We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet

[maculategiraffe]

This was a fairly popular write-in request on the post-Lee-chapter-49 poll (complete and utter Lee spoilers in that link, it goes without saying).

Before I begin: It may strike some readers as odd that the Slave Breakers 'verse has all the same alcoholic beverages as ours. By way of explanation, I offer two quotations:

I choose to use our names for styles of wine as “translations” for wine made from in-universe varietals. [...] If Sooni whips out a bottle of champagne, the implications are clear… whereas if she whips out a bottle of “sparkling white Atheroskebastian wine”, I need an expository line going, “You bought sparkling white Atheroskebastian wine? But that’s the wine that’s practically narrative shorthand for ’special occasion with implications of money’!”

-Alexandra Erin, in the comments to Tales of MU

It is a curious fact, and one to which no one knows quite how much importance to attach, that something like 85% of all known worlds in the Galaxy, be they primitive or highly advanced, have invented a drink called jynnan tonnyx, or gee-N’N-T’N-ix, or jinond-o-nicks, or any one of a thousand or more variations on the same phonetic theme. The drinks themselves are not the same, and vary between the Sivolvian “chinanto/mnigs” which is ordinary water served at slightly above room temperature, and the Gagrakackan “tzjin-anthony-ks” which kills cows at a hundred paces; and in fact the one common factor between all of them, beyond the fact that the names sound the same, is that they were all invented and named before the worlds concerned made contact with any other worlds.

'What can be made of this fact? It exists in total isolation. As far as any theory of structural linguistics is concerned it is right off the graph, and yet it persists. Old structural linguists get very angry when young structural linguists go on about it. Young structural linguists get deeply excited about it and stay up late at night convinced that they are very close to something of profound importance, and end up becoming old structural linguists before their time, getting very angry with the young ones.

-Douglas Adams, The Restaurant at the End of the Universe


(Okay, so that second quote doesn't have much to do with anything; it just cracks me up.)

(Same goes for the card game.)












When they arrived at home, Yves and Jer made a beeline for the kitchen, and pounced on the liquor cabinet while Holden read the note Alix had left for him on the kitchen table.

"Short, sweet, and to the point," he said, handing the three-word note to Bran and turning to Yves and Jer, who were pulling out all the bottles from the liquor cabinet and scattering them on the kitchen table for better inspection.

"Not on an empty stomach," he said, and then he said, "I mean, if you ask me," and Yves and Jer laughed.

"Oh, this is going to be fun," said Yves to Jer. "He's going to keep giving orders for months, out of habit. Keep out the gin and the vermouth; I want to try a martini. No, two-- one with an olive and one with a twist of lemon. Nobles seem to think that makes a hell of a lot of difference. Jer, what do you want to try?"

"Everything," said Jer, with a half smile.

"It'll make you sick," Holden protested, and they turned identical looks of unmistakable challenge on him. "It's not an order, it's just advice. Concerned advice, from a friend. That much hard liquor on an empty stomach will make you sick-- you know that, Yves. I can't remember the last time any of us ate a decent meal."

"I'll heat up some leftovers," said Bran.

"No, we'll eat them cold," said Yves, and they did, sitting around the kitchen table in ravenous silence broken only by the sounds of chewing and clanking, until Yves said, "There, I now officially have something on my stomach," emptied his water glass down his throat, and reached for the bottle of gin.

"Wait," said Holden, getting up. "Let me mix the drinks."

"Okay," said Yves, "but I've got my eye on you, so don't skimp on the liquor."

"Can I help?" Bran asked, sounding as if he'd just barely managed to leave the master off the end of the question. Holden turned to him and cupped his cheek, feeling Bran shiver slightly at his touch.

"Sure," he said. "Will you squeeze some oranges for juice?"

"Orange juice?" Yves asked incredulously, as Bran moved to get the oranges and a knife. "I said two martinis! And I specified the different garnishes I preferred!"

"Hey, you do that pretty good," Jer observed, as Holden took down four highball glasses and the cocktail shaker from the cabinet. "Knock the glass out of his hand when he brings it to you, too."

"But he has boots on," said Yves. "Where's the fun if you can't make him stumble barefoot into the broken glass?"

