maculategiraffe (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
maculategiraffe) wrote2008-07-18 11:21 pm
maculategiraffe) wrote2008-07-18 11:21 pm
In which Yves has a headache, dear
As long as I'm writing short pieces in answer to reader queries... this is a question I've gotten a few times, most recently here, at #3 (link is to a comment on the latest chapter of Lee, and may contain spoilers if you're not caught up), and always somewhat to my alarm. But I may have finally clued in that it isn't an actual question so much as a request: i.e., less "Does Holden take no for an answer when it comes to sex?" than "I'd like to read a scene in which Holden takes no for an answer when it comes to sex."
(At least I hope so, and that the question isn't actually "So, I like the fic, but there's one thing I've always been mildly curious about: does Holden rape the slaves?")
Short, but I have a very short attention span lately (could be something to do with the massive amounts of Stuff I Have To Do), so I might as well crank out canapés to amuse your lovely bouches while I try to find time and focus to finish something longer.
Yves was bent over a more-disorganized-than-usual desk, a pencil in one hand, so deeply absorbed in whatever he was reading that he didn't look up when Holden came in, or even when he approached the desk; when Holden leaned down and kissed the back of Yves' neck, Yves startled.
"Master," he said vaguely, looking up. Holden kissed his mouth, savoring the taste and softness of his lips, and Yves kissed back, agreeably but without passion.
"Don't let me interrupt, if you're busy," Holden said, straightening up and putting a hand on Yves' back. "But it's late. I thought you might have lost track of time."
Yves glanced at the clock and grimaced. "Oh, wow. Yeah, I did. No wonder I feel so fuzzy." He blinked, hard, several times, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Ow. My head hurts."
"I'm sorry, sweetheart," said Holden, taking the hands Yves extended and pulling him to his feet. "I wonder if you need reading glasses?"
Yves squinted at him. "I'm not that old, master."
"You're not old at all," said Holden, and steered Yves towards the bed, tugging at his tunic, which Yves rather passively allowed him to remove and cast aside. "Lie down. I just thought, all that reading you do is probably a strain on the eyes. Might want to think about taking you in for an eye exam."
"You worry too much," said Yves drowsily, as he collapsed obediently face down onto the bed. "'M fine. Just up too late. And too much math."
"Never thought I'd hear those words out of you," Holden said, and Yves grinned, briefly, his eyes already closed, as Holden sat down on the edge of the bed and touched his head, massaging the skin in light, gentle circles.
"Would you like a painkiller?" he asked when Yves whimpered.
Yves opened the eye that wasn't buried in the pillow and smiled up at Holden gratefully. "If I may, master."
"Sure," said Holden. "I'll get it for you."
"You don't have to--" Yves started, then trailed off as Holden got up and left.
When he returned in a few minutes with a glass of water in one hand and two small white pills cupped in the other, Yves' one visible eye was closed again, and he didn't stir at Holden's approach. Holden sat down again, joggling the bed slightly, and Yves made a soft sound of protest before his eye popped open again, registering Holden's presence and what he held. He hauled himself up on his elbows to take the pills and a swallow of water, then dropped back down as if exhausted by the effort.
"Thank you, master," he said, his eyes closed again.
"You're welcome, love." Holden set the glass aside and leaned down to pull off his boots, then rose to finish undressing, leaving his clothes piled on Yves' desk chair. Once naked, he lay down next to Yves and reached up to rub his forehead again. Yves sighed in what Holden was pretty sure was pleasure.
"Is that good?" he asked anyway, just in case.
"Mmm-hmm."
"Here?"
"Left," said Yves. "Other left. Mmmm."
Holden kept rubbing, sliding his fingers into the tousled waves of Yves' sand-blond hair and massaging his temples and scalp. Yves hummed happily, and when Holden bent down and kissed his forehead, he smiled.
After a few minutes of this, Holden moved his hand down along Yves' naked back and cupped one buttock, kneading it and the upper thigh gently as he slowly kissed Yves' shoulder. Yves tensed and shifted, with a faint, disapproving grunt, then opened one eye again, blinking and frowning at Holden.
"I'm really tired, master," he said apologetically.
"Okay, sweetheart," said Holden, and ran his hand back up along Yves' spine to massage the back of his neck. Yves moaned quietly, closing his eye and turning his face deeper into the pillow.
"You c'd go be with somebody else," he murmured eventually. "'F you want."
