AngiePen (angiepen) wrote,

A Lost Boy, Chapter 39/39

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.
2) This is it, then end. Wow! I want to thank everyone who's commented and stuck with me for these two-years-and-a-bit. This is one of my favorite stories, in a really wonderful universe, and it's been great getting to play in poisontaster's sandbox and share the result with all of you. Thanks so much! {{{}}}

Previous Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty, Twenty-One, Twenty-Two, Twenty-Three, Twenty-Four, Twenty-Five, Twenty-Six, Twenty-Seven, Twenty-Eight, Twenty-Nine, Thirty, Thirty-One, Thirty-Two, Thirty-Three, Thirty-Four, Thirty-Five, Thirty-Six, Thirty-Seven, Thirty-Eight

Margaret knelt on the kitchen floor next to Samantha, waiting. Their master had come in through the kitchen door and commanded the two of them and Johnny to kneel there and wait while he brought in his new body-slave.

Gloria was sitting at her table to wait, and Margaret couldn't help resenting it. She knew that if Gloria knelt on the floor for any length of time -- certainly for the several minutes it had already been -- she'd need help getting up and probably wouldn't be able to walk at all for days, but it didn't help much. Margaret knew it was an uncharitable resentment but couldn't banish it, and all things considered she wasn't about to worry too much about it.

She had no idea why Master Liam had decided to introduce the new boy to the kitchen staff first. The kitchen staff plus Johnny, and that other new boy, Kevin, whose purchase Margaret hadn't been able to figure out yet. Why did it matter if they met him first, that particular group? Why not all the slaves in the household, if there was to be a big introduction in the first place?

Margaret would just as soon not meet him at all, this boy who was going to be taking Orlando's place in the household.

Commerce-trained, this new one, and probably all full of himself, pampered and demanding. Or maybe broken and needing coddling and tip-toeing around him -- who knew? She didn't think Master Liam would choose someone like that, but over the last months she'd given up any notion of being able to predict his behavior.

But her knees were sending shooting pains up her thighs and down to her ankles, and her back ached, and she had a cheese sauce on the stove that she was sure was going to curdle despite the flame being turned down as low as it would go and this was all just so stupid because who cared about the new boy besides Master? All Margaret knew was that he'd given up searching for Orlando, just abandoned him to whatever--

Master Liam stepped back in through the kitchen door and stopped. He glared at everyone in the room, meeting Margaret's eyes before moving on, and then commanded, "Silence!" His voice cracked out, as harsh and angry sounding as she'd ever heard it, and Margaret found herself with her head halfway down to the floor before she stopped herself and knelt back up on her heels. Before she could wonder what had him in such a harsh mood, he stepped farther into the room and ushered in a stranger, obviously his new body-slave.

She stared, and opened her mouth to say... something, but before she could get out a word, Master Liam said, "Don't make me repeat myself, Maggie," and she shut her mouth again.

And Master said, "This is David, my new body-slave. I expect everyone here to treat him with proper respect."

But it was Orlando. It had to be. The pretty young man had medium-blond hair, short and spiky, and when he glanced up at her -- only for half a second -- his eyes looked blue or maybe blue-grey, but it had to be Orlando. The nose was straighter and sharper, the chin a bit blunter, but.... She stared at him, trying to see, to make the minor differences fade away like an optical illusion suddenly snapping into focus and becoming something recognizable.

Master Liam was saying, "--know everyone here knew and cared for Orlando. He pleased me very well, and when I went searching for a new body-slave I deliberately chose one who resembles Orlando somewhat." He glared around at everyone once more, as though daring them to comment on that. Of course, no one did.

The boy -- David -- was standing there, still and silent, with Master Liam's hands on his upper arms. Orlando would've been leaning back against the master's chest, cuddling as much as he could. And the master would've been pressing Orlando toward him, his hands clasping more of Orlando's skin, straying down his arms, covering as much of him as he could, here in the privacy of home. Margaret hadn't been happy to see the attachment between them when Orlando was younger, but given that her son was a body-slave -- and as beautiful as he was, it had been inevitable that he would be -- she'd eventually reconciled herself to it, and become pleased to see that he cared for Master Liam, and that their master seemed to care for him too, on some level. It could have been much worse and well she knew it.

But this, this was different. And the distance between them -- not just the slight physical distance but the emotional distance -- made her wonder whether the boy's resemblance to her son and her own desperate wish to see him again were playing tricks on her. Because watching the two standing there, it didn't look anything like Orlando-and-Master. It looked like a man and his new slave, still not sure how they fit together, still learning one another.

