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maculategiraffeCurrently catching up on insanely ginormous backlog of (wonderful, insightful, fascinating) comments, all out of order because I am disorganized and discombobulated. Plan to catch up on reading list tonight, too, unreliable Internet service permitting-- or tomorrow, or Tuesday at the latest. And this is the last time I let myself get THIS behind, barring catastrophe, because my God, things pile up. I'm really sorry, y'all. Thank you for your endless patience.
He woke up again before it was light out, with something heavy and warm on top of him that turned out to be Bran.
"Hey," he said softly, and Bran sighed and murmured into his neck, "Master."
The word made Holden's stomach flip over. He put his arms around Bran and hugged him close, and Bran lifted his face to be kissed. Holden obliged, with a soft, brief brush of his lips against Bran's.
"Bran," he whispered, "my--"
Bran looked down at him, his beautiful gray eyes filled with such naked love and trust that even lying flat on his back, Holden felt as if he were falling from a height.
"Your what, master?" he asked.
"My love," Holden answered.
Bran smiled, gorgeously, and put his head back down on Holden's shoulder, nuzzling gently at the hollow of his throat. Beside them, Yves stirred; Holden turned his head just as the blue eyes opened.
"Hey," said Yves sleepily. "Starting without me?"
"Just getting him warmed up for you," Bran said, his mouth against the skin of Holden's neck, and Yves laughed out loud.
"Thoughtful!" he said, rolling over against them both.
Bent over on his knees with his bottom in the air, legs spread wide, Bran whimpered softly around Holden's cock as Yves' slid inside him. Holden put his hand on Bran's head, stroking his hair and slowing down the warm mouth's sliding motion along his achingly hard shaft. He didn't want to come yet; he was watching Bran's flushed face, the lowered eyelids, feeling Bran's hands grip his hips.
"Fuck him harder, Yves," he said, and Yves obeyed immediately, slamming into Bran; Bran gasped, his hands tightening on Holden's hips as his eyes flicked up to meet his master's. Holden smiled at him. "Perfect."
Bran moaned as Yves hammered into him, his mouth tightening around Holden's cock as his body shook with the force of Yves' thrusts. Holden watched in perfect bliss for a while; he wasn't sure he'd ever get enough of this part, and Yves certainly didn't seem to be getting tired, but he didn't want Bran to be too sore later, so he finally said, "Yves, when you can, come."
Yves grabbed a double handful of the skin of Bran's shoulders, wrenching a muffled cry from the boy, fucked him hard for another thirty seconds or so, gasped and grunted and shuddered and stopped, looking to Holden. Bran hadn't stopped his sucking, himself.
"Pull out," said Holden, and Yves did. "Fuck him with your fingers."
"Ooh, yes master," said Yves, reaching for the lube and coating one hand liberally before he grabbed Bran's hip with the other hand. "I think we can start with three-- oh, too easy. Let's do four."
Bran gasped, his fingers digging so hard into Holden's hips that there would be marks later, and Holden felt the momentary graze of a tooth against his cock, which meant Bran was severely distracted from his task. Yves looked up and added avidly, "Master, I think I can-- may I--?"
"Just a second," said Holden with a little difficulty, as Bran moaned, vibrating Holden's cock with the sound. "Bran, stop. Take your mouth off me."
Bran obeyed, looking up with tears in his eyes, his legs still spread wide to Yves' thrusting hand. Holden reached down and touched his flushed cheek. He'd had his fist inside Bran before, but only once; on that occasion, Bran had ended up sobbing in Holden's arms afterwards, though once he'd cried himself out he insisted he was fine and there was nothing to talk about. Holden hadn't proposed it again since.
"What do you think?" Holden asked Bran now. "You're free to say no."
"Yes, master," Bran whispered hoarsely. "I can take it."
"Bran, you are officially the love of my life," said Yves. "Sorry, master. Nothing personal."
Holden smiled; so did Bran, though not very broadly.
"Slide your fingers out for a minute," Holden directed. "Bran, I want you up here with me."
Bran crawled, his movements wobbly, from his position with his face at Holden's groin, until they were eye to eye. Holden reached out and enfolded Bran in his arms, feeling the slight trembling of his body, and the hardness of his cock as it pressed against Holden's.
"You want this?" he asked, and Bran answered faintly, "Yes, master."
"Go ahead, Yves," said Holden. "Be careful."
Bran's arms came up to clutch at Holden as Holden watched, over Bran's shoulder, Yves' fingers sink deeper inside the stretched, gleaming, reddened circle of muscle that was Bran's well-used hole. He could hear the boy's labored breathing as the knuckles slipped in. Yves went slowly, easing his thumb in to the first joint, and then pushing his hand further inside, until it was almost to the widest point, pausing at the barrier of the thumb's second joint.
"Oh, fuck, Sif, please," Bran whispered. "Master, say you love me--"
"I love you, Bran," said Holden instantly and wholeheartedly. Bran's body jerked, his arms crushing Holden closer, as Yves' hand disappeared to the wrist inside him; Bran cried out, and came.
Afterwards, Bran huddled in Holden's lap, shuddering and with tears pouring down and wetting Holden's neck, though he didn't cry out loud. Holden held him as tightly as he could without damaging any major organs, while Yves sat watching with affectionate concern, but not touching Bran.