Holden, pouring gin into the shaker, looked up sharply. "What?"

"That was before you owned me," said Yves. "Wipe that look off your face, boy, and get my drink before I give you the back of my hand."

Silently, Holden mixed a martini with olive, a Scotch and soda, a gin and tonic, and, when Bran had juiced three oranges, poured the orange juice over the vodka, stirring it well.

"Here," he said, setting the Scotch and soda in front of Jer. "See if you like this any better than straight vodka. Here's your martini, Yves-- when you finish that, if you're still conscious, I'll make you one with lemon. Bran, sweetheart, this will taste a bit sharper than regular orange juice, but it shouldn't bite too badly. I'll make more when we finish these."





For the third round of drinks, Holden filled his own glass up with plain water, which should have made it easy to win the card game, but didn't.

"You have three hearts," Bran told him, peering over his shoulder, and then laughed so hard he fell down, his own hand of cards flying and fluttering around him, and lay on the floor, still giggling. Yves started laughing, too, as Holden put down his cards to pull Bran up off the floor; Bran was too jelly-limbed with laughter to really cooperate, but when Holden had pulled him up, he climbed into Holden's lap, wrapped his arms around him and nuzzled his neck.

"Mine," he whispered. "And Yves'. And Jer's. All our hearts, get it?"

."What about my own?" Holden asked, and Bran laughed again and said, "No, no. That's mine. And Yves'. And Jer's."

"Bran, baby," said Yves, "not that I'm discouraging you, but just remember that if you forfeit now, you bottom to all three of us tonight."

"Oh no!" Bran cried, and laughter shook him again. "What will I do?"

"Bran forfeits," said Jer briskly. "Holden? Call, raise, or fold?"

"He has three hearts and a black queen," Bran volunteered helpfully. "Clubs, I think."




The game came down to a ferociously silent contest between Yves and Jer; by the time Yves finally let an enormous grin split his face and laid down a royal flush, Bran was already sound asleep in Holden's arms, his warm breath tickling Holden's neck.

"I win!" Yves screamed, so loudly that Bran woke with a start. "Fuck yes! You're all my bitches!"

"Okay, I'm officially scared," said Holden, while Bran collapsed in laughter again. Yves tried to get to his feet, wobbled, and snapped his fingers imperiously at Jer.

"Help me up," he ordered.

Bran moved suddenly and fell out of Holden's lap onto the floor with a muffled thud, but was up again almost at once and offering his hands to Yves to help him up.

Holden's legs had gone numb under Bran's weight, and when he tried to stand up, his ankles gave way and he dropped to his knees. Yves stepped close to him, and Holden, drowsy and happy with the alcohol, pressed his face against Yves' crotch. A hand rested on his head, and he sighed softly, then said, "Hey--" in mild protest when Yves stepped back.

"Bedroom," said Yves firmly.

Bran helped Holden up, too, and let Holden wrap an arm around his shoulders for support as he hobbled towards the stairs up which Yves was already striding, purposefully, though a little unsteadily, with Jer in hot pursuit.

By the time Holden and Bran caught up with them, Yves and Jer were already on the big bed in the master bedroom, naked and kissing each other passionately, Yves half on top of Jer. The sound of the door closing behind them made Yves separate his lips from Jer's long enough to drawl, without looking round, "Well, come on in."

Holden slipped his arm from around Bran's shoulders, took Bran's hand-- it tightened convulsively on his, and he squeezed back firmly-- and led him towards the bed. When he stood at the bedside, Yves rolled off Jer, looked Holden up and down, and said, "Take your clothes off."

Holden unbuckled his belt, pulled it off, and started to drop it to the floor.

"I'll take that," said Yves.

Holden handed it to him; Yves let the leather slide through his fingers, coiling and uncoiling the strap thoughtfully, then looked back up and said, "I think I said 'take your clothes off,' didn't I?"

Holden's heartbeat kicked into a slightly higher gear as he sat down on the bed to pull his boots off. Yves stood up, slowly, watching, still coiling and uncoiling the belt, while Bran dropped down on his knees to help Holden with his boots.

"Hey, Yves," Jer said "Mind if I jerk off to this?"

