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maculategiraffePlan to catch up on comments and friends list and such sometime today or tonight (been getting some truly awesome comments, indeed, which have made me grin immoderately), but in the meantime, since the Crimson thing is a bit of a downer at the moment, here is a bit of... something else. I had an eight-hour drive yesterday, and I listened to a lot of Magnetic Fields, and just couldn't get some of these images out of my head. Wrote it really fast this morning. Hope it's not too silly. Takes place sometime after "Jesse" and before "Lee."
Holden had a premonition he might find Yves in Valor's room, since Valor was home and had brought her massive sense of entitlement along. Giving Valor her own slave had helped a little with her appetite for Yves-- she no longer wore him out-- but she wanted as much time with him as ever, which Holden had to grudgingly admit spoke to her good taste.
To Holden's surprise, the door to his daughter's room was open, and music and laughter were spilling out. One of the laughs was Yves'; another was Bran's.
Holden stepped into the doorway, curious and smiling already himself. Valor's record player was spinning, and she and Inga were dancing close, while Yves held Bran's waist and Bran stumbled through the steps of the same dance.
"Hi, Dad!" Valor broke away from Inga; Bran looked up, startled, but smiling shyly at Holden. "We're teaching Bran to dance. So we don't keep cutting in on each other. I've been teaching Inga. Remember how Yves always used to help me practice?"
"I do," said Holden, stepping closer to Yves. "May I?"
Bran backed up, surprised, as Yves held out his hand and let Holden bow over it, then pull him in close, relishing the ease with which Yves stepped into his arms and into the rhythm of the music.
"Why don't we do this more often?" he whispered into Yves' ear as he pulled him into a cuddle, both their arms clasping Yves' waist against Holden's, and Yves spun out of his arms and then back in and answered, easily, "You never ask."
"Dad," said Valor, sounding deeply indignant, "I didn't know you could dance!"
"That's because I knew you would have roped me into practicing with you," said Holden.
Valor was obviously scandalized at this dereliction of paternal duty. "Yves, you knew he could dance?"
"I have to admit I did, Miss," said Yves, and, softly, "Lift me, master."
Holden gripped Yves' hips, lifted and swung him around a half turn in time with a swell in the music; Yves landed lightly, stepping a little closer to Holden so that their pelvises brushed, and turning his mouth up to be kissed. Holden obliged willingly.
"I'm pretty sure Mrs. Rives at school taught us not to make out on the dance floor," said Valor, but there was a smile in her voice.
"Did she also teach you not to stand around staring at other couples and neglecting your own partner?" Holden asked, nodding at Inga as he twirled Yves and pulled him back in.
"No," said Valor, stepping closer to Inga and bowing over her hand, "she forgot about that part."
"And to think of what Argounov paid for that education," said Holden, shaking his head sadly as Inga blushed and giggled and fairly melted into her mistress' arms, and Yves stepped even closer, his bare feet between Holden's feet, pressing their bodies together and his cheek against Holden's.
"Careful," said Holden quietly. "I might step on your feet. Should I take off my boots?"
Yves' hands slid closer together behind Holden's shoulders. "You'll be careful."
They danced until the song ended, when Holden kissed Yves' hand and then stepped to Bran, who had been standing, smiling, well back out of everyone else's way. He startled and blinked as Holden placed his feet on either side of the boy's and his hands, firmly, on Bran's waist.
"Put your hands on my shoulders," he told Bran, who obeyed, as nervously as if Holden were made of spun glass. "Keep your feet between mine." He took a step to the side, and Bran followed beautifully, magnetically. "Good. You could feel it in my body, which way I was about to move, before my feet moved, right? You stepped at the same time I did."
"Yes, master," Bran murmured, flushed.
"That's pretty much all you need to be able to do to follow well," Holden told him. "Pay attention to which way I'm moving, and what I'm about to do." He was moving, stepping slowly as he spoke, turning Bran in place and Bran was moving with him, his body both pliant and tensile in Holden's grip. "Feel how I'm turning you with my hands on your hips? But I'm not actually turning you, I'm just-- a little pressure-- and you're turning yourself."
Bran nodded, gripping Holden's shoulders harder, but not leaning any closer as he moved carefully with the sway of Holden's body.
"Good," said Holden softly. "And when my hand moves away from your waist--" It did, and Bran stumbled and stepped on Holden's booted foot with his own bare one, then stepped on his own foot and almost fell; Holden steadied him. "That's okay, just relax. Slide your hand off my shoulder-- good-- slide it along my arm-- easy, don't grip, just slide-- and catch my hand. Don't grab-- just catch-- I've got you--"
He pulled Bran back in, with his back to Holden's chest, and cradled him close for a moment, taking another few slow, careful steps in time to the music, which Bran followed after an initial stumble, and then spinning him back out and lifting their clasped hands above Bran's head. Bran laughed as he twirled around rapidly under Holden's hand, and then stumbled back into Holden's arms.
"Put your hands on my shoulders again," Holden reminded, and Bran did, gingerly. "Come on, kiddo, I'm not going to break. Lean your weight on me-- and--"
As Bran obeyed, Holden lifted and swung him, and Bran let out a delighted, breathless hiccup of laughter, swaying off-balance as he landed and falling against Holden's chest. Holden steadied him again, danced for a few steps, and whispered, again, "Lean on me, darling-- yes--" and lifted again, Bran seeming to leap into his hands before he exerted any force at all.
