Lee chapter 36
Jul. 3rd, 2008 07:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maculategiraffeOK, so after STRUGGLING MIGHTILY with Chapter 36 (I have no idea why this sucker's been giving me so much trouble), I did a word count and it was over 5000 words long, when my chapters usually clock in between 2000 and 3000. (Par for the course on this fic-- hey, remember when I said I didn't think I could do a multi-part fic with more than about 15 chapters?) So I'm splitting it into two chapters. 36 is about 3000 words, 37 is about 2000 and I'll post it probably tomorrow.
And now I have severe performance anxiety because it's been so long since I posted anything. *posts hurriedly and runs off to catch up on everything else*
"I wonder if I'm allowed to use the oven at home now?" Bran asked no one in particular, eyeing the oven in question hopefully. "I mean, he gave me permission at Miss Valor's..."
Inga laughed. "That was because you were the only one who knew how to cook, Bran."
"But he said he hadn't realized how interested I was in cooking." Bran, perched on a kitchen chair, looked happy at the memory, and nervous, and positively squirrely with desire as he canted his body unconsciously towards the stove. "I bet he'll let me. You don't think?"
"Maybe," said Inga dubiously. "I'd wait until he comes back down and ask him, Bran. You don't want to get in trouble."
"I could start putting something together, though," said Bran, leaping off his chair and going to the sink, where he washed his hands and then began to get things down from various cupboards and arrange them on the counter. Lee had seen him do such things before, when Fox was there, or shortly before she arrived, to prepare for her coming, but Bran seemed far more animated than usual, as if this particular assemblage of utensils and ingredients were something he'd been looking forward to for a long time.
"Won't Fox be annoyed that you're messing around in the kitchen without her?" Inga wondered, watching Bran carry a cutting board, two mixing bowls and a paring knife from the counter back to the table.
"She won't mind," said Bran, as he took an apple from the bowl in the center of the table. "I've made stuff on my own before. I just have to wait for her to get here so she can turn on the oven."
"You're allowed to use knives, but not the stove?" Inga asked, amused.
"I've never cut myself." Bran pared and cored the apple with swift precision as he spoke. "Burning myself was just stupid. I was getting something out of the oven for Fox, and I had potholders and everything, but it was lighter than I thought it was going to be and I lifted it too hard and hit the backs of my hands against the top of the oven. It really wasn't that bad, and I mean, I'd be really careful now-- I am really careful, I mean, with everything I'm still allowed to do." He grimaced, dropping a peeled apple's worth of slices into one mixing bowl and the peelings and core into the other, and taking another apple from the bowl. "I didn't want him to ban me from the kitchen altogether."
"I love how excited you are," said Inga. Lee privately agreed; the glow on Bran's face was pleasant to see. "What are you making?"
Bran was chopping up the second apple. "It's something-- my mom used to make. I used to help. I wanted to see if I could-- I mean, I'm probably not remembering it right, but I just thought I'd mess around a little. If I'm allowed to use the oven, I can-- practice. Without bothering Fox."
"They won't mind you using their food to practice with?" Inga asked.
Bran seemed to consider this for a moment, his brow furrowed even as his hands continued their careful chopping.
"I don't think so," he said. "I-- well. Jer got so much fruit for Lee that it will probably just rot if I don't use it up. It won't take too much of anything else." He shook a nice-smelling brown powder from a small canister over the mixture. "And he didn't mind Jer buying all that--maybe he won't mind if I get some extra stuff sometimes, too."
Lee thought Bran was right. One thing that didn't seem to be in short supply around here was good food; Lee was actually getting used to the feeling of a full belly, not to mention the novelty of eating most of the same food as his master and mistress.
Lee was getting so used to eating well, in fact, that just before waking at Miss Valor and Lady Lisa's apartment this very morning, he'd had the first dream he remembered clearly, that wasn't a nightmare, for years. He'd dreamed that he was sitting at his former master's dining table-- the table he'd never sat at in real life, had only grovelled under when his master was in the mood to feed him table scraps-- eating a meal that he had never eaten, only seen on his master's plate. Sometimes his master had put the plate on the floor when he was finished with that particular meal and let Lee lick it clean, but Lee didn't remember how it had tasted very clearly; he had been too preoccupied, at the time, with the position he had to assume to do this-- head down, ass invitingly in the air-- and with dread of what invariably resulted. But part of him must have remembered, because in the dream, he'd tasted it vividly, and it had been good.
