branverse flashback: holden and yves
Aug. 9th, 2007 02:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maculategiraffeThis is just a little historical incident from the Branverse. (I'm making notes towards an eventual sequel, but cleaning out my flashback archives in the meantime.)
Context: Two years after Holden first bought Yves, and a little more than a year after Alix and Holden established their business. (Yves is now 21, Holden is 26.) Mat is a 19-year-old sold to Holden and Alix for sleeping around without his owners’ permission; he’s been with them two weeks.
“Master,” said Yves, “we need to talk.”
He’d tried to keep his tone casual, non-aggressive, but his fingers curled involuntarily into fists when he saw the elaborately innocent look Holden turned to him, as if this were all a silly game. “Do we?”
“Yes, please,” said Yves through gritted teeth.
Holden motioned to Mat without looking at him. “Run along, kid.”
Mat, his face set and expressionless, walked past Yves without looking at him and out the door of the training room. Holden rose to his feet and stood facing Yves. “Yes?”
“You know what I want to talk to you about, master,” said Yves quietly.
“No,” said Holden coolly. “I don’t. Why don’t you tell me?”
“All right. If you’re angry with me, I wish you’d take it out on me, not Mat. It’s not his fault.”
“What’s not his fault, exactly?” Holden asked softly, and Yves felt a shiver run down his spine at the edge of ice in his master’s voice. He chose his next words carefully.
“That I’ve grown attached to him, master.”
“‘Attached,’” repeated Holden, and Yves held his gaze steadily, though all his well-trained instincts were urging him to sink to his knees, to turn the fear coursing through him into a show of submission, to appease his master. The two years he had lived with Holden had been, by far, the happiest of his life as a slave, and it was the contrast between that happiness and the chilly atmosphere of the past week that frightened him. Holden's almost complete withdrawal from him hurt horribly. He had come to genuinely love the handsome young master who treated him like a cherished friend as well as a favorite plaything, and made him feel both valued and strangely– perhaps, he thought now, dangerously– safe.
“Yes, master,” he said, forcing himself to meet the flat, hostile brown eyes. “I– like him very much. You’ve obviously seen that, and if anything in my– my conduct or my manner towards him has displeased you, it’s your right to punish me. But he doesn’t understand why you’re being so cold to him, and it’s not his fault you’re jealous.”
He had spoken unguardedly in his frustration, and one look at Holden’s face told him that had been a serious mistake. He backed up a step involuntarily, but forced himself to remain upright.
“You think I’m jealous?” said Holden with barely controlled rage. “Of that strutting slut? Why, because I don’t spend every spare minute fawning over him the way you do? Is that what you call being cold to him? I’m certainly not in love with him, though it might be difficult for you to imagine that anyone could fail to fall head over heels for him the way you appear to have.”
“Listen to yourself, master,” Yves said pleadingly. “I’m sorry, but I know you’re jealous, and if you’re honest with yourself so do you. I– I’m sorry if I’ve behaved badly, I really am, I didn’t mean to– to neglect you, or–“
Everything he said only seemed to make matters worse. Holden was pale with anger.
“It’s not your place to tell me whether I’m being honest with myself,” he said grimly, “and it’s certainly not your place to tell me how to treat other slaves, no matter what wild motivations you’ve dreamed up for my doing so. This conversation is over.”
“Master, please,” said Yves, fighting to stay calm. His fear was being overtaken by a spiky anger at his master’s stubborn denial of the obvious, and he knew he was on precarious ground, but things would only get worse if he backed down now.
“I said this conversation is over. That means, shut the fuck up and get the fuck out.”
“No,” Yves said, adrenaline pumping through him.
“No?” Holden said incredulously. “You don’t get to say no to me. I’m your fucking master. And if you think proving you care more about your little boyfriend getting his little feelings hurt than you do about pleasing me is going to make me any friendlier to him, you can fucking think again. I’ll treat him any way I please, and you’ll keep your damn mouth shut if you know what’s–”
Yves, without having formed any clear intention of doing so, took a step forward and punched Holden in the jaw, hard enough that his knuckles jarred and Holden stumbled back and lost his balance, reeling into the wall, where he caught himself and stood staring at Yves with an expression of undifferentiated shock.
