A Scotch for the Road

[flighty_dreams]

I totally blame Mara for this. I was going to start Chapter 10 of Spliced, and then THIS  happened. Bah!

I kept running her orig_slavefic  weekly prompt over and over in my head, I couldn't stop thinking about it. Eventually, the following is what came out. It has more to do with the quote than the random, but whatever! And yeah, freshly written, so not edited very much, only cursorily. Beware.

TITLE: A Scotch for the Road
AUTHOR: flighty_dreams 
WARNINGS: Slavefic. NC-17 just in case, tho not yet needed.  M/m, F/m. Femdom.
WORD COUNT: 1,499
SUMMARY: A slave enduring a party encounters more than he bargained for.
NOTES: This was intended to be a one shot, but uhhh... it will have another part or two. Eventually.
FEEDBACK: Always welcome, wondering how much interest there is in this one. It's not my usual.

 

“Get me a scotch.”

The command was said in an undertone, not disturbing the louder conversations around them, and accompanied by a poke in the shoulder, just in case he wasn’t listening. Not a pat or a caress; Master never did such weak things.

As he stood up from his kneeling position at his master’s side, he resented the jab. As if he’d be careless enough to ignore an order from Master and invite punishment later, he thought to himself, cautiously edging through the milling partygoers. He was always careful to stay on his master’s good side; the man was alternately hot and cold, with a vicious temper on him.

Wearing only the light pants Master had allowed him tonight, wanting to show off some of his slave’s muscled flesh to the attendees, he made slow progress through the crowd. Both the outfit and the collar around his neck marked him as property, and the wealthy upper class citizens that made up most of the congregation at this society party saw no need to budge for him, ignoring him completely.

He made it to the edge of the room at last, where the crowd was thinner. The bar was in the corner to his left, and he started towards it, brushing his dark hair away from his face. But he’d only gone a few steps when he heard someone behind him call out breathlessly, “Brett?”

That wasn’t his name anymore, and it hadn’t been for a long time. He wouldn’t have responded to it, if it weren’t for the voice conveying it. That voice he remembered, in all its husky sweetness, memories of long ago affection coursing through him, and he turned, his eyes widening.

“Mistress?” The word tumbled softly out of him, before his common sense could stop him. He shouldn’t call her that, but past and present merged for a moment, instinct taking over. She had never even been his mistress, not officially, and yet he’d been hers in far more ways than he’d ever belonged to anyone else.

There she was, her auburn hair done up in a coil, shining against the alabaster skin of her slim neck. The deep blue of her shimmering dress brought out the color of her eyes, alight with delight. He drank her in with his gaze, taking in the welcome sight of her. The time since he’d last seen her had deepened her beauty, not diminished it. There was a maturity to her now that was new, and for a long moment he wished to know what had happened to her these past few years.

Then the pleasant surprise of seeing her again unexpectedly gave way to the bitterness that never quite left him. Noting the diamond necklace gracing her neck and the quality of her dress confirmed his suspicions. It hadn’t been a matter of money; she’d chosen not to buy him.

The smile on her face was all for him, and he basked in it for one last weak moment before smoothing out his own expression, hardening his heart against her. She was like all free people—not to be trusted. And his vulnerability to her made her more dangerous than all the others.

“Brett, it’s so good to see you,” she said, a delicate, graceful hand reaching out to touch his arm. The feel of her skin against his own, after years of convincing himself he’d never see her again, made his breath catch uncontrollably. Her eyes roaming hungrily over his bare chest didn’t help either.

He didn’t doubt she meant the words, but he knew well that her affections were fleeting, and certainly not deep enough to save him. The pain of that knowledge made his tone harsher. “Not Brett anymore.”

“Oh,” she murmured dispiritedly, those enticing lips curling into a frown and the light leaving her eyes. Despite his everlasting bitterness, some part of him was still dismayed to cause her sadness. The desire to please her, to make her smile, was too ingrained in him. Once upon a time, it was all he’d wanted to do for the rest of his life.

She’d never been good for him. She made him careless, made him forget his place, made him wish for more. He’d allowed himself to hope once, even though he’d known better, and she’d broken his heart—the heart a slave wasn’t permitted to acknowledge having.

Needing to get away from her and the pain she caused him, the pain he’d shut away, he stepped back from her. As he shifted away, the slide of her hand down his arm made his teeth grit, recollections of more intimate encounters flooding through him.

“I love this smooth skin here,” she’d said, rubbing her fingers along the underside of his arm as they lay among the tangled bed sheets.

