Mine and Yours 3: Tokyo Drift
Apr. 16th, 2008 10:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maculategiraffeThis is the third in the series of three ficlets involving "mine/yours dialogue" and Holden's three boys.
The first one
The second one
"Still the same pet? Yves, isn't it?"
Yves, his eyes lowered, his face a mask of perfect respect, felt his master take his hand as he answered, "That's right."
"You've had him since before your business started, haven't you?" the nobleman-- Jakov-- pursued. "What is he, twenty-four, twenty-five?"
"Twenty-seven," said Holden civilly, and Jakov whistled as Yves tried not to wince. He hated cocktail parties. Dinner parties usually weren't so bad-- he either got to kneel beside his master's chair and be mostly ignored by everyone else, or eat with other slaves in the kitchen and have some interesting conversation-- but anything that involved shadowing his master while he mingled was hell. Yves used to think he hated being drooled over by his master's business acquaintances, and the frequent coy or aggressive suggestions that his master lend him or rent him out as a sample of what owners could expect from the slave breakers' training. But he almost missed that, now that the lascivious comments had given way to ones that sounded vaguely pitying. Yves wasn't one to stare into mirrors much, usually, but after an evening party, these days, he could rarely stop himself from getting up in the middle of the night, while his master slept, and scrutinizing himself for incipient wrinkles or gray hairs for an hour or so.
"I'd expect someone in your line of work to always have the latest model," Jakov continued jovially. "Must be something special about Yves."
"Absolutely," said Holden, as Yves' hand tightened involuntarily on his.
"Well, with all that time with the slave trainers, no wonder!" The man reached out and slid a caressing hand through Yves' hair.
"Please don't touch him," said Holden, calmly, but Yves could hear the edge in his tone. So could Jakov; he pulled his hand back too quickly, and his fingers snagged on a tangle in Yves' hair, making Yves draw in his breath a little sharply as the nobleman stepped back.
"No offense," he said.
"None taken," said Holden coolly. "Nice to talk to you."
As the man moved off, recognizing a dismissal, Holden turned and cupped Yves' chin, turning his face up to meet his master's thoughtful eyes.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
Yves gave him a small smile. "Yes, master."
"Did he pull your hair?"
"Not on purpose," said Yves fairly.
Holden squinted after Jakov's retreating back. "Do you want me to fight him?"
"No, thank you, master," said Yves, his smile widening.
"Because I will."
"No, thank you, master," Yves repeated as someone else walked up to them-- Nikol Argounov, with Jer at his heels. Great-- that always put Holden in an excellent mood.
"Holden," said Argounov, holding out a hand to Yves' master, who took it briefly.
"Hello, Nikol," he said, and then, his tone warming about a thousand degrees in the two seconds in between, "Jer."
"Sir," said Jer, his eyes lowered appropriately. Yves wasn't sure if it was comforting or disturbing that though Jer was even older than Yves-- five years older, Holden's age-- and looked it, Holden's voice still went all to mush when he talked to him. And Argounov still dragged him around to these parties. Yves wondered if he got the same comments about getting old as Yves did, or if that was just a special kind of misery reserved for those who belonged to professional trainers.
Yves tried to tune out the stilted conversation between his master, Jer, and Jer's master, and after they moved off, he tried to stay tuned out; it wasn't like anyone was likely to speak directly to him, except his master. But after two more remarks from separate nobles on his advancing age, he was more than ready to go home when his master decided it was time.
Of course, at home, there was Fin, the latest adorable lip-biter of a fifteen-year-old and a perfect example of the "latest model" Jakov had mentioned. So maybe what Yves was actually ready for was bed.
Holden was usually in a pretty lascivious mood after taking Yves out somewhere, but he seemed silent and preoccupied tonight as he led Yves towards the master bedroom. Yves fought not to say anything, since he couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't come out whiny or pathetic. When Holden sat down on the edge of the bed, Yves started to kneel down to pull off his master's boots, but Holden caught his hand and pulled him to sit down next to him, putting an arm around him. Yves cuddled closer to Holden's warmth, wondering what was up.
"Yves, look at me," said Holden, and Yves looked up obediently. "I need to talk to you, love. About-- the future."
Yves swallowed, his heart speeding up, as he nodded.
"Yves?" Holden cupped Yves' face in both his hands, looking at him with concern. "Sweetheart, have you been worrying?"