"Bran?" he said suddenly, into the silence that had stretched without his noticing it; Bran looked up immediately from the white powder he was sifting into a third mixing bowl. "May I tell you about the dream I had last night?"
"Sure," said Bran, smiling at Lee. "You said it was about food, right?"
"Yes," said Lee, smiling back. "It was-- I was eating-- something that my master used to eat. It was-- there was a red sauce, over this-- it looked like a bird's nest? Made out of these long, skinny yellow things? And cheese, over the top."
"Spaghetti!" said Bran and Inga at the same time, and then laughed. Lee didn't mind that; it was a friendly laugh, and they definitely knew what he was talking about.
"It was good," he said shyly. "In the dream."
"Fox can make that," said Bran. "I'll ask her when she gets here."
Lee smiled wider. Everyone seemed to want to get him the food he wanted; that would probably stop once he gained enough weight for his master's satisfaction, but in the meantime, he was enjoying it.
There was another, longer silence, during which Inga started to cry again. Bran was so absorbed it took him a minute to notice, but when he did he stopped what he was doing immediately, got up and went to her, stroking her back and her hair.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice high and strained. "I just-- oh, hell."
"I know," Bran said softly. "It's okay. Do you want to talk about it?"
"I just-- I can't believe-- If she hadn't told Yves to speak freely," said Inga, her hands lifting and making small, unconscious fluttering motions as she spoke. "All the time she was making me drink coffee, and call free people by their first names-- it was weird and all, but I at least thought I was safe, you know? I can follow protocol, or I can obey my mistress-- but if she's going around ordering people to break protocol, and then punishing them for it? That's--" Inga's hands settled back down on the table, one inside the other, and her gaze dropped to them, tears pouring down as she sat motionless. "I don't know."
Bran nodded.
"I think--" he began, and then hesitated. "I mean, I hope-- my master can--"
"Talk some sense into her?" said Inga, pushing her tears away, her voice going lower again, under control. "Yeah, maybe so."
Bran looked uncomfortable. "Well. That, or--"
"Oh-- hang onto me until she straightens up?" Inga put her chin in her hands as Bran nodded. "Yeah. That might be best. At least I know where I stand, here." She glanced at Lee, smiling slightly. "And there could be other perks."
Lee grinned at her. He wouldn't mind servicing Inga again.
Actually-- he corrected himself-- he'd like to service Inga again.
Ever since Mona had asked him what he liked, Lee has been thinking about it at odd moments. It had never seemed particularly important before; in fact, it had seemed of far more pressing importance not to like anything in particular, since liking things tended to lead to wanting things, and wanting things led to... problems, for a slave. The things he was supposed to like-- his master's cock, for example-- persisted in activating his gag reflex, so the least he could do was see that he didn't like or want anything. Like food, or water, or moving.
But lately Lee was noticing a pattern where wanting things led with some regularity to people smiling and giving them to you. It was a pattern of which Lee approved.
Other things he liked so far included sitting in his master's lap, and in Bran's lap. He wasn't one hundred percent sure about anybody else's lap-- he'd been in a lot of laps that he hadn't liked at all, before he came here-- but he was starting to have brief, tentative fantasies about sitting in the lap of Lord Taganov, and even, periodically, of Mona. He thought Mona would be soft and cushiony, the way Greta looked, and the way Inga had been when she drew Lee's head down on her breast and let him fall asleep. And maybe, if he was allowed to go down on Mona, she would hug him and kiss him and ask him to marry her the way Inga had, afterwards. He was pretty sure he'd like that.
"What are you grinning about?" Inga asked Lee, and he blushed.
"I was thinking about-- servicing you, yesterday," he said, with partial truth, and Inga and Bran both laughed.
"I'm glad it makes you smile," she said, and then sucked in her breath as Lee and Bran's master came into the room.
Holden glanced at Bran, who had paused in the act of beating something sweet-smelling into some eggs and oil, and then at Lee, who couldn't help but quail slightly under the silently appraising look. Then Holden went to the chair next to Inga, and sat down, taking her hand in his; she looked up at him with worried violet eyes.
