Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sweat trickled down August’s face and back as he completed the last lap of the indoor track. Panting lightly, he slowed to a stop beside the drinking fountain. He didn’t bother wiping the sweat from his face as he bent down and took a few sips.

When he was done, he trudged over to the private shower room door, stripping off his exercise shorts and turning the water heat down. He stood under the cold spray for several seconds, using soap to scrub off the layer of sweat from his skin. Then, he washed his hair and face before turning it off.

He glanced at the clock on the other wall. 10:08. He tensed. After five years of roughly the same morning schedule, he had it down to the minute. But he must’ve dallied too long in the gym, because he was running three minutes late. Once lost, time was almost impossible to make up. His stomach sank as he frantically toweled off and moved onto the next thing, only applying the scented lotion where Master was likely to notice.

The day’s clothes had been sent down before breakfast and were hanging on an open rack alongside the intended accessories, perfume, and his make-up bag. He grabbed at them, fighting the urge to gnaw on his lip. He pulled on the suit vest and jacket, gratefully accepting the modest coverage; while the neckline plunged mid-way down his chest, the area was narrow. The rich silk of the material caressed his cold skin as he tugged on the dress socks and gently heeled loafers.

Shaking hands made it hard to close the clasp on the necklace; It took him several tries before he was successful. Dangle earrings make their way into his ears by rote. He refused to look up at the time as he sat in the chair before the great mirror and dried his hair just enough so that it wasn’t dripping and started on the make-up. He didn’t want to see how far behind he was. It would only make him panic more and end up even later than he already was.

He stayed with his default natural look, cutting as many edges as he dared. But when he glanced at the clock as he stood, he was still behind by four minutes.

He shoved everything back into its place and grabbed his Master Card lanyard, sprinting to the door and flinging it open. Maybe if he ran, he could make up enough time that Master would let it slide. Fat chance of that, he thought, but it didn’t stop him from hoping.

The gym was set up so that most of the exercise equipment lay inside the oval created by the track. Instead of risking a fall amid the machinery, August took his chances by following the track around to the front entrance. His dress shoes pinched uncomfortably at his feet, but he continued on, hoping he wouldn’t sweat too much and give away just how late he was.

Just as he reached out to open the door, it swung open of its own accord. He skidded to a halt and backtracked so he wouldn’t collide with the person coming in.

Please be a janitor, please be a janitor, please, August begged internally.

“Oh, you’re still here are you?” a smug voice said. Several other people entered behind him, but even just one would have been enough. His hope fell and split apart on the cement floor.

“Yes, sir. I was just leaving.” August adjusted his posture into one of rigid respect, pleading with some unknown deity that Gerard would let him go without a fuss. Of course, he could never be that lucky.

“Say, what’s this in your ear?” A fat finger reached up and tugged sharply on the lobe, jerking his head to the side.

August gritted his teeth to keep the sound of pain from escaping. “An earring, sir.” Every second longer that he stayed here seemed like another nail being hammered home in his coffin.

The hand pinched tightly around his ear. “I know that, stupid cunt. I meant what the hell is this?” The offending hand moved from his earlobe to yank his head around by the earring.

This time, August couldn’t help but let out a strangled cry. He didn’t remember which earring it was; he’d been too busy trying to get it in his ear to notice it.

“Lemme see the other one,” someone behind Gerard said. They stepped forward and pulled on his other ear, forcing his head into an awkward cocked-to-the-side position. The group burst into a fit of snorting giggles.

“Love bug, fucking love bug!” someone exclaimed.

Yes, ha-ha, you’ve had your laugh. Now please just let me leave, August thought desperately.

“Hey, Love Bug?” Gerard asked sardonically.

August fought the urge to clench his fists. “Yes, sir?”

“Nice earrings.”

At that, the whole group burst into laughter. The hands retreated to clutch at their diaphragms. August saw his chance and took it.

“Thank you, sir,” he said with a bow. Before he had even fully straightened, the door was open and he escaped into the hallway. Please don’t follow me. He jogged as fast as he dared now that he was in a more congested place.

He arrived at the elevator just as it was closing and reached out a hand to keep it open long enough for him to pass through. The employees gave him a mixture of dirty looks and cold shoulders, but at least no one was trying to talk to him or touch him. He swiped the Master Card on the sensor to a few seconds’ grumbling of the other passengers. Master’s love of punctuality was clear in the rules of his business, and no one wanted to be held up.

Luckily, the ride up to the CEO’s floor was quick, only two floors away. He slid out between the opening doors, already breaking into a jog. He had to be extra careful now that he was on the same floor as Master. As much trouble as being late would get him in, breaking decorum by running would only make it worse. He stopped running altogether once he turned into the hall of Master’s office.

He ran a hand over his clothing and hair, making sure that no evidence of his haste was shown via dishevelment. Sucking in a deep breath as he reached the door, he looked at his watch. 10:55. Shit. He entered the code and pushed the door open before he could panic about it.

Master was sitting at his desk, chair swiveled toward the door, eyes on his watch. August walked as fast as politely possible and sank to his knees in front of him, swallowing nervously. He leaned forward until the crown of his head touched the ground in greeting. He held the position, waiting. His mind screamed at him to start apologizing, to grovel desperately and hope that mercy came, but he reigned it in. He didn’t deserve to make a production after wasting Master’s time. He would wait until he was addressed.

Master let him stew in his panicked thoughts for the full five minutes and twenty-seven seconds before he acknowledged his presence, pen scratching away at the papers beside him. “Up,” he commanded.

August obeyed, pushing himself up into the perfect seiza position, hands flat on the ground beside him and head bowed.

Master inhaled, and August tensed. “I don’t need to tell you what you did wrong, do I?”

August took in a deep breath before speaking, “No, Master. I’m sorry for inconveniencing you.”

“What’s your excuse?”

August swallowed. “I-I lost track of time, Master.” He shut his mouth before he could apologize again. Don’t demand leniency, whore.

“I don’t suppose that the watch I got you has an alarm function, does it?” Master asked wryly.

He ducked his head. “I forgot to turn it back on after yesterday,” he admitted.

“I see. Then I suppose you wish for me not to punish you for your misstep?”

“No, Master. Please punish me as you see fit.” The automatic words droned past his lips before he could remember to put some inflection in them.

Master chuckled, and August felt himself relax marginally. At least he wasn’t actually angry; it would be a routine, detached punishment if he could keep himself from digging up more trouble.

A hand settled in his hair and gave him a pat. “You’re a good boy. Go start on your work. We’ll have to fit in your punishment tonight.”

August bowed to the ground again and rose, straightening fully and walking across the room. The chaise was sitting in its normal spot across the room from Master’s desk. The wall of windows behind it glowed, letting in the morning light. He sank down onto it, pulling his laptop from the black backpack by the armrest. Years of practice guided his body into a position that he could hold for as long as need be, whilst also giving Master something to look at.

He leaned back against the cushion, one leg extended, one leg crooked at the knee, suit falling open to give Master a good view of most of his chest, one nipple poking out from under the fabric.

It used to bother him, he remembered. Laying draped over something like a model on display. Like he actually wanted any of this. Now, even on the mornings where he was still naked in bed while Master moved about, he wasn’t overly upset. Like most of his humiliations, it was routine, and by now he was used to it.

He balanced the laptop on his resting leg and got to work. This, at least, was something real. Organizing employees and creating digestible trends from swaths of data was something a free person might do—part of the reason that so many people looked down on Master’s decision to let him participate in the process. He could lose himself in the work and almost forget about Master’s sharp gaze coasting over him every few minutes.

Time passed at a relaxed pace, not agonizingly fast or slow. Every so often, August would remember his upcoming punishment and feel the fist of panic clenching around his throat. But with the help of years of practice, he calmed himself down again, repeating, It’s Master. I know what to expect. He’s not cruel. It’ll hurt, but only so much.

Before he knew it, the clock struck 12:00 and Master stood. He set the laptop aside and slid to his knees on the floor, this time more relaxed with his hands folded in his lap and back straight.

Master rifled through the side cabinet, pulling out his briefcase. August frowned. Was he going somewhere for lunch? He was such a stickler for keeping with the schedule that any deviation was like whiplash.

August waited tensely to be addressed. Would Master take him or leave him here? Which did he want? There was security in the schedule that August, too, was loath to part from.

Finally, Master stepped in front of him, full briefcase in hand. “I’ll be gone for a while. Eat, then take over for me until I get back. Send the orders for the finalized marketing strategy down by two o’clock at the latest.”

August bowed. “Yes, Master.”

Master gestured for him to stand and follow him to the coat rack. August helped him into his overcoat, holding the briefcase and smoothing out the fabric.

“Be good,” Master said, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. He took the briefcase back.

August held the door open for Master, closing it behind him. As soon as the footsteps faded away, he felt his shoulders droop. An impossible task. Not that Master knew that.

He crossed the room and sat in Master’s chair, swiveling around to face the papers on the desk. He counted seven separate marketing options, each about an inch thick. Dread circled around in his stomach. Maybe he should risk working while eating in the hope of finishing it on time.

Starting on the work was difficult with his scattered thoughts, but he managed to get a few pages into the first packet before Mrs. Velp, the penthouse maid, buzzed at the door.

August jumped at the sound, hyper-vigilant in his stress. He pressed the button under the desk to unlock the door and stood, walking forward to meet her halfway. The tray she carried held a sandwich and a bottle of juice. She stopped in front of him and offered it.

He bowed and accepted it with a soft, “Thank you, ma’am.”

She snorted quietly and walked away without acknowledging him.

Just as well, he thought. I didn’t want to talk to you either.

He took the tray back to the desk. Instead of trying to multitask, he wolfed down the food as quickly as he could and set it aside. As he worked, he sipped occasionally at the drink. It was orange juice, sugarless and tart with a pleasant zing to it.