Yves’ knees hurt. After a moment he realized that was because he had crashed heavily onto them on his way down to the floor, where he lay prostrate, his forehead pressed to the cold floor. Oh, good. That was an appropriately abject position for his body to have chosen to assume, not that it would make much difference now that it had decided to get him killed.
“Fucking hell!” Holden shouted. “You fucking hit me, you son of a bitch!”
The floor creaked as Holden knelt over him, and rough hands gripped Yves’ shoulders, yanking him up from his belly to his knees, where Yves huddled shaking, his eyes downcast, his whole body bowed as far down as his master’s hands would let it.
“Not that I didn’t have it coming,” Holden continued, “but I still can’t fucking believe you did it! Gods, you must be seriously in love with that twink, I’ve never known you to lose your temper, let alone do something as abysmally stupid as– for fuck’s sake, Yves, look at me, it’s okay, I’m not going to snap your neck.”
Yves looked up into his master’s face, able to see nothing but the bruise already purpling at his jaw.
“It’s okay,” Holden said again, incomprehensibly, giving Yves a small shake by the shoulders. “You’re right, okay. I’ve been making a complete ass of myself. It’s just, you know how I feel about you, and it’s– but it’s okay. He’s probably a better person than I am. Not that that would take much work. Nice hook, by the way, you asshole. I can’t believe you fucking hit me.”
“Neither can I,” Yves whispered, and Holden actually smiled, then winced and put a hand to his bruise.
“Loki. I guess I should be grateful you didn’t go for my balls.” He pulled Yves into a rough hug; Yves submitted passively, too stunned to respond. “I– well, I’d better let Alix deal with pretty wee Mat from now on, is all. I can’t promise not to be a jerk to him, it’s my nature. But you’re right, it’s not his fault you’ve fallen for him. And it’s not your fault either. I’m just– when I get my feelings hurt– and you’ve never hurt them before, is the problem, I’m having some trouble, but– would you stop that fucking shivering?”
Yves managed to put his arms around his master, and Holden pulled him closer, kissing him on the hair.
“Yeah, okay, good, it’s okay. Ah, Yves, I'm sorry. It’s just rough on my ego, you know, you’ve always done such a good job of acting like you adore me, and here comes this pretty young thing and suddenly you barely bother to look at me– how stupid do I sound? You didn’t do anything wrong. It was me, I was stupid enough to think– I was stupid. I’m such a shitty master; nobody with as many issues as me should be allowed to own anyone else. You shouldn’t have hit me, though, sweetheart, that was really stupid too. But I understand, you were being protective, you’re in love with him. I’m sorry, I really am.”
“I’m not in love with Mat,” Yves choked out. “I’m in love with you.”
“Yeah, right,” said Holden, but without rancor. “I said it’s okay, Yves. I’ve been fooling myself, that’s all. You’re a good slave; you know what I want to hear. And there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s me who should have known better.”
“I’m not lying!” Yves said loudly, and pushed back against his master’s arms, looking up into his startled face. “Master, if I didn’t– why do you think I got so fucking angry at you? I know perfectly well how to butter you up and smooth you down, if that’s what I– If I just wanted to protect Mat, do you think I’d have been stupid enough to be honest with you?”
Holden gave a quick, surprised grin at that. “So why were you stupid enough?”
“Because I expect better from you!” Yves said, his nerves too shot for tact. “Because this isn’t like you, the way you’ve been acting, all this passive aggression! Because normally you’re always straightforward with me, and we talk, like I’m a real person, not just a– and I don’t have to play stupid manipulation games with you, and you don’t play them with me, because you’re honest and sweet and– and seeing you acting like– like you have been– it’s not right, it’s not you, you’re better than that, but you wouldn’t talk about it and when you start making stupid threats and acting like some kind of swaggering bully, that’s even more– and I– I guess I just got really frustrated and...”
He trailed off, beginning to tremble again as the enormity of what he had done washed over him. Holden pulled him close again.
