WATCHMEN TRAILER AT TRAILER SPOT
Jul. 20th, 2008 01:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maculategiraffeEEEEEEEEEE!!!
Oh, also, here is another short story with Bran and Holden. Inspired by talk of consent on the last story. No, I still don't have an attention span. Sorry. Working on it, honest.
*ogles Dr. Manhattan*
"Hey, kiddo," said Holden, and Bran leaped to attention at the sound of his master's too-casual voice. He'd thought himself alone in the kitchen, having finally, in the weeks since Holden had brought him home from Karl and Tara's, graduated from being allowed to scrub out pots and pans under Fox's eye to being allowed to do so without her present and have his work thoroughly inspected the next day by the same suspicious and exacting eye. Even Fox had to admit he did a good and thorough job, though. He'd washed a lot of dishes in the first fifteen years of his life.
"Look at you," said Holden, as Bran stood before him, hands clasped behind his back, eyes respectfully lowered. He didn't have to look at himself to be aware that the front of his tunic was spattered with water and soapsuds, his arms wet and soapy halfway to the elbows, his hands wrinkled and scalded and his face flushed with the heat of the water, and he probably didn't look particularly attractive or seductive. But Holden sounded as if he were smiling. "You don't have to do all that, Bran."
"I don't mind, master," said Bran truthfully; hardly anyone but he and Fox ever came to the kitchen, and although everyone in the household had been astonishingly nice to him, considering, it could be a relief to be alone at times, out of everyone's way and making himself marginally useful.
"Dry your hands," Holden instructed, "and sit down. Need to talk to you about something."
Bran obeyed as quickly as he could, his heart speeding up a little-- had he done something wrong, had Yves or Jer complained of him, had he displeased someone without knowing it?-- but Holden didn't seem upset or angry, and when Bran came forward apprehensively to sit down, he put his arm around Bran's waist and kissed his cheek.
"You're not in trouble," he said, releasing Bran and sitting down himself on a kitchen chair; Bran followed suit, feeling a bit less nervous. "I just need to ask you about something."
"Yes, master," said Bran, his eyes still down, hands clasped in his lap.
"Look at me," said Holden, and Bran lifted his eyes to his master's face. "Good boy. Listen. We've talked about the fact that most slave owners are pretty casual about sharing their slaves around with their friends, when the friends visit. This hasn't come up for me a lot, because I don't share Yves outside the family-- and by the time it would be a good idea with trainees, they're up for sale, and it isn't exactly sharing so much as letting the buyer get a sense of what's on offer. But now that you're not exactly a trainee any more-- and I've had several requests for you already, from clients. Andrei Taganov would like the chance to convince you that you'd be happy with him, and Anna Lavrova is quite frank about wanting to sample the merchandise, whether it leads to anything else or not. What would you think of that?"
"However-- it pleases my master-- to use me," said Bran, past a miserable tightness in his chest that had been growing since he realized the direction his master's talk was tending.
Holden reached over and took one of Bran's hands, squeezing it gently.
"Relax, Bran," he said softly, and Bran breathed more deeply as his master's fingers stroked his dishwater-crinkled palm. "I'm not asking whether you'll obey my orders. I know you will. But I want to know how you feel about this-- before I give any orders."
Bran hesitated, while Holden played with his fingers, and finally said, in a small voice, "I'd rather not. Be shared. If it please my master."
"But I already share you with Yves and Jer, and you don't mind that," Holden pointed out, and suddenly looked at Bran more intently. "You don't, do you? Has either of them-- hurt you? Or frightened you?"
"No, master, not at all," said Bran, surprised and rather gratified by the sudden edge in his master's voice. "They're very-- they take good care of me."
"Okay," said Holden, relaxing. "So if you don't mind being shared with them-- is it that you're afraid other people might mistreat you? Because I can tell you right now, Andrei's about the gentlest lover you're likely to find." He paused and raised an eyebrow. "What? What's that look?"
"I'm just wondering how you know that, master," said Bran, smiling a little; he smiled more broadly when Holden laughed.