"Your mistress wants to talk to you," he said gently. "She has some apologies to make."
Inga swallowed. "Yes, sir."
Holden examined her for a moment, then asked, "Would you rather I were there, too?"
"Yes, sir, if it please you," said Inga, immediately and with obvious relief. The master smiled at her, a little sadly, and raised her hand to his lips.
"Of course," he said. "I can understand why you'd be... nervous. She's very penitent, though. Was before I ever talked to her."
Inga nodded. "I just-- thank you, sir."
"Master-- before you go?" said Bran tentatively, and Holden turned to him, tender attention written in every line of his face. Lee wondered with a momentary pang whether anyone would ever look at him like that. "When you gave your permission for me to use the stove-- did you mean-- may I use it at home, too?"
Holden looked surprised, then pensive, as he regarded the bowls, knife, cutting board, spoons and canisters in front of Bran, and Bran's eager, nervous demeanor; Bran was fidgeting unconsciously with the paring knife, spinning it between his fingers, and he stopped instantly, biting his lip, when Holden's eyes lingered there.
"That means a lot to you, being able to use the stove," Holden said, not in the tone of a question; Bran waited, the knife still under his fingers. "Why didn't you tell me that when I forbade it?"
Bran looked surprised. "You made your decision, master. It wasn't my place to argue."
Holden raised an eyebrow, and Bran went red and dropped his gaze under his master's quizzical stare.
"Yes," Holden said. "I've certainly never known you to question any of my decisions."
He wasn't angry-- Lee, forcing himself to breathe deeply, was sure of it-- and Bran wasn't afraid, although he was blushing furiously. He was even smiling, apologetically, at his master.
"I mean--" he began, and laughed a little. "It wasn't important."
"And you really mean that," said Holden, regarding Bran, who nodded meekly, the color still high in his cheeks. "Bran, kid, sometimes I just don't know about you. You'll be careful, with the stove."
"Yes, master," said Bran eagerly.
"You won't burn yourself again."
"No, master."
"And if you do burn yourself," Holden continued, "you'll tell me about it."
"Yes, master," said Bran, less eagerly.
Holden gave him a sharp look. "I won't automatically ban you from using the oven again if you burn yourself by accident. But I will if you try to hide it from me."
Bran looked hopeful again. "Yes, master."
"You have permission," said Holden, and Bran broke into a brilliant grin. "And tell Fox you have permission to use anything else in the kitchen you need. Let me know if you need extra money to get ingredients for anything at the market."
Bran jumped up, the paring knife still in his hand, and half ran to Holden, who caught the hand with the knife in it, laughing, before Bran could fling himself on his master.
"Attacking your master with a lethal weapon?" he said, taking the knife from Bran and putting it down on the table before he pulled Bran down into his lap. "It's a good thing I'm not going to try to sell you after this."
Bran said something inaudible in Holden's ear, and Holden laughed again.
"That's because you have very low standards, sweetheart," he said, and kissed Bran quickly. "Anything else before I go?"
"Yes, master," said Bran unexpectedly, still beaming happily with his arms around Holden's neck. "I was going to ask if Lee and I are still allowed to-- be together."
"Oh," said Holden, surprised again, and glancing at Lee, whose turn it was to blush furiously. "Yes, you are."
"Thank you, master," said Bran again, and got up from Holden's lap. Holden rose, too, and took Inga's hand again; the two of them left the room, Inga squaring her shoulders, and Bran went straight for the oven and turned two knobs on the front of it, adjusting one very carefully, then turned to grin at Lee so happily that Lee laughed.
"I hope you didn't mind me asking that, about us being together," Bran said, as he got out some more canisters and a rolling pin from a different cabinet, and Lee shook his head.
"You still want to?" he asked tentatively.
"Of course," said Bran. "Don't you?"
"Yes," said Lee shyly. "But-- Bran, do you think the master is ever going to use me again?"
"I don't know," said Bran, surprised. "Do you want him to?"
"Want who to what?" Jer asked, coming into the kitchen, which he crossed in three strides, wrapping muscular arms around Bran, and hugging him so hard his feet left the ground. "Hey, brat. How was the trip?"
