A Scotch for the Road: Early Days #2
Dec. 10th, 2009 09:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
flighty_dreamsCharacters: Brett, Jenna, Derrick
Timeline: Five years prior to the start of the story, when Brett belonged to Derrick.
Length: 2,212 words
Notes: Sequel to this Brett ficlet. More Spliced pretty soon.
“Wait a minute.”
Brett turned away from the car window, where he’d been looking out at Ms. Warren’s apartment building. He’d never seen it before; she’d always come to his master’s home, not the other way around.
He removed his hand from the door handle, and kept his gaze respectfully averted as he waited for his master to speak again.
“I’m leaving you in good hands.” There was an uncertain edge to Master Derrick’s voice that undermined his words.
“Yes, Master,” he said, because an answer seemed expected. He repressed a smile as he noted that Master Derrick was leaving him with the same impression he’d had upon first meeting him: he was decent enough, but he didn’t really know what he was doing.
“You like her, don’t you?” Something about his master’s tone was odd.
Somehow Brett stifled the blush that rose at the thought of how very much he liked Ms. Warren. His master was likely just reassuring himself that he could leave Brett here without concern. Although Brett did wonder why his opinion of her mattered to Derrick.
“Yes, Master,” he said, keeping his voice even.
So certain there was nothing surprising left about Derrick, his master’s next words shocked him.
“No, I mean you really like her.”
Flustered, Brett couldn’t hide the blood rushing to his face this time.
Derrick chuckled. “I knew it! I didn’t notice it right away, but you’re more attentive to her than anyone else.”
Dismayed at being caught out, Brett felt the need to give some explanation. “She helped me, Master.”
“Right, I know.” There was something odd in the admission, as if his master found the topic uncomfortable. He brushed it aside, adding, “I thought it was just gratitude at first, but it’s more than that, isn’t it?”
Brett had no idea what to say. He was mortified that he’d revealed anything of his inappropriate feelings.
Derrick laughed. “No need to look like someone killed your dog. I don’t care.”
Brett let his eyes shift tentatively over to his master.
Mouth twitching, Derrick said, “It’s not really my business.”
Brett blinked at that, bewildered. Wasn’t everything about him his master’s business? Brett belonged to him; his first loyalty should be to his master. He shouldn’t have any strong feelings about someone else that could conflict with that. But Master Derrick had always been oddly disinterested in a lot of things that most masters were. Brett had never really understood him, but he’d still been fairly predictable.
His master continued, “I can’t say I don’t get it. My cousin is a great girl. A little too bossy for my tastes, but I guess for you that’s not a problem.”
Derrick grinned, and Brett felt his face reddening again. No, it wasn’t a problem at all.
His master sobered. “Never were much of a talker, were you?”
Brett ducked his head, reading the comment as a criticism, albeit one he didn’t understand. He was supposed to obey and keep quiet; that was what he’d been taught, and experience had reinforced it.
“All right, we should go,” his master said after a pause, opening the car door. Thankful this uncomfortable conversation was at an end, Brett followed him.
They’d parked along the street; this wasn’t a fancy neighborhood like the one he’d been living in with Master Derrick. Trailing behind his master, Brett carried two duffle bags which held his possessions – or rather the possessions his master allowed him to have. Being sold had taught Brett the importance of the distinction.
Ms. Warren opened her door with a welcoming smile. Brett told his foolish heart it was directed at her cousin, not him. She had only made these arrangements after he’d pointed out his predicament to her. He wasn’t certain how she felt about the disruption to her own life, but he couldn’t imagine she would welcome it.
“Is that everything?” she asked, looking at the bags Brett carried.
“Yeah,” Derrick said, a familiar embarrassed flush on his face. She often brought that emotion out of her cousin. Brett had no idea what his master was feeling ashamed about this time though.
“You can put those down for now, Brett,” she said, gesturing. He complied, slinging the duffle bags down to the floor gratefully. The straps had been digging into his shoulders.
The two cousins spoke for a few minutes before beginning their goodbyes. Master Derrick’s flight was that evening.
“Thanks again for taking care of him, Jenna,” his master said, glancing over at Brett.
“You’re welcome,” she said, giving him a hug.
Watching them, Brett’s stomach twisted. He remembered the one embrace he’d received from her vividly. If he’d known how much it would mean to him later, he would’ve savored her comforting that first night much more.