"No, master," said Yves, which was mostly true. He really hadn't ever thought much, despite those sleepless hours at the mirror, about what exactly would happen to him when he got too old to satisfy his master the way he did now; he'd always figured there was no point borrowing trouble from tomorrow. After all, he still looked a good two or three years younger than he really was-- Jakov's comment confirmed that-- and Holden's pleasure in him seemed undiminished, in bed and out.
Still, the comments at the party had obviously gotten his master thinking-- and his master had always been fairly meticulous about making sure Yves knew what to expect from him. Even if Yves had years left as his master's favorite, Holden probably wanted to make sure Yves understood what would happen to him, eventually.
Which was probably nothing to worry about, in itself. Yves knew he was valuable to Holden as more than just a fucktoy-- his master's affection, along with Yves' skill as an accountant and the fact that little Valor adored him, would almost ensure that he'd be kept on, along with whatever new boy Holden acquired to take Yves' place as his habitual bedmate and pet.
Yves was shocked by the pain that tore through him at that thought-- shocked enough that he couldn't keep it off his face, and Holden's brows drew together swiftly as he pulled Yves closer.
"Those fucking assholes at the party got you all upset," he said. "I should have done this before. I guess I always just figured you know-- how I feel about you. But that doesn't always mean-- I mean, I don't ever want you to-- worry."
Yves nodded, trying hard to calm himself. "Thank you, master."
"So I've been thinking," Holden went on. "I really don't want to free you-- although if that's something you'd want, we can talk about it."
Yves could actually feel himself blanch. Certainly worse things could happen to an aging slave than freedom, and Holden wouldn't put him out to starve, free or not. But-- Holden sounded like he meant now. Was Yves' time up already, after all?
"What do you think?" Holden asked, examining him uncertainly. "I mean, I know it can be rough being a slave, but I thought-- it's easier for both of us, if there's some kind of legal bond. But maybe-- I mean, I could just be-- being selfish. Because I--" He swallowed, looking suddenly much younger, himself. "I love-- owning you. I love that you're mine. In-- in the eyes of the law, I guess, and of-- everybody. You know what a possessive bastard I am," he said, smiling a little, but Yves was listening and watching too intently to remember to smile back. "It makes me-- hell, Yves, it makes me hard, just thinking about it, about you belonging to me. I love taking care of you, I love-- being your master. But if you think you'd be happier, or feel safer, if I freed you-- fuck, I'll do it tomorrow. We'll go into town and find a lawyer first thing in the morning. If that's what you want."
Yves couldn't help it. He started to cry. Holden reached up and brushed away his tears, gently, with the back of his hand.
"Talk to me, sweetheart," he said softly.
Yves swallowed hard, but his voice still came out as a quaver when he said, "I want to be yours, master."
"You sure?" Holden asked, and when Yves nodded, "Well-- okay. Then-- well, this was my other idea."
He got up abruptly and crossed to the top drawer of the bureau, opened it and got out a piece of paper, while Yves sat waiting, still stunned-- that his master still wanted him so much, but would be willing to free him if that was what Yves wanted-- and brought the paper back to Yves, sitting back down next to him.
"This is just a draft," he said. "I wanted you to read over it and tell me what you thought, before I have it signed and witnessed and everything."
Yves looked down at the paper. What it was a draft of was a will-- Holden's will-- which made Yves' stomach somersault and his eyes flick up to his master's face before he'd seen anything but that top line.
"Are you going to die or something?" he blurted, and Holden put an arm around him again and hugged him close.
"I don't have any plans to, in the next-- sixty years, or so," he said gently. "But you never know."
"But you're not-- sick, or anything, are you?" Yves persisted, feeling about five years old.
"Do I look sick?" Holden squeezed Yves' shoulder. "This is why I haven't bothered with this before, love. I don't expect it to be relevant any time soon. But-- just keep reading, okay?"
Yves looked back down at the will. It left everything to Holden's wife, which made sense, and didn't alarm Yves or anything, any more than the prospect of anything involving Holden's death was bound to. Alix was a gentle and fair mistress, and she liked him just fine. It also made provision for the event of her predecease, which was smart. In that event, it left everything, instead, to-- Yves.
Yves had to read it twice to understand-- the will freed him, if Alix died first, and left everything to him, including the business, with a provision that he take care of Valor-- and a third time, to confirm that he wasn't hallucinating, before he looked back up at his master. He had no idea what his expression might look like, but Holden looked concerned.