"Be my guest," said Yves, without taking his eyes off Holden. "Just don't spend it all in one place. The night is young."

Bran stayed kneeling on the floor, beside Holden's discarded boots, as, Holden stood back up to finish undressing, until he stood naked before Yves. Yves looked him up and down again, deliberately, then stepped forward and put his arms around Holden, pressing their bodies together, one hand still holding the belt, which dangled down Holden's back, the cool leather brushing against his skin.

"You're shivering," Yves whispered in his ear. "Are you scared?"

"No," Holden whispered.

"You're lying," said Yves softly. "No lying."

Holden swallowed.

"I don't mind if you want to hurt me," he said truthfully. "I know I have it coming. But I'm a little scared, yeah-- just because-- I don't know what you have in mind."

"That's better," said Yves, stroking slowly down Holden's back with his free hand, the one that wasn't holding the belt. "Don't worry, Holden. I don't want to hurt you." He gave a sudden, brisk squeeze to Holden's ass that made him suck in his breath, and added, "Sit down. You, too, Bran. Get up here, honey. You're not getting sleepy, are you?"

"Just a little," said Bran, scrambling onto the bed and affectionately headbutting Holden's shoulder.

"Please don't fall asleep," Holden said to him. "I might need you to protect me."

Bran started laughing again at that, and would have fallen off the bed if Holden hadn't grabbed him and pulled him back to safety.

"Come on, kid," said Yves, grabbing Bran in turn and pulling him away from Holden, towards Jer, whose cock was intimidatingly huge and hard, glistening with lubricant in his firm grip. Bran climbed obligingly on top of Jer and started kissing and sucking his nipples, grabbing his cock at the same time; Jer grunted with surprise and let go.

"Okay, so he's not too sleepy," said Yves, eyeing Jer's cock as it slid between Bran's fingers. "Jer, I'm going to want you to fuck me pretty hard with that. Do you think you can do that from behind, while I'm on my hands and knees, with Bran underneath me? Because I really think we need to keep Bran occupied-- so he doesn't fall asleep."

"I can do that," said Jer lazily, sliding his oiled fingers to Bran's bottom, and probing between his cheeks; Bran thrust back against him with a wordless whimper of pleasure as he kept, slowly, jerking Jer, and lapping at his chest, his own cock grinding against Jer's thigh.

Yves, still holding the belt, walked around behind Holden, took him by the shoulders, and pulled him backwards till his back was against one of the bedposts; then he pulled his arms behind his back, setting his wrists together. Holden felt the cool leather of the belt wind and tighten around his wrists.

"Try to move your arms," Yves directed, and Holden tested the bonds, and said, "I can't."

"Good," said Yves, climbing onto the bed. "You just sit tight."

Holden tried to obey, but as he sat there-- close enough for him to feel the heat coming off them, smell the sweat, see the glistening and reddening of Yves' hole as Jer pounded him, and of course hear everything-- Bran's muffled cries as Yves' mouth covered his, Jer's grunts of satisfaction, the occasional words--

"--harder-- fill me-- fuck me, fuck--"

"Yves, please, please, need something inside me, please--"

"--hold the fuck still--"

--a meaty smack to a squirming bottom--

--for what seemed like hours--

--Holden was struggling without meaning to, the tip of his cock and his eyes both producing involuntary moisture, and he heard himself say, "Let me--"

But his voice was lost in Jer's groan of completion, Yves' grunt of satisfaction, and the little moans from Bran-- who hadn't gotten more than a couple fingers inside him, if Holden had seen right. Now Yves was sitting up, spreading his own legs, displaying a still-considerable erection, and he said, only a little breathlessly, "Lube this up for me, Bran. On all fours, legs apart. Jer, get him ready to ride me."

Holden watched Jer's thick fingers, sliding into Bran, as Jer knelt between Bran's submissively wide-spread knees, and Bran's eyelids, dropping closed even as he rubbed generous amounts of oil over Yves. Yves, sliding his fingers luxuriously through the sweaty curls on Bran's bowed head, looked up at Holden, and smiled.

