Lee chapter fourteen

[maculategiraffe]

Holden sat at one end of the table they'd dragged into the room with all the archived files, shuffling through the interview transcripts with one hand, the other arm wrapped firmly around Lee's slender form. Holden's lap had become the boy's favorite seat when Bran wasn't available, and Holden wasn't about to discourage anything that brought Lee out of his shell.

He still didn't feel he knew the kid very well; his few attempts over the last two weeks, amid the rest of the welter of planning and plotting and tape recording and photographic flashing, to coax Lee to open up had met only with cautious silence. But the cuddliness was good. A lot of people would like that. Holden was still mentally making lists of possibilities, though Yves' casual remark about notoriety had started to haunt him, and Lee's obvious devotion to himself and Bran were becoming a bit of a worry as well. He really hoped Lee's affections could be more easily transferred than Bran's, or at least that this one didn't have a flair for the dramatically self-immolating. He didn't want his joke about keeping Lee to come back to haunt him.

The odd thing was-- he thought, turning over a sheet to read Bran's account of his homecoming for the fourth time-- how different he felt with Lee than he had with Bran. Lee was lovely and, by all indications, sweet-natured, but the boy's weight on his lap felt like Valor's when she was a little girl, and the protective tenderness Holden felt for the trusting young creature leaning against him had as little sensuality in it as his feeling for Valor. Certainly Lee inspired nothing of the bewildering fascination Bran had aroused in him almost from the beginning. Staring unseeingly at the transcript of Bran's words, he saw the wide gray eyes locked on his, filled with equal parts fear and interest; the boy's sensual response to Holden's caresses, though he hadn't even dared move his unbound hands; his furious, almost betrayed glare above teeth chattering with terror when Holden went to bathe him for the first time. The reverent and infinitely tender kisses he'd pressed to Holden's thighs, his cock, his hands, his forehead and his lips; his eyes again, wide above Yves' curly head and fixed on Holden's.

Holden had lectured himself endlessly-- there will be other interesting kids, all the kids are interesting, you'll find him a good owner and he'll be fine and you'll move on-- and the thought of how close he'd come to convincing himself to lose Bran, how far the kid had had to go to prevent him from making an unredeemable mistake, could still chill him with momentary panic and the strong desire to seek Bran out and do something that would leave a mark. For a second the weight in his lap, which wasn't Bran's, was therefore profoundly irritating; the moment after, he pressed a gentle kiss to Lee's temple in conciliation for his unspoken thought. Lee snuggled a little closer in response.

"Did you know I was the dimmest person in this house?" he asked Alix, restacking the interviews in order, one-handed. Alix sat across from him, making notes on a growing stack of files.

"You didn't?" she asked without looking up. "Q.E.D."

"You're a laugh riot. But seriously, why have all the slaves thought this through better than I have?"

"You're attracted to people who are smarter than you are, dear," Alix explained, sifting through a particularly thick file. "Me, for example. My magnificent mind managed to outweigh the more obvious disadvantages of my person. That, and the fact that I didn't mind you getting some on the side."

"Mind, hell," said Holden, grinning. "You bought him for me."

"A good marriage is built on compromise." Alix closed the file and set it on a growing stack. "Compromise and two or more sex slaves."

"I'd better find a good divorce lawyer, then," said Holden. "The abolitionists are raring at the bit. You read these interviews?"

"The whole 'but don't you, in your heart of hearts, wish there were no more slavery' bit? Yes. But I don't think our marriage is in any immediate danger." Alix picked up a stack of files and got to her feet. "These are all the kids we had to get a doctor for right away. I thought we'd start with Mona. Andrei's been the most enthusiastic so far about the idea of reforms to the system, and he'll be a good litmus test of whether all the nobles will be horrified at the idea of the story. Even if he doesn't want us to interview Mona, he won't turn on us altogether. He's got too much of a crush on you."

Holden laughed, startled. "Andrei?"

"You really are the dimmest person in this house, aren't you, dearest?" Alix came over to kiss him on the cheek, then dropped a quick kiss on the top of Lee's dark head, just as she might have done with Valor. "Should we write Andrei or call him?"