"Tell me you're okay," Holden said in Bran's ear, and Bran answered shakily, "I'm okay, master. That was-- oh, fuck, that was intense--"
"You aren't hurt, are you?" Holden asked, and Bran shook his head.
"It's just," he said. "It used to-- they used to-- " He drew a deep, ragged breath. "Dunaev and his friends, they used to like to do that, and I'd get-- torn up, I'd bleed-- and I'd cry, and they'd laugh--" He gasped and squirmed against Holden's arms. "Ow-- master, I can't breathe--"
"I'm sorry." Holden loosened his grip, a little. "Bran, you should have told me--"
"I just did," said Bran, lifting his head to smile at Holden, his face still wet with tears. "I'm fine, master, I'm glad-- I wanted to do it, here, now, with you and Yves. It was good." He looked at Yves and repeated, "It was good-- it kind of hurt, but not in a bad way. We can do it again sometime, if you want. You liked it?"
"Loved it," said Yves gently. "Thanks, Bran."
"But last time," said Holden, as Bran put his head back down on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry I cried so hard," he said, close to Holden's ear. "It was okay, you didn't hurt me, I knew you wouldn't hurt me. It was just-- remembering-- but I didn't want to talk about it, not then. It's okay now."
Yves put a hand on Bran's back, stroking gently, and Bran made a contented little sound. Holden kissed his hair, thinking about now, and why it should be so different from then; he didn't ask why.
"You're all sticky," said Yves after a minute. "And, uh, so's my other hand. We should get cleaned up. I mean, if we're done here."
Bran said, "Master, you didn't come yet-- let me--"
"No," said Holden, smiling. "Don't worry about it."
"I'll take care of it," said Yves cheerfully. "Move over, Bran. You just relax. Sit this one out. So to speak."
In the bath, Yves washed Bran with efficient tenderness, caressing the boy's back and arms with a lathered washcloth, and chatting to Holden at the same time.
"I was thinking," he said, "and the idea of charging Dunaev for what he did to Jer instead of what he did to Lee is perfect, because Lee won't have to be the focal point." He ran the washcloth up along Bran's ribs and under one arm, then the other. "Not that we won't need Lee's testimony-- he's an eyewitness, to say the least-- but it takes some of the pressure off, that he's not actually the victim of the crime on trial. Jer can cope better with media attention-- and you can cope better than Lord Taganov, I bet, master. And on the stand, Jer will be more-- self-possessed."
"Slaves can testify?" Bran asked vaguely, his eyes closed and his muscles relaxed, as Yves rubbed the freshly sudsed washcloth along his chest and belly.
"Weirdly, yes," said Yves. "Except they can't legally testify for their owners-- or against, although that's kind of a moot point, since they can't testify without their owners' permission anyway. There's a certain tendency to discount slaves' testimony as unreliable, but that's a subjective thing, not a legal thing, and on a subjective level, Jer should be plenty convincing."
"Are you going to put together the case for us?" Holden asked.
Yves didn't answer for a minute, which could have been because of the especial care he was taking with Bran's bottom and the backs of his thighs. Bran had gone completely limp in Yves' arms, his eyes closed and his lips slightly parted; Yves lifted him and moved him, with a swirling of water, to place him in Holden's lap, his back against Holden's chest. Holden put his arms around Bran, whose head had lolled back on his shoulder, while Yves lifted one of Bran's legs, lathered the washcloth again, started scrubbing Bran's calf, and said without looking up, "Valor and her friends are probably already putting it together. I might be able to help. If they'll let me."
"You should be in charge," said Holden.
Yves shrugged, Bran's foot in his hand, scrubbing diligently at the sole. "I don't have any formal education. And-- I'm a slave."
"So?" said Holden. "You're smarter and better informed than any of them. And they're abolitionists-- it shouldn't matter to them that you're a slave."
"Right," said Yves, looking up over Bran's toes. "Like how it doesn't matter to Valor."
Holden winced. "Yves--"
"Don't get all upset again, master," said Yves quickly, letting Bran's foot slip back below the water and picking up his other leg. "I shouldn't have brought that up. It's just-- they might think it doesn't matter to them, but that can make it even more awkward, you know? I know it did for Inga."
"Then you shouldn't offer yourself as their assistant," said Holden. "Especially considering that I obviously can't trust Val to stick up for you."
"Hey," said Yves, smiling a little. "I'm tough." He leaned forward, picked up one of Bran's hands and put it on his bicep. "Bran, tell him what a tough guy I am."
Bran, still slack in Holden's arms, said something polysyllabic but incomprehensible. Holden kissed his wet, exposed throat, and Bran hummed with pleasure as Holden said to Yves, "So I'm being overprotective?"
"Regular protective," said Yves, still smiling slightly. "But this is important, master. I can deal with some-- unpleasantness-- if I have to. For the greater good."
The words sparked a memory in Holden's mind-- they were so nearly what Bran had said after Robin had ransacked his room in search of photographable objects and then thrown one of his few tiny possessions at his face: Changing the way things are. That's the important thing. Not my feelings.
"But it's your decision, master," Yves added meekly, lowering his eyes. "If you don't want me helping them out."
Holden sighed. "Yves, don't. You know I hate being expertly manipulated."
