Lee chapter 21
Mar. 5th, 2008 10:48 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maculategiraffeMona was nervous, Lee could tell. The pretty slave girl was clasping her master's arm in a way that Lee recognized immediately: it was the way Lee had held onto his own master's arm when he'd been taken to the hospital for his checkup. The young lord hadn't let her kneel on the floor when they were invited to sit; he'd drawn her down on the couch beside him instead, and Lee's master hadn't objected, the way his old master had when the occasional guest tried to seat slaves on his furniture instead of on the floor where they were supposed to be. Of course, with Lee firmly ensconced in his own lap, maybe Holden had fewer grounds to object.
The reporter cleared his throat, drawing the room's attention to himself and the photographer.
"It's an honor to meet you, my lord," he said, sounding as tentative as if he thought the lord might hit him. Lee was familiar enough with the emotion that went with that tone, but he thought it was a little funny that a free person would use it, especially with this particular lord, who didn't seem particularly menacing. "I really appreciate your willingness to help out with what we're trying to do. And you, too, uh, Mona."
"It's my pleasure," said Lord Taganov, and Lee was pretty sure he meant it, although maybe he didn't mean pleasure-- he wasn't exactly beaming-- so much as he meant satisfaction. "Just tell us what you need us to do."
The reporter nodded and cleared his throat again. "Um, the way we've been doing it-- here-- is, Mr. Larssen gave me permission to speak with each of his slaves alone, and tape-record the conversation. That way the slave can speak freely, without worrying about slipping up or getting himself-- or herself-- in trouble. After that, I'd like to talk to the two of you together, and then we'll be pretty much done. I'll transcribe the tape of the slave's interview later, leaving out anything the slave asks me to leave out-- and you'll see the transcript and have a chance to vet anything you don't want published, before this goes to print. Does that sound okay?"
"And the-- photography?" the lord asked, glancing at the photographer, who hadn't said anything yet.
"I'll want to get pictures of that tooth, and of any scars she might have, including under her clothing, if that's all right with you," she said. Lee thought she didn't like the lord, or his slave, or the way they were sitting, or something, despite her careful, mechanical politeness. "I can do that at the same time as the interview, or with you in the room if you'd prefer that."
"During the interview is fine," said the lord, and then, to Lee's surprise, asked his slave, "Are you comfortable with that?"
"Yes, master, thank you," said Mona, and the lord smiled at her, his mouth-- his mouth--
A flush of hot shame and fear moved through Lee, setting him trembling almost before the conscious memory hit of what he'd done when that mouth had unexpectedly claimed his, how good it had felt, and how wrong he'd been to--
--no, he hadn't been wrong to enjoy it. His master had said that. Lee tried hard to remember his master's voice when he'd said that, tried hard to stop shaking. His master must have felt the shaking; he hugged Lee closer, rubbing his hands up and down Lee's arms as if to warm him.
"We'll be in-- what is it, the filing room?" the reporter asked, and Lee's master said, "Right. You know where that is, Andrei, you've been there before."
"How long will it take?" Lord Taganov asked.
"Maybe an hour?" said the reporter. "Two at the outside."
Lord Taganov nodded, and the reporter smiled as he and the photographer rose. Mona rose too, looking nervous, but determined.
"You know where I am if you need me," the lord said to her, and she smiled at him before she followed the two free citizens from the room. Now it was just Lee and his master and Lord Taganov in the room, and suddenly, involuntarily, Lee remembered his master's soft, encouraging voice as Bran held Lee's hands: If Lord Taganov asked me if he could kiss you, and I said yes, how would you respond then?
"What's giving you the shivers?" Holden asked him, quietly, but not too quietly for the lord to hear, and Lee blushed and squirmed before he buried his face against his master's neck, hoping desperately not to be questioned any further.