"Call him and ask to meet. Not tomorrow, though. That's Lee's two-week checkup, and I want Andrei to actually see Lee. I can sound him out about buying then, too."

"Good. And while I'm phoning, you might look over this." She pulled a letter across the table to Holden. "It's the letter I've written to Dr. Carey. I know she can be trusted to keep the matter confidential, even if she doesn't want to be part of the story."

"Sure," said Holden. "And if you see Jer, would you send him to me?"



As Holden read Alix's letter to the doctor, Lee shifted uneasily in his lap, then shifted again. Holden turned away from the letter and pulled him back by the shoulders, looking into the pretty, sharp-cornered face, where the effect of the pointed chin and razor cheekbones was softened by large, limpid dark eyes. "What's with the squirming, kid?"

Lee had learned to read Holden's face and tone well enough not to cringe at the question, but he did lower his eyes humbly. "Nothing, master. I just wondered--" He trailed off nervously, his lower lip disappearing again.

"If you have a question you may ask it," Holden told him, smoothing the fine dark hair back from the boy's face. "But if I choose not to answer it I don't want you throwing a temper tantrum and screaming and cursing at me like you usually do."

Lee glanced back up at him, startled, then, seeing Holden's smile, managed a tentative grin of his own.

"I'm teasing you," Holden confirmed. "You don't do anything like that. Do you? You're very quiet."

Lee smiled a little wider. "Yes, master."

"So what did you want to ask?"

Lee's eyes were still troubled. "Master-- when may I serve you?"

"Serve me?" Holden smiled again. "What did you have in mind?"

"I-- whatever my master wishes. I'm not very-- I mean-- my-- my master should judge whether I'm any good, but I'll try hard to learn, if my master will allow me to-- to--" Lee was blushing deeply now, and Holden wasn't sure whether he wanted to smile or tear up a little at the sight. "To try to please him."

"You already please me." Holden traced the line of Lee's cheekbone with his thumb. "Eventually, yes, I'll want to see how skilled you are with your mouth, and once the doctor says it's all right, I'll want to fuck you." Lee flinched involuntarily and Holden noted it while he went on, "But just because we aren't doing those things yet doesn't mean you aren't pleasing me or doing your duty as a slave. We're just taking things slow, is all. Taking things on your master's time is exactly what a good, obedient slave does."

Lee nodded, looking down. Holden took the sharp little chin in his fingers and tilted it back up.

"You don't like the idea of me fucking you?" he asked. "It's okay if you don't."

"It's just--" Lee swallowed. "It-- I'm sorry, master, I told you I wasn't brave. It-- it hurts. To be--"

"It shouldn't hurt," said Holden very gently. "Have you talked to Bran about this?"

"Yes, master," Lee admitted. "He says-- he says it doesn't hurt."

"But you're just a little skeptical?" Holden asked, smiling. "I don't blame you. But, sweetheart, I'm afraid I'm going to have to fuck you at least once. I'll wait until the doctor says it's all right, and I'll be very gentle and very careful and do everything I possibly can to make sure it feels good. And if you absolutely can't stand it, then I won't fuck you again, and I'll look out for a buyer who won't either. Probably a woman. So. Once more in your whole life. You can stand that, can't you? You've stood a lot worse, before."

"Yes, master," said Lee after a moment. "I can stand it."

"Good boy." Holden considered. "Would it make you more comfortable if Bran were there too? Touching you or holding you?"

Lee blinked at him, then laid his head back down on Holden's shoulder.

"Yes-- master," he whispered. "Thank you."

He was quiet for a moment, and Holden caressed him gently, fingertips tracing over the scabs of his healing back, feeling the quick, light heartbeat against his own. "Master? After you sell me-- will I ever see you again? Or-- or Bran?"

Holden cupped the nape of Lee's neck, caressing the still-prominent vertebrae gently with his thumb. "Yes. We can arrange for visits. In fact, even if it weren't important to you, I know Bran would want to make sure he could check on you every so often. You'll see us again, don't worry."