Stepping free of her arms – something Brett would never have willingly done – Derrick turned to him. Something he saw made his master smile.
“Good luck, Brett,” Derrick said, a gleam in his eyes that confused Brett. Was he really-
“There’s no need for luck. We’ll be fine,” Ms. Warren said, unaware of the undercurrent. From her position behind Derrick, she hadn’t caught the odd expression on his master’s face.
“Of course,” his master said to her, his voice light. His gaze shifted back to Brett. “You do what my cousin says while I’m gone, and you’ll be fine.”
Brett nodded. “Yes, Master.” He wondered again whether there was something more to his words.
Within a minute’s time Derrick was gone, leaving Brett alone with his cousin.
It was an awkward moment, both of them standing there in the entryway of the silent apartment. Then Ms. Warren seemed to shake it aside. “Let’s get you settled.”
Picking up his bags, he followed her deeper into the apartment. It wasn’t particularly large, considering the Family she came from. Overall the décor wasn’t far different from Derrick’s, the simple, efficient furniture and posters on the walls belonging clearly to a college student, even though she had already graduated. But her graduation had been only a few months ago, so it made sense.
There were two bedrooms, and she led him to the smaller one. “I hope this is okay…”
She stopped in the doorway, and he paused just behind her. Her room lay right next to this one, the door to it open. Her bed was visible, the sheets still unmade from that morning. The sudden image of undressing her slowly and laying on the bed with her, her auburn hair tumbling against those pale sheets as he pleasured her, assaulted him. That he was close enough to catch the almond scent that clung to her hair helped not at all.
He stumbled back, ashamed of himself. She wasn’t doing anything that should cause him to think such things. She was in jeans and a loose t-shirt, hardly seduction attire, and speaking to him with polite distance. But it seemed to make no difference, not when he wanted her so badly.
“Brett? You okay?” she asked, her expressive blue eyes gazing at him with concern.
“Yes, Ms. Warren.” He seized on the first excuse that came to mind, adjusting the strap on one shoulder. “The bag almost slipped, that’s all.”
“Oh, okay,” she said, some doubt in her voice, but she let it go. “Put those down in here then.”
He obeyed, placing them on the floor and then looking around the room. It was better than thinking of her big, empty bed and how much he’d like to join her in it. Or sleep at her feet. He’d happily settle for that, as long as he could be near her.
How he was going to sleep well knowing there was only a thin wall between them he’d no idea.
Disgusted with himself, he brought his focus back to his surroundings. This room, being a ‘real’ bedroom, was bigger than the slave room he’d had in Master Derrick’s apartment. A desk with a computer sat in the corner, and a futon rested against the opposite wall. There was a small chest of drawers near the futon that had the look of something new, its surface shining and clear of any marks.
“Sorry it’s kind of sparse,” she said, the apology confusing him. “But at least it’s bigger than the room you had at Derrick’s, and I thought it would be better to wait until you arrived before buying anything else. That way we could discuss together what else you might need.”
She looked over at him expectantly, and he had no idea how to respond. What? would be too rude, but nothing else was coming to him.
His silence made her shift uneasily and she prompted, “Like a proper bed, perhaps?”
He glanced down at the futon. It was far from the worst surface he’d ever slept on. “This is fine, Ms. Warren. Thank you.”
She rolled her eyes. “For guests that I had over for a few nights, sure. But it’s not that comfortable. You’re going to be here for months.”
Months. The full reality of that hadn’t sunk in, not amid the frenzy of his master’s preparations for his trip and his own excitement at the thought of living with her soon. But the future was here now, and while he still felt excited, a growing dismay was coming over him as well. It had been difficult enough to restrain himself when she’d just been visiting his master. Living with her provided far more daily temptation.
Unless she planned to make use of him. Hope of that had been growing in his heart ever since she’d told him the news. She wouldn’t take on the responsibility for him without getting some physical satisfaction out of him, would she? But he had the dismal suspicion that she might. If her offer of buying him furniture was anything to go by, she was just that nice. Or that uninterested, if she was so eager to buy him his own bed, clearly not planning on sharing hers. The possibility that she might not want him at all shoved a knife into his heart.
Meanwhile, his lack of agreement seemed to frustrate her. “We’ll discuss this again later.”
Shame rose as he realized his selfish desire for her was causing him to behave poorly. “Ms. Warren,” he said, dropping to his knees. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend.”