"Okay, the gentlest person," he amended. "That's all I can swear to firsthand. But you know I wouldn't think of handing you over to anyone I thought might hurt you, kid."
"Yes, master," said Bran, sobering. "I know that. It's just--" He hesitated again.
"Take your time," said Holden, running a finger along the blue lines of the veins in Bran's wrist, "and speak freely when you're ready."
"Thank you, master," said Bran, and, eventually, "Because Yves and Jer belong to you, master. So pleasing them means pleasing you-- and being-- well, belonging here. With them-- and you. With his lordship-- or her ladyship-- that would be like--" He took a breath. "I would try to please them, master, because you'd offered me to them and I wouldn't want to displease or disappoint you, but I wouldn't want to please them, because I don't really want them to-- want me. Because I don't want to belong to them. I want to belong-- here. With you-- and Yves and Jer."
"Okay," said Holden after a moment. "I see what you mean. All right, Bran. I was hoping you'd be a bit more open to the possibility, at least with Andrei-- I thought it might cure you of some of your notions about me and how I'm the best owner in the world. But I won't insist." He smiled at Bran. "If you change your mind later, let me know."
"Yes, master," Bran managed, limp with relief.
"Who knows," Holden added, getting up and holding out his hands to Bran, who took them and let his master pull him to his feet, "maybe you're right. After all, if Andrei's crazy for you now, I'd hate to see him after he got a taste of what you're like in bed."
Bran giggled a trifle giddily as Holden pulled him in closer again. "Yeah? Am I that good, master?"
"Damn right you're that good," said Holden in his ear. "Trained you myself, didn't I?" His hand moved down Bran's back with controlled greed, grasping, molding, caressing. "Not to mention all that raw talent."
"Master," Bran whispered, just before Holden's mouth descended on his. Holden took his time kissing Bran, gently but thoroughly, before he pulled away to murmur, "Yes?"
"Thank you," Bran said, leaning for a moment on his master's warm, strong body.
"It's nothing, kiddo," said Holden, and kissed Bran again, quickly. "You're mine, so I take care of you. That's how it works."
"I know," said Bran, and put his head down on Holden's shoulder. "But thank you-- that I'm yours."
Oh, also, here is another short story with Bran and Holden. Inspired by talk of consent on the last story. No, I still don't have an attention span. Sorry. Working on it, honest.
*ogles Dr. Manhattan*
"Hey, kiddo," said Holden, and Bran leaped to attention at the sound of his master's too-casual voice. He'd thought himself alone in the kitchen, having finally, in the weeks since Holden had brought him home from Karl and Tara's, graduated from being allowed to scrub out pots and pans under Fox's eye to being allowed to do so without her present and have his work thoroughly inspected the next day by the same suspicious and exacting eye. Even Fox had to admit he did a good and thorough job, though. He'd washed a lot of dishes in the first fifteen years of his life.
"Look at you," said Holden, as Bran stood before him, hands clasped behind his back, eyes respectfully lowered. He didn't have to look at himself to be aware that the front of his tunic was spattered with water and soapsuds, his arms wet and soapy halfway to the elbows, his hands wrinkled and scalded and his face flushed with the heat of the water, and he probably didn't look particularly attractive or seductive. But Holden sounded as if he were smiling. "You don't have to do all that, Bran."
"I don't mind, master," said Bran truthfully; hardly anyone but he and Fox ever came to the kitchen, and although everyone in the household had been astonishingly nice to him, considering, it could be a relief to be alone at times, out of everyone's way and making himself marginally useful.
"Dry your hands," Holden instructed, "and sit down. Need to talk to you about something."
Bran obeyed as quickly as he could, his heart speeding up a little-- had he done something wrong, had Yves or Jer complained of him, had he displeased someone without knowing it?-- but Holden didn't seem upset or angry, and when Bran came forward apprehensively to sit down, he put his arm around Bran's waist and kissed his cheek.
"You're not in trouble," he said, releasing Bran and sitting down himself on a kitchen chair; Bran followed suit, feeling a bit less nervous. "I just need to ask you about something."
"Yes, master," said Bran, his eyes still down, hands clasped in his lap.
