Lee chapter 27 (good lord)

[maculategiraffe]

"Don't look now," said the master quietly to Bran, "but those two girls are checking you out."

After a moment, Bran's eyes cut to the side, then widened. "Um, I think they're checking Lee out."

"The brunette definitely has her eye on you," said the master.

Bran looked simultaneously alarmed and thrilled. "What if they come over and try to talk to us?"

"Just don't make any dates you can't keep," said the master dryly.

"Is there a dining car?" Bran asked. "What if they ask us to come have something to eat? Isn't that what free people do-- invite each other to go eat?"

"Tell them you're not hungry," said the master. "Unless you want to go eat with them. Is that what you're asking? Whether you may go flirt with young women in the dining car? I guess the ticket agent was just target practice, hmm?"

"Don't be like that, sir," said Bran cajolingly, his voice still pitched too low for anyone beyond their little four-seat compartment to hear. "You know I only have eyes for you. Well-- you and Yves and Jer. And the mistress, when she wants me-- and Lady Lisa, sometimes. And Lee, of course. But mostly you, sir."

"You are in a mood, young man," said the master gruffly, though Lee could tell he was amused. "Don't let those boots go to your head. There's no law against public discipline of a slave-- regardless of how he's dressed."

Bran clasped his hands hastily in his lap and arranged his face into a perfectly demure expression. "Yes, sir."

"See how nicely Lee is sitting and observing the sights?" the master went on, gesturing to Lee, who was sitting meekly between his master and one window seat, with Bran across from him, facing him, in the other window seat. Lee ducked his head, embarrassed. "Why can't you behave like your little brother?"

Bran cackled, and Lee smiled.

"But we are the sights, sir," said Bran, his hands still clasped decorously in his lap. "At least those girls think so."

"I'd lay a bet you're the prettiest two things on this train," the master agreed. "The girls have good taste. And they didn't even see what I saw yesterday in bed."

Bran grinned. "What do you think they would do if I started making out with Lee right now?"

"Swoon dead away," said the master, as Lee blushed. "Which would be a shame for them, because then they'd miss the part where I turned you over my knee and pulled up that nice tunic and spanked your exhibitionist little ass until you cried. Behave."

"Yes, m-- sir," said Bran, a little breathlessly, and shifted forward in his seat, as if involuntarily, closer to the master. The master leaned forward and in one swift, firm motion, mistakable for a casual pat or brushing-away of lint from anyone who wasn't watching closely, put his hand at Bran's groin and stroked his slave's erection, through the cloth. Bran let out a strangled moan.

"Shhh," said the master softly, smiling, as he sat back.

Despite the obvious intensity of the attraction between Bran and the master-- the touches, the kisses, even the looks they shared-- Lee had mostly managed to avoided thinking about the specifics of their physical relationship, for the first two weeks at least. He'd known they must be having sex, of course, but he hadn't liked to think about it. Sex was painful, ugly, frightening, not something he liked to think about Bran undergoing, or their gentle master inflicting.

So he'd tried not to imagine them together, until the night when, still dizzy and weak in the aftermath his own long-delayed release, he'd watched in utter disbelief as the master took Bran's cock in his mouth and gave him a thoroughly professional blow job, down to the seamless swallowing when his slave came into his mouth. The very strangeness of the scene had almost driven it from Lee's mind since-- he hadn't had any idea how to process it, where it might fit into his understanding of the world. It wasn't the same as the master's astonishing kindness-- Lee had quite a mental file on that, to which the latest additions included not punishing Lee for angering Miss Robin, his master's care during and after his fucking of Lee, letting him drink tea with honey, dressing him like a free boy to protect him from molestation on the trip, and not correcting people who assumed Lee was his son.

But the way he'd gone after Bran's cock was something else entirely, and Lee only found himself examining the memory because he thought he might have something else to add to that particular file, now: Bran's obvious arousal at his master's stern tone, and the master's quick, approving caress to the evidence of that arousal.

All of which was to say that Lee wasn't sure he wasn't going to swoon dead away himself, as his gaze darted from the master's half-lidded eyes to Bran's heated cheeks, and in the corner of his vision, the two girls they had been discussing rose from their seats and began making their way carefully down the aisle, swaying gently with the motion of the train.

"Want anything from the dining car?" the master asked clearly as the girls passed their seats.

Bran swallowed. "No-- sir."



Bran's obvious desire to climb up in their master's lap and rub up against him until he came kept him from babbling very much for a while; instead he looked out the window, and so did Lee. He'd thought he'd feel nervous as the scenery spun past and as the train sped him away from the safety of his home, but he didn't. He knew the real safety of his home was sitting next to him; he could feel the warmth coming off his master's body, and he liked it.

"Master?" he whispered, and then, furious with himself for the misstep, "I mean-- sir?"

"Yes, sweetheart," said the master, with no note of reproof.

Lee looked up at him shyly. "Thank you. For-- for bringing me."

His master smiled at him.

"Of course," he said. "I wouldn't have been able to go myself if you hadn't said you would be okay to come along. So thank you."