"I think Robin makes him nervous," his master said then, which was a perfectly acceptable misapprehension as far as Lee was concerned. Anyway, it wasn't an misapprehension; the photographer did make him nervous, even if she was a lot quieter now than she had been that first day, when she'd yelled at Lee for looking in the wrong direction, and then yelled at him again for following his master's instructions-- or maybe she was yelling at his master, then, but she'd sounded really angry, the kind of angry that turned into hitting and kicking. Lee hadn't even realized how accustomed he'd grown to the gentleness with which everyone had been treating him here, until the fury in her voice startled him so badly.
"I hope it's not me," said Lord Taganov, sounding a little sad. "He probably thinks I'm not to be trusted, after what happened last time."
Lee lifted his head abruptly, not liking that misapprehension at all, and would have spoken if he hadn't remembered in the nick of time what he was and what right he had-- i.e. none-- to offer unsolicited correction to the nobility. His expression and perhaps the suddenness of his movement must have conveyed something, though, because both his master and the lord laughed.
"Actually," his master said, "he seemed pretty pleased at the prospect of seeing you again."
"Really," said the lord, smiling again, his mouth-- shit, there Lee went staring at his mouth again. He bowed his head and stared at his hands, wishing he were alone, wishing they would ignore him, wishing-- with a completely different part of himself-- that he were in Lord Taganov's lap instead of Holden's.
Which was a terrible thing to think, and Lee was ashamed of himself. Lee's master had taken him to the hospital to be cared for, had fed him and sheltered him and held him and soothed him and allowed Lee sexual contact with his own favored slave, and hadn't demanded a thing in return, unless you counted the catastrophic blow job which Lee was fairly sure his master had subsequently apologized for making him attempt. He was the master of any normal boy's dreams. It wasn't right at all that Lee could still taste the lord's mouth on his, as vividly as he'd suddenly tasted an imaginary peach earlier, that he could remember with hallucinatory accuracy how the lord's lips had been soft and warm, how his tongue had just touched the opening of Lee's lips, how he'd tasted warm and strong and bright, like-- like tea, maybe? Like tea with lemon?
Ot was it just that it was hard to remember the taste through the shame and fear, just as it was hard to remember the taste of that stolen tea he'd sipped once from his master's unfinished cup, thinking no one saw, without remembering the taste of blood when he was knocked into the wall and of stomach acid as he fell, reeling, to his knees, as he was dragged up by his hair and...
...and you'd think that what had happened next would teach someone a lesson about coveting what wasn't his. Which, Lee being a slave, covered pretty much everything.
But Lee could hear his new master explaining firmly, as Lee cowered from the punishment he hadn't been able to believe wasn't forthcoming: Your mind is your own, whoever owns your body.
He felt ashamed again, though, as he realized he must have missed something his master had said just now, despite his master's command to keep his eyes and ears open.
"No," Lord Taganov was saying ruefully. "I'm not quite blind enough to think I have any chance there. I just haven't found anyone who... intrigues me as much, until..." His eyes lingered on Lee. "You'll keep me in mind, won't you, for when he's ready?"
"Andrei, you're smitten," said Lee's master, and the young lord blushed, which for some reason delighted Lee so much he nearly laughed out loud. "But you realize it might take a while. And we don't know much for sure yet, about what he'll be... capable of."
Lord Taganov shrugged with a poor imitation of indifference. "As I said. Keep me in mind."
"Sure," said Holden. "But you do realize that if you obviously can't take your eyes off the merchandise, the merchant tends to think he can jack the price up."
"You didn't jack the price up on Mona," said Lord Taganov, smiling.
"That was before my daughter decided to go to law school," said Holden. "And that reminds me, Andrei-- Mona was all right, wasn't she, just now? She looked a little grim."
"She's all right," said the lord, as Lee couldn't help but feel disappointed at the change of topic. "You know she still gets a little twitchy about-- new situations, even if I'm going to be with her. It's not that she really thinks anything bad is going to happen-- at least I don't think so. It's just that, well, she likes to know where all the exits and entrances are."
