Lee chapter 26

[maculategiraffe]

"Three?" the ticket agent at the train station, a pleasant motherly type, said. "Business or pleasure?"

"Visiting my daughter at the university," said Holden, and she nodded.

"You look just like your daddy," she said to Lee, who blinked at her, bewildered-- how could this person know his father? "But you must look like your mama."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Bran with perfect equanimity.

"What for, hon?"

"If you knew how pretty my mom was, you'd know what for," said Bran, flashing his sweetest grin.

"Oh, I wish his mama could have heard that!" said the ticket agent, looking up at Holden. "You all have a good visit with your sister."

Sister? It took Lee a minute to figure out what she was talking about, and when it finally dawned on him that the father she thought Lee looked just like was Holden, he tripped on the second step up onto the train and would have fallen if Bran hadn't steadied him.

It had been a startling enough proposition that he and Bran should dress like free citizens for the trip, but the master had made it sound so reasonable.

"Traveling with one slave, even if you're noble, is bad enough," he'd told Bran as he took Lee's measurements, which tickled. Lee tried not to squirm. "Andrei's always a nervous wreck when he has to take Mona anywhere on a train, and he rents his own statecar. I'm not noble, and there are two of you. If I take you on the train leashed, in slave tunics and sandals, I might as well hang a sign out that says 'I'm a dealer, come molest the merchandise.' Look what happened to you at the hospital."

"What happened to you at the hospital?" Lee had asked Bran, when the master had left with the measurements to buy Lee "something that won't swallow you."

Bran was examining his reflection in the mirror with an air of bemusement. Seeing Bran dressed in their master's clothes-- long blue tunic, cinched at the waist with a slender brown belt with a money pouch, and high brown boots-- made Lee feel strangely shy and attracted at once. If Bran were a nobleman, Lee wouldn't mind belonging to him.

"Hm?" said Bran vaguely, and then, "Oh, nothing. A man put his hands on me without permission. The mistress was right there, and she yelled at him and he moved off. I didn't get hurt or anything. It just startled me."

Lee nodded, and, after a moment's hesitation, asked, "Did-- when you belonged to Lord Dunaev-- did he-- share you? A lot?"

Bran looked at him for a moment before he nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "At parties and stuff. I used to get-- pretty bad hurt, sometimes. You, too?"

Lee nodded. "The master-- he doesn't-- he won't-- I mean, now that he's fucked me, he won't--"

"No," said Bran firmly. "He won't share you around. I don't think he'll take you again himself, either, unless you ask him. That was just-- that was-- for right then."

"I won't mind," said Lee truthfully. "If he takes me again. It didn't hurt."

Bran smiled at him. "I told you, didn't I?"

"Yes," said Lee, smiling back. "Bran, can we still-- I mean-- you and me, do we still have permission to--"

Bran grinned more widely. "I think so. I'll ask him and make sure. You want to?"

Blushing scarlet, Lee nodded.





Truthfully, Lee might not have remembered if getting fucked had hurt. His fuzzy memories of being fucked had almost been supplanted by the feeling he'd gotten afterwards, crying in his master's arms: the overwhelming longing for his master to fuck him again. Which was rather startling, because that thought had definitely never occurred to him before. Usually, when his former master had fucked him, the only halfway bearable thought in his head afterwards was that at least his master wouldn't be able to fuck him again immediately. Of course, when he'd taken Lee out or had friends over, there wasn't even that amount of respite. But still, at least it wouldn't be him again right away.

But when Holden's cock had finally withdrawn from him, Lee had wanted it again, immediately; he'd wanted to be fucked again, harder, longer, because it would be better this time. He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't need Bran's voice and touch to keep him still. He wouldn't be afraid of anything. His master could go as fast as he wanted, he could tear Lee up and make him bleed if he wanted, Lee didn't care, if this came at the end of it, this blurred and dizzy ecstasy of being wanted, being pleasing, being right, his body no longer a clumsy and traitorous encumbrance that constantly got Lee punished, but a thing his master wanted, touched so gently, was pleased with. He'd never felt so safe as he did then, in his master's arms, safe and fucked and praised, but he knew he could feel safer: his master's hard cock in him again would make him truly safe.

Now, finally, he thought he understood: this was how a slave was supposed to feel about his master's cock. Hungry. Desperate. He wanted any touch his master was pleased to give him. He wanted all the touches at once. This was what he was for.

"Lee?" his master's wonderful, glorious voice had said then.

"Master," Lee whispered.

"Are you all right, sweetheart?"

"Yes, master," said Lee, overcome with his master's kindness. "Thank you, master."

Gentle hands laid Lee down on his back; dark eyes looked into his wide, bliss-filled eyes.

"He's high as a kite," said the master to Bran. "He must have gone flying while I was fucking him. I hope he doesn't crash too hard. Could you get me a damp cloth for his face, sweetheart, and then maybe fix us some more of that tea, and stir some honey into it?"

To Lee's momentary regret, Bran went off somewhere, but it didn't really matter; his master was still here. Maybe he'd use Lee some more now.