By 1:15, he was making good time, but knew it couldn’t last. The employees would’ve spread the word about Master leaving by now. It was only a matter of time before someone came to distract him.

As if summoned by his thoughts, the door buzzed. He glanced at the automatic screen that had popped up from the security camera just outside the door.

Gerard. At least he was alone this time.

He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. With shaking fingers, he pressed the button to unlock the door.

Loud footsteps stomped toward him as he rushed to stand and bow.

“Hey, Love Bug,” Gerard started.

“Hello, sir.” He straightened and clasped his hands behind his back to keep from fidgeting.

“All alone up here again, huh?”

“Yes, sir.”

Gerard took a step closer, and August fought the urge to step back. It’s just Gerard. He can’t do anything except waste my time.

“You know, my buddies and I were talking after our little chat this morning.” Another step. “And we were curious about those cute little earrings of yours.” He stepped within reaching distance.

“What about them, sir?”

He reached out and touched one of them gently. August flinched.

Gerard chuckled at his reaction and continued. “Where’d the old man get them? I’ve been thinking of getting you a matching pair: Spoiled on one side and Bitch on the other. What do you say?”

August let the insults roll off of him. He’d been called worse, and Gerard wasn’t very creative. “He bought them from Thomas and Abbey’s in the Dazzling Mall. Customizations are very expensive, sir.”

The last word hadn’t even left his mouth when Gerard slapped him. It snapped his head to the side, but there was no real muscle behind it. At least Gerard knew better than to actually damage him.

“You think I’m fucking poor?” Gerard hissed, face centimeters from his.

August ground his teeth. He kept his eyes firmly on the floor. “No, sir. I’m sorry for implying so, sir.”

“Yeah right you are. You probably think of yourself as higher than me, huh? All that attention from the big boss, and all of a sudden you’re the one in charge. Well listen here, slut, I’m the free one here, and I can tell your master whatever the hell I want about you. He may spoil you rotten, but even he won’t take your word over mine when you’re already in trouble.”

August fixed his posture, already sick of the conversation.

Gerard fisted a hand in his hair, drawing their faces together again. “Look at me! Someone needs to teach you some manners, and I’m going to make sure it happens!” With that, he smashed their lips together.

Panic clouded August’s mind at the ferocity of it, propelling him back to a time before Master bought him when his being damaged was the last thing on anyone’s mind. He went limp, mind going blank from all thoughts other than don’t react.

Gerard’s hand tightened in his hair. He shoved him back against the desk, other hand grabbing at his neck. Office supplies clattered to the floor as he bent him backwards over it. A knee came up to part his legs while the hand in his hair drifted down to the fly of his pants.

Awareness dawned on him and he kicked out, catching Gerard in the shin. Caught off guard, the man’s grip on his neck loosened enough for him to slip away, coughing and sucking in air. He stumbled to the side. The world spun around him.

“You’re not,” he gasped, “allowed to touch me.”

Gerard stopped rubbing his leg and straightened to his full height. He stood several inches taller than August. His face was one of abject fury. It sent little pinpricks of terror down his spine.

“Please, sir,” he begged. “Master told you—”

Another slap cut him off. It was stronger than the last and sent his ears ringing. “Shut it! I fucking know his stupid rules. What makes you think he’ll ever find out about this? Hmm?” He clasped August’s chin, fingernails digging into his skin.

Oh, I don’t know, August thought through the swirl of anger and fear in his mind, the cuts and bruises might clue him in. “Cameras, sir. They’re recording.”

“WHAT?” Gerard shrieked. August flinched violently. The nails dug deeper into his face. “You trying to get me fucking fired?” He shoved August’s head to the side and backed up, eyes flicking around the room.

August kept his mouth shut. It was true that there were cameras recording the office, but no one checked them unless they had reason to, and they were automatically deleted every two days. Just go away. Please just go away.

Gerard stomped down on his ankle, knocking him to the ground. The explosion of pain dragged a scream from him. He caught himself on his hands, nose inches away from being broken. He sucked in quick blasts of air, beginning to panic again. His ankle sent waves of pain through him with each movement. Why wasn’t Gerard stopping? Did he have a death wish? If so, there was nothing he wouldn’t be willing to do.

Gerard pushed him over, bringing his foot back to kick him again. August curled up to protect his stomach. The kick landed on his arm, hard enough to rattle his teeth. He tensed and waited for more blows, but none came. He risked a peek out from between his crossed arms. Gerard was walking away, hands balled into fists at his side.

August didn’t dare move or make a sound until the door had shut firmly and relocked behind him. Then, he let himself lay flat on the floor, sucking in deep breaths. There would be hell to pay in one way or another once Master got home. And that was in addition to the punishment that was already scheduled. He ran a hand down his face, taking in one more deep breath before dragging himself to his feet. Hissing in pain, he took all of his weight off of the ankle that Gerard had crushed. He looked down to see it swelling rapidly. “Shit,” he swore. He hobbled painfully into the adjacent bathroom.

In the mirror, he scrutinized his face and neck. Gerard hadn’t choked him long enough to bruise, but the area was a little red. His face was another matter. Deep red semi-circles were scattered around the lower half, a few of them sluggishly bleeding. His lips were swollen, cracked open at the bottom. There was no way Master wasn’t going to notice.

Panic welled up again. He stumbled over to the toilet and sat with his head down, breathing through it with one of Master’s techniques. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Kicking Gerard and disobeying him was what Master had ordered him to do in a scenario like that. But it didn’t keep every part of him from screaming that it didn’t matter. He’d kicked a free man. Regardless of Master’s order, that had to be addressed.

Stop it, stop it! he commanded himself. Thoughts like that would only make his spiraling worse. But every time he managed to surface from his thoughts, another would come and knock him back under. He held his head in his hands, yanking at the strands as he fought desperately to breathe.

He didn’t know how long he spent panicking. When he came to, he was on the ground, curled into himself in the corner of the bathroom. Breathe. Just breathe, he coached himself. He couldn’t afford another lengthy spiral.

Alternating fingers, he tapped them lightly on his scalp, focusing on the sensation it brought and not on his thoughts. Instead of counting seconds, which would only cause him to lose his mind again, he counted breaths until he felt stable enough to stand up.

He was still shaking uncontrollably, but he managed to get to his feet. He limped over to the sink again, running the water cold and splashing it over his tear-stained face. His make-up was already ruined, so he added soap and scrubbed it off.

Toweling off his face, he reached into the cabinet, avoiding looking in the mirror. He knew his eyes were puffy and he generally looked the exact opposite of fuck-able. He dampened a washcloth with the coldest water the tap would give him, took off his shoe, and gingerly peeled off the sock. He rolled up the pant leg of his priceless suit and wrapped the washcloth around the swollen ankle.

That done, he took a few more deep breaths and faced himself in the mirror. He looked terrible. Master was going to— He cut the thought off before it could cause trouble.

There was a small container of make-up for touch-ups throughout the day in the cabinet, and he pulled it out, methodically covering up the abrasions on his face and neck. He re-applied light eyeliner and lip tint, not bothering with anything beyond the basic necessities.
There. That wasn’t so hard, was it? Overdramatic sl— He cut that thought off, too.

Not looking at the time, he wrung out the excess water from the cold washcloth and put it back on, then cleaned and put everything away. He limped out into the main office. Despite the cold washcloth, the pain in his ankle flared up with every step. He knew he should elevate it, so he grabbed the packets off Master’s desk and made his way over to the chaise.

Sweet relief flowed over him as soon as he propped the appendage up. He wasn’t sure if it was broken or not, but either way, it wasn’t an insignificant injury.

The reading gave him something to focus on. Once he managed to focus fully, he made good time, though he knew that nothing could make him finish on time. He didn’t let himself think about Master’s reaction. About how he had specified the need for August to finish this at a specific time.

He glanced at his watch. 2:15. His gut twisted, but he forced himself to breathe through it. It’s okay. It’s Master. I know what to expect. He’s not cruel.

He repeated that over and over until the panic dissipated. He returned to work. Once he finished reading the necessary parts, he analyzed and ranked them, then settled as quickly as he dared on the top pick. He sent it as a digital file along with orders to put it into motion. The clock read 2:45 by the time the email was sent.

Forty-five minutes.

The sheer amount of time lost filled him with dread, and he repeated his mantra again. Only then did he get up and hobble over to the desk.

Picking up the phone, he pressed one of the instant-call numbers. On the third ring, Dr. Winston picked up. “Yes, sir?”

“It’s me,” August said. His voice sounded strained even to his own ears.

“Oh. Alone again are you, Trouble?”

“Yes, sir.” Words stuck to the sides of his throat, making it hard to speak.

“Do you need something or are you just wasting my time?”

“Yes, sir. I-I need—”

“Spit it out.”

“I don’t know if it’s serious enough, sir, but I hurt my ankle.”

There was silence on the other end for several moments. “And how, pray tell me, did you manage that whilst working quietly in the office?”

August gnawed on his lip. It wasn’t like there was anyone around to see it.“There was an—an accident, sir.” Sure it was.

“Like hell. What really happened?” A pause. “I won’t tell your master unless I have to, and by then he’ll know anyway.”

“Mr. Chambers stepped on it, sir.”

“Gerard?”

“Yes, sir.”

“‘Stepped on it’?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m on my way. Please tell me you’re laying down.”

August hesitated. “I was, sir. Would you like me to go back?”

Dr. Winston snorted. “Yes.”

“Okay—I mean, yes, sir.”

Dr. Winston hung up.

August let out a long breath, feeling his muscles relax. He went back to the chaise and laid down the wrong way so that he could prop his foot up on the armrest. Bending his arm under his head, he settled down, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. With Dr. Winston there, no one would try anything.