Bran put up his mouth, and Jer kissed him quickly before setting him down.
"It was good," said Bran happily. "Missed you."
"Oh, you lie," said Jer, sitting down at the table, and Bran did the same, resuming his work. "You were busy cavorting with the master and Lady Lisa and this sweet little piece here."
Lee swallowed with some difficulty. He still wasn't all that comfortable around Jer, who reminded Lee a little of his old master, Lord Dunaev. It wasn't that they looked alike, exactly, but both had a powerful physical presence that went beyond just how heavily they were muscled, and Jer's gruff, abrupt manner bore a certain resemblance to the way Lord Dunaev had talked to Lee in the beginning, before he started getting louder and angrier and higher-pitched, and Lee stopped being able to understand him very well.
There was one big difference, though: Jer liked Lee. Lee had no idea why, but the amount of fruit he'd brought home from the market had made that pretty obvious. Lee hadn't been required to sleep with Jer yet, but he was pretty sure he would be eventually-- the way Jer looked at him was also fairly unmistakable-- and he didn't think he'd mind too much, if only he didn't manage to make Jer angry, during. Maybe Bran would be allowed to be there too, the first time, the way he had with the master.
"Relax, kid," Jer said. "I'm not going to eat you."
Lee tried to smile. "Yes, sir."
"You're still shy as hell," said Jer, "but you're doing a lot better, aren't you? Cross-country train trip and everything. And I hear you finally got fucked, too. No time at all, you'll be ready for sale."
Lee blinked up at him, an unexpected knot forming in the pit of his stomach.
"You don't look like you like that idea," Jer observed.
Lee's bowed his head, shivering. Slaves had no right to feel one way or the other about their sale.
"I h-hope my master-- my value-- I mean, my price-- I hope--" he floundered, wanting to say something graceful and fluent and respectful, the way Bran would have, about hoping his master was at least marginally repaid for all the trouble he'd taken for Lee. Which would have been true, even; it was amazing how many things that Lee had always been supposed to think and never succeeded in making himself mean were coming to be true, like wanting his master's cock inside him. But he'd never been able to make the words come out right, which was one reason he'd never been able to stay out of trouble. Holden was patient and gentle with Lee's stumblings, and Bran seemed able to read Lee's mind, but Jer--
"Shit," Jer sighed. "Lee? Look at me."
Lee looked up into the older man's face. It was serious, but not angry. Jer's gray eyes were steady, a little worried, on Lee's. Jer reached a large hand-- bigger than Lord Dunaev's; Lee couldn't help flinching a little at the thought of how much it would hurt if Jer hit him with it-- and brushed it, with astonishing gentleness, across Lee's cheek.
"You don't have to be scared of me, kid," he said, and his voice was gentle, too. "You know the master wouldn't let me near you if there was any chance I'd hurt you."
Lee thought about that, and realized, after a few moments, and with a loosening in the pit of his stomach, that it was actually true.
"Lee?" Jer sounded worried. "Are you-- kid, are you crying?"
Lee wasn't, not exactly-- there was just-- pressure, building behind his eyelids, and Bran was at his side, leaning down to him and pulling him close; Lee buried his face against Bran's stomach and put his arms around the older boy.
"It's okay," said Bran softly. "It's okay to cry, Lee."
Lee shook his head, not because it wasn't okay to cry-- it was, his master had made that clear-- but because it wasn't the time, now, when nothing was wrong, or at least less was wrong than had ever been wrong in Lee's life before. Bran stroked his hair.
"You used to get in trouble for crying, yeah?" Jer asked. "Both of you." After a moment, he said, "Us, too. I mean, me and-- the master. Sometimes."
That startled Lee enough that he looked up at Jer, who wasn't looking at him any more; he was looking at the assemblage of things on the table.
"What are you making, kid?" he asked Bran.
"Apple bread," said Bran, and leaned down to kiss Lee on the top of the head before he moved back in front of his mixing bowls, smiling at Jer. "I'm allowed to use the stove now."
"The hell you are," said Jer incredulously.
"I am! He just said."
"Then I'd better supervise," said Jer, "because if you burn yourself again he's going to wrap you up in cotton wool and store you in a safe deposit box for the rest of your natural life."