That made sense, Lee thought, considering Mona's grip on her master's arm. Lee hadn't really understood why his master would think he was relieved to leave the house to go to the hospital, or to someone else's house; he had learned the rooms here, knew what directions people might be coming from, and what people they would be, and he even had his own room where he was allowed to go when nobody wanted him for anything else, and Bran's room, where he was allowed to go and wait for Bran if he couldn't find him. New places, with different-shaped rooms and doors in unexpected locations, were not a relief.
"It isn't so bad with your house," the lord added. "She used to live here, after all. Just-- new people, and the idea of the interview. But she's fine. I wouldn't have brought her if I didn't think she would be."
"And you'd know," Lee's master agreed. "Mona and Lee should really talk. I'd imagine he's feeling a lot of the same things she was, when I first bought her."
"Does he play with matches?" the lord asked, which made no sense at all, and Lee's master answered, "Maybe not all the same things. Anyway, I don't think anyone ever burned Lee with cigarettes."
It had never actually occurred to Lee to be thankful that his former master hadn't been a smoker, but it was certainly occurring to him now. He shuddered, trying to fight off the image, as Lord Taganov asked, "He does have scars, though?"
"Whip scars," the master agreed. "On his back. Well, at this point we don't really know how extensive the scarring is going to be-- he isn't all the way healed yet. But the scabs are coming off, and there are-- marks."
The lord didn't like that, Lee could tell. He felt suddenly depressed. No one wanted a scarred slave, however pretty his face-- especially one who was no good at sex. Although-- with Bran last night-- but probably Bran had just been trying not to discourage him.
"You're very squirmy all of a sudden," his master told him, and he froze. "What do you need?"
He didn't need anything. He wanted to ask what they meant about Mona playing with matches (had she set fires? After being sold to the slave breakers? If so, why wasn't she dead?) and whether she had burn scars in places where her master had to look at them, and how her master felt about that... and he wanted Lord Taganov to lean down to him again, while Lee tilted his face up, one gentle hand resting on Lee's upper arm as if for balance, or to keep Lee there, to take care of him, to hold him... and possibly, at some point, he wanted a cup of tea with lemon. But he didn't need anything. He sat still.
"So-- Lee," said Lord Taganov, and Lee looked up, startled. "You wanted to see me again?"
Lee swallowed.
"I won't touch you without your master's permission again," the lord said after a moment. "I'm sorry I did it yesterday."
Lee looked down shyly, not sure whether he was supposed to say anything, but after a moment his master's hand touched his chin, turning his face up to meet the kind brown eyes, and he thought he recognized the look on the man's face; it was the look he'd gotten just before he'd said, that morning: Of course you may have a peach, sweetheart.
When his master spoke, he was still looking at Lee, but he must have been talking to Lord Taganov, because he asked, "Would you like permission to touch him?"
After a moment, during which Lee's master scanned his face while Lee tried to remember his normal breathing rhythm, Holden looked up at Lord Taganov, who said, "May I--?"
Lee's master nodded.
"I need you to be careful, though," he said, his hand caressing Lee's shoulder gently. "You can touch him, but don't go under his clothes, and don't-- grab."
"I wouldn't," said the lord, sounding slightly wounded.
Holden smiled. "I know, Andrei. Lee? I'm giving Lord Taganov permission to touch you and caress you. If he does anything he doesn't have permission for, you won't be in trouble-- and you won't be in trouble if you-- respond, either. You understand?"
Lee nodded, feeling abruptly and perversely panic-stricken, with a sensation in his stomach that felt very much like the one he'd gotten when he was told he was leaving the hospital for his new master's home. Why had he thought he wanted to leave the shelter of his master's lap, where he got to just sit and be safe, and go be touched by a virtual stranger? However enticing the virtual stranger's mouth?
"Go to him," his master ordered, and Lee, his heart in his throat, slid from his master's lap and went to stand with his head humbly lowered before Lord Taganov.
The lord reached out, took both of Lee's hands in his-- his skin was soft and, if not actually cool to Lee's touch, then certainly less hot than most people's hands felt to him-- and drew him, very gently, so that it felt more like an invitation than anything else, onto the couch next to him, encircling his shoulders lightly with one arm. Lee looked up into the blue eyes, and the lord made a soft sound that Lee didn't know how to interpret.