The beeping of someone entering the code jolted him awake. He froze, disoriented, before seeing where he was. He couldn’t believe he’d fallen asleep. He should’ve been working frantically, trying to get as much done as possible. But as soon as he’d laid down, exhaustion had claimed him.

The door clicked open, and Dr. Winston’s shuffling footsteps approached him. “Hey, Trouble.”

August moved to greet him properly, but Dr. Winston rushed forward and grabbed his shoulders, firmly pushing him back down. “None of that, now,” he said. “Don’t need to make my job any harder than it already is.”

Once he was certain that August wasn’t going to move, he stood up, hands on his hips to survey the damage. “Well, you’ve had better days.”

“I’ve had worse too, sir,” August muttered.

Dr. Winston sighed. “That you have. But no worries, Trouble, I’ll fix you up to be good as new.”

He bent over August to unwrap the washcloth, sucking in air through his teeth. “How long has it been since Gerard, uh, stepped on it?”

August thought back, brain fuzzy with pain and exhaustion from his freak-out. “It was around one o’clock, sir, maybe one-thirty.”

“Sweet lord, kid. Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

August hesitated. “I—uh . . . ”

“You had a panic attack, didn’t you.” It wasn’t really a question. Warm hands explored the bruised surface.

He tried not to wince or pull away. “Yes, sir.”

“Next time, call me before it gets to that, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

The fingers pressed deeper, then suddenly found their purchase and snapped the bone back into place. Caught off guard, August didn’t have time to muffle his scream. Stars danced in front of his eyes. He gripped the material of the chaise so hard he thought it might tear. The wave of pain subsided after several agonizing seconds. So it was broken after all.

“There. Feel any better?”

Now that the bone was back where it was supposed to be, some of the pain was fading.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I’m not sure I want to know what will happen if I ever damage you further. Sit still.” He rifled through the bag he’d brought with him, producing a long roll of medical gauze.

As Dr. Winston wrapped his foot, August focused on his breathing. “Do you think he’ll be mad, sir?” he asked in a small voice.

The doctor paused in his ministrations at the question, then continued. “At Gerard? Most definitely. Might even fire him.”

“Yes, sir.” That’s not what I was asking and you know it.

“Listen, kid. Did you break any rules?”

“N-no? I don’t think so.”

“Then he won’t blame you. Gerard’s a bastard. Nobody likes him. They’ll probably be happy you got rid of him.”

Not his buddies. “Yes, sir,” he said. Then, because he answered his question, “Thank you, sir.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, Trouble. The day I never see you again is the best day of my life.”

“Yes, sir,” August said, pretending that made sense.

Dr. Winston finished wrapping the ankle. “I don’t care what your master told you. You’re not staying here any longer.”

“But—”

He held out a hand to silence him. “None of that. If he doesn’t like it, he can talk to me. It’s my job to keep you from being permanently damaged, and I take that very seriously.” He pulled another thing out of the bag, this time an extendable walking stick. He pulled it to the right length and held it out.

Swallowing the rest of his arguments, August pushed himself up, accepting the walking stick and rising to his feet. “Thank you, sir.”

“I know. I’m a saint,” Dr. Winston said dryly. He put August’s laptop in his bag with a wink. “I’ll even let you work up in my office.”

August thanked him again, and they set off toward the elevator. Dr. Winston used his Master Card, and no one so much as rolled their eyes.

Now that the blood was flowing down into his ankle again, it throbbed more with every beat of his heart. Not for the first time, he regretted never having the guts to ask Master for permission to take pain medication without him present. But with the thought came the reminder of why exactly he never had. He’d been so close that day. So close to being free. But Dr. Winston had found him unconscious on the floor and called the emergency services. They’d pumped his system, and he’d never felt worse than when he woke up after almost dying to a pair of terrifyingly furious eyes. He never wanted to remind Master of that event if he could at all help it.

He shook his head. I can’t even think about it, he reminded himself. I can’t go back there. I can’t.

Dr. Winston coughed, and he realized that the doors were open, and everyone was waiting on him. He ducked his head, muttering an apology as he stepped out. Dr. Winston’s free arm went around his shoulders. He tensed automatically, then forced himself to relax.
“So, how are things going with the old man? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Yeah, well you’ll see me again real soon, he thought, remembering that he still had a punishment to look forward to that evening. “Good,” he said. Then he remembered his manners and corrected himself. “Things are going well, sir. Thank you.”

Dr. Winston reached up to ruffle his hair. “You’re so polite now. Remember back in the old days when you were just a twig of a thing? Nearly bit off my arm once.”

“Yes, sir. Master taught me a lot.” Please don’t remind me. I’m trying not to think about it.

“You’ve since learned we aren’t trying to kill you constantly?” Dr. Winston chuckled, but it was too close to the truth.

August ducked his head further. “Yes, sir.”

“I still get to call you Trouble, though.”

They reached his office suite. Dr. Winston unlocked the door and ushered him inside. “Go lay on the cot and prop your leg up.” He retrieved something from a minifridge. “Here’s some ice. Keep it on.”

August obeyed, gimping over to the cot with most of his weight on the walking stick to make the man happy. He even adjusted the ice pack so it covered as much of the bruise as it could. As he lay back in a half-sitting, half-lying position with his foot propped up on a pillow, Dr. Winston bustled around the room. August ignored him, taking the time to find his center again. This time he made sure to keep his eyes open. He couldn’t fall asleep again.

When Dr. Winston returned, he had a mini x-ray machine. He directed August through the steps of taking the x-ray, then disappeared into his back office. He still hadn’t returned the laptop, so August lay staring at the ceiling, trying not to overthink.

Not an insubstantial amount of time passed before Dr. Winston appeared to him again. He handed him the laptop, patted his head, and went back into his office. Just like old times. Only now, August didn’t have to be restrained and wasn’t fearing for his life.

He started up the computer and began his other tasks. He zoned out as he worked, sorting and dividing and organizing.

Dr. Winston came in at some point and took off the gauze, fitting a tailored cast on his ankle instead. “It’s waterproof,” he said, with a somewhat apologetic look.

He drifted in and out of awareness for the next few hours.

He was dragged into full alertness when he heard someone entering the password to open the door. Almost unconsciously, he fixed his position on the cot from one of comfort to one of respectful restfulness.

The door opened. As he suspected, Master stalked into the room, frown lines wrinkling.

He bowed his head and shoulders as much as he could from his position. He realized he was picking at his cuticles and forcibly parted his hands, setting them flat on each thigh.

Master stopped just shy of the cot. “You’d better have a good explanation for this,” he warned.

What exactly he was referring to, August didn’t know. Thankfully, he was spared from having to answer.

Dr. Winston entered the main room with a mischievous smile on his face. “Good afternoon, sir. How are you?”

“Who is responsible for this?” Master hissed

August shuddered at the anger in his voice. Fear wrapped around his chest like a giant python.

“Gerard Chambers, sir. I’ve just been over the security footage. He entered the office under the pretense of business and attempted to assault August.

Master scoffed. He turned to August, piercing eyes scrutinizing him. “Is this true?”

August kept his eyes pinned on the backs of his hands. “Yes, Master.”

“So how did that happen, then?” He gestured to the ankle in the cast.

When August hesitated, Dr. Winston jumped in. “He reminded Gerard about your orders against employees touching him without your express permission. Mr. Chambers didn’t take it too kindly.”

“I see. Is it broken?” He nudged the appendage, igniting a spark of pain. August whimpered quietly, gritting his teeth. Fuck, it hurt.

“I’m afraid so. Mr. Chambers has the advantage of weight and leverage in this scenario. I estimate it taking anywhere between six to ten weeks to heal.”

August didn’t have to be looking at Master to sense his scowl. “Where is Mr. Chambers now?”

“I believe he went home already, sir. Would you like me to have him called back?”

“No need. He never needs to step foot in this building again. As of now he is fired and blacklisted. He will be forcibly removed from the employee housing as soon as possible.” He typed away on his miniscreen, likely sending instructions to the staff.

August felt it the second Master focused on him. He swallowed thickly.

“You finalized the marketing strategy forty-five minutes late.”

The statement sucked away any warmth that had previously existed in the room.

August felt himself begin to tremble. His mouth went dry. “I-I’m sorry, Master.”

“Even if you were injured, it couldn’t have taken that long. What happened?” Despite the question, his voice was ice cold.

“I’m sorry, Master. I panicked,” he admitted, staring down at his hands in shame.

There was a long pause throughout which he didn’t dare to breathe. Then, Master set his hand on his shoulder, the other one finding his chin and tilting it up.

“You panicked?”

“Y-yes, Master. I’m sorry.” It came out more like a whisper.

“I thought we were past this.” He sighed heavily. “Have I ever been cruel to you?”

At the familiar words, the world regained some coherency. “No, Master.”

“Have I promised not to harm you without ample reason?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Have I ever broken my word to you?”

“No, Master.”

It was like a life-raft flung out into the turbulent waves of his mind. He clung to the words and let them drag him to safety.

By the end, his breathing was deeper and more even, though he hadn’t noticed it become shallow in the first place.

Master seemed pleased. He leaned forward and gave him a gentle, chaste kiss. August melted into it, relief flooding through him. He wasn’t mad. It was okay. Tears stung his eyes and he blinked them away.

When he drew back, Master looked less upset as well. That was a good sign; August was a source of relaxation as opposed to vexation.

“Don’t worry, Love. You won’t be punished for this.” He carded long fingers through his hair. “Your tardiness this morning, however, still needs to be addressed.”

August tensed. He looked down at his hands again. “Yes, Master.”

“Uhm, if I may?” Dr. Winston interrupted.

“If what you have to say is not impertinent, then yes,” Master said.

“It’s on the line, I suppose. But I might as well say it anyway. As a doctor, I don’t believe it smart to inflict more wounds on him today. You should wait until—”

“Silence.” Master didn’t have to raise his voice for the command to immediately take effect. “I will decide how to deal with him myself. If you’re so concerned about it, have a dosage of painkillers put with his dinner. I won’t be requiring your services for the rest of tonight.”

