Fic: A Lost Boy, Chapter 12
Title: A Lost Boy
Author: AngiePen
Pairing: Liam Neeson/Orlando Bloom, minor Liam/Johnny Depp, plus a few other pair-ups among the supporting characters.
Rating: NC-17 overall
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, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven



[Two Years Ago]

Orlando hung up his master's suit jacket and put the hanger on the end of the bar, with the other things that needed to go to the cleaners. Master Liam had his trousers undone by the time Orlando turned back around; Orlando helped him off with them, holding the waistband low while his master stepped out of them, then hung them up next to the jacket.

It'd been obvious on the ride home that the Master wasn't overly pleased by how the review had gone. Heck, it'd been obvious earlier than that -- the project manager and senior engineers had been full of excuses for schedule slip. And then they'd wanted extra money because some of Master Liam's employees had requested additions and changes by talking directly to the programmers rather than going through contracts. The work had been done, a list of little easy changes that'd added up to quite a lot, not even counting the necessity for additional documentation and testing, and the contractor was expecting payment after the fact for changes no one with any authority had authorized.

Master Liam was angry at the contractors for the schedule slips, and at his own people for being idiot bit-heads with no concept of how business worked. He was tense and frustrated, and the quiet but intense working-over he'd given his own management team after the review hadn't helped much.

Orlando unbuttoned his master's cuffs and slid the shirt off his arms. He tossed it aside to go down the laundry chute later, then took a few moments to massage his master's shoulders. They were solid with stress, and just rubbing didn't help much.

His master patted his arm and shrugged him off, then headed into the bathroom to wash up a bit. Orlando stripped down as fast as he could, then went over to the banded chest to one side of the dressing room and got out a riding crop. He took it into the bedroom and knelt down on the carpet in present position with the crop laid across his palms.

A couple minutes later, Master Liam came out and stopped, then said, "You always know what I need."

"Yes, Master." Orlando didn't bother to try to hide his smile, although he kept his eyes on the floor.

His master grasped Orlando's upper arm and had him stand, still holding the crop. He took Orlando's face in both hands and kissed him, long and hard, the kind of deep, possessive kiss that always melted Orlando's bones. The hands pushed up into Orlando's hair, and then wandered. By the time Master Liam straightened up, his hands on Orlando's back and ass were the only things keeping him on his feet.

His toes left the floor and the Master carried him over to the big bed, leaning in for half a dozen more short, pecking kisses while he walked. He set Orlando down onto the mattress, then took the crop and set it aside before turning him over onto his stomach.

Orlando felt his master's weight on his back, pressing him down, and he squirmed with pleasure, just enough to feel some friction between their bodies. He loved the feel of it, of being completely surrounded and compressed. He wasn't small, but his master was so much bigger, both taller and broader, and when he lay on top of him, whether Orlando was facing up or down, he felt perfectly safe and protected.

Master Liam ground down into him, pressing them together skin-to-skin from shoulders to toes. Orlando arched his back as much as he could, pressing his ass up against his master's hardening cock, shifting back and forth just a little until it fit into his cleft. He felt his own erection swelling against the rough cotton of the bedspread, and let out a soft moan of pleasure.

His master's teeth bit down on the swell of Orlando's shoulder and his moan took a higher note of need. He felt the sting down into the muscle, and knew he'd have a bruise there for days, his master's mark in his skin, so much more personal than the brand he shared with every other slave. That bite was his master's and it was only for him, reminding him whom he belonged to with every aching throb.

Orlando felt his wrists clasped and pushed up to the headboard. Master Liam whispered, "Hold on," into his ear. He grabbed two of the smooth wooden bars in his hands and moaned, "Yes, Master." Then, "Master...!" when he felt the warm, solid weight leave his body.

"Hush. Breathe for me."

He took a deep breath and then the tip of the crop came down on his ass.

Orlando cried out, then bit his lip and squirmed when his master's hand came down and rubbed away the sting, leaving only the heat. Another smack, this one on his other cheek, and another rub. His shoulder, right over the already-burning bite, then a rub. His ass again, crossing one of the first swelling lash marks, then one thigh. His ass again, then high on his ribs. The sting and burn and pressure and heat spread across his body, until he could feel the currents in the air moving over his super-sensitized skin.

When every exhale was a pained, needy moan, the crop stilled. Then two slick fingers shoved into his ass, the burning stretch in his hole matching the swollen burn all around it. Orlando reared up, still holding onto the bars of the headboard but pushing his ass up in wordless begging.