"Look at me," said Holden, and Bran lifted his eyes to his master's face. "Good boy. Listen. We've talked about the fact that most slave owners are pretty casual about sharing their slaves around with their friends, when the friends visit. This hasn't come up for me a lot, because I don't share Yves outside the family-- and by the time it would be a good idea with trainees, they're up for sale, and it isn't exactly sharing so much as letting the buyer get a sense of what's on offer. But now that you're not exactly a trainee any more-- and I've had several requests for you already, from clients. Andrei Taganov would like the chance to convince you that you'd be happy with him, and Anna Lavrova is quite frank about wanting to sample the merchandise, whether it leads to anything else or not. What would you think of that?"
"However-- it pleases my master-- to use me," said Bran, past a miserable tightness in his chest that had been growing since he realized the direction his master's talk was tending.
Holden reached over and took one of Bran's hands, squeezing it gently.
"Relax, Bran," he said softly, and Bran breathed more deeply as his master's fingers stroked his dishwater-crinkled palm. "I'm not asking whether you'll obey my orders. I know you will. But I want to know how you feel about this-- before I give any orders."
Bran hesitated, while Holden played with his fingers, and finally said, in a small voice, "I'd rather not. Be shared. If it please my master."
"But I already share you with Yves and Jer, and you don't mind that," Holden pointed out, and suddenly looked at Bran more intently. "You don't, do you? Has either of them-- hurt you? Or frightened you?"
"No, master, not at all," said Bran, surprised and rather gratified by the sudden edge in his master's voice. "They're very-- they take good care of me."
"Okay," said Holden, relaxing. "So if you don't mind being shared with them-- is it that you're afraid other people might mistreat you? Because I can tell you right now, Andrei's about the gentlest lover you're likely to find." He paused and raised an eyebrow. "What? What's that look?"
"I'm just wondering how you know that, master," said Bran, smiling a little; he smiled more broadly when Holden laughed.
"Okay, the gentlest person," he amended. "That's all I can swear to firsthand. But you know I wouldn't think of handing you over to anyone I thought might hurt you, kid."
"Yes, master," said Bran, sobering. "I know that. It's just--" He hesitated again.
"Take your time," said Holden, running a finger along the blue lines of the veins in Bran's wrist, "and speak freely when you're ready."
"Thank you, master," said Bran, and, eventually, "Because Yves and Jer belong to you, master. So pleasing them means pleasing you-- and being-- well, belonging here. With them-- and you. With his lordship-- or her ladyship-- that would be like--" He took a breath. "I would try to please them, master, because you'd offered me to them and I wouldn't want to displease or disappoint you, but I wouldn't want to please them, because I don't really want them to-- want me. Because I don't want to belong to them. I want to belong-- here. With you-- and Yves and Jer."
"Okay," said Holden after a moment. "I see what you mean. All right, Bran. I was hoping you'd be a bit more open to the possibility, at least with Andrei-- I thought it might cure you of some of your notions about me and how I'm the best owner in the world. But I won't insist." He smiled at Bran. "If you change your mind later, let me know."
"Yes, master," Bran managed, limp with relief.
"Who knows," Holden added, getting up and holding out his hands to Bran, who took them and let his master pull him to his feet, "maybe you're right. After all, if Andrei's crazy for you now, I'd hate to see him after he got a taste of what you're like in bed."
Bran giggled a trifle giddily as Holden pulled him in closer again. "Yeah? Am I that good, master?"
"Damn right you're that good," said Holden in his ear. "Trained you myself, didn't I?" His hand moved down Bran's back with controlled greed, grasping, molding, caressing. "Not to mention all that raw talent."
"Master," Bran whispered, just before Holden's mouth descended on his. Holden took his time kissing Bran, gently but thoroughly, before he pulled away to murmur, "Yes?"
"Thank you," Bran said, leaning for a moment on his master's warm, strong body.
"It's nothing, kiddo," said Holden, and kissed Bran again, quickly. "You're mine, so I take care of you. That's how it works."
"I know," said Bran, and put his head down on Holden's shoulder. "But thank you-- that I'm yours."