Dr. Winston hesitated, then nodded. “Alright, then. As you wish.”

Chapter Text

August tried to muffle the sound of the cane on the tile floor, to little success. Master set a lenient pace to accommodate his injury, but he would only put up with so much trouble in one day. His ankle still throbbed, pain undimmed by medication. August reminded himself that a broken ankle was far from the worst thing ever to happen to him. But the relatively long break from unprovoked violence had weakened his defenses.

They reached the discipline room. Master entered the code and stepped inside, holding the door open for him in a breach of etiquette. August hesitated, but Master jerked his head in a clear order and he stepped through.

The door shut and locked behind them. Master stood with his arms crossed over his chest, regarding August shrewdly. “Strip,” he commanded.

August obeyed without fanfare. Flourishes and teasing movement were relegated to bedroom usage only, lest he forget his place. He piled the neatly folded clothes on the available counter and knelt. The movement was uncoordinated and sloppy due to the unwieldy boot encasing his right foot, but Master didn’t remark on it.

“Do you know why we are here today?” he asked.

“Yes, Master.”

“And why is that?”

“I was late today, Master,” August answered. “I wasted your valuable time.”

“And . . . ?”

“I disrespected you by breaking a rule.”

“Is there anything else that you’ve done warranting punishment that I am as of yet unaware of?”

It was a routine question, but it still made August’s stomach feel like it was full of worms. What if he forgot something and Master found out? “No, Master.”

“Good. Pick a cane.”

August bowed and got up, limping over to the storage cabinet. He pulled out the synthetics. He selected a thin one that was bound to leave a few cuts, but would heal much faster than the thicker ones. It was a fitting choice for the infraction according to the guidebook they’d drilled into him in training.

He returned to Master and gave him a standing bow, offering the cane to him on raised palms.

“Excellent choice,” Master praised.

Despite everything, a thrill of something positive skittered through him. Master took the cane, giving it a few experimental flicks. “We’ll go with the padded bench to get the weight off your foot. Get in position.”

August bowed again and went over to the bench. It was against the wall near the center. He leaned over it, placing his hands and feet directly next to the slightly worn leather cuffs. It felt good to let his foot rest, even if it did sit awkwardly on the leg pad. He heard Master approach from behind and bit his lip. The anticipation was always the worst part of it. He gripped the material in front of him to keep from moving.

“Do I need to use restraints?” Master asked.

Coming from anyone else, the question would have been pointless and cruel. But August let himself seriously consider it for a moment before reluctantly admitting, “Yes, Master. I think so. Just the wrist cuffs, please.” He still felt weak from everything that had happened. His body hurt, and the past was too close to the surface for comfort. The last thing he wanted was to go without them only to panic and break position.

Master assented and moved to the side to secure his wrists. In an absurd way, it almost felt like safety.

August shivered. It wasn’t freezing in the room, but it also wasn’t comfortable. After all, Master’s comfort exerting himself came before that of his disobedient slave.

“You will receive fifty strikes, ten times each minute of tardiness. Count them off.”

The cane whistled through the air, the only warning before it smacked into the soft flesh of his backside. August bit back a sound of pain. This wasn’t kinky play or a routine punishment. It wasn’t appropriate to make any noise unless otherwise instructed. “One,” he counted dutifully.

Master waited until the stinging sensation had just started to fade before striking him again.

“Two,” he bit out. It wasn’t horrible. Canings in general were relatively tame punishments, barely even qualifying as a punishing tool for most Masters. It still hurt though.

By the tenth strike, his ass and thighs were throbbing. It was still nothing compared to the pain still pulsating through his foot.

By the fortieth, Master lifted the unspoken rule for silence, which was good, because August was close to his breaking point. The combined pain from his foot and the layered lines of the caning made it increasingly impossible to remain quiet.

Hot blood oozed lazily down his skin. He’d have to clean it up later, he noted, before another strike demanded his attention again.

The pause between strikes remained consistent—about three seconds—but August could’ve sworn they got shorter. The bruising sting never faded. So far, he’d stayed in the present. But he could feel the spinning of his head that told him that soon, he’d either dissociate or pass out.

He didn’t know exactly when it happened, but it did. The relentless cane cut into him, and his mind told him that he was back with Master Jeffry. His eyes were squeezed tight, and he was jerking on the restraints, hopelessly trying to break free.

Fear and pain clouded everything. His foot hurt, so someone must’ve stepped on it. It had better heal well, because Master couldn’t afford a doctor for him, and it’s not like he would hire one for him anyway, the stupid, worthless, expendable plaything that he was. Maybe today was the day that he’d finally go too far. That he’d overestimate the resilience of slaves, or underestimate his own strength, and he would die slowly from blood loss, or quickly from a blow to the head.

He didn’t realize that the caning had stopped until he felt a hand carding gently through his hair.

Wait—Master Jeffry didn’t do that. None of his friends did, either. They just yanked and pulled and pushed and grabbed and—

“Shh, Love. Hush. Breathe.” The voice was quiet but firm, the fingers in his hair soft and uncalloused.

He didn’t realize how erratic his breathing had been until he tried to wrangle it into a pattern.

“That’s it,” he heard the voice say. “Good boy. Just like that.”

So he wasn’t in trouble? But his whole backside still stung with the pain from the caning, and he could feel little beads of blood dripping down onto the . . . cushion. Master Jeffry didn’t have a nice cushion like that.

Cautiously, he blinked his eyes open. His forehead was pressed against a padded bench. His breaths came in calculated gasps. The lights around him were exceedingly bright, another sign that he wasn’t where he had thought he was.

As reality came back into focus, the faceless entity telling him to relax acquired a name. “M-Master Alex?” His voice was pitched high and thin.

“Yes, August. It’s me. Are you coherent?”

He blinked. The world was still swimming and everything still hurt, but he knew what was happening. His cheeks colored with shame. “Yes, Master. I’m sorry.”

“Are you ready to proceed? I believe we were on number forty-seven.”

August took a few more measured breaths. He gripped the bench below him. “Yes, Master. I’m ready.”

The next three strikes were light, skirting the line of an appropriate heaviness for a punishment. When it was over, August sagged against the bench, ass and thighs burning, foot throbbing, and head pounding.

Master undid the straps at his wrists. “Take a minute or two. Clean the bench and cane and meet me for dinner in twenty minutes.”

“Yes, Master,” he whispered through the pain. At least he wouldn’t have to sleep alone tonight, if Master was having him eat dinner with him.

He vaguely heard the sound of Master setting the door to remain unlocked for twenty minutes. He knew that his clothes had already been sent down the chute for the laundromat as was the routine. The quiet enveloped him, along with a warm wave of air from the vents.

Biting down harshly on his lip, he pushed himself up. He’d made the mistake of staying in a lying position after a punishment before, and it wasn’t worth the risk of falling asleep or unconscious.

He crawled more than walked over to the cabinet and pulled out the Disinfectant wipes. It was a good thing that he’d chosen a synthetic cane over a wooden one. He wasn’t sure if he was up for the comparatively longer cleaning process of the hickory or rattan canes Master had. He put the cane away and wiped off the blood from the bench. The dirty wipe went in the trash.

He grabbed the walking cane and pulled himself into a standing position, more used to the pain than before. The Master Card was laying on the counter where his clothes had been. Grabbing it, he opened the door, checking the time. There was plenty, so he hobbled along through the hallway at a comfortable pace. He didn’t allow for any breaks, however, not wanting to push his luck.

He arrived at the domestic suite with five minutes to spare. The irony was not lost on him.

When he entered, Master was in the living room with his feet propped up on a footrest. He looked up as August entered and smiled. “Come here, my boy.” He patted the couch cushion next to him, already reaching for the first aid kit beside him.

August rounded the couch. Master gestured for him to lay down over him so that the raw skin was positioned on his lap. He obeyed, crossing his arms and setting his chin on them. The hard part is over, he reminded himself.

“I told the cook to make lemon egg-drop soup today,” Master said conversationally. He dabbed at the cuts with disinfectant.

August gnawed viciously at the inside of his lip to keep from yelping. “Thank you, Master.” And he was grateful. Master didn’t have to order his favorite food today, but he did, despite his own general distaste for soups.

“Yes, well,” Master continued. He dipped his fingers in a soothing balm and spread it expertly across the inflamed area. “Today has been quite the ordeal for you, and we haven’t had it in awhile. But I expect better from you in the future so that punishments such as this aren’t necessary.”

August resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. “I’m sorry, Master.”

“Hush, now.” He applied a second coat of the cool gel.

It was easy to relax under the careful ministrations. He counted his breaths to stay awake. Master trailed a gentle finger over the broken skin of his backside. August shivered at the touch.

They stayed like that until the balm had fully soaked into his skin. Master kept his closest hand carding lightly through his hair while the other one traced the faint scars on his back. As good as scar removal technology was, these had been so deep that nothing could fully remove them. The reminder was especially unwelcome today, but August kept his mouth shut.

A light that flashed by the TV announced that dinner was ready in the dining room. Master nudged him up, standing himself. August put the first aid kit back on the shelf where it belonged and limped after him.

The sunset was clearly visible outside the floor to ceiling windows of the dining room. It was a breathtaking mixture of oranges and reds that made August want to stop and stare at it until it disappeared beyond the horizon. He never truly had gotten over the joy of being able to see the sky.

Master made himself comfortable at the head of the table, and he gingerly sat in his own chair to Master’s right. The cold material soothed the fiery skin of his backside. From this angle, the sunset was still in his field of vision.

As was in line with etiquette rules, he waited until Master had taken a bite and sip of everything laid out before them before starting on his own food. Making as little noise as possible came to him with the natural ease of a thousand meals’ practice.