"There's another option," he said cautiously, "which is to have the will free you outright. To say that in the event of my death my slave Yves is to be freed-- and then I'd just have to figure out how to divide my property between you and Alix. I could leave you my share of the business, so that you and she would be in partnership. I just thought this way would be easier. Because I trust her to take care of you-- but then, she's my wife, of course I trust her. If it would make you more comfortable, we can do it the other way. It's no trouble."
Yves' collapse forward into his master's arms, as the paper fluttered to the floor, was only about half voluntary, and he nearly missed; Holden had to catch him and pull him in, supporting Yves' weight as more tears spilled from Yves' eyes.
"Um," said Holden, patting Yves' back. "If you want to change it, or if there's anything-- Yves?"
"I'm okay," said Yves, and took a breath. "I'm fine. That's-- yes, master, that's fine."
"Sure?"
Yves pulled back, smiling at his master through his tears. It was so like Holden to be this nervous, when he'd just shown Yves a will that put Yves ahead of Holden's daughter in line for inheritance.
"Yes," he said. "I'm sure. I'm just-- overwhelmed. This is so--" His voice broke a little again, but he was smiling, smiling like an idiot. "--sweet of you. I didn't-- I had no idea--"
"Well, you should have," said Holden, relieved and smiling back. "You're mine-- and I'm yours-- so it stands to reason that what's mine should be yours."
Yves laughed. "I don't think most slave owners see it quite like that."
"Fuck most slave owners," said Holden. "They can't have you. I'm the only one who's good enough for you."
"I know, right?" Yves grinned, and Holden laughed, leaning in to kiss him deeply, with one hand at the nape of his neck.
"So you like being mine?" he asked in Yves' ear as he pulled him closer.
"Love it, master," said Yves softly. "Love being yours-- and love you."
"I love you too," said Holden, and nibbled at Yves' earlobe. "I especially love this part right here. If you ever do want to be free, and you decide to leave me, I'm keeping this part. As a souvenir. I'll take it out and nibble on it whenever I miss you."
"That's disgusting, master," said Yves, his eyes half closed with pleasure.
"You can have something of mine, too, to remember me by," Holden continued, nuzzling Yves' neck. "Which part of me do you want?"
Yves pulled back and put his head on one side in imitation of Holden, pretending to consider. "I don't know. May I sample a few of your parts before I decide?"
Holden grabbed Yves's arms and lay back on the bed, pulling Yves on top of him.
"Sample them all," he suggested, grinning up at Yves. "No rush. We've got time."
The first one
The second one
"Still the same pet? Yves, isn't it?"
Yves, his eyes lowered, his face a mask of perfect respect, felt his master take his hand as he answered, "That's right."
"You've had him since before your business started, haven't you?" the nobleman-- Jakov-- pursued. "What is he, twenty-four, twenty-five?"
"Twenty-seven," said Holden civilly, and Jakov whistled as Yves tried not to wince. He hated cocktail parties. Dinner parties usually weren't so bad-- he either got to kneel beside his master's chair and be mostly ignored by everyone else, or eat with other slaves in the kitchen and have some interesting conversation-- but anything that involved shadowing his master while he mingled was hell. Yves used to think he hated being drooled over by his master's business acquaintances, and the frequent coy or aggressive suggestions that his master lend him or rent him out as a sample of what owners could expect from the slave breakers' training. But he almost missed that, now that the lascivious comments had given way to ones that sounded vaguely pitying. Yves wasn't one to stare into mirrors much, usually, but after an evening party, these days, he could rarely stop himself from getting up in the middle of the night, while his master slept, and scrutinizing himself for incipient wrinkles or gray hairs for an hour or so.
"I'd expect someone in your line of work to always have the latest model," Jakov continued jovially. "Must be something special about Yves."
"Absolutely," said Holden, as Yves' hand tightened involuntarily on his.
"Well, with all that time with the slave trainers, no wonder!" The man reached out and slid a caressing hand through Yves' hair.
"Please don't touch him," said Holden, calmly, but Yves could hear the edge in his tone. So could Jakov; he pulled his hand back too quickly, and his fingers snagged on a tangle in Yves' hair, making Yves draw in his breath a little sharply as the nobleman stepped back.
"No offense," he said.
"None taken," said Holden coolly. "Nice to talk to you."
As the man moved off, recognizing a dismissal, Holden turned and cupped Yves' chin, turning his face up to meet his master's thoughtful eyes.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
Yves gave him a small smile. "Yes, master."
"Did he pull your hair?"
"Not on purpose," said Yves fairly.
Holden squinted after Jakov's retreating back. "Do you want me to fight him?"