Yves' eyes flicked back up as he purred, "I did not know that about you, master."
"I also hate double entendres," said Holden, squinting at Yves. "They confuse and irritate me."
Yves shifted to his knees, then bowed down till his head was below the surface of the water. He held it there for so long that Holden reached out and pulled him up by the scruff of the neck; he came up gasping and laughing, pushing water from his eyes, and then deliberately wiped the laughter off his face, put on a look of extreme penitence, lowered his eyes again, and asked, "Am I forgiven, master?"
"You're just lucky I have a thing for smartasses," said Holden.
Yves grinned up at him. "Yes, I am."
By the time they were all clean, toweled off, and dressed, it was almost time for breakfast. A more-or-less revived Bran hurried, only a little unsteadily, to Lee's room to make sure he was awake, while Holden and Yves went to Jer's.
"Well, don't you two look perky," said Jer darkly when they came in. "Don't hold off having fun on my account, or anything."
"Listen," said Yves, sitting down carefully on the bed beside Jer. "I am-- our master permitting-- completely at your disposal until you're healed up. I mean it. You just yell my name, and I'll come running and pleasure you six ways from Wednesday, without straining your ribs. It's my special 'fallen hero' service. I've never had a chance to break it out before, because nobody around here has ever actually volunteered to lay down his life for somebody else."
"I didn't lay down my life," said Jer, trying not to smile. "I've got a few bruises, okay. But, uh, that's not a no."
"Good," said Yves, and leaned down to kiss Jer deeply, till Jer's body relaxed and one hand came up to touch Yves'. When they finally broke apart, Jer asked, "You come to get me for breakfast?"
"To ask if you wanted to come down," said Holden, and Jer looked up at him. "If you don't, someone can bring you a tray. Yves can bring you a tray," he amended, when Yves' hand flew into the air like an overeager schoolchild's.
"What about Lee?" Jer asked, grinning at Yves, who pretended to look stricken. "He's young and nimble-- and very, very grateful."
"I'll fight him for the privilege," Yves offered. "No, wait, that won't work, because I'll end up fighting you, and that's counterproductive."
"I'll come downstairs," said Jer, shifting himself from the bed; he was still dressed in his tunic from the previous night. "No sense starting another brawl. Give me your arm, Yves."
"Yes, sir!"
Alix and Greta looked pink and satisfied at breakfast; so did Valor and Inga, and talk of the court case ("Of course we want Yves to help us, please, Yves, we can't possibly do it without you") took up most of the meal. Bran and Lee were both quiet, but that wasn't unusual. Holden was preoccupied, himself, and he caught Alix looking at him curiously a couple of times, which he didn't mind; he needed to talk to her, and if she knew it without him saying anything, so much the better.
She did. After breakfast, as the family scattered, she slipped her hand into his.
"Come to the bedroom," she said.
The door closed behind them, she sat down at her dressing table, and Holden sat down on the floor at her feet, resting his head on her knee, and giving an involuntary small sigh. She didn't say anything; she just waited for him to speak.
"Remember the first night we spent here?" he asked.
"Of course," said Alix quietly.
"You were so tired," he said. "You fell asleep right away. And I couldn't sleep. I was thinking about... everything. About belonging to you. About leaving Jer behind. And Argounov. And-- what in the world was going to happen now."
She looked down at him, listening.
"And I finally fell asleep," he said, "and when I woke up, you were already awake. You were leaning over me. You were looking at me."
She nodded. "I remember."
"What were you thinking?" he asked.
She took a long time to answer. Finally she said, slowly, "I wasn't really thinking anything. I was just-- I felt as if-- as if I'd swallowed the sun. The hottest, brightest--"
"But you loved him," said Holden, after a moment, when she didn't seem likely to finish her sentence. "Argounov."
"Of course I did," said Alix matter-of-factly.
"And you'd just lost him," said Holden. "You should have been grieving."
"I was," said Alix. "But I was so happy, too. Owning you-- knowing you were mine--""
"I was already yours," said Holden, looking up into her lovely, aging face, its high cheekbones and hazel eyes and delicate wrinkles. "I'm still yours."
"Of course," she said again. "You love me, and you need me, and you'd never leave me. But it isn't the same. Knowing that you'd be looking to me, always, for comfort and discipline and guidance and release and food and water-- that you were utterly in my hands--" She held up a hand, looking at it, and then down at Holden. "That I was your world. I felt-- I knew how good it felt to belong to Nikol. But I'd never imagined how it would feel to own someone else. How fucking good it would feel."
Holden was startled by her language; she didn't usually speak with such violence.
"But you set me free," he said.
"I had to," said Alix. "You were dying. I loved owning you more than almost anything-- but not more than I loved you."
He caught her hand in his. "Alix--"
"I had to," she repeated, looking down at him. "But you don't have to. Your boys are happy with you. Why fix what's not broken?"
"But that's just it," said Holden. "It is broken." He leaned his forehead against Alix's thigh; a series of images-- Jer's wrist cuffed to the hospital bedrail, Yves with Valor's handprint on his cheek, Bran in a collar and leash, Dunaev's basement room-- flashed through his head. "It's all fucked up. It's wrong."
"What is?" Alix asked.