"Nah," said Holden, smiling, and when Yves had finally stopped making sounds of pleasure and his lips had fallen slightly apart, his back rising and falling with the slow regularity of sleep, Holden nestled closer, draped an arm across Yves' shoulders, and closed his own eyes, listening, until he drifted off, to the soothing sound of Yves' breathing.
(At least I hope so, and that the question isn't actually "So, I like the fic, but there's one thing I've always been mildly curious about: does Holden rape the slaves?")
Short, but I have a very short attention span lately (could be something to do with the massive amounts of Stuff I Have To Do), so I might as well crank out canapés to amuse your lovely bouches while I try to find time and focus to finish something longer.
Yves was bent over a more-disorganized-than-usual desk, a pencil in one hand, so deeply absorbed in whatever he was reading that he didn't look up when Holden came in, or even when he approached the desk; when Holden leaned down and kissed the back of Yves' neck, Yves startled.
"Master," he said vaguely, looking up. Holden kissed his mouth, savoring the taste and softness of his lips, and Yves kissed back, agreeably but without passion.
"Don't let me interrupt, if you're busy," Holden said, straightening up and putting a hand on Yves' back. "But it's late. I thought you might have lost track of time."
Yves glanced at the clock and grimaced. "Oh, wow. Yeah, I did. No wonder I feel so fuzzy." He blinked, hard, several times, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Ow. My head hurts."
"I'm sorry, sweetheart," said Holden, taking the hands Yves extended and pulling him to his feet. "I wonder if you need reading glasses?"
Yves squinted at him. "I'm not that old, master."
"You're not old at all," said Holden, and steered Yves towards the bed, tugging at his tunic, which Yves rather passively allowed him to remove and cast aside. "Lie down. I just thought, all that reading you do is probably a strain on the eyes. Might want to think about taking you in for an eye exam."
"You worry too much," said Yves drowsily, as he collapsed obediently face down onto the bed. "'M fine. Just up too late. And too much math."
"Never thought I'd hear those words out of you," Holden said, and Yves grinned, briefly, his eyes already closed, as Holden sat down on the edge of the bed and touched his head, massaging the skin in light, gentle circles.
"Would you like a painkiller?" he asked when Yves whimpered.
Yves opened the eye that wasn't buried in the pillow and smiled up at Holden gratefully. "If I may, master."
"Sure," said Holden. "I'll get it for you."
"You don't have to--" Yves started, then trailed off as Holden got up and left.
When he returned in a few minutes with a glass of water in one hand and two small white pills cupped in the other, Yves' one visible eye was closed again, and he didn't stir at Holden's approach. Holden sat down again, joggling the bed slightly, and Yves made a soft sound of protest before his eye popped open again, registering Holden's presence and what he held. He hauled himself up on his elbows to take the pills and a swallow of water, then dropped back down as if exhausted by the effort.
"Thank you, master," he said, his eyes closed again.
"You're welcome, love." Holden set the glass aside and leaned down to pull off his boots, then rose to finish undressing, leaving his clothes piled on Yves' desk chair. Once naked, he lay down next to Yves and reached up to rub his forehead again. Yves sighed in what Holden was pretty sure was pleasure.
"Is that good?" he asked anyway, just in case.
"Mmm-hmm."
"Here?"
"Left," said Yves. "Other left. Mmmm."
Holden kept rubbing, sliding his fingers into the tousled waves of Yves' sand-blond hair and massaging his temples and scalp. Yves hummed happily, and when Holden bent down and kissed his forehead, he smiled.
After a few minutes of this, Holden moved his hand down along Yves' naked back and cupped one buttock, kneading it and the upper thigh gently as he slowly kissed Yves' shoulder. Yves tensed and shifted, with a faint, disapproving grunt, then opened one eye again, blinking and frowning at Holden.
"I'm really tired, master," he said apologetically.
"Okay, sweetheart," said Holden, and ran his hand back up along Yves' spine to massage the back of his neck. Yves moaned quietly, closing his eye and turning his face deeper into the pillow.
"You c'd go be with somebody else," he murmured eventually. "'F you want."
"Nah," said Holden, smiling, and when Yves had finally stopped making sounds of pleasure and his lips had fallen slightly apart, his back rising and falling with the slow regularity of sleep, Holden nestled closer, draped an arm across Yves' shoulders, and closed his own eyes, listening, until he drifted off, to the soothing sound of Yves' breathing.