"No, thank you, master," said Yves, his smile widening.
"Because I will."
"No, thank you, master," Yves repeated as someone else walked up to them-- Nikol Argounov, with Jer at his heels. Great-- that always put Holden in an excellent mood.
"Holden," said Argounov, holding out a hand to Yves' master, who took it briefly.
"Hello, Nikol," he said, and then, his tone warming about a thousand degrees in the two seconds in between, "Jer."
"Sir," said Jer, his eyes lowered appropriately. Yves wasn't sure if it was comforting or disturbing that though Jer was even older than Yves-- five years older, Holden's age-- and looked it, Holden's voice still went all to mush when he talked to him. And Argounov still dragged him around to these parties. Yves wondered if he got the same comments about getting old as Yves did, or if that was just a special kind of misery reserved for those who belonged to professional trainers.
Yves tried to tune out the stilted conversation between his master, Jer, and Jer's master, and after they moved off, he tried to stay tuned out; it wasn't like anyone was likely to speak directly to him, except his master. But after two more remarks from separate nobles on his advancing age, he was more than ready to go home when his master decided it was time.
Of course, at home, there was Fin, the latest adorable lip-biter of a fifteen-year-old and a perfect example of the "latest model" Jakov had mentioned. So maybe what Yves was actually ready for was bed.
Holden was usually in a pretty lascivious mood after taking Yves out somewhere, but he seemed silent and preoccupied tonight as he led Yves towards the master bedroom. Yves fought not to say anything, since he couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't come out whiny or pathetic. When Holden sat down on the edge of the bed, Yves started to kneel down to pull off his master's boots, but Holden caught his hand and pulled him to sit down next to him, putting an arm around him. Yves cuddled closer to Holden's warmth, wondering what was up.
"Yves, look at me," said Holden, and Yves looked up obediently. "I need to talk to you, love. About-- the future."
Yves swallowed, his heart speeding up, as he nodded.
"Yves?" Holden cupped Yves' face in both his hands, looking at him with concern. "Sweetheart, have you been worrying?"
"No, master," said Yves, which was mostly true. He really hadn't ever thought much, despite those sleepless hours at the mirror, about what exactly would happen to him when he got too old to satisfy his master the way he did now; he'd always figured there was no point borrowing trouble from tomorrow. After all, he still looked a good two or three years younger than he really was-- Jakov's comment confirmed that-- and Holden's pleasure in him seemed undiminished, in bed and out.
Still, the comments at the party had obviously gotten his master thinking-- and his master had always been fairly meticulous about making sure Yves knew what to expect from him. Even if Yves had years left as his master's favorite, Holden probably wanted to make sure Yves understood what would happen to him, eventually.
Which was probably nothing to worry about, in itself. Yves knew he was valuable to Holden as more than just a fucktoy-- his master's affection, along with Yves' skill as an accountant and the fact that little Valor adored him, would almost ensure that he'd be kept on, along with whatever new boy Holden acquired to take Yves' place as his habitual bedmate and pet.
Yves was shocked by the pain that tore through him at that thought-- shocked enough that he couldn't keep it off his face, and Holden's brows drew together swiftly as he pulled Yves closer.
"Those fucking assholes at the party got you all upset," he said. "I should have done this before. I guess I always just figured you know-- how I feel about you. But that doesn't always mean-- I mean, I don't ever want you to-- worry."
Yves nodded, trying hard to calm himself. "Thank you, master."
"So I've been thinking," Holden went on. "I really don't want to free you-- although if that's something you'd want, we can talk about it."
Yves could actually feel himself blanch. Certainly worse things could happen to an aging slave than freedom, and Holden wouldn't put him out to starve, free or not. But-- Holden sounded like he meant now. Was Yves' time up already, after all?
"What do you think?" Holden asked, examining him uncertainly. "I mean, I know it can be rough being a slave, but I thought-- it's easier for both of us, if there's some kind of legal bond. But maybe-- I mean, I could just be-- being selfish. Because I--" He swallowed, looking suddenly much younger, himself. "I love-- owning you. I love that you're mine. In-- in the eyes of the law, I guess, and of-- everybody. You know what a possessive bastard I am," he said, smiling a little, but Yves was listening and watching too intently to remember to smile back. "It makes me-- hell, Yves, it makes me hard, just thinking about it, about you belonging to me. I love taking care of you, I love-- being your master. But if you think you'd be happier, or feel safer, if I freed you-- fuck, I'll do it tomorrow. We'll go into town and find a lawyer first thing in the morning. If that's what you want."