He brought Bran to a standstill at the song's end, and leaned in to kiss him lingeringly.
"My turn," said Alix, smiling, from the doorway.
Holden had a premonition he might find Yves in Valor's room, since Valor was home and had brought her massive sense of entitlement along. Giving Valor her own slave had helped a little with her appetite for Yves-- she no longer wore him out-- but she wanted as much time with him as ever, which Holden had to grudgingly admit spoke to her good taste.
To Holden's surprise, the door to his daughter's room was open, and music and laughter were spilling out. One of the laughs was Yves'; another was Bran's.
Holden stepped into the doorway, curious and smiling already himself. Valor's record player was spinning, and she and Inga were dancing close, while Yves held Bran's waist and Bran stumbled through the steps of the same dance.
"Hi, Dad!" Valor broke away from Inga; Bran looked up, startled, but smiling shyly at Holden. "We're teaching Bran to dance. So we don't keep cutting in on each other. I've been teaching Inga. Remember how Yves always used to help me practice?"
"I do," said Holden, stepping closer to Yves. "May I?"
Bran backed up, surprised, as Yves held out his hand and let Holden bow over it, then pull him in close, relishing the ease with which Yves stepped into his arms and into the rhythm of the music.
"Why don't we do this more often?" he whispered into Yves' ear as he pulled him into a cuddle, both their arms clasping Yves' waist against Holden's, and Yves spun out of his arms and then back in and answered, easily, "You never ask."
"Dad," said Valor, sounding deeply indignant, "I didn't know you could dance!"
"That's because I knew you would have roped me into practicing with you," said Holden.
Valor was obviously scandalized at this dereliction of paternal duty. "Yves, you knew he could dance?"
"I have to admit I did, Miss," said Yves, and, softly, "Lift me, master."
Holden gripped Yves' hips, lifted and swung him around a half turn in time with a swell in the music; Yves landed lightly, stepping a little closer to Holden so that their pelvises brushed, and turning his mouth up to be kissed. Holden obliged willingly.
"I'm pretty sure Mrs. Rives at school taught us not to make out on the dance floor," said Valor, but there was a smile in her voice.
"Did she also teach you not to stand around staring at other couples and neglecting your own partner?" Holden asked, nodding at Inga as he twirled Yves and pulled him back in.
"No," said Valor, stepping closer to Inga and bowing over her hand, "she forgot about that part."
"And to think of what Argounov paid for that education," said Holden, shaking his head sadly as Inga blushed and giggled and fairly melted into her mistress' arms, and Yves stepped even closer, his bare feet between Holden's feet, pressing their bodies together and his cheek against Holden's.
"Careful," said Holden quietly. "I might step on your feet. Should I take off my boots?"
Yves' hands slid closer together behind Holden's shoulders. "You'll be careful."
They danced until the song ended, when Holden kissed Yves' hand and then stepped to Bran, who had been standing, smiling, well back out of everyone else's way. He startled and blinked as Holden placed his feet on either side of the boy's and his hands, firmly, on Bran's waist.
"Put your hands on my shoulders," he told Bran, who obeyed, as nervously as if Holden were made of spun glass. "Keep your feet between mine." He took a step to the side, and Bran followed beautifully, magnetically. "Good. You could feel it in my body, which way I was about to move, before my feet moved, right? You stepped at the same time I did."
"Yes, master," Bran murmured, flushed.
"That's pretty much all you need to be able to do to follow well," Holden told him. "Pay attention to which way I'm moving, and what I'm about to do." He was moving, stepping slowly as he spoke, turning Bran in place and Bran was moving with him, his body both pliant and tensile in Holden's grip. "Feel how I'm turning you with my hands on your hips? But I'm not actually turning you, I'm just-- a little pressure-- and you're turning yourself."
Bran nodded, gripping Holden's shoulders harder, but not leaning any closer as he moved carefully with the sway of Holden's body.
"Good," said Holden softly. "And when my hand moves away from your waist--" It did, and Bran stumbled and stepped on Holden's booted foot with his own bare one, then stepped on his own foot and almost fell; Holden steadied him. "That's okay, just relax. Slide your hand off my shoulder-- good-- slide it along my arm-- easy, don't grip, just slide-- and catch my hand. Don't grab-- just catch-- I've got you--"
He pulled Bran back in, with his back to Holden's chest, and cradled him close for a moment, taking another few slow, careful steps in time to the music, which Bran followed after an initial stumble, and then spinning him back out and lifting their clasped hands above Bran's head. Bran laughed as he twirled around rapidly under Holden's hand, and then stumbled back into Holden's arms.
"Put your hands on my shoulders again," Holden reminded, and Bran did, gingerly. "Come on, kiddo, I'm not going to break. Lean your weight on me-- and--"
As Bran obeyed, Holden lifted and swung him, and Bran let out a delighted, breathless hiccup of laughter, swaying off-balance as he landed and falling against Holden's chest. Holden steadied him again, danced for a few steps, and whispered, again, "Lean on me, darling-- yes--" and lifted again, Bran seeming to leap into his hands before he exerted any force at all.
He brought Bran to a standstill at the song's end, and leaned in to kiss him lingeringly.
"My turn," said Alix, smiling, from the doorway.