"Slavery." He looked up at her again. "Isn't it? I always just thought it was one of those things that can be great or horrible or just okay, depending on how you do it. Like sex."
"Or coffee," said Alix. "No, I'm sorry. Go ahead, I'm listening."
"I just thought-- if somebody decent owned you, and if you weren't fucked up yourself, then it was-- kind of-- great, to be a slave," said Holden. "I was happy, when I was a kid, because-- it was like the other side of what you just said, about being someone's world. He was my world. And I loved him so much. So I loved the world. I loved my life."
"I wish I could have known you then," said Alix softly.
"You wouldn't have recognized me," said Holden, trying to smile. "By the time you got hold of me, I was just... well, I was basically the worst slave ever. And Pavel-- well, I guessed he hadn't cared enough about me to protect me, which made him a terrible owner. So I figured, make sure the owner's good people, make sure the slave isn't fucked in the head, and you don't have a problem."
Alix was watching him, her eyes dark with concentration.
"And then, once I realized he didn't mean to let me go-- that he really did love me--" Holden ran a finger down the silk of Alix's stockinged instep. "And not just a little. It fucking wrecked him to lose me, Alix. I could see it, that night they came to dinner. But I figured-- I don't know what. That he was weak, or cowardly, or just-- just different from me, somehow. That nothing like that could ever happen to me. To anyone who belonged to me."
"Oh," said Alix softly. "And then--"
"And then a lot of things," said Holden. "Especially lately. I'm not their world-- however much I'd like to be. The rest of the world is still there, and I can't protect them from it. And if I can't do that, how can I think I have the right to own them?"
The silence stretched out again, and Holden added, his voice huskier than he'd expected, "But I know what you mean-- about swallowing the sun."
Alix's hand rested on the back of his neck.
"I think-- it's not about having the right," she said slowly. "It's about living in the world. Or at least this country. There are slaves. You own some. What are you going to do about it?"
He nodded. "That's what I was-- that's what I wonder."
"Slaves are our business," Alix pointed out. "Slave dealing. Buying and selling. Is that going to need to change, if slavery is wrong?"
"I don't know," said Holden. "I mean, I still think-- we're doing a good thing, aren't we? If I could afford to buy every abused slave in the country and free them-- well, even if I could, unless I could also afford to feed and clothe and job-hunt for them, they'd probably starve to death after I freed them. We already send some of them on to Karl and Tara. Isn't it better to buy them and try to make their lives that bit better before we throw them back, than to just-- not?"
"I think so," said Alix. "But do you? Are you suddenly going to discover that you can't bring yourself to sell Lee?"
"See, no," said Holden. "I've got no problem selling Lee to Andrei. They're a perfect match, and Andrei will treat Lee like a prince. What else am I going to do? I can't keep Lee, and setting him free would be like setting a day-old chick free in a troop of foxes. Slavery might be fucked up, but slavery to Andrei is the least fucked up of Lee's options right now."
"Right," Alix agreed. "That's what I mean, about living in the world. So our livelihood isn't in immediate danger, in other words."
"No," said Holden, though he felt a momentary twinge of doubt about how you managed to train somebody to be a good slave when you'd come to believe that the concept of slave was bad in the first place. He guessed he could still train successful slaves, though. "I don't think so."
"Then it's a question of your boys, isn't it?"
Holden nodded. Alix considered for a moment.
"Well-- Bran loves belonging to you," she said. "I think it's all he's ever wanted-- to belong to someone he could love as much as he loves you."
"Maybe so," said Holden. "But I've always wanted to give him-- more than he knew how to want."
"That's been a mistake, sometimes," said Alix, and Holden, who was very well aware of that, nodded.
"But he could still be mine," he said. "The same way I'm yours. It's not like I'm going to throw him out. I'd just like to give him-- more."
"He's done a lot of growing up lately," said Alix thoughtfully. "If you'd asked him two years ago, or even two months ago, well-- but today, he might actually be interested. But if he isn't, Holden, I don't think you should press him. He's finally happy, now, and the idea of such a cataclysmic change-- well, he might feel you were trying to take something precious from him. I don't think you want that."
"No," said Holden. "I've already hurt him enough for one lifetime."
"You've done a lot of growing up, too." Alix ran her hand over Holden's hair. "What about Yves?"
"Sometimes I wonder if he'd leave me, if he could," said Holden pensively. "It's not like he couldn't do better."
"It's not like anyone's actually good enough for him, either," said Alix, smiling. "I think he's happy. But you'd know better than I would."
"He's happy," said Holden. "But... well. He always makes the best of things."
"He's certainly made the best of you," Alix agreed. "You should talk to him. About what you're thinking. He's better at thinking things out than you are. And he won't panic at the idea."
"True," said Holden. "Yeah, I will. I'll ask him."
There was another long silence, and during this one, Holden was fairly sure he and Alix were both thinking about the same thing.
"Sometimes I can't believe we just left him behind like that," Alix said finally, confirming his guess. "I don't suppose we could really have helped it, but when I think of him spending almost twenty years with Argounov, after we were gone, and free, and married, and owning slaves of our own-- well, I try not to think about it."
"Should I have set him free right away?" Holden asked, but Alix answered immediately, "No. Gods, no. In the state he was in? No. He couldn't have handled it."
"But now..." Holden began.