Bran giggled. "Would you miss me?"
"Miss the best little fuck in town?" Jer reached out and grabbed a rough handful of Bran's ass, and Bran yelped and laughed. "Go ahead, cook your apple bread. And tell me about your trip."
And now I have severe performance anxiety because it's been so long since I posted anything. *posts hurriedly and runs off to catch up on everything else*
"I wonder if I'm allowed to use the oven at home now?" Bran asked no one in particular, eyeing the oven in question hopefully. "I mean, he gave me permission at Miss Valor's..."
Inga laughed. "That was because you were the only one who knew how to cook, Bran."
"But he said he hadn't realized how interested I was in cooking." Bran, perched on a kitchen chair, looked happy at the memory, and nervous, and positively squirrely with desire as he canted his body unconsciously towards the stove. "I bet he'll let me. You don't think?"
"Maybe," said Inga dubiously. "I'd wait until he comes back down and ask him, Bran. You don't want to get in trouble."
"I could start putting something together, though," said Bran, leaping off his chair and going to the sink, where he washed his hands and then began to get things down from various cupboards and arrange them on the counter. Lee had seen him do such things before, when Fox was there, or shortly before she arrived, to prepare for her coming, but Bran seemed far more animated than usual, as if this particular assemblage of utensils and ingredients were something he'd been looking forward to for a long time.
"Won't Fox be annoyed that you're messing around in the kitchen without her?" Inga wondered, watching Bran carry a cutting board, two mixing bowls and a paring knife from the counter back to the table.
"She won't mind," said Bran, as he took an apple from the bowl in the center of the table. "I've made stuff on my own before. I just have to wait for her to get here so she can turn on the oven."
"You're allowed to use knives, but not the stove?" Inga asked, amused.
"I've never cut myself." Bran pared and cored the apple with swift precision as he spoke. "Burning myself was just stupid. I was getting something out of the oven for Fox, and I had potholders and everything, but it was lighter than I thought it was going to be and I lifted it too hard and hit the backs of my hands against the top of the oven. It really wasn't that bad, and I mean, I'd be really careful now-- I am really careful, I mean, with everything I'm still allowed to do." He grimaced, dropping a peeled apple's worth of slices into one mixing bowl and the peelings and core into the other, and taking another apple from the bowl. "I didn't want him to ban me from the kitchen altogether."
"I love how excited you are," said Inga. Lee privately agreed; the glow on Bran's face was pleasant to see. "What are you making?"
Bran was chopping up the second apple. "It's something-- my mom used to make. I used to help. I wanted to see if I could-- I mean, I'm probably not remembering it right, but I just thought I'd mess around a little. If I'm allowed to use the oven, I can-- practice. Without bothering Fox."
"They won't mind you using their food to practice with?" Inga asked.
Bran seemed to consider this for a moment, his brow furrowed even as his hands continued their careful chopping.
"I don't think so," he said. "I-- well. Jer got so much fruit for Lee that it will probably just rot if I don't use it up. It won't take too much of anything else." He shook a nice-smelling brown powder from a small canister over the mixture. "And he didn't mind Jer buying all that--maybe he won't mind if I get some extra stuff sometimes, too."
Lee thought Bran was right. One thing that didn't seem to be in short supply around here was good food; Lee was actually getting used to the feeling of a full belly, not to mention the novelty of eating most of the same food as his master and mistress.
Lee was getting so used to eating well, in fact, that just before waking at Miss Valor and Lady Lisa's apartment this very morning, he'd had the first dream he remembered clearly, that wasn't a nightmare, for years. He'd dreamed that he was sitting at his former master's dining table-- the table he'd never sat at in real life, had only grovelled under when his master was in the mood to feed him table scraps-- eating a meal that he had never eaten, only seen on his master's plate. Sometimes his master had put the plate on the floor when he was finished with that particular meal and let Lee lick it clean, but Lee didn't remember how it had tasted very clearly; he had been too preoccupied, at the time, with the position he had to assume to do this-- head down, ass invitingly in the air-- and with dread of what invariably resulted. But part of him must have remembered, because in the dream, he'd tasted it vividly, and it had been good.