This meal, like most, passed mostly without conversation. Every once in a while, Master would share some of his food, and August would lick it off his fingers or fork and thank him in a quiet voice.

It was good. Warm and balanced perfectly, the soup filled his sore body with light. August had only the bowl and a salad side dish in front of him, but Master’s contributions took the worst of the edge off the hunger until instead of pangs, there was only a slight emptiness. Even so, the worst of his hunger with Master never even came close enough to touch the utter misery of starvation from before. It didn’t keep him from being slightly paranoid about it, though.

After the meal, they went to the bedroom suite. Master led him into the lavish bathroom. He sat down on the cushioned bench by the large tub and picked up the wine glass on the coffee table beside it. August took the cue and poured the wine, just over halfway. He turned and started up the bath, adding fragrance and other things that he was unsure about the purpose of but Master demanded upon having. He set the auto-heater on to Master’s preference, then turned back to make sure he wasn’t needed.

Master seemed content to watch him from behind as he sipped occasionally at his drink. “Oh, don’t mind me.” He winked. “Just enjoying the view.” A pause. “It’s a shame about the marks, though.”

August flushed and turned back to the tub. “Yes, Master.” It was almost halfway full, the nozzles at maximum efficiency. Several minutes passed in semi-comfortable silence before the tub was full.

Master stood, setting the almost-empty glass to the side. August helped him strip out of his suit, hanging each piece carefully on the waiting rack and covering it to protect the priceless fabric. He helped the man into the tub, then brought over the tray of wine. At Master’s behest, he set it on the ample lip before sinking down so that his chin rested on his arms crossed next to the wine.

He blinked coyly up at him. “May I join you, Master?” he asked, fluttering his eyelashes and tilting his head. He didn’t understand why Master always insisted on this sort of foreplay, but he supposed that it gave the illusion of desire on his part.

Master reached over and ruffled his hair. “Of course, doll.” He gently patted August’s cheek.

August smiled and obeyed, concealing his reluctance with a shy act he was surprised still worked after all these years. He took Master’s hand and slunk down onto his knees in the soapy water, biting back a hiss as it stung his open wounds.

Master chuckled lightly. “Stings, doesn’t it?”

August grinned through gritted teeth. “Just a little, Master.”

The old man reached out, and he came to him, sliding over to straddle his lap. In this position, August could look down on him from a sharp angle, but he kept his eyes respectfully lowered.

Master reached out a wrinkled hand and tilted August’s chin up. August settled his eyes on Master’s lips. He already knew what was going to happen, and didn’t wholly mind the first bits of it—the gentle caresses and words, that feeling of protectiveness and safety. But the knowledge of what was to come always shadowed every interaction.

Master moved his finger to trail lightly across August’s bottom lip.“Exquisite,” he murmured. He pressed down on the lip, and August welcomed it into his mouth with a gentle suck.

“Now, now,” Master chided, as though he hadn’t orchestrated the whole thing. He pulled his hand away. “We’ll have plenty of time for that later. Grab the shampoo bottle, will you?”

August did, taking the hint and pouring the right amount onto his palms as Master wetted his hair. Master’s growing interest swelled beneath him as he gently applied the product, running practiced hands though the thinning white hairs.

Closing his eyes, Master leaned back. His hands came to rest on the juncture between August’s legs and pelvis. The familiar feeling of bile crawling up his throat was noted and discarded.

When the suds were sufficiently lathered in, August took advantage of his uncommon privileges, placing a soft kiss on Master’s lips. The man opened his eyes with a smile. He bent to the side and rinsed out his hair in the water, taking the washcloth August was offering him to dab at his eyes.

The hands finally gone, August felt like he could breathe easier. But he knew they would be back soon, and he curbed the thought. At least the marks from the caning weren’t stinging as badly anymore.

Despite the catastrophic events of the day, Master seemed to be in a good mood. At the very least, he wasn’t angry at August, and that was really all he cared about.

“You turn,” Master said, pushing him gently down backward into the water. August closed his eyes and let the peace of the warm water override the context. Master pulled them both up again and started massaging the shampoo into August’s hair.

He sighed in contentment. This, he didn’t mind at all. Master’s hands were just as practiced as his own, and soon, he was able to almost forget where he was and what was next in favor of coasting along on the relaxing sensation.

“Beautiful as always,” Master murmured, shattering the illusion. He placed a kiss on August’s neck, sending shivers of pleasure and revulsion through him. He focused on the pleasure, keeping his face a mask of nothing but happy contentment.

“Deep breath,” Master said, and August knew what he meant by that. He sucked in as deep a breath as he could before Master’s hands in his hair pulled his head below the water, simultaneously pushing him off his lap.

Face to face with the throbbing interest of the man in front of him, August banished all thoughts. He flicked his tongue out and started on his job as Master worked the shampoo out of his hair. August was glad when Master let him control the pace, knowing that if he needed to, he could go up for air. It made his chest a little less tight.

Long after his hair was free of suds, August came up, sucking in air and licking his lips like the man’s semen was the best meal he’d ever tasted. Master kissed him hungrily. He hardly had the time to replenish his breath between kisses.

Master pushed him back to the far side of the tub. He leaned his head on the lip and spread his legs obediently as Master followed closely with kisses. Penetration always grated more in the water and his wounds were fresh, so August was ready when a flash of pain accompanied it. He let Master misunderstand his throaty whine.

Foreplay was short and practical. Master was eager.

The constant jerks, no matter how gentle, ground his stinging backside into the non-slip bottom of the tub. He sucked in air through his teeth and moaned. Master would be done soon. Already his thrusts were speeding up, his breath coming in gasps against August’s lips.

It ended, and August pretended to miss Master when he finally slid out. He let his squeezed-shut eyes loosen, but didn’t open them. He knew that as the man pulled back, he was watching him, and made sure he liked what he saw.

Chapter Text

August was exempted from his normal exercise routine due to the broken foot for several weeks, but Master still insisted that he do as much as he could without putting weight on his foot. By the end of the routine, the welts on his backside were stinging painfully from the friction and sweat. He suffered through several days of it before the welts scabbed over. Usually he enjoyed the exercise and the time away from keen gazes, but the boot on his foot dampered the feeling.

Master gave him five extra minutes to both go down to the gym and to his office from the gym due to his compromised walking pace. August had almost wanted to laugh about the irony. He wasn’t late, though. He made sure that he was early, even though his ankle was always throbbing viciously by the time he knelt before Master’s desk.

Several weeks passed with the new routine, and it soon became embedded in his internal schedule. One Friday, instead of sending August to work across the room on the chaise, he had him kneel next to him on a cushion. He passed down August’s laptop.

“Start something you can wrap up quickly,” Master said. “We’re going to a meeting in a few minutes.”

“Yes, Master.”

‘A few minutes’ turned out to be closer to an hour. Master seemed more and more agitated as time passed. The phone rang, and he answered it with a gruff tone.

From his place on the floor beside him, August could make out the words on the other side. A secretary was informing him that Gerard and his family had just been escorted off the property. A warm feeling rose up in him. It was more than just relief that his long-term tormentor would never come close to him again. But it wasn’t the blind adoration that he used to feel for Master.

“Good. Ready the car. I’ll be down in a moment.”

“Yes, sir.”

The call disconnected. “Bring the laptop,” Master said.

From the bottom desk drawer, August pulled out the case, making quick work of packing it before standing with Master and following him to the coat rack. He helped Master into his suit jacket and followed him out the door.

It wasn’t quite lunch break for the employees, so the halls were mostly clear, save a few interns and slaves walking briskly, piled down with papers and equipment. They all hurried to the sides and bowed as they passed, like traffic would for an emergency vehicle.

Master’s pace was slower than usual to accommodate August’s injured foot, but it was still a grueling exercise with the heavy boot. His breaths were labored by the time they reached the elevator.

Using the Master Card, they went down the hundred-some floors down to the underground garage uninterrupted. As they exited the elevator, Three bodyguards greeted them and fell into step around them. Master didn’t spare them a second glance after checking their identities.

Just in front of them was a Hyera, a sleek car with a pearly purple coat of paint. It had been a gift from Master’s son earlier that year. The giant of a man had hoped that by giving such a gift, he would bring himself under the good graces of his father enough to be allowed the company as his inheritance. August was glad he hadn’t been present when it happened, or he may not have been able to contain his derision.

The driver was already inside. One of the bodyguards opened the door for them. Master entered first, gesturing for August to go around to the other side. He obeyed and rounded the car. The bodyguards were for Master, not him, so he opened his own door. One of the men slid into the passenger seat while the other two got into a nondescript car behind them.

“To the Lavender Blossom,” Master said to the driver.

The woman started up the car and pulled away from the curb. August recognized the name, though he didn’t remember anything about it other than the fact that it was a restaurant of sorts.

Master opened the compartment to his side and pulled out a gold collar. August pulled the neck of the silk blouse he was wearing down without being asked. Master secured it around his neck. The cold metal raised gooseflesh as it came in contact with his skin. He shivered and licked his lips out of habit. Notice how kissable my lips are, not the reluctance in my eyes. He had never been able to truly master his reaction to the collar. It was ridiculous, he knew. One of the most pampered slaves in all of the Cities, and he could barely even stand being collared.

It was the law. Any slave being taken out in public in the Light City must be collared so as to differentiate between them and the free folk and prevent any chance of escape. But the metal was uncompromising. No matter how many times August reminded himself that it wasn’t too tight, that Master knew what he was doing, and it would come off as soon as they got back, he couldn’t help but feel as though with every breath, the metal clenched tighter around his neck, suffocating him.

Master ignored any distasteful expressions that he may have made. As intended, his eyes flicked down to August’s mouth, and he captured his lips in a kiss before pulling back to fasten the lifebelt.