"You are very beautiful, Lee," he said, and Lee smiled at the pleasure in his voice. The lord raised one hand to brush against Lee's cheek, then leaned forward-- for one heart-stopping moment, Lee thought he was going to get kissed again, but instead the lord pressed his cheek against Lee's and just held it there for a moment, which was odd, but nice. When he pulled back, he ran a hand over Lee's hair, and then he touched his cheek to that. Lee wondered if he were touching with his cheek because he didn't know if he had permission to touch with his lips-- but that was a silly thought. Lord Taganov was a nobleman, not someone who would be nervous and uncertain of himself like Lee, especially not with a slave. If he wanted to kiss Lee, he could just ask Lee's master.
Still, there was something distinctly-- for lack of a better word-- shy, about the way the man kept touching him, and it was making him think some very odd thoughts. Holden was gentle, but his touches were still unmistakably commands, not invitations or even requests. Even Bran, friendly as he was and liberally as he'd used the word please last night, tended to take charge of Lee, explaining and guiding-- not that that was bad. And not that Lord Taganov wasn't in charge, because he definitely was. Lee didn't even have permission to touch him back. So he couldn't reach up and take the fair, faintly freckled face in his palms, or lean forward and rest his own cheek against Lord Taganov's auburn hair, or-- do anything-- involving mouths.
Which was probably just as well. The fact that these thoughts were even occurring to him was quite unnerving enough. And it had been such a good morning so far. Surely Lee couldn't mess it up or get in trouble by simply sitting very still and submitting to being touched in any way the lord wanted.
And-- Lee amended as Lord Taganov's fingers traced delicately over his back, grazing over his scabs through the cloth of his tunic-- trembling. His master had said trembling was fine. Hadn't he?
"Am I hurting you?" Lord Taganov asked softly.
Lee licked his lips as the gentle fingers both aroused and soothed the itching of the healing welts. "No, my lord."
"Am I making you uncomfortable?"
"N-no, my lord."
Taganov hesitated for a moment before he asked, "Are you enjoying this?"
"Yes, my lord," Lee whispered, and met the clear blue eyes. "Thank you."
"Holden," said the lord, still stroking Lee's back, "if your daughter decides she needs an airplane or a racehorse or anything-- just keep me in mind."
The reporter cleared his throat, drawing the room's attention to himself and the photographer.
"It's an honor to meet you, my lord," he said, sounding as tentative as if he thought the lord might hit him. Lee was familiar enough with the emotion that went with that tone, but he thought it was a little funny that a free person would use it, especially with this particular lord, who didn't seem particularly menacing. "I really appreciate your willingness to help out with what we're trying to do. And you, too, uh, Mona."
"It's my pleasure," said Lord Taganov, and Lee was pretty sure he meant it, although maybe he didn't mean pleasure-- he wasn't exactly beaming-- so much as he meant satisfaction. "Just tell us what you need us to do."
The reporter nodded and cleared his throat again. "Um, the way we've been doing it-- here-- is, Mr. Larssen gave me permission to speak with each of his slaves alone, and tape-record the conversation. That way the slave can speak freely, without worrying about slipping up or getting himself-- or herself-- in trouble. After that, I'd like to talk to the two of you together, and then we'll be pretty much done. I'll transcribe the tape of the slave's interview later, leaving out anything the slave asks me to leave out-- and you'll see the transcript and have a chance to vet anything you don't want published, before this goes to print. Does that sound okay?"
"And the-- photography?" the lord asked, glancing at the photographer, who hadn't said anything yet.
"I'll want to get pictures of that tooth, and of any scars she might have, including under her clothing, if that's all right with you," she said. Lee thought she didn't like the lord, or his slave, or the way they were sitting, or something, despite her careful, mechanical politeness. "I can do that at the same time as the interview, or with you in the room if you'd prefer that."
"During the interview is fine," said the lord, and then, to Lee's surprise, asked his slave, "Are you comfortable with that?"