"I realize this might cause some difficulties for some of you," Master Liam continued, "but I want to make it clear that I won't tolerate any nonsense from any of you. I expect that David won't be harassed or hazed or otherwise bothered. Nor do I expect that anyone who might miss Orlando particularly badly would try to make David into some kind of substitute, resemblance notwithstanding. Anyone 'mistakenly' calling him by the wrong name will be thrashed."

Margaret's eyes widened at that. Master Liam had never been a particularly tolerant man, but neither had he ever punished beyond what was reasonable for the crime, and a thrashing just for mistaking the boy's name was... was--

"I'll make this clear one time," he said, his voice still low and harsh. "Commerce does not recognize stolen slaves. So far as they're concerned, any slave who isn't where his master thinks he should be is a runaway, period. No questions, no exceptions. David's provenance is clear, but if anyone who heard someone slip in addressing David ever got the idea that he might be Orlando and decided to cause trouble, David could be taken away from me just on suspicion and I would be extremely displeased. Likewise, if Commerce has stopped searching for Orlando, that's just as well, and I would rather no one stir up their interest again. Is that understood?"

Margaret said, "Yes, Master," in chorus with the others, but her mind was spinning with new information. Was Master Liam actually hinting or was it her motherly wishful thinking?

The master walked through the kitchen and out into the main part of the house, one hand still firmly on... David? the small of David's back. David kept his eyes down and let Master Liam steer him without looking at anyone. And then he was gone and Margaret still didn't know whether or not her son had been found.

David ate with his master in the study, the food served off of a tray Samantha brought from the kitchen. It was more private than the dining room, and Master Liam had said something about wanting to be alone and get to know one another.

Samantha fetched the TV trays and transferred plates of food and cutlery and glasses and napkins and such to them, arranging everything just so while trying to stare at David out of the corner of her eye without looking like she was doing it. That didn't work very well, and Master Liam finally sent her scurrying out the door with a snapped rebuke. And then they were alone.

Except they weren't really alone. Or they couldn't assume they were. Someone might be listening, whether one of the other slaves or a free employee skulking or eavesdropping or just walking in at the wrong time, or someone with the government listening even more covertly through a microbug. You never knew, and most people just forgot about it as well as they could. David had never thought about it much before, but then he'd never had a huge secret that could cost him a horrible death before.

The thought churned his stomach as it always did and he imagined it would for a long time. He ate anyway, though, because if he'd refused to eat while at the training center, a handler wound beat him with a shock wand until he ate or passed out, one of the two. It had taught him to ignore a queasy stomach whenever physically possible.

His mother -- no, Margaret, he had to remember that -- had made a ham with fried potatoes and gravy, and glazed carrots, with a blackberry cobbler for dessert. It was all wonderful, and it all reminded him forcefully, from his nose and his tastebuds straight to his brain -- that he'd grown up on this food and loved it.

He and his master ate, appreciating the food but not talking much. Not that they'd ever rambled on for hours, but they'd always been comfortable before in their silences, and that comfort was gone. David was still tense, and he could tell his master was as well.

Master Liam finally started talking about the household and the property and the people on it, giving David a summary just as though he hadn't grown up there. The whole thing -- the whole day, for that matter, from the time Mr. Thewlis had steered him into his new master's presence and there he'd been -- felt unreal, like he was unconscious and trapped in some crazy dream.

When his master asked him if he'd ever ridden a horse, and gave him a hard stare to go with the question, it took David a moment to pick up the cue and admit that no, he never had.

"We'll take care of that, then," Master Liam said. "It can feel a bit awkward, learning as an adult, but I'm sure you'll catch on eventually. Might even come to enjoy it."

"I'll try my best, Master," David said, feeling even more detached from the real world.

They finished their dinner, then Master Liam said there was work to do. He set David to reading through the last month's worth of his business mail, explaining that he needed a body-slave who could function as an assistant and that David would need to learn the ropes as quickly as possible.

Master Liam sat down to go over a quarterly review agenda for one of his electronics companies; that was the rest of the evening for both of them.

Getting undressed later on felt surprisingly un-awkward. David still had a feeling of watching himself move through a dreamworld, and his body had plenty of muscle-memory for getting undressed quickly and gracefully. When his master came up behind him and grasped the tops of his shoulders, on either side of his throat, David flinched away before he could stop himself.