"Bran?" he said suddenly, into the silence that had stretched without his noticing it; Bran looked up immediately from the white powder he was sifting into a third mixing bowl. "May I tell you about the dream I had last night?"
"Sure," said Bran, smiling at Lee. "You said it was about food, right?"
"Yes," said Lee, smiling back. "It was-- I was eating-- something that my master used to eat. It was-- there was a red sauce, over this-- it looked like a bird's nest? Made out of these long, skinny yellow things? And cheese, over the top."
"Spaghetti!" said Bran and Inga at the same time, and then laughed. Lee didn't mind that; it was a friendly laugh, and they definitely knew what he was talking about.
"It was good," he said shyly. "In the dream."
"Fox can make that," said Bran. "I'll ask her when she gets here."
Lee smiled wider. Everyone seemed to want to get him the food he wanted; that would probably stop once he gained enough weight for his master's satisfaction, but in the meantime, he was enjoying it.
There was another, longer silence, during which Inga started to cry again. Bran was so absorbed it took him a minute to notice, but when he did he stopped what he was doing immediately, got up and went to her, stroking her back and her hair.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice high and strained. "I just-- oh, hell."
"I know," Bran said softly. "It's okay. Do you want to talk about it?"
"I just-- I can't believe-- If she hadn't told Yves to speak freely," said Inga, her hands lifting and making small, unconscious fluttering motions as she spoke. "All the time she was making me drink coffee, and call free people by their first names-- it was weird and all, but I at least thought I was safe, you know? I can follow protocol, or I can obey my mistress-- but if she's going around ordering people to break protocol, and then punishing them for it? That's--" Inga's hands settled back down on the table, one inside the other, and her gaze dropped to them, tears pouring down as she sat motionless. "I don't know."
Bran nodded.
"I think--" he began, and then hesitated. "I mean, I hope-- my master can--"
"Talk some sense into her?" said Inga, pushing her tears away, her voice going lower again, under control. "Yeah, maybe so."
Bran looked uncomfortable. "Well. That, or--"
"Oh-- hang onto me until she straightens up?" Inga put her chin in her hands as Bran nodded. "Yeah. That might be best. At least I know where I stand, here." She glanced at Lee, smiling slightly. "And there could be other perks."
Lee grinned at her. He wouldn't mind servicing Inga again.
Actually-- he corrected himself-- he'd like to service Inga again.
Ever since Mona had asked him what he liked, Lee has been thinking about it at odd moments. It had never seemed particularly important before; in fact, it had seemed of far more pressing importance not to like anything in particular, since liking things tended to lead to wanting things, and wanting things led to... problems, for a slave. The things he was supposed to like-- his master's cock, for example-- persisted in activating his gag reflex, so the least he could do was see that he didn't like or want anything. Like food, or water, or moving.
But lately Lee was noticing a pattern where wanting things led with some regularity to people smiling and giving them to you. It was a pattern of which Lee approved.
Other things he liked so far included sitting in his master's lap, and in Bran's lap. He wasn't one hundred percent sure about anybody else's lap-- he'd been in a lot of laps that he hadn't liked at all, before he came here-- but he was starting to have brief, tentative fantasies about sitting in the lap of Lord Taganov, and even, periodically, of Mona. He thought Mona would be soft and cushiony, the way Greta looked, and the way Inga had been when she drew Lee's head down on her breast and let him fall asleep. And maybe, if he was allowed to go down on Mona, she would hug him and kiss him and ask him to marry her the way Inga had, afterwards. He was pretty sure he'd like that.
"What are you grinning about?" Inga asked Lee, and he blushed.
"I was thinking about-- servicing you, yesterday," he said, with partial truth, and Inga and Bran both laughed.
"I'm glad it makes you smile," she said, and then sucked in her breath as Lee and Bran's master came into the room.
Holden glanced at Bran, who had paused in the act of beating something sweet-smelling into some eggs and oil, and then at Lee, who couldn't help but quail slightly under the silently appraising look. Then Holden went to the chair next to Inga, and sat down, taking her hand in his; she looked up at him with worried violet eyes.
"Your mistress wants to talk to you," he said gently. "She has some apologies to make."
Inga swallowed. "Yes, sir."
Holden examined her for a moment, then asked, "Would you rather I were there, too?"