"Yes, master, thank you," said Mona, and the lord smiled at her, his mouth-- his mouth--
A flush of hot shame and fear moved through Lee, setting him trembling almost before the conscious memory hit of what he'd done when that mouth had unexpectedly claimed his, how good it had felt, and how wrong he'd been to--
--no, he hadn't been wrong to enjoy it. His master had said that. Lee tried hard to remember his master's voice when he'd said that, tried hard to stop shaking. His master must have felt the shaking; he hugged Lee closer, rubbing his hands up and down Lee's arms as if to warm him.
"We'll be in-- what is it, the filing room?" the reporter asked, and Lee's master said, "Right. You know where that is, Andrei, you've been there before."
"How long will it take?" Lord Taganov asked.
"Maybe an hour?" said the reporter. "Two at the outside."
Lord Taganov nodded, and the reporter smiled as he and the photographer rose. Mona rose too, looking nervous, but determined.
"You know where I am if you need me," the lord said to her, and she smiled at him before she followed the two free citizens from the room. Now it was just Lee and his master and Lord Taganov in the room, and suddenly, involuntarily, Lee remembered his master's soft, encouraging voice as Bran held Lee's hands: If Lord Taganov asked me if he could kiss you, and I said yes, how would you respond then?
"What's giving you the shivers?" Holden asked him, quietly, but not too quietly for the lord to hear, and Lee blushed and squirmed before he buried his face against his master's neck, hoping desperately not to be questioned any further.
"I think Robin makes him nervous," his master said then, which was a perfectly acceptable misapprehension as far as Lee was concerned. Anyway, it wasn't an misapprehension; the photographer did make him nervous, even if she was a lot quieter now than she had been that first day, when she'd yelled at Lee for looking in the wrong direction, and then yelled at him again for following his master's instructions-- or maybe she was yelling at his master, then, but she'd sounded really angry, the kind of angry that turned into hitting and kicking. Lee hadn't even realized how accustomed he'd grown to the gentleness with which everyone had been treating him here, until the fury in her voice startled him so badly.
"I hope it's not me," said Lord Taganov, sounding a little sad. "He probably thinks I'm not to be trusted, after what happened last time."
Lee lifted his head abruptly, not liking that misapprehension at all, and would have spoken if he hadn't remembered in the nick of time what he was and what right he had-- i.e. none-- to offer unsolicited correction to the nobility. His expression and perhaps the suddenness of his movement must have conveyed something, though, because both his master and the lord laughed.
"Actually," his master said, "he seemed pretty pleased at the prospect of seeing you again."
"Really," said the lord, smiling again, his mouth-- shit, there Lee went staring at his mouth again. He bowed his head and stared at his hands, wishing he were alone, wishing they would ignore him, wishing-- with a completely different part of himself-- that he were in Lord Taganov's lap instead of Holden's.
Which was a terrible thing to think, and Lee was ashamed of himself. Lee's master had taken him to the hospital to be cared for, had fed him and sheltered him and held him and soothed him and allowed Lee sexual contact with his own favored slave, and hadn't demanded a thing in return, unless you counted the catastrophic blow job which Lee was fairly sure his master had subsequently apologized for making him attempt. He was the master of any normal boy's dreams. It wasn't right at all that Lee could still taste the lord's mouth on his, as vividly as he'd suddenly tasted an imaginary peach earlier, that he could remember with hallucinatory accuracy how the lord's lips had been soft and warm, how his tongue had just touched the opening of Lee's lips, how he'd tasted warm and strong and bright, like-- like tea, maybe? Like tea with lemon?
Ot was it just that it was hard to remember the taste through the shame and fear, just as it was hard to remember the taste of that stolen tea he'd sipped once from his master's unfinished cup, thinking no one saw, without remembering the taste of blood when he was knocked into the wall and of stomach acid as he fell, reeling, to his knees, as he was dragged up by his hair and...
...and you'd think that what had happened next would teach someone a lesson about coveting what wasn't his. Which, Lee being a slave, covered pretty much everything.