Alix nodded. "Now."
"Jer," said Holden, stopping in the doorway of the lounge, where Jer sat on the couch with Lee curled up beside him; they both looked up expectantly. "I need to talk to you. Alone."
He woke up again before it was light out, with something heavy and warm on top of him that turned out to be Bran.
"Hey," he said softly, and Bran sighed and murmured into his neck, "Master."
The word made Holden's stomach flip over. He put his arms around Bran and hugged him close, and Bran lifted his face to be kissed. Holden obliged, with a soft, brief brush of his lips against Bran's.
"Bran," he whispered, "my--"
Bran looked down at him, his beautiful gray eyes filled with such naked love and trust that even lying flat on his back, Holden felt as if he were falling from a height.
"Your what, master?" he asked.
"My love," Holden answered.
Bran smiled, gorgeously, and put his head back down on Holden's shoulder, nuzzling gently at the hollow of his throat. Beside them, Yves stirred; Holden turned his head just as the blue eyes opened.
"Hey," said Yves sleepily. "Starting without me?"
"Just getting him warmed up for you," Bran said, his mouth against the skin of Holden's neck, and Yves laughed out loud.
"Thoughtful!" he said, rolling over against them both.
Bent over on his knees with his bottom in the air, legs spread wide, Bran whimpered softly around Holden's cock as Yves' slid inside him. Holden put his hand on Bran's head, stroking his hair and slowing down the warm mouth's sliding motion along his achingly hard shaft. He didn't want to come yet; he was watching Bran's flushed face, the lowered eyelids, feeling Bran's hands grip his hips.
"Fuck him harder, Yves," he said, and Yves obeyed immediately, slamming into Bran; Bran gasped, his hands tightening on Holden's hips as his eyes flicked up to meet his master's. Holden smiled at him. "Perfect."
Bran moaned as Yves hammered into him, his mouth tightening around Holden's cock as his body shook with the force of Yves' thrusts. Holden watched in perfect bliss for a while; he wasn't sure he'd ever get enough of this part, and Yves certainly didn't seem to be getting tired, but he didn't want Bran to be too sore later, so he finally said, "Yves, when you can, come."
Yves grabbed a double handful of the skin of Bran's shoulders, wrenching a muffled cry from the boy, fucked him hard for another thirty seconds or so, gasped and grunted and shuddered and stopped, looking to Holden. Bran hadn't stopped his sucking, himself.
"Pull out," said Holden, and Yves did. "Fuck him with your fingers."
"Ooh, yes master," said Yves, reaching for the lube and coating one hand liberally before he grabbed Bran's hip with the other hand. "I think we can start with three-- oh, too easy. Let's do four."
Bran gasped, his fingers digging so hard into Holden's hips that there would be marks later, and Holden felt the momentary graze of a tooth against his cock, which meant Bran was severely distracted from his task. Yves looked up and added avidly, "Master, I think I can-- may I--?"
"Just a second," said Holden with a little difficulty, as Bran moaned, vibrating Holden's cock with the sound. "Bran, stop. Take your mouth off me."
Bran obeyed, looking up with tears in his eyes, his legs still spread wide to Yves' thrusting hand. Holden reached down and touched his flushed cheek. He'd had his fist inside Bran before, but only once; on that occasion, Bran had ended up sobbing in Holden's arms afterwards, though once he'd cried himself out he insisted he was fine and there was nothing to talk about. Holden hadn't proposed it again since.
"What do you think?" Holden asked Bran now. "You're free to say no."
"Yes, master," Bran whispered hoarsely. "I can take it."
"Bran, you are officially the love of my life," said Yves. "Sorry, master. Nothing personal."
Holden smiled; so did Bran, though not very broadly.
"Slide your fingers out for a minute," Holden directed. "Bran, I want you up here with me."
Bran crawled, his movements wobbly, from his position with his face at Holden's groin, until they were eye to eye. Holden reached out and enfolded Bran in his arms, feeling the slight trembling of his body, and the hardness of his cock as it pressed against Holden's.
"You want this?" he asked, and Bran answered faintly, "Yes, master."
"Go ahead, Yves," said Holden. "Be careful."
Bran's arms came up to clutch at Holden as Holden watched, over Bran's shoulder, Yves' fingers sink deeper inside the stretched, gleaming, reddened circle of muscle that was Bran's well-used hole. He could hear the boy's labored breathing as the knuckles slipped in. Yves went slowly, easing his thumb in to the first joint, and then pushing his hand further inside, until it was almost to the widest point, pausing at the barrier of the thumb's second joint.
"Oh, fuck, Sif, please," Bran whispered. "Master, say you love me--"
"I love you, Bran," said Holden instantly and wholeheartedly. Bran's body jerked, his arms crushing Holden closer, as Yves' hand disappeared to the wrist inside him; Bran cried out, and came.
Afterwards, Bran huddled in Holden's lap, shuddering and with tears pouring down and wetting Holden's neck, though he didn't cry out loud. Holden held him as tightly as he could without damaging any major organs, while Yves sat watching with affectionate concern, but not touching Bran.
"Tell me you're okay," Holden said in Bran's ear, and Bran answered shakily, "I'm okay, master. That was-- oh, fuck, that was intense--"
"You aren't hurt, are you?" Holden asked, and Bran shook his head.
