Title: A Lost Boy
Pairing: Liam Neeson/Orlando Bloom, minor Liam/Johnny Depp, plus a few other pair-ups among the supporting characters. Orlando/Johnny in this chapter.
Rating: NC-17 overall
Warning: In the first chunk of this, Orlando's seventeen and is just wrapping up having sex with Johnny as part of his training. The explicit sex is only in the first paragraph, though; after that it's just cleaning up and then plot-related conversation. If you're not into seventeen-year-olds orgasming, skip the first paragraph. :)
Summary: Slave Orlando's been taken and the kidnappers aren't interested in ransom. And of course Master Liam's thundering rage is only at the personal insult, that someone would disrespect him by daring to touch his property.
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone you recognize. I know nothing about their social lives or sexual activities, more's the pity. This is fiction, period. It is done as a labor of love and I make no money from it.
Notes: 1) Set in poisontaster's Kept Boy universe -- FAQ here. See Chapter 1 for more notes.
Previous Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four
[Fourteen Years Ago]
Orlando spasmed to completion, his back arched and his toes curled tight and his head thrown back, while his hips pumped his release into Johnny's clenching ass. Johnny was encouraging him with shifting hips and tightening muscles and caressing hands, while gasping out words of praise.
They collapsed together in a tangle of bedsheets, Orlando's head tucked under Johnny's still-perfectly-chiseled jaw. Johnny's hand brushed lightly up and down Orlando's sweat-slicked back, slow and langorous with afterglow.
Orlando knew he wasn't finished yet, though, so he hauled his own unsteady ass out of bed and moved as gracefully as he could to the bathroom. He came back with a damp washcloth -- warm water -- and cleaned Johnny off, then himself. The washcloth he tossed into the laundry hamper, before settling back down onto the bed for a cuddle.
He'd been surprised by this lesson. He'd thought he was finished, at least with the formal training part. The last six weeks had been practicing things he'd done before, and neither Johnny nor Mr. Travers -- whose contract had ended two weeks earlier -- had ever had him top. Master Liam certainly never had.
Once they'd cooled off and recovered enough brain cells to carry on a coherent conversation, he asked.
Johnny said that he should know how, in case the Master ever wanted to watch him fuck someone else, but that it was all right if he wasn't too expert at it. Preferable, even. "You're still his fearless little monkey," Johnny explained. He was grinning, but there was a flash of cynicism in his eyes. "He likes to see you diving into things you might not be great at yet, because you want to and you're not afraid to try. And if you're doing it because he asked, so much the better, especially if it's not something you could break your neck doing."
Orlando grinned and stuck his tongue out at him. "I like climbing. And it's perfectly safe -- I'm always harnessed and the floors are padded and everything."
"You're still insane, but I think that's one of the things he likes about you, when it's not driving up his blood pressure."
"It's perfectly safe!" Orlando repeated, letting some impatience color his voice. Everyone around him did nothing but worry and fret. His mother always had, but now most of the household did too. Maybe it was contagious? "I've never even asked about anything actually dangerous. I'd love to learn to sky-dive, or go bungie jumping, or--"
Johnny groaned and buried his head under a pillow. "Do not ever mention anything like that. He'll shackle you to the bed and never let you out."
"Really?" Orlando put on an eager-puppy expression that was over the top even for him and bounced up and down on the mattress a few times. "You really think so? Maybe I should try it -- that sounds like fun!"
Johnny groaned again and smacked him with the pillow. They whooped and whacked each other until the sound of something ripping just a tiny bit brought them back to reality, then grinned at each other and started cleaning up the room. Johnny straightened up all the stuff strewn around while Orlando stripped and remade the bed.
After working together in silence for a minute, Orlando glanced over at Johnny and said, "Hey. Can I ask you something?"
Johnny cocked his head and paused to look at him. "You can always ask. I won't promise to answer."
"Do you... I mean, does it feel weird or, or like a bummer or maybe.... I mean, do you mind...?" Orlando stumbled to a halt and just shrugged, staring down at the pillowcase twisted in his hands.
"Do I mind... what? Being retired? Or kicked upstairs, however you want to look at it? Being replaced? Being replaced by you?"
Orlando nodded, still unable to look up.
"Yeah. And no." Johnny came over and pulled Orlando against him for a hug. "Look at me, monkey. You're supposed to be the brave one."
That was twisting the knife, and Orlando glared up at him.
"There you go. Never be afraid to look another slave in the eye. You're a body-slave now, which means you're as good as anyone else with a collar."
"Not yet," Orlando muttered.
"All right, fine. As of tomorrow, you'll be as good as anyone. And no, I don't really mind. I'll miss it, yeah -- the Master's generous in bed. We're lucky and I hope you know it."
He paused and Orlando nodded. He definitely knew he was lucky, to have someone like Master Liam look at him, smile at him, want him.
"So yeah, I'm gonna miss it. But I'm getting up there a little, for a body-slave. I'd rather leave the job now, while I'm still on top of the game, and move over to the business side while I've still got my looks. They're good for more than charming the Master, you know?" He winked and gave Orlando a flirty pout. "This way, no one'll think the only reason I'm Lord Neeson's full-time Agent is because I got too old and ugly for his bed. And you can still work the goods when you're doing buys and negotiations and anything else where you can use whatever advantage you can get."
"I guess." Orlando kind of understood, in his brain, but his gut was still dubious. He couldn't imagine ever being happy, even only partly happy, to be leaving his master's bed. Not that Master Liam couldn't still fuck Johnny whenever he wanted, but Orlando wanted to be with him, to live with him and travel with him and take care of him, to be in his bed regularly. And he was pretty sure that if the time came -- come on, be realistic, when the time came -- for him to be replaced by someone younger and prettier, he wasn't going to be anywhere near as cool about it as Johnny was being.
Which, of course, was one more thing he was lucky about.
Orlando woke up, or at least struggled up to a fuzzy sort of semi-consciousness, with a bright light glaring down into his left eye. He tried to shade it with his hands, but he couldn't move his arms. He tried to move his head, to look and see what was holding his arms, but he couldn't do that either.
There was a dull pain on his neck, on the left side where he couldn't see. It was like a burn, or a really long cut. It was far away, as though there were a lot of distance between his neck and his brain and the pain could just barely reach.
He stopped trying to see what was wrong with his neck and focused his eyes off to the right, in the direction they were pointing anyway. He saw a white-draped table with someone lying on it and someone else standing next to it, their back to Orlando. Maybe the person on the bed was sleeping? They didn't move. But Orlando wasn't moving either and he wasn't asleep. He was proud of himself for thinking of that.
The person standing next to the table turned around and walked over toward Orlando and then behind his head where he couldn't see. The person looked like a doctor -- long gown and mask and headscarf-thing, and he -- he? Orlando thought it'd been a man -- had been carrying something white and flimsy in a pair of tweezers with a dish or a tray or something held under it.
A minute later there was a faint pressure-scrape-cool-pain-pressure feeling on the left side of his neck. He tried to protest but all that came out of his mouth was a sigh. He heard a murmur of voices but couldn't make out any of the words.
He floated in uncomfortable, disoriented nothing for some amount of time, then the man in the mask moved back into his view again, sort of. The man stood down near his hip and leaned over Orlando, reached up to pull the light closer and then leaned down again. Orlando felt another pressure-drag-pull-pressure, then a weird, detached scraping feeling, like getting scratched, only too deep and from a long way off.
Nothing was really happening and nothing was boring so Orlando drifted back into unconsciousness and everything faded away.
Next Chapter: Chapter Six