Yves couldn't help it. He started to cry. Holden reached up and brushed away his tears, gently, with the back of his hand.
"Talk to me, sweetheart," he said softly.
Yves swallowed hard, but his voice still came out as a quaver when he said, "I want to be yours, master."
"You sure?" Holden asked, and when Yves nodded, "Well-- okay. Then-- well, this was my other idea."
He got up abruptly and crossed to the top drawer of the bureau, opened it and got out a piece of paper, while Yves sat waiting, still stunned-- that his master still wanted him so much, but would be willing to free him if that was what Yves wanted-- and brought the paper back to Yves, sitting back down next to him.
"This is just a draft," he said. "I wanted you to read over it and tell me what you thought, before I have it signed and witnessed and everything."
Yves looked down at the paper. What it was a draft of was a will-- Holden's will-- which made Yves' stomach somersault and his eyes flick up to his master's face before he'd seen anything but that top line.
"Are you going to die or something?" he blurted, and Holden put an arm around him again and hugged him close.
"I don't have any plans to, in the next-- sixty years, or so," he said gently. "But you never know."
"But you're not-- sick, or anything, are you?" Yves persisted, feeling about five years old.
"Do I look sick?" Holden squeezed Yves' shoulder. "This is why I haven't bothered with this before, love. I don't expect it to be relevant any time soon. But-- just keep reading, okay?"
Yves looked back down at the will. It left everything to Holden's wife, which made sense, and didn't alarm Yves or anything, any more than the prospect of anything involving Holden's death was bound to. Alix was a gentle and fair mistress, and she liked him just fine. It also made provision for the event of her predecease, which was smart. In that event, it left everything, instead, to-- Yves.
Yves had to read it twice to understand-- the will freed him, if Alix died first, and left everything to him, including the business, with a provision that he take care of Valor-- and a third time, to confirm that he wasn't hallucinating, before he looked back up at his master. He had no idea what his expression might look like, but Holden looked concerned.
"There's another option," he said cautiously, "which is to have the will free you outright. To say that in the event of my death my slave Yves is to be freed-- and then I'd just have to figure out how to divide my property between you and Alix. I could leave you my share of the business, so that you and she would be in partnership. I just thought this way would be easier. Because I trust her to take care of you-- but then, she's my wife, of course I trust her. If it would make you more comfortable, we can do it the other way. It's no trouble."
Yves' collapse forward into his master's arms, as the paper fluttered to the floor, was only about half voluntary, and he nearly missed; Holden had to catch him and pull him in, supporting Yves' weight as more tears spilled from Yves' eyes.
"Um," said Holden, patting Yves' back. "If you want to change it, or if there's anything-- Yves?"
"I'm okay," said Yves, and took a breath. "I'm fine. That's-- yes, master, that's fine."
"Sure?"
Yves pulled back, smiling at his master through his tears. It was so like Holden to be this nervous, when he'd just shown Yves a will that put Yves ahead of Holden's daughter in line for inheritance.
"Yes," he said. "I'm sure. I'm just-- overwhelmed. This is so--" His voice broke a little again, but he was smiling, smiling like an idiot. "--sweet of you. I didn't-- I had no idea--"
"Well, you should have," said Holden, relieved and smiling back. "You're mine-- and I'm yours-- so it stands to reason that what's mine should be yours."
Yves laughed. "I don't think most slave owners see it quite like that."
"Fuck most slave owners," said Holden. "They can't have you. I'm the only one who's good enough for you."
"I know, right?" Yves grinned, and Holden laughed, leaning in to kiss him deeply, with one hand at the nape of his neck.
"So you like being mine?" he asked in Yves' ear as he pulled him closer.
"Love it, master," said Yves softly. "Love being yours-- and love you."
"I love you too," said Holden, and nibbled at Yves' earlobe. "I especially love this part right here. If you ever do want to be free, and you decide to leave me, I'm keeping this part. As a souvenir. I'll take it out and nibble on it whenever I miss you."
"That's disgusting, master," said Yves, his eyes half closed with pleasure.
"You can have something of mine, too, to remember me by," Holden continued, nuzzling Yves' neck. "Which part of me do you want?"
Yves pulled back and put his head on one side in imitation of Holden, pretending to consider. "I don't know. May I sample a few of your parts before I decide?"
Holden grabbed Yves's arms and lay back on the bed, pulling Yves on top of him.
"Sample them all," he suggested, grinning up at Yves. "No rush. We've got time."