“It won’t be a long ride,” he assured him. “The meeting shouldn’t take more than an hour, and then we’ll be home.”

At least I won’t be the only one uncomfortable, August thought. In a way, he’d found a kindred spirit in the old man in that regard. They both disliked deviation from the cool, calm structure of routine and were loath to part from it. August had never been privy as to why his master held such distaste for social functions and interaction with those of his caliber, but he reasoned it wasn’t much more than a simple desire for control. He could relate to that far more than he liked to admit.

He breathed intentionally as fully as he dared as the car pulled out of the garage and into the sun. Warm rays of light dappled the courtyard through the leaves of implanted trees. August soaked in the sight and feeling of it, trying to distract from the sensation around his neck.

It only half-worked, but that was enough to prevent him from fully panicking. Master left him to look out the window as they merged onto the maglev tracks and switched from manual to magnetic drive. Soon, the scenery was flying by too fast to process, and Master dulled the windows to black. The suffocating feeling returned in full force.

Luckily, the trip to the restaurant was short; Master’s Top Citizen status prioritized their route on the maglevs, second only to emergency vehicles. The magnetic roads carried them to the entrance, and the driver took over, guiding the car into the underground parking lot.

They got out at the main underground entrance. The bodyguards moved around them again, and the drivers moved away to park until they were needed. A slave woman dressed in a fluttering lavender dress greeted them. Upon seeing Master’s ID, she directed them over to the closest elevator. Her eyes caught on August and narrowed slightly as he passed, but she didn’t say anything.

The elevator was spacious. Although they were the only people riding it, at least five others could fit comfortably alongside them. The doors slid open to reveal the lobby. The carpet was a lush, garnet red. Floor to ceiling windows covered the far wall. Scattered around the massive room was a mixture of furniture: sofas and armchairs and coffee tables. Slaves wearing black collars walked amongst the customers with light confections and drinks on trays.

Master approached the front desk. “I have a reservation,” he said instead of greeting.
As he signed them in, August looked surreptitiously around the room. There was a waterfall in the center that diverged into different rivulets that wound around the room. They were surrounded with plants. Flower petals floated in the water.

Another slave greeted them and led the way to the right, up a short flight of shallow stairs, and into a separate room.

Floor to ceiling windows covered an entire wall, and the rest were decorated with pieces of art. A comfortably sized glass dining table stood in the center, surrounded by matching chairs with pillows at their feet. Off to the side was a small sitting area with chairs and sofas around a coffee table.

The bodyguards spread out, taking up positions around the room. Master sent the slave away with an order for drinks. He made himself comfortable in one of the sitting area chairs. August knelt on the plush rug beside him. He took out the laptop and set it up for transcribing. Master liked to have neat records of all his business conversations. If using a recording device was not allowed, he often brought August along to transcribe the conversation in its entirety in shorthand and then translate it into common. Legal insurance, Master called it, even though it wasn’t admissible to court.

He’d just gotten everything ready when a waitress came in with the chilled wine and an appetizer. Master took the menu and ordered. He checked his watch as the woman left. August knew that he typically liked to arrive roughly ten minutes before necessary, so he wasn’t surprised when a while passed with no sign of the person they were there to meet.

Master snacked lightly on the appetizer, occasionally giving one to August. The savory mini-bun practically melted in his mouth. His stomach growled loudly. Master chuckled and patted him on the head. “Don’t worry, pet. I’ll feed you when we get home.”

“Thank you, Master,” August said. “May I work while we wait?” he ventured. He’d only just caught up from all the work he’d missed the day that Gerard had broken his foot. He didn’t want to get behind again, even though Master would likely excuse the lack of productivity given the circumstances.

“Yes, you may,” Master answered.

August started on his work. Master rested a hand in his hair. When he pulled his hand away, August was pulled sharply out of his hyper-focused haze. He glanced at the clock in the corner of the screen. His eyebrows shot up; it had been twenty minutes since they arrived.

He risked a glance up at Master. The man shifted in his seat, tapping his fingers on the armrest in agitation. The show of unease in him bled over into August. What was taking so long? Who dared to keep Master waiting? Whoever it was must’ve been important, because instead of leaving, Master remained seated.

His question was answered five minutes later when the doors to their private room opened. A tall, heavy man lumbered inside, a wiry woman at his heels.

August turned to the side and bowed to the floor. Master rose to greet him. “Silas.”

The man reached them, wheezing slightly, and offered his hand. “Alexander.” The woman dropped to her knees and lowered herself into a matching position to August’s. A slave, then. Her collar was black, a sign of her rank below him as a practical slave only.

The two men settled down on either side of the coffee table. To August’s utter shock, the slave woman sat down next to the man on the sofa. She pulled a laptop out of her bag and started typing casually.

Master stared at her for a second, obviously as dumbfounded as August was, but didn’t comment. August frowned. This man must be extremely important, he amended.

He got ready to type as the men exchanged pleasantries.

They began their meeting—a relatively run-of-the-mill discussion on the terms of a potential partnership—and August started to type. The woman across from him did the same. Silas appeared almost over eager to give up stocks and control in order to partner with Hudson Magnetics. More so than he’d ever seen anyone before. Especially since he apparently had a near monopoly on Yuldrin—the special metal primarily used in magnetic products. Alarm bells set off in his mind, and from Master’s increasingly closed off mannerisms, he could tell that he’d noticed it too.

In the end, Master agreed to the terms, and a contract was presented and signed. They ended their conversation with pleasantries, and Master got up. August bowed to Silas and hurried after Master as he stalked out of the room. His face was tight with anger.

They stormed back out into the lobby. August lagged behind, cursing his broken foot. Once they entered the common area, Master stopped and waited for him to catch up, then proceeded further at a more amiable speed.

They were halfway through the room when a woman approached them. She had light brown hair, red lips, and high heels. A toothpick of a girl trailed behind her. She couldn’t have been a day over thirteen. White-blonde hair was pulled back into two braids that rested on her bare shoulders. August had no sooner glanced at her than looked away. The aggressively pink crop top and miniskirt she was wearing left little to the imagination. The green collar around her throat said that it wasn’t her choice.

Uncharacteristically distracted, Master didn’t notice them until they crossed into his path.

“Alex!” The woman threw herself forward, leaning down to wrap Master in a hug. Her ample breasts were close to spilling out of her tight dress. She pulled back, grinning widely.
Master sighed. “Hello, Bethany.”

“You’re out in public! I haven’t seen you in years!”

“I’m aware.”

“You should come sit with me—Just for a moment!” she hastened to add as Master opened his mouth to decline. “I’m lonely, all by myself. I mean, I do have Lily, but that’s not the same thing.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of the girl behind her.

“Just for a while,” Master relented.

August’s stomach growled in protest, but the sound was swallowed up in the murmur of conversation and the trickle of water.

The woman led them down a separate hallway with sectioned off rooms, these being smaller than the one Master had his prior meeting in. It was a decent space, with a table and chairs and light streaming in from the window.

Bethany and Master sat across from each other at the table, and August and Lily knelt beside their respective masters.

“So, Alex. How have you been?”

“Just fine.”

“Taciturn as ever I see. But that’s alright. I’ve got myself a cute little girl for company.” She reached down to stroke the girl’s head.

Instead of at least trying to pretend as though she liked it, the girl scowled. She kept her mouth shut at least, even though August could see a few choice words fly through her mind.

“I’ve been doing simply amazing. This is Lily. She’s only twelve and is already a green collar. Of course, I did have them skip a few irrelevant steps, so that’s also partially why. But she has the third highest accessibility level.”

“Oh, yes, of course. I forgot about your disregard for proper protocol. It’s a wonder she knows basic etiquette.”

Bethany’s mouth twisted into what could be interpreted as either a smile or a grimace. “Aren’t you at least going to introduce me to your new boy? I see he’s a gold collar. However did you manage that?”

August stiffened as her gaze turned to him.

Master scoffed. “He’s hardly new, Beth. I’ve had him for some ten years already.”

“And how would I know that?” Bethany countered. “I haven’t heard from you in at least that long!”

“You never called.”

“Neither did you.”

“You’re the one upset about it.”

“So I am. Are you going to introduce him or what?”

Master sighed. “This is August.”

Bethany smiled and nodded, but that was all he said. Her smile turned into a surprisingly childish pout. “Alex! Give me details. I know you don’t care, so I skimped on Lily’s, but you could at least pretend to care about my curiosity.”

“You’re right,” Master said dryly. “I’m eternally sorry. I found August in the Dark City and bought him. Before you ask, yes, he’s of good stock, and no, I don’t know how he came to be there. He’ll be twenty in a month and a half. Is that enough information?”

Bethany’s eyes lightened and she smiled. “Yes, dear. Thank you.” She dropped the syrupy expression and leaned back. “You know, I’ve been looking for a good stud to breed my Lily with. Would you be open to the idea? Assuming you weren’t lying about the ‘good stock’ part.”

August froze. No. She was a child. There was no way. Master would never—

“I’m not opposed to the idea, but I’m afraid you’ll have to convince me.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I excel at that. May I see him?”

“Of course.”

Bile rose in his throat. But what could he do? Cause a scene and incur Master’s wrath? The girl was going to be bred regardless of his actions, if that’s what her mistress decided. The knowledge was like a Yuldrin block in his gut.

Bethany pushed her chair back and stood, patting Lily’s head to keep her seated.
Swallowing the frothing sea of emotions welling up, August bowed to the ground.

“Hey, sweetie,” she crooned. “You can look up.”

August obeyed the sugar coated order. He rested his eyes on a vase just past her knees.
“Oh, he’s lovely!” She knelt down in front of him, Taking his chin and forcing his head up. She turned his face from side to side. “Wherever did you find him?”