Shaking his head to brush the image away, he stumbled back a few steps, tumbling into the wall. The jarring brought him out of the shock meeting her again had generated, and he suddenly remembered they were in a roomful of people. Seeing her again had drowned them all out, he realized, a flush coloring his cheeks. It was more proof of how dangerous she was to him.

She was looking at him worriedly now. “Are you all right?”

No, and I never will be, because of you. His chest tightened, the words screaming to come out, but he held them back with the control and self-preservation that a lifetime of slavery instilled. Instead he looked at the people directly around them anxiously, making sure none of them were watching their exchange. No one had taken notice yet, but it would only be a matter of time.

“I have to go,” he said abruptly, lowering his gaze respectfully to soften the words. Only his lingering bitterness gave him the ability to hold back the instinctive designation “Mistress” at the end of his statement. Even so, he waited to be dismissed as he’d been taught, not leaving until she gave her permission.

“Wait.” One word, softly spoken, a suggestion more than a command, and yet it held him in place as surely as iron chains.

She moved closer and her hand reached out again, this time capturing his cheek against her palm. Her thumb under his jaw gently pushed his face up to look at her again. Helplessly he leaned into the caress of her fingers, weakly giving into the temptation. It had been far too long since he’d been touched softly, with simple affection, and he couldn’t resist the rare opportunity. Especially when it came from her, the only person he’d ever loved.

“I’m sorry, Brett, for everything.” That dearly-missed, husky voice, thick with regret, saying words he’d longed to hear, made his eyes close as a shudder went through his body. He struggled to swallow past the lump that had formed in his throat. It was too late, far too late.

“I won’t keep you, I just want to know if you’re all right,” she continued, and he opened his eyes, looking down to meet her gaze, which was intent on his. Her voice was sincere, as were her sapphire eyes, but the words angered him.

The pain of the past few years all rose up at once and came out in one harsh syllable:  “No.”

He watched her eyes widen, the sheen of tears form, and her cheeks redden guiltily as her hand dropped away, no longer touching him. This time he felt no remorse at sharing a little of his misery with her; his resentment was too strong. “No,” he repeated, and then added slowly, bitterness coloring his voice, “but it was never up to me was it, Mistress?”

With that parting shot, he forced himself to turn away from her and her broken promises, his fists clenching at his sides as he allowed his anger to overcome his training. Unsteadily he arrived at the bar at last and ordered the drink for his master. He could feel her eyes on him the whole time, watching him with burning intensity and making his back muscles twitch. He firmly kept his gaze away, even as he secretly hungered for another glimpse of her. He succeeded until he finished at the bar and had to turn back the way he had come. Unable to resist temptation now that he was facing her, his eyes went straight to her. She was still standing in the same place, staring at him, a sadness in her eyes that he didn’t want to see. It didn’t just infuriate him; it also made everything harder.

But unfortunately as he made the return trip, scotch in hand, he realized she wasn’t his only problem. During their encounter the crowd had shifted, the number of people between him and his master thinning out, creating larger gaps between guests. With a fairly clear view now, Master’s gaze was flickering back and forth between him and his former mistress, and he didn’t look happy.

Part 2

 

Comments

[flighty-dreams.livejournal.com]

Yep, there's definitely more. I'm actually close to done with the story. I could've posted another 2 parts, but it's not going to be very long overall, so I'm just going to post it all at once after I'm finished. :) Should be this week actually, if I dont get sidetracked with the next Spliced chapter.

I'm glad you felt there was suspense. It felt pretty intense when I was writing this; I actually felt so bad for him at one point that I was tearing up. That's never happened to me before while writing. :S I really wanted to hug him. And it's weird b/c when I reread it I'm fine, it was just while I was writing it that I had that strong reaction.

As for his master, I think the most important question (in regards to the situation) is, how much did he see? Cause that will affect his reaction and what he'll do.

Hmm you bring up an interesting point. It's not very slave-like for him to lose control like that, but for him, it's different with her. She's the one person that gets under his skin, and he's so hurt and so angry with her that when she pushed him, he finally let something slip. He really tried to hold back, but he failed. I think we can all relate to losing our self-control sometimes. ;)

Before his control slipped, the last words she said were, "I won't keep you, I just want to know if you're all right." It was the "I won't keep you" that pushed him over the edge. He knows the context she meant it in (not wanting to delay him/get him in trouble) but it still struck a raw nerve, since for him, that's exactly what she did to him--she didnt keep him.

I didn't spell it out in the story, but that was the subtext.

Anyways, glad you enjoyed it. Thanks for the lovely comments. :) I'll get more up soon.