Lee blushed again and looked down, speechless. There was so much else he should have been able to say, so much he needed to thank his master for, that the sheer magnitude of it all left him paralyzed, with no notion what to say. He hoped his master would want to make use of him again, soon; it was the only thing he had to give, and his master had seemed pleased with him, after. And maybe Bran could teach him to be better with his mouth.

He let his thoughts drift to memories of the day before, trying to recapture the feeling of ecstatic fulfillment and worthiness he had felt with his master above him, in him, Bran beside him kissing him and soothing him and praising him. He wondered if Bran would be with him next time. He wondered if his master would be as gentle next time. He wondered if Bran was right and he'd have to ask his master for there to be a next time; he tried to imagine daring to.

His master's eyes were fixed on Lee's lap; Lee looked down and realized what he was looking at.

"Well, well," said the master, with a slow grin, as Lee blushed so hard he thought his hair might singe. "I've got to take my boys on train trips more often."





When the train stopped and people started to stand up, Lee grabbed hold of Bran's hand with one of his and his master's with the other, not caring whether this was how free people behaved or not; he had no intention of getting lost or of letting Bran get lost, either one. But as it turned out, the crowd and confusion his master had evoked with his words to Bran didn't materialize; they disembarked without incident, found a cab, and settled into it while the master gave the driver Miss Valor's address, which he said was just off the university campus. It seemed like a very large house when they arrived, until Lee realized Miss Valor and her roommate only had one apartment in it, not the entire building.

Miss Valor's flat was two flights up, and Miss Valor herself-- Lee recognized her from before-- opened the door to them, in black slacks and a cowl-necked sleeveless crimson top.

"Dad?" she said, blinking at him in bewilderment, and then at Bran, Lee, and finally at the leather bag slung over the master's shoulder that contained what luggage they'd brought.

"Hello, trouble," said the master, bending forward to kiss her cheek briskly. "We just thought we'd drop by. How are you?"

"Uh, fine," said Miss Valor, still staring. "Why are they dressed like that?"

"Easier than slave tunics, for the trip over. Don't you ever have trouble traveling with Inga?"

"Sometimes," said Valor vaguely. "Catcalls and stuff. Well... come in," she added, backing away from the door and giving them a wider view of the room, which was a smallish living area with a huge round table in the center of it, covered with untidy stacks of books and papers. The far end of it merged, separated only by a sort of demi-wall on which rested a fishtank with a few bored-looking fish in it, into a kitchen, where a blonde in a black tunic was sitting at another, squarer table, looking up curiously from a very large book. As Lee took her in-- she was extremely lovely, slender, with dark eyes and strong features-- and the master let his bag slide to the floor, she stood up from the table, slowly, staring at the master, and then suddenly tipped forward, with the delicate abruptness of a bird coming off a branch, and flew into the master's arms.

He hugged her tightly for a few moments, then pulled away and stepped back, examining her closely.

"You've lost weight," he said, and he sounded angry. "Val, haven't you been feeding her?"

"She makes me eat her cooking," said the blonde, laughing. "What are you doing here, Mr. Larssen? Mistress, you didn't tell me-- Bran, honey, how are you?" she interrupted herself, putting her arms around Bran and hugging him enthusiastically, and glanced curiously at Lee before she turned back to Holden. "Is something wrong at the house, sir?"

"No, no, nothing's wrong," said the master, smiling at her. "I just wanted to surprise my daughter with a visit. Turn the tables a bit, you might say."

"It's good to see you," said Valor uncertainly. "Um-- sit down. But actually, we were just on our way out-- there's this meeting I really can't miss. You're welcome to hang around here if you want--"

"Actually," said the master briskly, "that works out just fine. Since I've seen you so much more recently than I've seen Inga, I was hoping to catch up with her. See what's going on in her life. If the meeting can spare her."

Valor looked at him for a moment before she said, "Inga? You want to stay here with my dad?"

"If it please my mistress," said Inga cheerfully. Valor winced a little, and Inga lost some of her equanimity. "I mean, yes."

The master's eyes narrowed as Miss Valor turned away and took down a purse from a hook by the door.

"I'll see you in a few hours, then," she said. "Some of us might get something to eat afterwards. You'll be okay, Inga?"

"Yes," said Inga awkwardly, not looking at either her mistress or Lee's master as she spoke.

"Okay, see you later," said Valor, and was gone.

"Sir," Inga said softly to the master, "it's so good to see you."

"It's good to see you too, sweetheart," said the master, sitting down in the nearest chair and motioning to Inga to sit in his lap, which she did, happily. Bran started to sink to his knees at his master's feet, but the master said, "Not in those clothes, Bran. You and Lee sit on the couch. Tell me, Inga, how are you getting along with Miss Robin Trask?"

"Oh, gods," said Inga, and dropped gracefully forward against the master's chest, letting her head sink down on his shoulder. "Have you come to save me?"

The master smiled a little. "More or less. Or at least to see if you need saving. Do you?"