“On the street, if you’ll believe me. His master had beaten him half to death and left him just outside the apartment. He appealed to me. If he wasn’t so beautiful I would’ve just left him there. As it were, I bought him off the man for a pittance.”

The words, though obviously true, felt like little knives penetrating his flesh. “If he wasn’t so beautiful I would’ve just left him there.” Left me there. Left me there. Left me there. The cold feeling that he had once been so used to combined with his hunger and started to blur the past with the present.

“There, now,” Master continued, shocking August back into focus. “That was surely enough detail.”

Bethany hummed in satisfaction. “Quite. Do they even keep slave papers in the Dark City?”

“I’m afraid not. But a quick test was enough to trace his lineage.”

“Wonderful.” She shifted her weight. Keeping her hand on his chin, she stood, bringing him up with her.

He clasped his hands politely behind his back, keeping his face pleasantly impassive as she ran her palms over his arms.

“He seems toned. Do you fight him?”

Master chuckled. “Heavens, no. I just like him that way.”

“You have the taste of a woman.”

“I think you’re a little biased.”

Her hands moved back up along his arms. She brushed a stray clump of hair out of his face and cupped his cheek in her palm. “He’s so pretty. You don’t even have to dress him up to make him look tempting.”

“I should hope so. I have money, I might as well spend it on the best.”

“I suppose.” She leaned forward and kissed August on the cheek. Her tongue flicked out and she dragged it along his jawline. August’s eyes widened in surprise. She pulled back, grinning triumphantly. “There we are. I was starting to think you’d been fucking a robot this whole time.”

August quickly schooled his expression.

“You’re hilarious,” Master drawled.

“I know,” she quipped back. “Someone here has got to be funny, and it sure as hell isn’t going to be either of you.”

As she spoke, her fingers made their way down and started working on the buttons of his blouse. Once the shirt was open, she ran her hands over his chest and abdomen. “Holy shit, you weren’t kidding! He’s as toned as a fighter!” She slid her fingers up along his shoulders, pushing the shirt off. It slid down his arms and gathered above his hands clasped behind his back.

Cold air raised gooseflesh on his skin. He shivered.

Bethany whistled through her teeth. “Well aren’t you a sight to look at.” She pinched one of his nipples and, remembering her desire for reactions, August didn’t hide his wince. He groaned softly through his teeth, batting his lashes and tilting his head up.

Bethany grinned hungrily. She brushed her finger around the nipple in lazy circles. “Would you be willing to let me have a test drive? I’d like to see how he is before making a decision.”

Her hands moved further down, settling at the clasp of his dress pants. August’s focus centered around the small strip of skin that she was stroking. Slowly, she unclasped it, pulling the zipper down.

“By all means, take his measure,” Master said.

Bethany scoffed. “That was implied when you let me examine him.”

It was the norm to have pleasure slaves go commando, except in the case of lingerie, so she didn’t seem surprised when he wasn’t wearing anything under the pants. They fell to the ground, leaving him fully bare.

“So you do know something about protocol.”

She wrapped a hand around him, petting in slow, even strokes. “Of course I do. I’m not a total bohemian.” She moved her hand further up, and he grew hard beneath her.

“Perish the thought.”

Bethany whistled. “Bigger than I thought. Usually size is bred away, but I suppose you didn’t exactly buy a bitch. For a gutter rat’s slave, he’s somehow just the right size. Not too big for my Lily, but not too small for me.” Although he was already hard, she kept stroking. Pressure built. He bit back his moans and tried to focus on keeping himself stable on legs shaking with need.

Bethany flicked a finger over the slit, and the world momentarily faded out in the sensation. “We’ll just have to get him more responsive,” she decided.

“He’s perfectly responsive in the appropriate context,” Master said, offended.

“How boring.” She pinched him gently, and he let out an involuntary gasp. She grinned. “Though I suppose it has its advantages to turn them off like a switch. So long as you can turn them back on again just as easily. Very well, I accept. He’s certainly the best I’ve come across so far. It’s not every day you come across a gold collar. I’d love to see what he can do.”

“I haven’t agreed to the breeding yet,” Master reminded her. “And besides, I thought you knew me better than that; you’ll have to compensate me.”

“Oh, nonsense. I know I’d have to play that silly game in order to fuck him—or have him fuck me. All I’m asking is for you to let him eat me out.”

Into the short pause, Bethany added, “He is trained in it, isn’t he? I can’t have an amateur for my Lily.”

“Of course he’s trained for it,” Master snapped. “I didn’t give him incomplete training.”
“Fine, fine. You’re right. Unexpected situations do happen. Now will you let me at him? I’m already wet just looking at him. It’s not like it’ll mark him in any way. You can have plenty of car sex on your way home.”

“Beth.” Master said her name like one would a child’s when they had finally grown tired of their immaturity.

“I’ll owe you one,” Bethany added. “I’ll pay you back however you like.”

That seemed to give Master pause. “You’d even arrange a meeting with your father?”

Bethany hesitated, then said, “We’re on far better terms than we used to be.”

“Good. Then in that case, I’ll allow it.”

August caught sight of her full expression as she turned back to him. He suppressed a shudder at the predatory gleam in her eyes. “Wonderful. I assume you’re going to be a prude like always and insist we go someplace else?”

Master stood. “Not at all. You can stay. I’ll wait out in the hall. Shall I take your girl with me?”

“No, no need. She won’t interrupt us.” She shot a warning look over her shoulder. Lily returned it with a stuck out tongue.

Master left, bodyguards behind him. The door had scarcely shut before Bethany was flush against him. She grabbed each side of his face and smashed their lips together. It took August’s mind a moment to catch up, and he hurried to kiss her back before she could be offended. He was still throbbing with need from her ministrations. It took effort not to climax at the friction of her up against him.

Her tongue demanded entry into his mouth. He let her in with a moan. That seemed to encourage her, so he did it more, just wanting it all to be over so they could go home and everything would go back to normal.

She turned them, bending him over backwards on the table. She followed, pressing herself against him. Then, she rolled.

Suddenly, August was on top, and she was pushing him down to kneel between her spread legs. She hiked up the material of her dress.

Taking the hint, August moved forward and slid her underwear down her legs and off onto the floor. He didn’t bother with the teasing and flourishes he’d been taught in training in an effort to match her level of passion.

Once he was close enough, her thighs came tight around his neck. It had been several months since he’d last had to eat someone out, given that his only practice was women who had won against Master in a game. But somehow, he got her to cum, squirming and moaning and curling around to grab at his hair.

Unlike Master, she was very loud and abrupt. It caught him somewhat off guard as he licked her clean. She released her grip in his hair and around his neck. He slid to the floor, still throbbing with need. But she wasn’t there to deal with it, so he focused on the bile creeping up his throat and the taste of her in his mouth and the literal child who had watched it all. That took care of it in a hurry.

Bethany was still breathing through the momentum of the orgasm, so he slid her underwear back on and carefully lowered her dress. It was slightly risky but not as much as leaving her there, exposed and vulnerable before him.

He knelt back down next to Master’s chair, shivering. He wished that she would hurry up and get over it so Master could inspect him for damage and he could get dressed. He kept his gaze firmly on the ground and not at any other person in the room.

It seemed like an eternity before Bethany slid down, straightening her dress. “Well,” she said, kneeling down in front of him. “That was fantastic. You certainly won me over.” She smiled and kissed him gently, then pulled back. She stood and made her way over to the door.

Master was waiting just outside. He stalked in as soon as the door was open. “Was he satisfactory?” He knelt in front of August and began the routine inspection.

“Perfectly angelic. There’s no need for all that,” she said referencing the inspection. “I kissed him, he ate me out, end of story.”

Master finished and stood, ruffling August’s hair. “One can never be too careful.” He snapped to draw August’s attention to his fingers, then flicked them up and to the side, telling him to stand and get dressed. He did so quickly.

“Come on, Alex. Loosen up. Do you really think I would try anything?”

“Like I said before. One can never be too careful. He inclined his head politely. You may arrange a second meeting with my secretary.” Pulling a business card out of his briefcase, he handed it to her.

She took it with rolling eyes.

August and Lily bowed in salutation, and they left. The bodyguards fell in around them. Master set a quicker pace than before. August limped after him, breathing through his teeth.
The cars were waiting for them when they arrived in the underground garage. This time, Master gestured for him to get in first and scoot to the other side of the vehicle, then sat down beside him. The vehicle rolled away from the curb.

Master tinted the windows as soon as they were on the maglev tracks, pressing the button to bring up the divider between them and the driver. Then, he unfastened his lifebelt. He did the same for August’s. “You did a good job today, August.” He took his hands in his, pulling him over and down to rest his head on the man’s lap.

“Thank you, Master.” The suffocation of the collar and tinted windows tightened his throat. Gentle fingers massaged his scalp. He allowed himself to melt into them, closing his eyes contentedly.

“I hope you’re not upset at the impromptu demonstration. I know you haven’t practiced that in a while.” There was a slight edge to his voice that suggested that he had caught a glimpse of him under the mask.

August shifted, nestling into him. “I’m not upset, Master.” The words sounded insincere even to his own ears, so he hurriedly added, “I was hungry. The sudden intimacy unsettled me.”

“Oh, I see. You poor thing.” Master slid his hand under the blouse to trace the scars on his back, probably remembering the years of training it had taken to manage his issues surrounding food. “Don’t worry. I’ll feed you as soon as we get home.”

August let out the tension in his body with a sigh. “Thank you, Master.”

“You can rest for now.” The hand pulled out from under the shirt, settling on his shoulder.

He kept his eyes closed and nodded. It didn’t take him long to feign sleep.

Chapter Text

They reached the Tower without any intimacy, though as he pretended to sleep August felt the man’s interest grow under his cheek. Master shifted under him, pushing him gently off his lap and shaking him to wake him up.