“Okay, so either you’re up for a major acting award, or you actually do kind of like me after all,” he said pensively. “What about Mat?”
“I like Mat a lot,” said Yves into his master’s neck, closing his eyes. “He’s really interesting– and really attractive, yes. But master, if I’d known, if you’d just told me that it bothered you how much time I was spending with him– I mean I guess I’m dumb for not figuring it out sooner, but it honestly didn’t occur to me that you wouldn’t just tell me, straight out. You always tell me things. You could talk the legs off a chair.”
“Fine, fine, it’s all my fault, I’m a swaggering uncommunicative insecure passive-aggressive bully,” said Holden. “But next time, I’d rather you snap and scream all that at me than snap and punch me. Okay? That was really fucking stupid, Yves. It could have backfired. Badly.”
“I know,” said Yves, his eyes still closed, his head nestled on his master’s shoulder. “Why didn’t it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you actually knocked some sense into me. Or maybe– it was seeing you go all white and hit the floor like that, and the way you were shaking. Made me feel sick. I do love you, Yves, however much of a prick I sometimes am about it.”
“Are you going to punish me?” Yves asked, feeling temporarily brave enough to face any answer.
“Do I need to?” Holden asked thoughtfully. “I mean, do you think it will help you remember to use words instead of fists, like a civilized person?”
“I think I’ll remember, master,” said Yves with a rather shaky laugh.
“So you say. Get over the bench, there.”
Yves scrambled almost gratefully to obey, kneeling on the bench with his legs spread wide and his ass thrust out, his head down so that he couldn’t see Holden. A beating was the least of the punishments he could have expected for physically assaulting his master, even with Holden so obviously inclined to be lenient with him over this. He waited submissively for the first strike. Instead, the first thing he felt were two fingers, rough but slick with lubrication, pushing into him with controlled violence.
“You’re not going to...?” he gasped.
“No,” said Holden. “I’m going to fuck you till you can’t remember the words ‘interesting’ or ‘attractive.’ And then I’m going to fuck you just a little bit harder. You’ll be pleased to hear that it’s all going to be very straightforward.”
“Sweetheart, what happened to your face?” Alix exclaimed as Holden entered the lounge, Yves following with a chastened air and a slight limp behind his master. Alix was at her desk; Mat was sitting on the floor beside Greta, holding a picture book for baby Valor. He looked up, biting his lip, as they came in, and stared with something like terror at Holden's bruised face.
“Yves popped me one,” said Holden cheerfully, and Yves, hearing Mat’s gasp, smiled weakly at him.
“He hit you?” Alix asked, surprised. “Why, what did you do?”
“What did I do? My love, why must you always assume I’ve brought everything on myself?”
“What happened?” Alix amended dryly.
“Nothing noteworthy,” said Holden, without looking at Mat. "Sharp words were exchanged, and Yves resorted to brute violence. Just like him, really. Thinks a sock in the jaw solves everything. I’ve had to speak to him about it before.”
“Fine,” said Alix resignedly. "He's yours, you deal with him."
"I have." Holden sat down, and Yves knelt at his feet without being told, bowing his head over his master’s knees and shifting his weight uncomfortably.
“It will be interesting to see what our circle of loving business acquaintances makes of my shiner,” Holden continued, laying a hand casually on the back of Yves’ neck. “I think I’ll lay money on a rumor about Jamesen slamming Larssen’s head into the wall for sassing her back. I can tell everyone that I walked into a door, but with several nervous and deferential looks at you.”
Alix snorted. “And I’ll snap at you and you can flinch.”
“Yep. Everyone knows who wears the boots around here anyway. Might as well have fun with it.”
“It’s got nothing to do with boots,” said Alix serenely. “You’re just willing to acknowledge that I have better sense than you do. It’s very admirable.”
Holden caressed the nape of Yves’ neck. “I swear, I get no respect. My wife talks smack, my slaves beat me up. Even my infant daughter snubs me. ‘Mama,’ ‘Awiss,’ ‘Eeev,’ but can I get a ‘dada’ for love or zwieback? I cannot.”