Inga sat back up, looking a little embarrassed. "Well. No, sir. Not really. Just--"

"How about a sympathetic ear?" suggested the master. "Or six sympathetic ears?" He gestured at Bran and Lee. "We've all had our run-ins with Miss Robin over the past couple of weeks-- nobody here is going to argue if you want to characterize her as, say, an aggressive and criminally insensitive bitch."

"Oh, sir," said Inga, looking up at him through her eyelashes, "you really know the words to win a girl's heart."

Lee laughed, and Inga gave him another curious look.

"I'm Inga," she said to him, "by the way."

"Oh, I'm sorry," said the master. "This is Lee, our current delinquent."

"Oh, the one Robin's doing the story on? I mean--" Inga glanced up quickly at Holden, and Lee thought her cheeks had gone slightly pink. "I don't mean any disrespect, sir-- but my mistress' orders are to call her just Robin."

"I'm not your trainer any more," said the master, smiling. "Call her anything you want-- and I do mean anything."

Inga nodded, still blushing a little. "So-- none of you-- like her, either? Bran, did she tell you you weren't really in love with Mr. Larssen, it was just a coping mechanism in the face of the otherwise unendurable reality of your servitude?"

Bran grinned. "Something like that, I think. I was kind of distracted by the fact that she was throwing stuff at me."

"She threw stuff at you?" Inga demanded. "And the-- Mr. Larssen didn't kill her?"

"We all make mistakes," said Holden grimly. "Has she been throwing things at you?"

"No, sir," said Inga, adjusting herself more comfortably against his supporting arm. "I wish she would. If she did that, my mistress might actually get mad and break up with her. No, she just lectures me. And lectures my mistress about me, which is much worse, because my mistress actually listens."

"What has she been saying to Valor about you?" the master asked sharply. "She hasn't been trying to convince her to do anything stupid, has she?"

"Like free me and turn me out on the street, you mean?" Inga sighed. "She did at first, but I think she's given up on that. But she gets mad every time the mistress touches me. I mean, it's not that I blame her for being jealous--"

"Hard not to be, when her girlfriend has a goddess for a sex slave," Holden agreed, and Inga giggled and lowered her head to butt him softly in the chest.

"But she can't just say she's jealous," she continued, "or give the mistress an ultimatum about selling me, like any other jealous girlfriend. It's got to be all this ideological crap, excuse me, sir, about how the mistress stroking my hair is sexual abuse because I have no legal right to stop her. And you know me and needing to be touched, sir."

"I do," said Holden, with emphasis. "And so does Valor-- or she damn well should."

Inga nodded. "And she won't have sex with me-- which is okay, I mean, I can get myself off just fine-- as you know, sir," she said, momentarily twinkling, and the master smiled back at her. "And if she wants to be faithful to her girlfriend-- well, okay, fine, that's her right. But she could pet me, sometimes."

"In front of Robin, you mean?" the master asked.

"No, sir," said Inga. "I could understand that. But it's even when we're alone. And I thought things would be better now that Robin is out of town doing this story, but-- oh, sir, she's just got my mistress all-- mixed up, about me, and sort of-- sad." Inga looked, suddenly, very deeply unhappy. "It's like I make her sad now, just-- just me. Being here. Being hers. And she keeps apologizing to me, and I don't understand what for, and she says that's exactly why she should apologize, and-- it's all just-- I mean--" She bit her lip. "I know it could be a lot worse, sir. It has been a lot worse, for me. But..."

"It could be a lot better, too," said the master. "And has been, hasn't it? Inga-- my daughter and I need to have a good long talk about the way she's been treating you. But first, I need to know what you want to happen. You still want to belong to Valor?"

"Oh, yes, sir," said Inga anxiously. "I mean, I really-- we're really-- good together. Or we were, until all this started. And she's doing her best, she thinks-- she's just-- confused, is all--"

"Take it easy, Inga," said Holden gently. "I'm not arguing. Just asking. You would still want to be hers, even if things stay the way they are?"

"Yes, sir," said Inga, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin slightly. "I can outlast Robin."

Holden smiled at her and lifted a hand to lay it on her golden head.

"I know you can," he said, as she closed her eyes and tilted her head back into his touch. "But it shouldn't be this hard on you, sweetheart. And I think I can make it easier. Is it okay with you if I try?"

"You already have, sir," said Inga, opening her eyes to beam at him again. "It's great just to have someone to talk to about all this, who understands-- how awful Robin is. But if you can make her-- my mistress-- understand-- just how I feel, I guess. I can't say all this to her, but if she just knew-- I know she cares about me. She just-- she really thinks this is all-- for my own good."

Bran cleared his throat, for some reason, and smiled innocently when the master turned. Holden regarded him narrowly.

"How long has it been since I spanked you properly?" he asked.

"Master," Bran protested, "I didn't say anything!"

"Then don't," said the master, and turned back to Inga. "I'll talk to her, then. See if I can... unconfuse her a bit."

"Thank you, sir," said Inga contentedly as he continued to stroke her hair. "And if that doesn't work, maybe I can start biting her."