"Did we find a buyer?" Jer asked, coming in at that moment.

"Not yet," said Holden, glad Lee hadn't tensed at the words. "Just talking hypotheticals. Do you know where Bran is?"

"That why you wanted to see me? Seems kind of roundabout." Jer grimaced at Holden's raised eyebrow. "In the kitchen, master."

"Lee, sweetheart, run be with Bran for a bit," said Holden, and Lee got up obediently. Holden took his hand and pulled him back down for a soft kiss on the lips, and Lee smiled before he went.

"So," said Holden, motioning to Jer to sit down opposite him. Jer, looking wary, took a seat. "You want to get drunk?"






"Fuck!" Jer said, coughing. "If you wanted to poison me you could have just said so."

"Believe me," said Holden, sipping from his own glass before he pushed the cup of cold water he'd set out between them on the table towards Jer, "this is about as good as it gets. It's an acquired taste."

"This is liquor?" Jer examined his glass as if it were potentially explosive.

"This is vodka," said Holden. "Gin is much worse."

Jer grinned at that and lifted the glass again, taking a cautious sip. "Burns, doesn't it?"

"Little bit," Holden said, sipping from his own glass, "but then you start to feel all warm."

"Am I going to have a hangover?" Jer asked, sipping again. "Argounov got some serious hangovers, mornings after parties. Headaches, shitty mood. Puking, sometimes."

"Drink it slow," said Holden, "and sip water in between. If you get a hangover you can stay in bed tomorrow."

"Just like a nobleman," said Jer. "Who'd have thought I'd rise in the world so fast? Getting shit-faced, planning on hangovers. This isn't so bad. Warm, yeah."

Holden watched him. "Drink it slow, I said."

"Yes, master. What does this do to people?"

"Makes them drunk," said Holden, and drank. "Scientifically? I have no idea. Ask Yves. I bet he knows."

"I mean why aren't we allowed?" Jer asked, setting the glass down. "What does it do that's bad, so slaves can't drink it? I know coffee stains your teeth and it's addictive--"

"Alcohol's addictive too," said Holden. "I mean, you build up a tolerance to it. But you don't get headaches if you don't get it, not unless you drink way too much. I think it's--"

"We might enjoy it too much?" Jer drank.

"Something like that. Watch out!"

Jer had put the glass back down a little too hard; the liquid sloshed wildly, but didn't spill.

"Sorry," he said. "Wait. Liver. That's it. Fucks up your liver. Someone told me that. Argounov, I guess. Or maybe it was Laura."

Holden reached out and pulled the glass away. "Drink some water."

Jer nodded, then considered the water glass carefully before lifting it and sipping from it. "Less stimulating."

"Alcohol's not a stimulant," said Holden. "It's a depressant."

"Now he tells me." Jer looked up at Holden thoughtfully. "That's all I fucking need. Don't let me kill myself, will you?"

"I won't," said Holden. "But I have social drinks all the time and it's never made me want to kill myself."

"You don't have that much to be depressed about."

"Do you?"

"Get me drunk and then try to make me talk shit. Not sporting. No, kind master, my life is a rose garden. Can I finish the glass?"

"Slowly."

When he'd set the empty glass with exaggerated care back on the table, Jer looked around the room with scientific interest, then lifted and lowered his hand carefully.

"I like this," he said. "This is-- But you won't set me up?"

Holden drained his own glass, feeling pleasantly warm. "What do you mean, set you up?"

"Ask me trick questions," Jer explained. "I might say something fucked up."

"I won't ask trick questions. And I won't get mad at anything you say under the influence."

"I know," said Jer, suddenly irritable. "You never get mad at me. It's because you feel sorry for me. Because I'm so old."

"You always say that," said Holden, shaking his head. "We're the same age, remember?"

"Yeah, well, look what it's done to you," said Jer moodily, and then, "Fuck. This was a bad idea. Master--"

"It's okay," said Holden. "So we're both old and ugly."