She placed a hand on his shoulder, a casual touch she’d done several times at Master Derrick’s. “It’s fine. There’s no rush. I’ll let you unpack.”
He used the respite from her to get his thoughts under control.
A while later she showed him around the apartment, not that it was overwhelmingly big. But as they paused in the living room, he bowed his head and asked, “Ms. Warren, what are my duties?”
He could feel her eyes on him. “You like to keep busy, don’t you?”
“Yes, Ms. Warren.” When being occupied would help prevent him from doing something inappropriate, yes, he found his work ethic greatly increased.
“Brett, look at me,” she said, and he instantly obeyed. “Much better. I like to see your face,” she added, smiling.
He gazed at her, basking in the fact that she was smiling at him like that.
Her hand cupped his cheek, and he leaned into the touch, against his better judgment. He couldn’t resist, not when she had never touched him there before.
“So sweet,” she murmured, making him blush with pleasure. Her thumb stroked his face for a few blissful moments before she dropped the hand away.
She continued the conversation as if it had never been interrupted. “I don’t have much for you to do, really.”
It was a struggle to conceal his dismay, both at the news and at her retreat. Her caressing his cheek had awakened a devil in him. He wanted to kneel and kiss her bare feet, just for an excuse to touch her again. The sinful part of him was arguing that such a gesture wouldn’t be so bad. It was absolutely the most respectful way he could touch her. But touching a woman like her in any way without invitation was blatantly wrong, no matter how he tried to dress it up. He just needed some way to express the feelings threatening to boil out of him though, and it didn’t even have to be sexual.
“You can keep the place clean, of course,” she went on, oblivious to his raging turmoil as she looked around them. “And I know you can cook.”
“Yes, Ms. Warren,” he forced out, striving for a blank expression. She’d eaten some of his cooking at Master Derrick’s.
“Beyond that,” she said, shrugging, “you can keep me company.”
The innocent way she said that, without any hint of innuendo, made him pray for strength.
“Sound good?” she asked, smiling at him again.
He nodded, because he couldn’t possibly answer.
Shortly afterwards she left him alone, leaving the task of making lunch to him. As he prepared the meal, he vowed that he would be the best, most obedient slave he could be, and do everything she asked of him. It was a healthy, appropriate way to show his admiration for her.
But somehow he doubted that would be enough.
Timeline: Five years prior to the start of the story, when Brett belonged to Derrick.
Length: 2,212 words
Notes: Sequel to this Brett ficlet. More Spliced pretty soon.
“Wait a minute.”
Brett turned away from the car window, where he’d been looking out at Ms. Warren’s apartment building. He’d never seen it before; she’d always come to his master’s home, not the other way around.
He removed his hand from the door handle, and kept his gaze respectfully averted as he waited for his master to speak again.
“I’m leaving you in good hands.” There was an uncertain edge to Master Derrick’s voice that undermined his words.
“Yes, Master,” he said, because an answer seemed expected. He repressed a smile as he noted that Master Derrick was leaving him with the same impression he’d had upon first meeting him: he was decent enough, but he didn’t really know what he was doing.
“You like her, don’t you?” Something about his master’s tone was odd.
Somehow Brett stifled the blush that rose at the thought of how very much he liked Ms. Warren. His master was likely just reassuring himself that he could leave Brett here without concern. Although Brett did wonder why his opinion of her mattered to Derrick.
“Yes, Master,” he said, keeping his voice even.
So certain there was nothing surprising left about Derrick, his master’s next words shocked him.
“No, I mean you really like her.”
Flustered, Brett couldn’t hide the blood rushing to his face this time.
Derrick chuckled. “I knew it! I didn’t notice it right away, but you’re more attentive to her than anyone else.”
Dismayed at being caught out, Brett felt the need to give some explanation. “She helped me, Master.”
“Right, I know.” There was something odd in the admission, as if his master found the topic uncomfortable. He brushed it aside, adding, “I thought it was just gratitude at first, but it’s more than that, isn’t it?”
Brett had no idea what to say. He was mortified that he’d revealed anything of his inappropriate feelings.
Derrick laughed. “No need to look like someone killed your dog. I don’t care.”
Brett let his eyes shift tentatively over to his master.
Mouth twitching, Derrick said, “It’s not really my business.”