"Such a good boy," his master said softly, stroking Lee's face, and Lee moaned softly with the pleasure of the touch and the words. "My sweet, beautiful boy. You were wonderful, sweetheart, you were so brave and good for me. I'm so pleased with you, Lee."

Something cool and lovely was touching his face, wiping away the tear tracks. He'd thought his tears were shameful, but they weren't, not if his master didn't mind them. And that was good, because he was starting to cry again, for no apparent reason. But his master didn't look surprised; he just kept gently sponging away Lee's tears as they spilled, as if this was what he expected, so of course it was all right. Lee was still his good boy.

"Can I suck your cock, master?" he'd asked suddenly, abruptly sure he could do it well, and his master smiled, the most gorgeous smile Lee had ever seen.

"Not right now, honey," he said. "Maybe later."

Well, whatever his master wanted was bound to be right. Lee closed his eyes, then opened them again quickly.

"If you want to go to sleep, that's fine," his master said, and so of course it was fine, and Lee closed his eyes again, then opened them, anxiously.

"Ask for anything, darling," said his master, smoothing the cool cloth over Lee's forehead.

Lee swallowed hard, then managed, "Please don't leave me, master."

"I won't."

"When I wake up--"

"I'll be here."

Lee nuzzled up against his master's hand and, abruptly, fell asleep.




"--be the one to go," a woman's voice was saying as he woke up, and he didn't know where he was. It was soft, and there were warm, heavy blankets on top of him, and there was something warm behind his head. Possibly he was in trouble. He kept his eyes closed.

"But Inga was one of mine," said his master's voice from quite close and above Lee, and with a small shock of reorientation he realized it was probably his master's warm thigh that his head was resting against. "It's not that I don't trust you, Alix, you know that-- but you never got to know her as well as I did. I need to talk to her. And I need to debrief Lisa, too. And yell at Valor for at least twelve hours straight."

"Just like old times," said the woman's voice-- the mistress' voice-- dryly. "But, Holden, what about Lee? You can't just leave him, especially not now. And I don't know if he's up for a cross-country train trip."

His master's hand stroked over Lee's hair, feeling so good Lee was hard pressed not to moan. "No. I guess you're right. You and Greta should go, then."

"Well, you don't have to sound like you're agreeing to your own execution," said the mistress, and the master sighed.

"Inga was mine," he said, as if that explained everything.

There was a silence.

"If you took Bran, too--" the mistress began.

"I still don't think Lee's up for it," said the master. "You didn't see him right after Robin snapped at him. For a minute there-- Lee?"

A sudden shudder had gone through Lee, and his master's hand paused on his hair.

"You awake, sweetheart?" he asked softly, and Lee, not seeing any help for it, opened his eyes. His master was smiling down at him. "How do you feel?"

Now that his master mentioned it, Lee was slightly stiff, and also-- he remembered, abruptly, with a hot flush that shot over his entire body and shook him badly as he registered the slight stinging soreness of his ass-- he'd been fucked, for the first time in more than two weeks, the first time in his new home, by his new master. Funny how these things slipped your mind.

"Just take it easy," his master said gently. "You want some hot tea? I think this cup is cold, but we can get you another one."

Despite the blankets, despite his master's nearness, another cold shudder racked Lee at the mention of tea. Something bad had happened. He'd done something wrong. He didn't remember; he didn't want to remember. Maybe his master had forgotten, too, whatever it was. He didn't want to think about tea.

Careful hands helped Lee sit up and lean against his master's warm, firm chest; his master kissed him on the forehead-- not even on the lips-- as if nothing had happened, as if he was still-- whatever he had been that had made his master take care of him and praise him without using him. Exempt.

"I'll go get Bran," said the mistress, and there was a rustle of skirt. "And some tea."

"Thanks," said the master, as if the idea of the mistress fetching and carrying for Lee was completely normal and sane, and when she was gone, he tilted Lee's chin up and looked into his eyes.

"You remember what happened?" he asked, sounding as if he thought Lee might not.

"Yes, master," said Lee softly. "You-- you-- made use of me."

His master nodded. "Do you remember why?"

Lee thought back to before the crying in his master's arms, before the cock in his ass and Bran's lips on his face, kissing away his tears, before the first finger had slid into him. The kitchen. He'd been kneeling at his master's feet, he'd been on the floor, everything had been swimming. Someone's angry voice. There was something he'd done wrong.

"Miss Robin," he blurted, and realized from the quavering sound of his own voice that he was trembling. "I-- I-- master, I'm sorry--"

"You've got nothing to be sorry for, precious," said his master, carding his fingers gently through Lee's hair. "Miss Robin was completely out of line, yelling at you like that. And she knew it, too. She asked me to tell you she was sorry, before she left."

"But--" Lee tried to make sense of this, and with his master's arms around him like this, he even dared name his transgression. "I-- spilled-- I ruined her-- things--"

"That doesn't excuse her scaring you halfway back to catatonia, honey. For a minute I thought we'd lost you again."

Lee remembered. He shivered against his master. Holden rubbed his arms soothingly, in that way he had, as if trying to warm him.