"Yes, sir, if it please you," said Inga, immediately and with obvious relief. The master smiled at her, a little sadly, and raised her hand to his lips.
"Of course," he said. "I can understand why you'd be... nervous. She's very penitent, though. Was before I ever talked to her."
Inga nodded. "I just-- thank you, sir."
"Master-- before you go?" said Bran tentatively, and Holden turned to him, tender attention written in every line of his face. Lee wondered with a momentary pang whether anyone would ever look at him like that. "When you gave your permission for me to use the stove-- did you mean-- may I use it at home, too?"
Holden looked surprised, then pensive, as he regarded the bowls, knife, cutting board, spoons and canisters in front of Bran, and Bran's eager, nervous demeanor; Bran was fidgeting unconsciously with the paring knife, spinning it between his fingers, and he stopped instantly, biting his lip, when Holden's eyes lingered there.
"That means a lot to you, being able to use the stove," Holden said, not in the tone of a question; Bran waited, the knife still under his fingers. "Why didn't you tell me that when I forbade it?"
Bran looked surprised. "You made your decision, master. It wasn't my place to argue."
Holden raised an eyebrow, and Bran went red and dropped his gaze under his master's quizzical stare.
"Yes," Holden said. "I've certainly never known you to question any of my decisions."
He wasn't angry-- Lee, forcing himself to breathe deeply, was sure of it-- and Bran wasn't afraid, although he was blushing furiously. He was even smiling, apologetically, at his master.
"I mean--" he began, and laughed a little. "It wasn't important."
"And you really mean that," said Holden, regarding Bran, who nodded meekly, the color still high in his cheeks. "Bran, kid, sometimes I just don't know about you. You'll be careful, with the stove."
"Yes, master," said Bran eagerly.
"You won't burn yourself again."
"No, master."
"And if you do burn yourself," Holden continued, "you'll tell me about it."
"Yes, master," said Bran, less eagerly.
Holden gave him a sharp look. "I won't automatically ban you from using the oven again if you burn yourself by accident. But I will if you try to hide it from me."
Bran looked hopeful again. "Yes, master."
"You have permission," said Holden, and Bran broke into a brilliant grin. "And tell Fox you have permission to use anything else in the kitchen you need. Let me know if you need extra money to get ingredients for anything at the market."
Bran jumped up, the paring knife still in his hand, and half ran to Holden, who caught the hand with the knife in it, laughing, before Bran could fling himself on his master.
"Attacking your master with a lethal weapon?" he said, taking the knife from Bran and putting it down on the table before he pulled Bran down into his lap. "It's a good thing I'm not going to try to sell you after this."
Bran said something inaudible in Holden's ear, and Holden laughed again.
"That's because you have very low standards, sweetheart," he said, and kissed Bran quickly. "Anything else before I go?"
"Yes, master," said Bran unexpectedly, still beaming happily with his arms around Holden's neck. "I was going to ask if Lee and I are still allowed to-- be together."
"Oh," said Holden, surprised again, and glancing at Lee, whose turn it was to blush furiously. "Yes, you are."
"Thank you, master," said Bran again, and got up from Holden's lap. Holden rose, too, and took Inga's hand again; the two of them left the room, Inga squaring her shoulders, and Bran went straight for the oven and turned two knobs on the front of it, adjusting one very carefully, then turned to grin at Lee so happily that Lee laughed.
"I hope you didn't mind me asking that, about us being together," Bran said, as he got out some more canisters and a rolling pin from a different cabinet, and Lee shook his head.
"You still want to?" he asked tentatively.
"Of course," said Bran. "Don't you?"
"Yes," said Lee shyly. "But-- Bran, do you think the master is ever going to use me again?"
"I don't know," said Bran, surprised. "Do you want him to?"
"Want who to what?" Jer asked, coming into the kitchen, which he crossed in three strides, wrapping muscular arms around Bran, and hugging him so hard his feet left the ground. "Hey, brat. How was the trip?"
Bran put up his mouth, and Jer kissed him quickly before setting him down.
"It was good," said Bran happily. "Missed you."
"Oh, you lie," said Jer, sitting down at the table, and Bran did the same, resuming his work. "You were busy cavorting with the master and Lady Lisa and this sweet little piece here."