But Lee could hear his new master explaining firmly, as Lee cowered from the punishment he hadn't been able to believe wasn't forthcoming: Your mind is your own, whoever owns your body.
He felt ashamed again, though, as he realized he must have missed something his master had said just now, despite his master's command to keep his eyes and ears open.
"No," Lord Taganov was saying ruefully. "I'm not quite blind enough to think I have any chance there. I just haven't found anyone who... intrigues me as much, until..." His eyes lingered on Lee. "You'll keep me in mind, won't you, for when he's ready?"
"Andrei, you're smitten," said Lee's master, and the young lord blushed, which for some reason delighted Lee so much he nearly laughed out loud. "But you realize it might take a while. And we don't know much for sure yet, about what he'll be... capable of."
Lord Taganov shrugged with a poor imitation of indifference. "As I said. Keep me in mind."
"Sure," said Holden. "But you do realize that if you obviously can't take your eyes off the merchandise, the merchant tends to think he can jack the price up."
"You didn't jack the price up on Mona," said Lord Taganov, smiling.
"That was before my daughter decided to go to law school," said Holden. "And that reminds me, Andrei-- Mona was all right, wasn't she, just now? She looked a little grim."
"She's all right," said the lord, as Lee couldn't help but feel disappointed at the change of topic. "You know she still gets a little twitchy about-- new situations, even if I'm going to be with her. It's not that she really thinks anything bad is going to happen-- at least I don't think so. It's just that, well, she likes to know where all the exits and entrances are."
That made sense, Lee thought, considering Mona's grip on her master's arm. Lee hadn't really understood why his master would think he was relieved to leave the house to go to the hospital, or to someone else's house; he had learned the rooms here, knew what directions people might be coming from, and what people they would be, and he even had his own room where he was allowed to go when nobody wanted him for anything else, and Bran's room, where he was allowed to go and wait for Bran if he couldn't find him. New places, with different-shaped rooms and doors in unexpected locations, were not a relief.
"It isn't so bad with your house," the lord added. "She used to live here, after all. Just-- new people, and the idea of the interview. But she's fine. I wouldn't have brought her if I didn't think she would be."
"And you'd know," Lee's master agreed. "Mona and Lee should really talk. I'd imagine he's feeling a lot of the same things she was, when I first bought her."
"Does he play with matches?" the lord asked, which made no sense at all, and Lee's master answered, "Maybe not all the same things. Anyway, I don't think anyone ever burned Lee with cigarettes."
It had never actually occurred to Lee to be thankful that his former master hadn't been a smoker, but it was certainly occurring to him now. He shuddered, trying to fight off the image, as Lord Taganov asked, "He does have scars, though?"
"Whip scars," the master agreed. "On his back. Well, at this point we don't really know how extensive the scarring is going to be-- he isn't all the way healed yet. But the scabs are coming off, and there are-- marks."
The lord didn't like that, Lee could tell. He felt suddenly depressed. No one wanted a scarred slave, however pretty his face-- especially one who was no good at sex. Although-- with Bran last night-- but probably Bran had just been trying not to discourage him.
"You're very squirmy all of a sudden," his master told him, and he froze. "What do you need?"
He didn't need anything. He wanted to ask what they meant about Mona playing with matches (had she set fires? After being sold to the slave breakers? If so, why wasn't she dead?) and whether she had burn scars in places where her master had to look at them, and how her master felt about that... and he wanted Lord Taganov to lean down to him again, while Lee tilted his face up, one gentle hand resting on Lee's upper arm as if for balance, or to keep Lee there, to take care of him, to hold him... and possibly, at some point, he wanted a cup of tea with lemon. But he didn't need anything. He sat still.
"So-- Lee," said Lord Taganov, and Lee looked up, startled. "You wanted to see me again?"
Lee swallowed.
"I won't touch you without your master's permission again," the lord said after a moment. "I'm sorry I did it yesterday."