"Not ugly. Didn't mean that." Jer shook his head. "Just-- oh, I don't know. Not my type? But, I don't know. That's not-- important. I mean, I was never your type. Was I?"

Holden considered this for a minute.

"Not exactly," he said finally. "Of course, Alix wasn't exactly my type either."

Jer grinned. "No?"

"No," said Holden, grinning back. "No cock, see."

"I've got a cock," said Jer pensively.

"That you do." Holden reached across the table and took Jer's unresisting hand in his. "You two saved my life. Whether you were-- are-- my type-- seems kind of irrelevant compared to that. But what do you mean, I'm not your type?"

"Fuck," said Jer again. "Nothing, didn't mean-- it's just-- like I was saying, that scent you give off. Drives pretty pink-cheeked boys wild. All that grav-- gravi-- fuckin'--"

"Gravitas?"

"Right. Big businessman, you know. Money in the bank, wife at home, kid at school. Social drinker. Patient smile." Jer laughed a little. "Kids like Bran-- I mean, you're his-- home. You know? Steady, strong, safe."

"And what's your type?" Holden asked, examining Jer with considerable interest.

"Dunno," said Jer, looking at their hands as if surprised to see them clasped together. "Like-- the first time I saw you. The way you jutted your chin out, like you weren't so fucking scared you could barely-- Like, come and get it, you bastards. Chained up and bruised and--surrounded-- and you weren't giving up a fucking thing."

Holden squeezed Jer's hand silently as he added rather wistfully, "You were so... Wanted to be the one to-- take you down. Make you cry. Let you-- rest."

"You took good care of me," Holden said again, watching Jer thoughtfully.

"Sure." Jer looked up suddenly. "Can I ask you? What was it-- why did you-- I mean, why her and not me?"

Holden didn't have to ask what he meant.

"Don't know exactly," he said finally. "Maybe it was the guilt, from what I did to her. Or because you were always-- I'm not saying you were wrong-- but you kept telling me to shut up, calm down, deal with it. She told me-- it was okay. To-- to--"

"Throw a tantrum."

"Yeah."

"That why you keep telling me it's okay?" Jer asked after a moment. "To be pissed off at you? To get-- how I get?"

"Yeah," Holden said quietly. "That's why."

"Thought it was just because you felt sorry for me," said Jer pensively. "That's-- better, I guess, to think about it being-- because-- you know, it was you, what you-- fuck, you know what I mean." He laughed again. "Fucking hell. Did you say depressant? That can't be right. I want to put my hands all over you right now."

"It depresses your inhibitions. Come here."

"I don't have any inib-- inhibitions. I'm a fucking sex slave." Jer stood up carefully and came closer to Holden. Holden reached out and drew him down into his lap.

"Sex slaves have the most inhibitions," he said, stroking Jer's back. "We have to. Too dangerous not to. Too dangerous to get drunk. Could say too much."

"Am I?" Jer asked nervously. "I mean, have I been? Saying fucked-up shit?"

"No. You're not that drunk, anyway. Just... relaxed."

Jer put his head down suddenly on Holden's shoulder.

"Yeah," he said, muffled. "Relaxed. This is good. Thank you for this."

"You're welcome, baby." Holden ran fingernails gently up and down Jer's clothed back. "Do you want to do it again?"

"Do what again?" Jer asked, puzzled. "Drink?"

"Yeah, do you think you want to?" Holden hesitated. "I mean-- fuck, like I said, I have cocktails all the time, Alix and I do. And I don't know-- I never really thought about it, but why shouldn't you? And Yves too-- I don't know about Bran, is he too young? Maybe it would damage his health. I'll ask Yves."

"You'd let me-- us--" Jer started laughing. "Oh gods, I'm picturing Bran drunk. If this is what it does to me--"

"What does it do to you?"

"This," said Jer, and licked Holden's neck, quickly, as if checking the flavor. "Can we go to bed?"

"Yeah," said Holden, smiling. "Let's."








***Many thanks to Miaow for suggesting the scene where Holden and Jer drink together.