Lee swallowed with some difficulty. He still wasn't all that comfortable around Jer, who reminded Lee a little of his old master, Lord Dunaev. It wasn't that they looked alike, exactly, but both had a powerful physical presence that went beyond just how heavily they were muscled, and Jer's gruff, abrupt manner bore a certain resemblance to the way Lord Dunaev had talked to Lee in the beginning, before he started getting louder and angrier and higher-pitched, and Lee stopped being able to understand him very well.
There was one big difference, though: Jer liked Lee. Lee had no idea why, but the amount of fruit he'd brought home from the market had made that pretty obvious. Lee hadn't been required to sleep with Jer yet, but he was pretty sure he would be eventually-- the way Jer looked at him was also fairly unmistakable-- and he didn't think he'd mind too much, if only he didn't manage to make Jer angry, during. Maybe Bran would be allowed to be there too, the first time, the way he had with the master.
"Relax, kid," Jer said. "I'm not going to eat you."
Lee tried to smile. "Yes, sir."
"You're still shy as hell," said Jer, "but you're doing a lot better, aren't you? Cross-country train trip and everything. And I hear you finally got fucked, too. No time at all, you'll be ready for sale."
Lee blinked up at him, an unexpected knot forming in the pit of his stomach.
"You don't look like you like that idea," Jer observed.
Lee's bowed his head, shivering. Slaves had no right to feel one way or the other about their sale.
"I h-hope my master-- my value-- I mean, my price-- I hope--" he floundered, wanting to say something graceful and fluent and respectful, the way Bran would have, about hoping his master was at least marginally repaid for all the trouble he'd taken for Lee. Which would have been true, even; it was amazing how many things that Lee had always been supposed to think and never succeeded in making himself mean were coming to be true, like wanting his master's cock inside him. But he'd never been able to make the words come out right, which was one reason he'd never been able to stay out of trouble. Holden was patient and gentle with Lee's stumblings, and Bran seemed able to read Lee's mind, but Jer--
"Shit," Jer sighed. "Lee? Look at me."
Lee looked up into the older man's face. It was serious, but not angry. Jer's gray eyes were steady, a little worried, on Lee's. Jer reached a large hand-- bigger than Lord Dunaev's; Lee couldn't help flinching a little at the thought of how much it would hurt if Jer hit him with it-- and brushed it, with astonishing gentleness, across Lee's cheek.
"You don't have to be scared of me, kid," he said, and his voice was gentle, too. "You know the master wouldn't let me near you if there was any chance I'd hurt you."
Lee thought about that, and realized, after a few moments, and with a loosening in the pit of his stomach, that it was actually true.
"Lee?" Jer sounded worried. "Are you-- kid, are you crying?"
Lee wasn't, not exactly-- there was just-- pressure, building behind his eyelids, and Bran was at his side, leaning down to him and pulling him close; Lee buried his face against Bran's stomach and put his arms around the older boy.
"It's okay," said Bran softly. "It's okay to cry, Lee."
Lee shook his head, not because it wasn't okay to cry-- it was, his master had made that clear-- but because it wasn't the time, now, when nothing was wrong, or at least less was wrong than had ever been wrong in Lee's life before. Bran stroked his hair.
"You used to get in trouble for crying, yeah?" Jer asked. "Both of you." After a moment, he said, "Us, too. I mean, me and-- the master. Sometimes."
That startled Lee enough that he looked up at Jer, who wasn't looking at him any more; he was looking at the assemblage of things on the table.
"What are you making, kid?" he asked Bran.
"Apple bread," said Bran, and leaned down to kiss Lee on the top of the head before he moved back in front of his mixing bowls, smiling at Jer. "I'm allowed to use the stove now."
"The hell you are," said Jer incredulously.
"I am! He just said."
"Then I'd better supervise," said Jer, "because if you burn yourself again he's going to wrap you up in cotton wool and store you in a safe deposit box for the rest of your natural life."
Bran giggled. "Would you miss me?"
"Miss the best little fuck in town?" Jer reached out and grabbed a rough handful of Bran's ass, and Bran yelped and laughed. "Go ahead, cook your apple bread. And tell me about your trip."