The horror of that insulting, unforgiveable mistake sent him slamming down to his knees quicker than a thought, twisted around in mid-fall so his forehead pressed to the top of his master's naked instep. "I apologize, Master."

"David? Get up. I don't want you making full obeisance unless you've done something serious." His master sounded impatient, and that sent David scrambling to his feet as fast as he could, even moreso than the mere command.

"I'm sorry, Master."

Master Liam eyed him for a few seconds, then asked, "Did that hurt?"

"Y-yes, Master. I'm sorry, Master."

His master stepped closer and ran a light fingertip along his collarbone. There were no scars there, David knew, and that light a touch didn't hurt, but he tensed anyway out of reflex.

"Surgery?" Master Liam asked.

"Yes, Master." His master gave him an expectant look, so he added, "They did something to make the bones longer, cut through and extended them, then grew new bone to fill the gap. Just a little."

Big hands drifted across his shoulders from neck to deltoid. "So it's not just muscle, then?"

"No, Master."

"Will sex hurt?"

The automatic response was, "I'm happy to serve you in any way you might wish."

"I didn't ask that," Master Liam pointed out. "Will it hurt?"

David thought quickly. No one had fucked him since he'd left the center -- the body shop really had been a first class place -- so he had to make some guesses. "I don't think so, Master. Or not much? If... it would probably be painful if you used my shoulders to pull...? And, um, my face is still tender." Master Liam's kisses could get violent. David loved them, but he was still healing and didn't want to chance another flinch away from his master.

"Easy enough to work around," Master Liam said with a short nod.

He ran a much gentler hand across one of David's shoulders, then slid it up into his short hair and tilted his head back for a kiss. This one was light, gentle, getting firmer over the course of a minute or two, but not too much.

David couldn't help letting out a whimper and relaxing completely into his master's body. If this was a dream then he never wanted to wake up. The feel of his master's broad chest, his strong hands, his warmth, the scent of him -- David had missed all of it, and been so sure he'd never have any of it again.

Master Liam steered them toward the bed and laid David down on it, gentle and easy, careful not to squeeze too hard or push too hard or let too much weight rest on him. David had missed that big body pressing him into the mattress, though, and he wrapped his hands around his master and pulled, coaxing, begging for more, just a little more, until the pressure was perfect. Completely covered and held down like that, he felt safe -- safer than he'd ever felt anywhere else. He could stay there forever and be blissfully happy, whether it was real or not.

"David," his master murmured. "David, David, David...." It sounded like he was practicing, and he probably was.

"Master," David moaned. "Let me please you, tell me what you want, fuck me, take me, keep me, keep me....

He squirmed under his master, wanting to feel that body rubbing against every part of his. Master Liam growled deep in his throat and practically attacked him with a kiss. It hurt, David's chin and cheeks and nose aching, his teeth twinging in sympathy for just a moment, before his master remembered and eased the pressure. David pushed his hands into his master's hair and held him, refusing to let him go too far away.

"David, fuck, David, David...."

David could feel his master's hard cock pressing into him, rubbing and grinding. David's own cock was just as hard, his balls high and tight and aching for release. It felt like he hadn't really had sex in months -- all the training, the practice, being raped in everything but name over and over and over, none of that counted. That was just something done to his body; this was real sex, like their nerves were entwined and zinging with pleasure. They weren't even really fucking yet, but it felt to David like he was about to explode so hard it would turn him inside out.

"David, David, fuck, ahhhh!"

His master arched and spasmed and came, then stroked David to orgasm before collapsing onto the mattress next to him.

As soon as David had caught his breath, still sizzling with afterglow, smelling his master all over him and feeling like he was floating six inches off the mattress, he sat up and tried to roll out of bed. He needed to get a warm washcloth from the bathroom, but his master pulled him back down.

"Later," he said with a long sigh. "Stay."

"Yes, Master." David willingly lay down once more and snuggled close. It was almost the same, almost perfect, and more than he'd ever thought he'd have again.

Master Liam threw an arm across David's back and pulled him closer, shifting until they were pressed as close as they could get without crawling into one another's skins. His grip was tight, tighter than it'd ever been after sex. Usually he went boneless and drifted off to sleep, but that night he was clutching David closer with both arms. He wrapped a leg around David's legs and surrounded him completely.

He took a deep breath, then another, huffing each one out against the crook of David's neck. David realized just then that he was trembling, tense and shaking and struggling with it, but his iron willed master wasn't able to stop.