"It's just," he said. "It used to-- they used to-- " He drew a deep, ragged breath. "Dunaev and his friends, they used to like to do that, and I'd get-- torn up, I'd bleed-- and I'd cry, and they'd laugh--" He gasped and squirmed against Holden's arms. "Ow-- master, I can't breathe--"
"I'm sorry." Holden loosened his grip, a little. "Bran, you should have told me--"
"I just did," said Bran, lifting his head to smile at Holden, his face still wet with tears. "I'm fine, master, I'm glad-- I wanted to do it, here, now, with you and Yves. It was good." He looked at Yves and repeated, "It was good-- it kind of hurt, but not in a bad way. We can do it again sometime, if you want. You liked it?"
"Loved it," said Yves gently. "Thanks, Bran."
"But last time," said Holden, as Bran put his head back down on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry I cried so hard," he said, close to Holden's ear. "It was okay, you didn't hurt me, I knew you wouldn't hurt me. It was just-- remembering-- but I didn't want to talk about it, not then. It's okay now."
Yves put a hand on Bran's back, stroking gently, and Bran made a contented little sound. Holden kissed his hair, thinking about now, and why it should be so different from then; he didn't ask why.
"You're all sticky," said Yves after a minute. "And, uh, so's my other hand. We should get cleaned up. I mean, if we're done here."
Bran said, "Master, you didn't come yet-- let me--"
"No," said Holden, smiling. "Don't worry about it."
"I'll take care of it," said Yves cheerfully. "Move over, Bran. You just relax. Sit this one out. So to speak."
In the bath, Yves washed Bran with efficient tenderness, caressing the boy's back and arms with a lathered washcloth, and chatting to Holden at the same time.
"I was thinking," he said, "and the idea of charging Dunaev for what he did to Jer instead of what he did to Lee is perfect, because Lee won't have to be the focal point." He ran the washcloth up along Bran's ribs and under one arm, then the other. "Not that we won't need Lee's testimony-- he's an eyewitness, to say the least-- but it takes some of the pressure off, that he's not actually the victim of the crime on trial. Jer can cope better with media attention-- and you can cope better than Lord Taganov, I bet, master. And on the stand, Jer will be more-- self-possessed."
"Slaves can testify?" Bran asked vaguely, his eyes closed and his muscles relaxed, as Yves rubbed the freshly sudsed washcloth along his chest and belly.
"Weirdly, yes," said Yves. "Except they can't legally testify for their owners-- or against, although that's kind of a moot point, since they can't testify without their owners' permission anyway. There's a certain tendency to discount slaves' testimony as unreliable, but that's a subjective thing, not a legal thing, and on a subjective level, Jer should be plenty convincing."
"Are you going to put together the case for us?" Holden asked.
Yves didn't answer for a minute, which could have been because of the especial care he was taking with Bran's bottom and the backs of his thighs. Bran had gone completely limp in Yves' arms, his eyes closed and his lips slightly parted; Yves lifted him and moved him, with a swirling of water, to place him in Holden's lap, his back against Holden's chest. Holden put his arms around Bran, whose head had lolled back on his shoulder, while Yves lifted one of Bran's legs, lathered the washcloth again, started scrubbing Bran's calf, and said without looking up, "Valor and her friends are probably already putting it together. I might be able to help. If they'll let me."
"You should be in charge," said Holden.
Yves shrugged, Bran's foot in his hand, scrubbing diligently at the sole. "I don't have any formal education. And-- I'm a slave."
"So?" said Holden. "You're smarter and better informed than any of them. And they're abolitionists-- it shouldn't matter to them that you're a slave."
"Right," said Yves, looking up over Bran's toes. "Like how it doesn't matter to Valor."
Holden winced. "Yves--"
"Don't get all upset again, master," said Yves quickly, letting Bran's foot slip back below the water and picking up his other leg. "I shouldn't have brought that up. It's just-- they might think it doesn't matter to them, but that can make it even more awkward, you know? I know it did for Inga."
"Then you shouldn't offer yourself as their assistant," said Holden. "Especially considering that I obviously can't trust Val to stick up for you."
"Hey," said Yves, smiling a little. "I'm tough." He leaned forward, picked up one of Bran's hands and put it on his bicep. "Bran, tell him what a tough guy I am."
Bran, still slack in Holden's arms, said something polysyllabic but incomprehensible. Holden kissed his wet, exposed throat, and Bran hummed with pleasure as Holden said to Yves, "So I'm being overprotective?"
"Regular protective," said Yves, still smiling slightly. "But this is important, master. I can deal with some-- unpleasantness-- if I have to. For the greater good."
The words sparked a memory in Holden's mind-- they were so nearly what Bran had said after Robin had ransacked his room in search of photographable objects and then thrown one of his few tiny possessions at his face: Changing the way things are. That's the important thing. Not my feelings.
"But it's your decision, master," Yves added meekly, lowering his eyes. "If you don't want me helping them out."
Holden sighed. "Yves, don't. You know I hate being expertly manipulated."
Yves' eyes flicked back up as he purred, "I did not know that about you, master."
"I also hate double entendres," said Holden, squinting at Yves. "They confuse and irritate me."