"Do you feel me?" His master pulled out his fingers and pushed in with his solid, slicked cock.

"Master! Yes! Hot!"

"You feel the burn?" Master Liam wrapped his arms around Orlando's chest and pressed tight against him, pushing in with tiny thrusts of his hips.

"Yes!" Orlando sobbed, pushing backward as well as he could, stretched between his crushing grip on the headboard and his master's solid arms in the middle and Master's hard cock pinning him to the mattress. It burned wherever his master touched him, like his skin was howling its need in flaring nerves.

"You're so hot, red and swollen and hurting and still wanting me," his master snarled, pulling back and then pushing in hard.

Orlando gave a pained gasp, then moaned, "More, need you!" He wriggled as much as he could, rubbing his stinging back against the coarse hair on his master's chest. He wanted to feel every bit of him, skin and hair and teeth and fingernails and every barely-too-tight thrust of his cock.

Master Liam pulled him to his knees with a rough yank and thrust deeper. Orlando shouted in pain, then babbled more begging nonsense.

"You need this as much as I do."

Before Orlando could even manage a panting agreement, his master bit him again, this time on the side of his neck, right over his slave brand. The pain whiplashed through his body and he spasmed with pleasure, howling into the pillow while pumping come into the bedspread without his cock ever having been touched. He felt his ass clenching around his master's cock and it only took another handful of quick thrusts before Master Liam filled him and collapsed down onto his back.

In the boneless floating after orgasm, Orlando's back hurt a lot more than it had while his master had been either beating or fucking him. His stretched ass burned more too. It made him want to squirm, to try to find a more comfortable position, but it also made him feel more owned, more a possession of his master's than he felt at any other time. That burning ache, from shoulders to calves and deep inside, would remind him for days that the man he loved more than anyone in the world owned every bit of him, and right then he'd rather feel that pain than anything else he could think of.



[Today]

Marton ran the numbers and frowned. Expenses had been higher than he'd projected when he'd first come up with the plan; he'd needed more help, and the second facility had been a quick addition when the third target had gotten stubborn. That'd been expensive, and set him back almost fifty thousand so far.

When he first started, it'd never occurred to Marton that there might be any slaves who didn't want to get away from their owners. Once he ran into it, it was obvious, and he'd wanted to smack himself in the forehead for not thinking. There were slaves who had it pretty good and knew it, and didn't want to take the chance of ending up somewhere worse, and there were slaves whose situation was shit but who were more afraid of their owner than they were of anyone or anything else, definitely including Marton himself. A longer, more intense approach was needed to break down both kinds.

And then there were the ones who just never got with the program no matter what he did. For them, there was the black market. Marton didn't like selling to them; they were liable to be raided at any time, which could end up leading back to Marton, and besides they paid for shit. Half their "slaves" were kidnapped straight off the street without ever having been through Commerce in the first place. After all, who was going to believe a slave who claimed to actually be a free person? Fake up the brand pattern, lock a collar on them and there you go -- instant slave, at least so far as the kind of people who patronized the black market were concerned.

Marton avoided selling to them when he could, but so far he'd had to sell four in that direction. Financial losses there, hardly worth the cost of processing. Although with the last one he'd recognized the futility of it right away and sold the kid within a week of pulling her chip out; she was practically catatonic by the time Marton had unloaded her and good riddance.

That was the real trick of it -- choosing the right targets. You really couldn't tell without interaction, though -- some of the ones who'd absolutely insisted that they had to go back to their owner had been bruised up, so what else were you supposed to look for? -- and talking to a slave and then letting it go on its way was dangerous. If anyone noticed the people who struck up conversations with random slaves out by themselves, and put it together with the slaves who "ran away," things could get awkward.

Didn't matter anyway. Marton figured he could make his goal with just two more. Even cutting their Commerce contact in for a bigger slice, he could write some bigger paper on the next two, hit the mark and get out. If the boys wanted to stay around and keep going, that was up to them -- Anderson was the only one who'd ever met the Commerce rep so they could work for him. Or sort it out among themselves; Marton didn't care.

He'd been in it long enough, and the air was starting to feel twitchy. He'd always known he wouldn't be able to do this forever, had never wanted to do it forever, and there was a feeling under his skin like something was closing in. Definitely time to get out. Marton had plans, and they involved getting out of the Empire with a huge stash of cash. Retirement was looking better and better.

Next Chapter: Chapter Thirteen