing fine."

"I meant Bran, but good. How much longer does Lee have to be in the hospital?"

"I didn't ask."

"What have you been talking about, infinite diagonals?"

"Diagonal infinities. I mean, no. Shut up. He was tired."

"Day after tomorrow," said Holden without opening his eyes, "if I promise not to enter him."

Yves laughed. "You're supposed to be asleep, master."

"Yeah," said Jer gruffly. "You still look like hell."

"Thanks," said Holden, trying not to smile, as each of his cheeks was kissed simultaneously by a different pair of lips.



He slept finally, and came gently back to consciousness with a hot mouth around his cock, gasping as another mouth whispered in his ear, "We decided you may wake up now, master."

"Yeah?" he managed. "Do I look less-- oh, fuck-- kiss me, Yves--"

Yves' mouth claimed his greedily, his hands buried in Holden's hair, teeth nipping at his lips. Holden moaned, his hips thrusting his cock deeper into Jer's throat.

"We got into a terrible fight over who was going to do what, here," Yves said half into his mouth. “Jer pulls hair.”

"But you bite," Holden laughed. “So who... won?”

"I think that's pretty obvious, master," said Yves, and licked and sucked his way down to Holden's ear before adding, clearly audibly under Holden's soft cry, "You."

"No... argument..." Holden caught his breath. "I'm not going to-- so don't think it, Jer, I don't care how--- fucking good you are– I’m not going to come–"

"On Jer's behalf," said Yves, between nibbles to the tender skin of Holden's neck just around his ear, "since he has his mouth full-- why the hell not?"

"Because I want to fuck you," Holden gritted.

"Me?" Yves whispered, his hands playing across Holden's chest, teasing his nipples through the cloth of his tunic. "Or Jer? Because I was thinking– it was just a thought– that you might want me to fuck Jer now and make him moan while you're gagging him with your cock, and then after you came down his throat Jer could fuck you standing up while I got on my knees and licked you clean and hard again so you could fuck me on the bed while I did whatever you wanted me to do with Jer."

Jer made a humming noise of approval, and Holden cried out again helplessly as Yves bit his earlobe and added, "But what am I saying? You’re probably much too old and tired to enjoy all that, master. Should we let you go back to sleep?”

"I," Holden panted, “will beat you– so hard–"

"Oh, mercy, master, please," Yves sassed, already slicking his fingers, then his cock, with lubricant, then climbing down the bed to straddle Jer, who grunted, thrusting his hips up impatiently towards Yves as he deep-throated Holden. As Yves’ fingers sank into Jer, eliciting a muffled groan that sent shockwaves of pleasure through Holden's cock, Yves glanced up brightly into his master's flushed face.

"Of course, if Bran was here, we could do even better," he said, fucking Jer rhythmically with his fingers, and Jer laughed quietly around Holden's cock as he continued, "Speaking of Bran, master, did I ever tell you about the time he asked me if I wished I was still your only slave?"

Jer pulled his mouth off Holden's cock and growled, "Yves, you talk too much."

"Sorry, Jer." Yves pulled out his fingers and slid his cock slowly into Jer, who let out one short, hoarse cry before bending down to swallow Holden's cock again. "Anyway." He looked up at Holden again, grinning, as he fucked Jer in short, slow strokes. "I said no."