"Lee," he said softly, "you belong to me, and it's my job to take care of you. And I take that very seriously. You are always safe with me. Do you understand that?"

Before Lee could answer, the door opened, and Lee looked up to see Bran coming in, carrying a steaming mug, and smiling at him. Lee smiled back.

"You were there," he said to Bran, without thinking, and Bran laughed.

"Yes, I was," he said, and handed Lee the mug. "Drink this."

Lee's first sip startled him with its sweetness, and he looked up at Bran worriedly.

"Oh, I put honey in it," said Bran, sitting down on the bed and putting a hand on Lee's knee. "That's okay, right, master? You told me to, before."

"That's right," said the master. "You may drink it, Lee. These are special circumstances."

Lee took another sip, reveling in the extraordinary flavor-- was this what honey tasted like? Was this what people meant when they called you honey?-- and then a gulp. The warmth spread through him; his shivering subsided.

"Where is the mistress going?" Bran asked the master as Lee took another greedy gulp. "She said something about packing for a trip."

"Oh," said the master. "Yes. She and Greta. Someone needs to go knock some sense into Valor. This Robin thing has gone beyond a joke. Inga's tougher than most or I wouldn't have given her to Valor in the first place-- and if it were really bad she'd probably have started biting Val, which I'm pretty sure Val would have mentioned-- but still."

"But Inga was never that close with the mistress or Greta, was she?" Bran asked. "Would she-- I mean-- oh, but I guess you can't really go yourself, can you? Sorry."

"You could take me with you, master," said Lee, surprising no one in the room so much as himself.

Bran's head and his master's both swiveled to him.

"You said," Lee explained shyly, "I'm always safe with you, master. I am, aren't I? I mean, I will be, won't I? Anywhere."

"You will," said the master, "but-- I want you to feel safe."

Lee nodded. "I do, master. I mean, I will. You didn't punish me for-- you won't--" He cleared his throat, strangely unafraid; his master was still smiling at him. "I do feel safe, master."

"Well..." said the master.





The master brought Lee back a pearl-gray tunic, belted with black, and black leather boots that looked absurdly small next to his own. Everything fit. There was a money pouch on his belt, too.

"I put some money in there," his master told him, "in case you want to buy yourself something at the station or in the train."

Bran smiled at his master. Both of them clearly thought Lee didn't see the look they exchanged, because they also thought Lee hadn't overheard them talking earlier.

"I'm going to put some money in here for you," Holden had said, "and a letter with my name and address, a description of you and one of Lee, and a signed statement that if found, you are to be returned to me immediately. That's in case we get separated. I can't think of any reason why anyone would realize you were a slave, not if you keep your head, and if they don't you can just buy a ticket home. But if they do, the letter will keep you from getting taken into custody as a runaway."

"What about Lee?" Bran asked.

"Lee's not getting lost," said the master. "If for any reason I can't keep hold of both of you, I'm going to keep hold of Lee. And I want you to do the same. If you've got to lose me or him, lose me. I trust you to bring him home if you have to."

"I will," said Bran determinedly. He sounded nervous, but Lee thought he could detect a thrilled note, too, at the prospect of such an adventure. Well, Lee had known Bran was ridiculously brave. But the idea that if his master had to let go of him or Bran-- Bran, the apple of his eye, the one he loved so much Lee was fairly sure his eyes actually glowed with it sometimes-- he'd hang onto Lee... even if it was just because Bran was smart and brave and resourceful enough to find his way home, and Lee was too pathetic to do anything but lapse into catatonia again... well, that...

"All of this is completely hypothetical," the master explained soothingly. "I have no intention of losing either of you. I just want to prepare for the worst possible contingency. But if I weren't one hundred percent sure that at least one of us could stay with Lee, I wouldn't be taking him. And I don't want to worry him with any of this."

Lee wasn't worried.

He looked at himself in the mirror, taking in the boots, the belt. He liked the way he looked. Nobody would suspect what he really was. Nobody would look at him and see a thing to be fucked and punished, made to scream and bleed. Nobody would think they had any right to touch him, except Bran and his master-- and his master didn't share him, so nobody did have any right to touch him except Bran and his master. So it wasn't even a disguise; it was just-- protection.

And Lee felt safe.



"You little scamp," the master scolded Bran in an undertone as they took their seats on the train. "Turning those eyelashes of yours against poor defenseless ticket agents, the idea."

"I was just being friendly, sir," said Bran, grinning. The master had told them both to call him "sir" for the trip, to be more inconspicuous, but it hadn't really occurred to Lee that sons called their fathers "sir."

"You're enjoying this way too much," the master told Bran, grinning back, and Lee, who'd been thinking the same thing, smiled too. "How about you, Lee? How are you holding up?"

"Fine, s-sir," Lee stuttered, and then, boldly, "Sir? Do I really-- look like you?"

"I don't know," said the master, tilting his head to the side to examine Lee. "Bran? What do you think?"

"There's a resemblance, sir," said Bran cheerfully. "Dark hair, dark eyes. Youthful good looks."

"You wait until I get you home, young man," the master told Bran threateningly, and Bran giggled.

Lee smiled.