Yves shifted to his knees, then bowed down till his head was below the surface of the water. He held it there for so long that Holden reached out and pulled him up by the scruff of the neck; he came up gasping and laughing, pushing water from his eyes, and then deliberately wiped the laughter off his face, put on a look of extreme penitence, lowered his eyes again, and asked, "Am I forgiven, master?"
"You're just lucky I have a thing for smartasses," said Holden.
Yves grinned up at him. "Yes, I am."
By the time they were all clean, toweled off, and dressed, it was almost time for breakfast. A more-or-less revived Bran hurried, only a little unsteadily, to Lee's room to make sure he was awake, while Holden and Yves went to Jer's.
"Well, don't you two look perky," said Jer darkly when they came in. "Don't hold off having fun on my account, or anything."
"Listen," said Yves, sitting down carefully on the bed beside Jer. "I am-- our master permitting-- completely at your disposal until you're healed up. I mean it. You just yell my name, and I'll come running and pleasure you six ways from Wednesday, without straining your ribs. It's my special 'fallen hero' service. I've never had a chance to break it out before, because nobody around here has ever actually volunteered to lay down his life for somebody else."
"I didn't lay down my life," said Jer, trying not to smile. "I've got a few bruises, okay. But, uh, that's not a no."
"Good," said Yves, and leaned down to kiss Jer deeply, till Jer's body relaxed and one hand came up to touch Yves'. When they finally broke apart, Jer asked, "You come to get me for breakfast?"
"To ask if you wanted to come down," said Holden, and Jer looked up at him. "If you don't, someone can bring you a tray. Yves can bring you a tray," he amended, when Yves' hand flew into the air like an overeager schoolchild's.
"What about Lee?" Jer asked, grinning at Yves, who pretended to look stricken. "He's young and nimble-- and very, very grateful."
"I'll fight him for the privilege," Yves offered. "No, wait, that won't work, because I'll end up fighting you, and that's counterproductive."
"I'll come downstairs," said Jer, shifting himself from the bed; he was still dressed in his tunic from the previous night. "No sense starting another brawl. Give me your arm, Yves."
"Yes, sir!"
Alix and Greta looked pink and satisfied at breakfast; so did Valor and Inga, and talk of the court case ("Of course we want Yves to help us, please, Yves, we can't possibly do it without you") took up most of the meal. Bran and Lee were both quiet, but that wasn't unusual. Holden was preoccupied, himself, and he caught Alix looking at him curiously a couple of times, which he didn't mind; he needed to talk to her, and if she knew it without him saying anything, so much the better.
She did. After breakfast, as the family scattered, she slipped her hand into his.
"Come to the bedroom," she said.
The door closed behind them, she sat down at her dressing table, and Holden sat down on the floor at her feet, resting his head on her knee, and giving an involuntary small sigh. She didn't say anything; she just waited for him to speak.
"Remember the first night we spent here?" he asked.
"Of course," said Alix quietly.
"You were so tired," he said. "You fell asleep right away. And I couldn't sleep. I was thinking about... everything. About belonging to you. About leaving Jer behind. And Argounov. And-- what in the world was going to happen now."
She looked down at him, listening.
"And I finally fell asleep," he said, "and when I woke up, you were already awake. You were leaning over me. You were looking at me."
She nodded. "I remember."
"What were you thinking?" he asked.
She took a long time to answer. Finally she said, slowly, "I wasn't really thinking anything. I was just-- I felt as if-- as if I'd swallowed the sun. The hottest, brightest--"
"But you loved him," said Holden, after a moment, when she didn't seem likely to finish her sentence. "Argounov."
"Of course I did," said Alix matter-of-factly.
"And you'd just lost him," said Holden. "You should have been grieving."
"I was," said Alix. "But I was so happy, too. Owning you-- knowing you were mine--""
"I was already yours," said Holden, looking up into her lovely, aging face, its high cheekbones and hazel eyes and delicate wrinkles. "I'm still yours."
"Of course," she said again. "You love me, and you need me, and you'd never leave me. But it isn't the same. Knowing that you'd be looking to me, always, for comfort and discipline and guidance and release and food and water-- that you were utterly in my hands--" She held up a hand, looking at it, and then down at Holden. "That I was your world. I felt-- I knew how good it felt to belong to Nikol. But I'd never imagined how it would feel to own someone else. How fucking good it would feel."
Holden was startled by her language; she didn't usually speak with such violence.
"But you set me free," he said.
"I had to," said Alix. "You were dying. I loved owning you more than almost anything-- but not more than I loved you."
He caught her hand in his. "Alix--"
"I had to," she repeated, looking down at him. "But you don't have to. Your boys are happy with you. Why fix what's not broken?"
"But that's just it," said Holden. "It is broken." He leaned his forehead against Alix's thigh; a series of images-- Jer's wrist cuffed to the hospital bedrail, Yves with Valor's handprint on his cheek, Bran in a collar and leash, Dunaev's basement room-- flashed through his head. "It's all fucked up. It's wrong."
"What is?" Alix asked.
"Slavery." He looked up at her again. "Isn't it? I always just thought it was one of those things that can be great or horrible or just okay, depending on how you do it. Like sex."
"Or coffee," said Alix. "No, I'm sorry. Go ahead, I'm listening."