“Zwahybck!” Valor shouted, and Yves buried his face in Holden’s lap, his shoulders shaking, as hysterically relieved laughter threatened to overwhelm him.
Context: Two years after Holden first bought Yves, and a little more than a year after Alix and Holden established their business. (Yves is now 21, Holden is 26.) Mat is a 19-year-old sold to Holden and Alix for sleeping around without his owners’ permission; he’s been with them two weeks.
“Master,” said Yves, “we need to talk.”
He’d tried to keep his tone casual, non-aggressive, but his fingers curled involuntarily into fists when he saw the elaborately innocent look Holden turned to him, as if this were all a silly game. “Do we?”
“Yes, please,” said Yves through gritted teeth.
Holden motioned to Mat without looking at him. “Run along, kid.”
Mat, his face set and expressionless, walked past Yves without looking at him and out the door of the training room. Holden rose to his feet and stood facing Yves. “Yes?”
“You know what I want to talk to you about, master,” said Yves quietly.
“No,” said Holden coolly. “I don’t. Why don’t you tell me?”
“All right. If you’re angry with me, I wish you’d take it out on me, not Mat. It’s not his fault.”
“What’s not his fault, exactly?” Holden asked softly, and Yves felt a shiver run down his spine at the edge of ice in his master’s voice. He chose his next words carefully.
“That I’ve grown attached to him, master.”
“‘Attached,’” repeated Holden, and Yves held his gaze steadily, though all his well-trained instincts were urging him to sink to his knees, to turn the fear coursing through him into a show of submission, to appease his master. The two years he had lived with Holden had been, by far, the happiest of his life as a slave, and it was the contrast between that happiness and the chilly atmosphere of the past week that frightened him. Holden's almost complete withdrawal from him hurt horribly. He had come to genuinely love the handsome young master who treated him like a cherished friend as well as a favorite plaything, and made him feel both valued and strangely– perhaps, he thought now, dangerously– safe.
“Yes, master,” he said, forcing himself to meet the flat, hostile brown eyes. “I– like him very much. You’ve obviously seen that, and if anything in my– my conduct or my manner towards him has displeased you, it’s your right to punish me. But he doesn’t understand why you’re being so cold to him, and it’s not his fault you’re jealous.”
He had spoken unguardedly in his frustration, and one look at Holden’s face told him that had been a serious mistake. He backed up a step involuntarily, but forced himself to remain upright.
“You think I’m jealous?” said Holden with barely controlled rage. “Of that strutting slut? Why, because I don’t spend every spare minute fawning over him the way you do? Is that what you call being cold to him? I’m certainly not in love with him, though it might be difficult for you to imagine that anyone could fail to fall head over heels for him the way you appear to have.”
“Listen to yourself, master,” Yves said pleadingly. “I’m sorry, but I know you’re jealous, and if you’re honest with yourself so do you. I– I’m sorry if I’ve behaved badly, I really am, I didn’t mean to– to neglect you, or–“
Everything he said only seemed to make matters worse. Holden was pale with anger.
“It’s not your place to tell me whether I’m being honest with myself,” he said grimly, “and it’s certainly not your place to tell me how to treat other slaves, no matter what wild motivations you’ve dreamed up for my doing so. This conversation is over.”
“Master, please,” said Yves, fighting to stay calm. His fear was being overtaken by a spiky anger at his master’s stubborn denial of the obvious, and he knew he was on precarious ground, but things would only get worse if he backed down now.
“I said this conversation is over. That means, shut the fuck up and get the fuck out.”
“No,” Yves said, adrenaline pumping through him.
“No?” Holden said incredulously. “You don’t get to say no to me. I’m your fucking master. And if you think proving you care more about your little boyfriend getting his little feelings hurt than you do about pleasing me is going to make me any friendlier to him, you can fucking think again. I’ll treat him any way I please, and you’ll keep your damn mouth shut if you know what’s–”
Yves, without having formed any clear intention of doing so, took a step forward and punched Holden in the jaw, hard enough that his knuckles jarred and Holden stumbled back and lost his balance, reeling into the wall, where he caught himself and stood staring at Yves with an expression of undifferentiated shock.