Brett blinked at that, bewildered. Wasn’t everything about him his master’s business? Brett belonged to him; his first loyalty should be to his master. He shouldn’t have any strong feelings about someone else that could conflict with that. But Master Derrick had always been oddly disinterested in a lot of things that most masters were. Brett had never really understood him, but he’d still been fairly predictable.
His master continued, “I can’t say I don’t get it. My cousin is a great girl. A little too bossy for my tastes, but I guess for you that’s not a problem.”
Derrick grinned, and Brett felt his face reddening again. No, it wasn’t a problem at all.
His master sobered. “Never were much of a talker, were you?”
Brett ducked his head, reading the comment as a criticism, albeit one he didn’t understand. He was supposed to obey and keep quiet; that was what he’d been taught, and experience had reinforced it.
“All right, we should go,” his master said after a pause, opening the car door. Thankful this uncomfortable conversation was at an end, Brett followed him.
They’d parked along the street; this wasn’t a fancy neighborhood like the one he’d been living in with Master Derrick. Trailing behind his master, Brett carried two duffle bags which held his possessions – or rather the possessions his master allowed him to have. Being sold had taught Brett the importance of the distinction.
Ms. Warren opened her door with a welcoming smile. Brett told his foolish heart it was directed at her cousin, not him. She had only made these arrangements after he’d pointed out his predicament to her. He wasn’t certain how she felt about the disruption to her own life, but he couldn’t imagine she would welcome it.
“Is that everything?” she asked, looking at the bags Brett carried.
“Yeah,” Derrick said, a familiar embarrassed flush on his face. She often brought that emotion out of her cousin. Brett had no idea what his master was feeling ashamed about this time though.
“You can put those down for now, Brett,” she said, gesturing. He complied, slinging the duffle bags down to the floor gratefully. The straps had been digging into his shoulders.
The two cousins spoke for a few minutes before beginning their goodbyes. Master Derrick’s flight was that evening.
“Thanks again for taking care of him, Jenna,” his master said, glancing over at Brett.
“You’re welcome,” she said, giving him a hug.
Watching them, Brett’s stomach twisted. He remembered the one embrace he’d received from her vividly. If he’d known how much it would mean to him later, he would’ve savored her comforting that first night much more.
Stepping free of her arms – something Brett would never have willingly done – Derrick turned to him. Something he saw made his master smile.
“Good luck, Brett,” Derrick said, a gleam in his eyes that confused Brett. Was he really-
“There’s no need for luck. We’ll be fine,” Ms. Warren said, unaware of the undercurrent. From her position behind Derrick, she hadn’t caught the odd expression on his master’s face.
“Of course,” his master said to her, his voice light. His gaze shifted back to Brett. “You do what my cousin says while I’m gone, and you’ll be fine.”
Brett nodded. “Yes, Master.” He wondered again whether there was something more to his words.
Within a minute’s time Derrick was gone, leaving Brett alone with his cousin.
It was an awkward moment, both of them standing there in the entryway of the silent apartment. Then Ms. Warren seemed to shake it aside. “Let’s get you settled.”
Picking up his bags, he followed her deeper into the apartment. It wasn’t particularly large, considering the Family she came from. Overall the décor wasn’t far different from Derrick’s, the simple, efficient furniture and posters on the walls belonging clearly to a college student, even though she had already graduated. But her graduation had been only a few months ago, so it made sense.
There were two bedrooms, and she led him to the smaller one. “I hope this is okay…”
She stopped in the doorway, and he paused just behind her. Her room lay right next to this one, the door to it open. Her bed was visible, the sheets still unmade from that morning. The sudden image of undressing her slowly and laying on the bed with her, her auburn hair tumbling against those pale sheets as he pleasured her, assaulted him. That he was close enough to catch the almond scent that clung to her hair helped not at all.
He stumbled back, ashamed of himself. She wasn’t doing anything that should cause him to think such things. She was in jeans and a loose t-shirt, hardly seduction attire, and speaking to him with polite distance. But it seemed to make no difference, not when he wanted her so badly.
“Brett? You okay?” she asked, her expressive blue eyes gazing at him with concern.
“Yes, Ms. Warren.” He seized on the first excuse that came to mind, adjusting the strap on one shoulder. “The bag almost slipped, that’s all.”
“Oh, okay,” she said, some doubt in her voice, but she let it go. “Put those down in here then.”
He obeyed, placing them on the floor and then looking around the room. It was better than thinking of her big, empty bed and how much he’d like to join her in it. Or sleep at her feet. He’d happily settle for that, as long as he could be near her.