Lee looked down shyly, not sure whether he was supposed to say anything, but after a moment his master's hand touched his chin, turning his face up to meet the kind brown eyes, and he thought he recognized the look on the man's face; it was the look he'd gotten just before he'd said, that morning: Of course you may have a peach, sweetheart.
When his master spoke, he was still looking at Lee, but he must have been talking to Lord Taganov, because he asked, "Would you like permission to touch him?"
After a moment, during which Lee's master scanned his face while Lee tried to remember his normal breathing rhythm, Holden looked up at Lord Taganov, who said, "May I--?"
Lee's master nodded.
"I need you to be careful, though," he said, his hand caressing Lee's shoulder gently. "You can touch him, but don't go under his clothes, and don't-- grab."
"I wouldn't," said the lord, sounding slightly wounded.
Holden smiled. "I know, Andrei. Lee? I'm giving Lord Taganov permission to touch you and caress you. If he does anything he doesn't have permission for, you won't be in trouble-- and you won't be in trouble if you-- respond, either. You understand?"
Lee nodded, feeling abruptly and perversely panic-stricken, with a sensation in his stomach that felt very much like the one he'd gotten when he was told he was leaving the hospital for his new master's home. Why had he thought he wanted to leave the shelter of his master's lap, where he got to just sit and be safe, and go be touched by a virtual stranger? However enticing the virtual stranger's mouth?
"Go to him," his master ordered, and Lee, his heart in his throat, slid from his master's lap and went to stand with his head humbly lowered before Lord Taganov.
The lord reached out, took both of Lee's hands in his-- his skin was soft and, if not actually cool to Lee's touch, then certainly less hot than most people's hands felt to him-- and drew him, very gently, so that it felt more like an invitation than anything else, onto the couch next to him, encircling his shoulders lightly with one arm. Lee looked up into the blue eyes, and the lord made a soft sound that Lee didn't know how to interpret.
"You are very beautiful, Lee," he said, and Lee smiled at the pleasure in his voice. The lord raised one hand to brush against Lee's cheek, then leaned forward-- for one heart-stopping moment, Lee thought he was going to get kissed again, but instead the lord pressed his cheek against Lee's and just held it there for a moment, which was odd, but nice. When he pulled back, he ran a hand over Lee's hair, and then he touched his cheek to that. Lee wondered if he were touching with his cheek because he didn't know if he had permission to touch with his lips-- but that was a silly thought. Lord Taganov was a nobleman, not someone who would be nervous and uncertain of himself like Lee, especially not with a slave. If he wanted to kiss Lee, he could just ask Lee's master.
Still, there was something distinctly-- for lack of a better word-- shy, about the way the man kept touching him, and it was making him think some very odd thoughts. Holden was gentle, but his touches were still unmistakably commands, not invitations or even requests. Even Bran, friendly as he was and liberally as he'd used the word please last night, tended to take charge of Lee, explaining and guiding-- not that that was bad. And not that Lord Taganov wasn't in charge, because he definitely was. Lee didn't even have permission to touch him back. So he couldn't reach up and take the fair, faintly freckled face in his palms, or lean forward and rest his own cheek against Lord Taganov's auburn hair, or-- do anything-- involving mouths.
Which was probably just as well. The fact that these thoughts were even occurring to him was quite unnerving enough. And it had been such a good morning so far. Surely Lee couldn't mess it up or get in trouble by simply sitting very still and submitting to being touched in any way the lord wanted.
And-- Lee amended as Lord Taganov's fingers traced delicately over his back, grazing over his scabs through the cloth of his tunic-- trembling. His master had said trembling was fine. Hadn't he?
"Am I hurting you?" Lord Taganov asked softly.
Lee licked his lips as the gentle fingers both aroused and soothed the itching of the healing welts. "No, my lord."
"Am I making you uncomfortable?"
"N-no, my lord."
Taganov hesitated for a moment before he asked, "Are you enjoying this?"
"Yes, my lord," Lee whispered, and met the clear blue eyes. "Thank you."
"Holden," said the lord, still stroking Lee's back, "if your daughter decides she needs an airplane or a racehorse or anything-- just keep me in mind."