Yves’ knees hurt. After a moment he realized that was because he had crashed heavily onto them on his way down to the floor, where he lay prostrate, his forehead pressed to the cold floor. Oh, good. That was an appropriately abject position for his body to have chosen to assume, not that it would make much difference now that it had decided to get him killed.
“Fucking hell!” Holden shouted. “You fucking hit me, you son of a bitch!”
The floor creaked as Holden knelt over him, and rough hands gripped Yves’ shoulders, yanking him up from his belly to his knees, where Yves huddled shaking, his eyes downcast, his whole body bowed as far down as his master’s hands would let it.
“Not that I didn’t have it coming,” Holden continued, “but I still can’t fucking believe you did it! Gods, you must be seriously in love with that twink, I’ve never known you to lose your temper, let alone do something as abysmally stupid as– for fuck’s sake, Yves, look at me, it’s okay, I’m not going to snap your neck.”
Yves looked up into his master’s face, able to see nothing but the bruise already purpling at his jaw.
“It’s okay,” Holden said again, incomprehensibly, giving Yves a small shake by the shoulders. “You’re right, okay. I’ve been making a complete ass of myself. It’s just, you know how I feel about you, and it’s– but it’s okay. He’s probably a better person than I am. Not that that would take much work. Nice hook, by the way, you asshole. I can’t believe you fucking hit me.”
“Neither can I,” Yves whispered, and Holden actually smiled, then winced and put a hand to his bruise.
“Loki. I guess I should be grateful you didn’t go for my balls.” He pulled Yves into a rough hug; Yves submitted passively, too stunned to respond. “I– well, I’d better let Alix deal with pretty wee Mat from now on, is all. I can’t promise not to be a jerk to him, it’s my nature. But you’re right, it’s not his fault you’ve fallen for him. And it’s not your fault either. I’m just– when I get my feelings hurt– and you’ve never hurt them before, is the problem, I’m having some trouble, but– would you stop that fucking shivering?”
Yves managed to put his arms around his master, and Holden pulled him closer, kissing him on the hair.
“Yeah, okay, good, it’s okay. Ah, Yves, I'm sorry. It’s just rough on my ego, you know, you’ve always done such a good job of acting like you adore me, and here comes this pretty young thing and suddenly you barely bother to look at me– how stupid do I sound? You didn’t do anything wrong. It was me, I was stupid enough to think– I was stupid. I’m such a shitty master; nobody with as many issues as me should be allowed to own anyone else. You shouldn’t have hit me, though, sweetheart, that was really stupid too. But I understand, you were being protective, you’re in love with him. I’m sorry, I really am.”
“I’m not in love with Mat,” Yves choked out. “I’m in love with you.”
“Yeah, right,” said Holden, but without rancor. “I said it’s okay, Yves. I’ve been fooling myself, that’s all. You’re a good slave; you know what I want to hear. And there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s me who should have known better.”
“I’m not lying!” Yves said loudly, and pushed back against his master’s arms, looking up into his startled face. “Master, if I didn’t– why do you think I got so fucking angry at you? I know perfectly well how to butter you up and smooth you down, if that’s what I– If I just wanted to protect Mat, do you think I’d have been stupid enough to be honest with you?”
Holden gave a quick, surprised grin at that. “So why were you stupid enough?”
“Because I expect better from you!” Yves said, his nerves too shot for tact. “Because this isn’t like you, the way you’ve been acting, all this passive aggression! Because normally you’re always straightforward with me, and we talk, like I’m a real person, not just a– and I don’t have to play stupid manipulation games with you, and you don’t play them with me, because you’re honest and sweet and– and seeing you acting like– like you have been– it’s not right, it’s not you, you’re better than that, but you wouldn’t talk about it and when you start making stupid threats and acting like some kind of swaggering bully, that’s even more– and I– I guess I just got really frustrated and...”
He trailed off, beginning to tremble again as the enormity of what he had done washed over him. Holden pulled him close again.
“Okay, so either you’re up for a major acting award, or you actually do kind of like me after all,” he said pensively. “What about Mat?”