How he was going to sleep well knowing there was only a thin wall between them he’d no idea.
Disgusted with himself, he brought his focus back to his surroundings. This room, being a ‘real’ bedroom, was bigger than the slave room he’d had in Master Derrick’s apartment. A desk with a computer sat in the corner, and a futon rested against the opposite wall. There was a small chest of drawers near the futon that had the look of something new, its surface shining and clear of any marks.
“Sorry it’s kind of sparse,” she said, the apology confusing him. “But at least it’s bigger than the room you had at Derrick’s, and I thought it would be better to wait until you arrived before buying anything else. That way we could discuss together what else you might need.”
She looked over at him expectantly, and he had no idea how to respond. What? would be too rude, but nothing else was coming to him.
His silence made her shift uneasily and she prompted, “Like a proper bed, perhaps?”
He glanced down at the futon. It was far from the worst surface he’d ever slept on. “This is fine, Ms. Warren. Thank you.”
She rolled her eyes. “For guests that I had over for a few nights, sure. But it’s not that comfortable. You’re going to be here for months.”
Months. The full reality of that hadn’t sunk in, not amid the frenzy of his master’s preparations for his trip and his own excitement at the thought of living with her soon. But the future was here now, and while he still felt excited, a growing dismay was coming over him as well. It had been difficult enough to restrain himself when she’d just been visiting his master. Living with her provided far more daily temptation.
Unless she planned to make use of him. Hope of that had been growing in his heart ever since she’d told him the news. She wouldn’t take on the responsibility for him without getting some physical satisfaction out of him, would she? But he had the dismal suspicion that she might. If her offer of buying him furniture was anything to go by, she was just that nice. Or that uninterested, if she was so eager to buy him his own bed, clearly not planning on sharing hers. The possibility that she might not want him at all shoved a knife into his heart.
Meanwhile, his lack of agreement seemed to frustrate her. “We’ll discuss this again later.”
Shame rose as he realized his selfish desire for her was causing him to behave poorly. “Ms. Warren,” he said, dropping to his knees. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend.”
She placed a hand on his shoulder, a casual touch she’d done several times at Master Derrick’s. “It’s fine. There’s no rush. I’ll let you unpack.”
He used the respite from her to get his thoughts under control.
A while later she showed him around the apartment, not that it was overwhelmingly big. But as they paused in the living room, he bowed his head and asked, “Ms. Warren, what are my duties?”
He could feel her eyes on him. “You like to keep busy, don’t you?”
“Yes, Ms. Warren.” When being occupied would help prevent him from doing something inappropriate, yes, he found his work ethic greatly increased.
“Brett, look at me,” she said, and he instantly obeyed. “Much better. I like to see your face,” she added, smiling.
He gazed at her, basking in the fact that she was smiling at him like that.
Her hand cupped his cheek, and he leaned into the touch, against his better judgment. He couldn’t resist, not when she had never touched him there before.
“So sweet,” she murmured, making him blush with pleasure. Her thumb stroked his face for a few blissful moments before she dropped the hand away.
She continued the conversation as if it had never been interrupted. “I don’t have much for you to do, really.”
It was a struggle to conceal his dismay, both at the news and at her retreat. Her caressing his cheek had awakened a devil in him. He wanted to kneel and kiss her bare feet, just for an excuse to touch her again. The sinful part of him was arguing that such a gesture wouldn’t be so bad. It was absolutely the most respectful way he could touch her. But touching a woman like her in any way without invitation was blatantly wrong, no matter how he tried to dress it up. He just needed some way to express the feelings threatening to boil out of him though, and it didn’t even have to be sexual.
“You can keep the place clean, of course,” she went on, oblivious to his raging turmoil as she looked around them. “And I know you can cook.”
“Yes, Ms. Warren,” he forced out, striving for a blank expression. She’d eaten some of his cooking at Master Derrick’s.
“Beyond that,” she said, shrugging, “you can keep me company.”
The innocent way she said that, without any hint of innuendo, made him pray for strength.
“Sound good?” she asked, smiling at him again.
He nodded, because he couldn’t possibly answer.
Shortly afterwards she left him alone, leaving the task of making lunch to him. As he prepared the meal, he vowed that he would be the best, most obedient slave he could be, and do everything she asked of him. It was a healthy, appropriate way to show his admiration for her.
But somehow he doubted that would be enough.