"I just thought-- if somebody decent owned you, and if you weren't fucked up yourself, then it was-- kind of-- great, to be a slave," said Holden. "I was happy, when I was a kid, because-- it was like the other side of what you just said, about being someone's world. He was my world. And I loved him so much. So I loved the world. I loved my life."
"I wish I could have known you then," said Alix softly.
"You wouldn't have recognized me," said Holden, trying to smile. "By the time you got hold of me, I was just... well, I was basically the worst slave ever. And Pavel-- well, I guessed he hadn't cared enough about me to protect me, which made him a terrible owner. So I figured, make sure the owner's good people, make sure the slave isn't fucked in the head, and you don't have a problem."
Alix was watching him, her eyes dark with concentration.
"And then, once I realized he didn't mean to let me go-- that he really did love me--" Holden ran a finger down the silk of Alix's stockinged instep. "And not just a little. It fucking wrecked him to lose me, Alix. I could see it, that night they came to dinner. But I figured-- I don't know what. That he was weak, or cowardly, or just-- just different from me, somehow. That nothing like that could ever happen to me. To anyone who belonged to me."
"Oh," said Alix softly. "And then--"
"And then a lot of things," said Holden. "Especially lately. I'm not their world-- however much I'd like to be. The rest of the world is still there, and I can't protect them from it. And if I can't do that, how can I think I have the right to own them?"
The silence stretched out again, and Holden added, his voice huskier than he'd expected, "But I know what you mean-- about swallowing the sun."
Alix's hand rested on the back of his neck.
"I think-- it's not about having the right," she said slowly. "It's about living in the world. Or at least this country. There are slaves. You own some. What are you going to do about it?"
He nodded. "That's what I was-- that's what I wonder."
"Slaves are our business," Alix pointed out. "Slave dealing. Buying and selling. Is that going to need to change, if slavery is wrong?"
"I don't know," said Holden. "I mean, I still think-- we're doing a good thing, aren't we? If I could afford to buy every abused slave in the country and free them-- well, even if I could, unless I could also afford to feed and clothe and job-hunt for them, they'd probably starve to death after I freed them. We already send some of them on to Karl and Tara. Isn't it better to buy them and try to make their lives that bit better before we throw them back, than to just-- not?"
"I think so," said Alix. "But do you? Are you suddenly going to discover that you can't bring yourself to sell Lee?"
"See, no," said Holden. "I've got no problem selling Lee to Andrei. They're a perfect match, and Andrei will treat Lee like a prince. What else am I going to do? I can't keep Lee, and setting him free would be like setting a day-old chick free in a troop of foxes. Slavery might be fucked up, but slavery to Andrei is the least fucked up of Lee's options right now."
"Right," Alix agreed. "That's what I mean, about living in the world. So our livelihood isn't in immediate danger, in other words."
"No," said Holden, though he felt a momentary twinge of doubt about how you managed to train somebody to be a good slave when you'd come to believe that the concept of slave was bad in the first place. He guessed he could still train successful slaves, though. "I don't think so."
"Then it's a question of your boys, isn't it?"
Holden nodded. Alix considered for a moment.
"Well-- Bran loves belonging to you," she said. "I think it's all he's ever wanted-- to belong to someone he could love as much as he loves you."
"Maybe so," said Holden. "But I've always wanted to give him-- more than he knew how to want."
"That's been a mistake, sometimes," said Alix, and Holden, who was very well aware of that, nodded.
"But he could still be mine," he said. "The same way I'm yours. It's not like I'm going to throw him out. I'd just like to give him-- more."
"He's done a lot of growing up lately," said Alix thoughtfully. "If you'd asked him two years ago, or even two months ago, well-- but today, he might actually be interested. But if he isn't, Holden, I don't think you should press him. He's finally happy, now, and the idea of such a cataclysmic change-- well, he might feel you were trying to take something precious from him. I don't think you want that."
"No," said Holden. "I've already hurt him enough for one lifetime."
"You've done a lot of growing up, too." Alix ran her hand over Holden's hair. "What about Yves?"
"Sometimes I wonder if he'd leave me, if he could," said Holden pensively. "It's not like he couldn't do better."
"It's not like anyone's actually good enough for him, either," said Alix, smiling. "I think he's happy. But you'd know better than I would."
"He's happy," said Holden. "But... well. He always makes the best of things."
"He's certainly made the best of you," Alix agreed. "You should talk to him. About what you're thinking. He's better at thinking things out than you are. And he won't panic at the idea."
"True," said Holden. "Yeah, I will. I'll ask him."
There was another long silence, and during this one, Holden was fairly sure he and Alix were both thinking about the same thing.
"Sometimes I can't believe we just left him behind like that," Alix said finally, confirming his guess. "I don't suppose we could really have helped it, but when I think of him spending almost twenty years with Argounov, after we were gone, and free, and married, and owning slaves of our own-- well, I try not to think about it."
"Should I have set him free right away?" Holden asked, but Alix answered immediately, "No. Gods, no. In the state he was in? No. He couldn't have handled it."
"But now..." Holden began.
Alix nodded. "Now."
"Jer," said Holden, stopping in the doorway of the lounge, where Jer sat on the couch with Lee curled up beside him; they both looked up expectantly. "I need to talk to you. Alone."