“I like Mat a lot,” said Yves into his master’s neck, closing his eyes. “He’s really interesting– and really attractive, yes. But master, if I’d known, if you’d just told me that it bothered you how much time I was spending with him– I mean I guess I’m dumb for not figuring it out sooner, but it honestly didn’t occur to me that you wouldn’t just tell me, straight out. You always tell me things. You could talk the legs off a chair.”
“Fine, fine, it’s all my fault, I’m a swaggering uncommunicative insecure passive-aggressive bully,” said Holden. “But next time, I’d rather you snap and scream all that at me than snap and punch me. Okay? That was really fucking stupid, Yves. It could have backfired. Badly.”
“I know,” said Yves, his eyes still closed, his head nestled on his master’s shoulder. “Why didn’t it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you actually knocked some sense into me. Or maybe– it was seeing you go all white and hit the floor like that, and the way you were shaking. Made me feel sick. I do love you, Yves, however much of a prick I sometimes am about it.”
“Are you going to punish me?” Yves asked, feeling temporarily brave enough to face any answer.
“Do I need to?” Holden asked thoughtfully. “I mean, do you think it will help you remember to use words instead of fists, like a civilized person?”
“I think I’ll remember, master,” said Yves with a rather shaky laugh.
“So you say. Get over the bench, there.”
Yves scrambled almost gratefully to obey, kneeling on the bench with his legs spread wide and his ass thrust out, his head down so that he couldn’t see Holden. A beating was the least of the punishments he could have expected for physically assaulting his master, even with Holden so obviously inclined to be lenient with him over this. He waited submissively for the first strike. Instead, the first thing he felt were two fingers, rough but slick with lubrication, pushing into him with controlled violence.
“You’re not going to...?” he gasped.
“No,” said Holden. “I’m going to fuck you till you can’t remember the words ‘interesting’ or ‘attractive.’ And then I’m going to fuck you just a little bit harder. You’ll be pleased to hear that it’s all going to be very straightforward.”
“Sweetheart, what happened to your face?” Alix exclaimed as Holden entered the lounge, Yves following with a chastened air and a slight limp behind his master. Alix was at her desk; Mat was sitting on the floor beside Greta, holding a picture book for baby Valor. He looked up, biting his lip, as they came in, and stared with something like terror at Holden's bruised face.
“Yves popped me one,” said Holden cheerfully, and Yves, hearing Mat’s gasp, smiled weakly at him.
“He hit you?” Alix asked, surprised. “Why, what did you do?”
“What did I do? My love, why must you always assume I’ve brought everything on myself?”
“What happened?” Alix amended dryly.
“Nothing noteworthy,” said Holden, without looking at Mat. "Sharp words were exchanged, and Yves resorted to brute violence. Just like him, really. Thinks a sock in the jaw solves everything. I’ve had to speak to him about it before.”
“Fine,” said Alix resignedly. "He's yours, you deal with him."
"I have." Holden sat down, and Yves knelt at his feet without being told, bowing his head over his master’s knees and shifting his weight uncomfortably.
“It will be interesting to see what our circle of loving business acquaintances makes of my shiner,” Holden continued, laying a hand casually on the back of Yves’ neck. “I think I’ll lay money on a rumor about Jamesen slamming Larssen’s head into the wall for sassing her back. I can tell everyone that I walked into a door, but with several nervous and deferential looks at you.”
Alix snorted. “And I’ll snap at you and you can flinch.”
“Yep. Everyone knows who wears the boots around here anyway. Might as well have fun with it.”
“It’s got nothing to do with boots,” said Alix serenely. “You’re just willing to acknowledge that I have better sense than you do. It’s very admirable.”
Holden caressed the nape of Yves’ neck. “I swear, I get no respect. My wife talks smack, my slaves beat me up. Even my infant daughter snubs me. ‘Mama,’ ‘Awiss,’ ‘Eeev,’ but can I get a ‘dada’ for love or zwieback? I cannot.”
“Zwahybck!” Valor shouted, and Yves buried his face in Holden’s lap, his shoulders shaking, as hysterically relieved laughter threatened to overwhelm him.