His shoulders gave a quick hitch, then another. He sucked in another long breath and gulped hard.


"Master?" David rubbed lightly up and down his master's back, unsure what to do.

"I-- won't lose you." He sucked in another breath. "I won't."

"I'm here, Master," David said, because he couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Whatever they did to you, we'll fix it. Whatever it takes, I'll take care of you."

David stopped breathing for a moment, as if his lungs had forgotten how to suck in air. They finally remembered, on the edge of a lightly hysterical panic, and he whispered, "I know you will, Master."

The man in his arms shook again, a fit of trembling the greatest will in the world couldn't stop, and David felt drops of sweat running down his left shoulder. Then a last twitch, and a long, gulping breath, and then the big body cradling his relaxed.

David waited another minute, staring out into the darkened room, then whispered, "I love you too, Master," and sank into sleep.

Liam woke up before David and eased out of bed, careful not to wake him. After what the boy had been through in the last months, plenty of sleep somewhere familiar and safe would be good for him. Liam had lain awake for a long time in the dark, though, and had done a lot of thinking. He'd examined some of his oldest beliefs and assumptions, including things like "I'm responsible for taking care of my slaves" and "I am capable of protecting my slaves," and had decided that the first was true but the second wasn't, which threw the whole damn system out of whack.

The whole damn system. That was exactly what it was, wasn't it? I had saved the nation from collapsing into a dirt-grubbing third world country, dead broke, complete with starvation and rioting. It had worked, and it had helped. But then, so had communism, at first, in other nations. When a situation got dire enough, just about anything that prevented utter collapse could be seen as better. But short-term solutions didn't always work in the longer run, and slavery was particularly susceptible to corruption.

Liam wrapped up in a robe, then settled into a chair beside the fireplace with his phone. There was someone he'd heard about, never met but had seen once or twice, one of those people there was gossip about. He'd never been interested in an introduction before, but that was before.

The system was sick. It'd served its purpose, and there might actually be a few people who benefitted under it. Although when he tried to think of specific examples among the slaves he knew personally, he couldn't come up with any. That surprised him, honestly.

He could think of counter-examples, though -- plenty of those. Maggie was skilled at her trade and a hard worker; she'd have no problem making a life for herself as a free woman, given the chance. She'd raised Samantha the same; Liam had no doubt she'd do well on her own. Johnny had a sharp head for business and was a shrewd negotiator, even acting under the handicap of being a slave, and having a limited set of tools available to him when he was on his own. Lord Sinclair's Karl, Mark Vincent's Paul. Tasha had kept competent slaves around the house, even if her taste in body-slaves was questionable. Liam would've been happy to employ any of them for a good wage, if they'd been free.

But they weren't, and there was no legal way to free them. They were a constant drain on the state, if only in the need to keep records on them and maintain some oversight to prevent abuse -- for however well that worked -- and it was completely unnecessary. A waste of tax money.

Surely anyone fit to be responsible to own another person should be competent to judge when that person was fit to own him- or herself? To suggest it, at least? Nominate competent slaves for some sort of review board? There should be some path to manumission. At least for slaves born to it, or those enslaved as children, where the fault, the irresponsibility, wasn't their own.

Something. There should be something, because what they had was broken in too many places.

Aha, that was the name. He'd been spelling it wrong.

He spent some time carefully wording an e-mail, then sent it. He didn't expect a response immediately -- it was still ridiculously early, after all -- so he spent the next few hours alternately reading a book and watching David sleep, his thoughts drifting to all the things wrong with the world and how they could possibly be fixed, short of mass murder or armed revolution.

He got a Bing! of response just as David had begun to stir.

Liam was composing another message when David slipped out of bed, pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms and slipped out of the room. He returned with coffee within a few minutes; Liam looked up at him with a small smile and said, "Get a shower and get dressed; we have to be on the road within the hour."

"Master?" David set a mug of coffee down on the small table next to Liam's chair, then knelt next to him, looking up with a question on his face.

Liam reached out and brushed a hand across David's short, light hair. "You have an appointment with a Dr. Blanchett," he said.

David said, "Yes, Master," and hurried off to get ready.

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  • Fic Meme

    Gacked from awanderingbard: Name any story I've written or character I've written about and I'll tell you 3 OOC things about…

  • When Ignorance Is More Than Annoying

    It's always annoying to be reading a book, even a work of fiction, and come across places where the writer is pretty clearly faking it and doing a…

  • Chasing Fear

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