"Shhhh," he said, and Holden realized the quiet whimpering sounds he was hearing were his own. "You always had more of us than you knew what to do with. It won't kill you to do without for once."

Holden, watching as Yves helped Bran mount him-- backwards, his back to Yves' face-- and sink down, his face contorted with ecstasy, on Yves' shaft, and begin, the muscles of his strong young legs rippling, to shift himself up and down, slowly at first, then faster, as Jer moved in closer, bent down, and wrapped his lips carefully around Bran's cock, letting the motion of Bran's body thrust deeper into his mouth--

--disagreed.

But it seemed Yves was right, because it went on for a long time-- hours, weeks, centuries-- and by the time Bran came into Jer's mouth and Yves came into Bran and the three of them dropped, with the unmistakable, habitual grace of men trained in the art of fitting themselves to any body that held them, into a warm and contented and sticky heap, Holden was still alive. He could tell, because his balls hurt, and his wrists were raw from his involuntary struggles, his eyes stinging with sweat and a few frustrated tears, though he hadn't made another sound since Yves had hushed him.

Their eyes were closed; they seemed to be finished, sated, drugged by the alcohol and drifting towards sleep, and Holden said, begging, "Bran--"

Bran's eyes snapped open and he lifted his head, looking at Holden.

"Bran," said Holden again, "please--"

Bran wiggled his way out from between the other two bodies, slid in between Holden's legs, put his arms around Holden, and kissed his earlobe gently.

"Hey," he said, his hands reaching behind Holden, to his bound wrists, touching the belt with careful fingers, and then beginning to undo it.

"Excuse me, young man," said Yves, watching without lifting his head, "but what do you think you're doing?"

"Untying him," Bran answered, neither apologetically nor defiantly, but with a note of quiet authority that Holden had heard before, usually when Bran was talking about Lee. Yves didn't protest further.

The loosened belt fell from around Holden's aching wrists, and his arms closed gratefully around Bran's sweet, solid warmth; it felt so good just to hold, and Bran held him back, kissing his face, softly, all over.

"Dammit, Bran," said Yves, closing his eyes again. "You don't have a vindictive bone in your body, do you?'"

"I'll give him one," said Jer, and yawned as Bran, still kissing Holden's face, laughed quietly. "Or we'll just tie him up, too, next time."

"Good idea," said Yves. "But that's next time. For now the question is, do we have mercy?"

"I do," said Jer drowsily. "I'm lousy with it. Finish him off, Bran."

"You men have no follow-through," said Yves sadly, as Bran licked his hand, reached down, and wrapped it around Holden's cock.

"Do you want my mouth?" he murmured.

"No," said Holden, his arms tightening. "Stay where you are. Please."

"Okay," said Bran, and kissed Holden's mouth as his hand played delicately with Holden's straining erection, making Holden whimper again into Bran's mouth; but the strokes quickly grew firm and businesslike, making Holden's vision darken momentarily with the profundity of his relief. He clutched at Bran as the expert hand drew him closer to orgasm, and when his seed finally spattered them both, two more tears spilled down his cheeks at the same time.

"Shhhh," Bran soothed, cuddling closer, and still milking his cock with long slow strokes.

"Holden, you are so fucking weird," said Jer, who was propped up on one elbow now, watching. "First you turn down Bran's mouth, then you start blubbering when he gets you off by hand."

"You are weird," Yves agreed, with a smile at Holden that made his heart skip a beat. "Come lie down, you two. Let's sleep."

Holden lay down, obediently, gratefully, between Yves and Jer's warm bodies; Bran lay down squarely on top of him.

"I love you, Holden," Bran said, his head nestled on Holden's shoulder. "Tell him you love him, Yves."

"He knows," said Yves.

"Tell him anyway."

"I love you, Holden," said Yves, and leaned over to kiss Holden's cheek.

Bran nodded. "You too, Jer. Tell him."

"Love you," Jer mumbled, half asleep, "you weird little prick."





"Bran," Holden whispered, some time later. "Are you awake?"

"Mmmhmm," said Bran vaguely.

"Bran?"

"Mmmhmm."

"You were a really good investment," said Holden, and a little puff of laughter warmed the skin of his neck before Bran settled back into sleep.