August put on a production of blinking blearily, complete with a shy yawn. Unlocking the collar and sliding it into the compartment, Master leaned forward to give him a soft kiss. It felt like he could breathe again. Master ruffled his hair, stepping out so August could exit behind him. He got out shakily. Hunger twisted his stomach, throwing memories of the past into his face.

After having been elevated for so long, his leg flared up with pain. He hobbled after Master to the elevator. The bodyguards stayed behind. Employees bowed respectfully as they passed at a slow pace to accommodate August’s limp. The pain was worse after walking so much, and he lagged slightly behind. The employees rose from their bows as he passed, just in time to spear him with looks of resentment or disgust. He focused on keeping pace with Master.

Master entered the passcode to the office, holding the door open for August to go in first. “Rest on the chaise for now.”

Out of breath, August bowed his head and shuffled over, more falling than lowering himself to the cushion. He propped his booted foot up on the armrest. Pulling the laptop from the case, he pulled up the transcript of the meeting. As Master made some calls, he translated the transcript from the efficient script he’d used initially into common writing so that it was legible for anyone who was literate. Anxiety due to the absence of food made it hard to concentrate on anything other than eating. He gnawed on his lip to distract himself.

Master promised. He promised. I’ll get to eat soon. Just wait a little longer . . .

Master started on his own work. August wished he'd eavesdropped on his phone calls so he would know if he’d ordered food yet or not. But he couldn’t just ask him.

After they had been working in silence for several minutes, the door buzzed. Distracted by his hunger and work, August jumped. Master shot him a look of disapproval. He pressed the button to unlock the door.

Mrs. Velp entered, carrying a tray of food. August’s eyes locked on it, saliva gathering in his mouth. That. He needed it. Needed it now. The urge to run across the room and snatch it away from her was overpowering. Only Master’s solid presence prevented him from doing just that.

It took him several moments to notice Dr. Winston standing behind her. He blinked, registering his presence. Belatedly, he remembered to greet them. He began pushing himself up so that he could bow properly, but Dr. Winston waved him back down.

“Relax, Trouble. Just rest your foot.” He turned to Master with a glare. “Pardon my impertinence, sir, but are you going to keep torturing him like this or let him eat?”

Master’s face hardened in a way that sent August’s heart skittering in fear. He looked legitimately angry. “I will not pardon such impertinence.” He stood. August’s eyes snapped to him, monitoring his every move. Although he was shorter than Dr. Winston, his muscled form and powerful glare sent the doctor back a step. “Do not ever accuse me of such cruelty. I am August’s master. I know his thresholds far better than you. Leave the medication and go.”

Dr. Winston cleared his throat, not meeting Master’s eyes. He pulled a box of weekly medicines from his bag. Setting it on the desk, he bowed stiffly and stalked out of the room.

Master turned his terrifying expression on Mrs. Velp. “Take it to the conference room.”

The woman bowed and hurriedly obeyed.

August felt the iron grip of panic clamping down as the food disappeared from sight into the adjoining room. He looked beseechingly to Master. The man’s face was still hard in anger. Mrs. Velps came out from the adjoining room and was dismissed.

Once the door had shut and locked behind her, Master stalked toward him.

August hunched his shoulders, cringing away. He couldn’t think straight. He was hungry and tired and confused and in pain. All he could think of was the food in the other room and Master’s cold expression.

A hand came down on his shoulder. He gasped, curling into himself and squeezing his eyes shut.

“August,” a voice commanded. “Look at me.”

At the direct order, the world regained some clarity. Just do what they say, and maybe, maybe, you’ll earn some food. He looked up.

Master stared down at him. His expression had softened into something bordering between concern and frustration. “Have I ever been cruel to you?”

The fist of panic constricting his chest loosened. “No, Master.”

“Have I ever broken my word to you?” His eyes were dark but compassionate.

“No, Master.” Unable to sustain eye contact, and no longer allowed to since the episode had passed, August dropped his gaze. His stomach chose that exact moment to gurgle demandingly. He tensed.

To his surprise, Master chuckled. “I’m sorry for making you wait so long. Go on in and eat.”

“Thank you, Master.” He saluted him in a daze and stumbled into the conference room where the food awaited him. Since Master wasn’t in the room to provide implied or explicit permission, he didn’t sit at the table. He brought the platter to the corner of the room where a cushion lay behind a bed tray.

The platter had scarcely touched down on the surface before he ripped off the cover. It was a simple soup with brown rice, kale, and tomato. With no one to supervise his manners, he shoveled it into his mouth, constantly watching the door despite Master’s promise.

When he finished, he stared at the bowl. It looked almost clean due to his care to eat every last bit. Nervousness fluttered in his chest. He’d thought he had progressed past this. But then again, he hadn’t postponed a mealtime for so long before. Nevertheless, the dark, oily feeling of shame crept up on him, swallowing him whole.

He sat there for several moments, staring at the empty dish. A feeling came upon him then, of just how wrong everything felt. How horrible it was to have his meals dictated by someone else. To be owned by someone, and to be expected to be okay with it. The constant torture of pretending to enjoy sex with someone he saw as a father and all the complicated feelings that went with that dichotomy. The knowledge that he might soon be forced to impregnate a little girl. He hated it. Hated everything. The world, Alexander Hudson, everyone who ever thought to own another person. But most of all he hated himself for forgetting how much he despised everything.

It had been a while since he’d had thoughts like these. Part of him wanted to sink back into intentional oblivion. The other part wanted to take control, to demand dignity and respect. But even then, he knew. There was no escape. He’d let that part of him win, once. But all it had resulted in was a failed suicide attempt and lost trust.

Get it together!

He ground his teeth, hands curled into fists on his knees. It wasn’t fair. He hated it. But he only had two choices: Live a lie, in absolute obedience to whomever owned him, or reject the system and be sent to a facility to be killed. As much as he wanted to die, being put down like some animal would be worse even than living like one.

A knock came at the door. “I’m coming in.” Alexander Hudson. Master.

August wanted to laugh. He thought that August was still panicking about the food, sniveling in some corner and so terrified that even just opening a door without warning would send him spiraling. He hated that that was exactly how he was, sometimes.

The door opened, and Alexander walked in. August couldn’t help but use the opportunity to search his eyes, looking for any sign, any at all, that he saw him as a person. But he already knew the answer to that.

Master knelt in front of him, brushing some hair behind his ear. August wanted to shove him away. Anger still boiled in his chest, trapped by a solid cage of hopelessness. Infuriatingly, tears sprang to his eyes with the intensity of the emotions. Grinding his teeth, he squeezed his eyes shut, lowering his head.

He felt it then, how completely alone he was.

“Shh, love, it’s alright.” Master pushed the tray away, wrapping him in a hug.

Emotions welled up, and tears streamed down. Overcome with frustration, all he could do was bury his face in the man’s neck. He couldn’t bring himself to return the hug and cling to him like he should to maintain the illusion, or even relax against him. It took everything he had not to push him away.

Master grabbed grabbed his wrist suddenly, pulling it away from him. “Enough,” he commanded.

Startled, August drew back. It was then that he noticed what he’d been doing. In his distress, he’d scratched mercilessly at his forearms. Blood beaded up in several places. The skin was red and irritated. He felt the stinging pain like a drop of water in the tumultuous ocean of his emotions.

The iron grip on his wrist didn’t let up. He stared at the ground, not sure what his expression was, and not confident in his ability to mask it. Panting for breath, he tried desperately to master himself. He couldn’t afford another mistake. But he couldn’t take it any more. His jaw was starting to hurt from how hard he was grinding his teeth. Master would lose his patience if he couldn’t get himself together and come up with an excuse that wasn’t ‘I remembered that I hate you’.

His arm was trapped, so he gnawed viciously on his lip, breaking the skin. Blood trickled into his mouth and he bit harder. His other hand reached up to yank at his hair. He needed to apologize. To pretend that he was reliving the past and confused Alexander for someone else. Master. Call him Master.

He sucked in a breath to do so, but it caught in his chest. Apologize? To him? Even if he groveled on his knees, it would never be enough. He hated the part of him that rejected that thought. That argued that Alexander was the first person to believe that he had a brain in his head. The first to acknowledge that he at least had feelings, even if he disregarded them more often than not. The first not to beat him half to death every time he forgot to bow, or said the wrong thing, or panicked when they didn’t want him scared.

Focus.

Master grabbed his other hand, trapping it between his hand and the ground. “August, look at me!”

No. The word was on the tip of his tongue, ready to be spat out in fury. He took a deep, long breath and reeled it back in. Then he took another breath. And another. Instead of restating his order, Master waited as he slowly regained control.

Not trusting his voice or expression, August gathered his legs under him, bowing down until his forehead touched the cold ground. Master’s hands still kept his trapped to either side of him. He swallowed several times to stem the flow of tears.

“Are you coherent?”

August shook his head, not yet ready to face him. There was no way out of this without admitting something. Swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth, he said the closest thing to the truth that he dared. “I . . . I want to die.” True. “I want to kill myself.” More true. “I’m sorry.” That I was ever alive to begin with.

Master was silent for several moments as he processed the words. Then, hands wrapping all the way around August’s wrists, he stood, pulling him up with him.

The world, which had nearly disappeared to him in the height of his emotions, faded to a bleak greyscale as they drained from him, leaving him emotionless and exhausted. He followed Master back into the main room of the office. With prompting, he knelt on the cushion beside Master’s chair.

“Don’t move,” Master commanded. After watching him for a few seconds to make sure that he comprehended the order, he turned and opened one of the drawers of the desk.

August heard the jangle of handcuffs before he felt the cold metal against his skin. Eyes unfocused, he let Master manipulate his limp arms into them. As they tightened into place, he blinked blearily. These ones weren’t padded like the ones Master typically used with him; they were backups. An emergency pair, in case of some unforeseen event. That certainly didn’t help August in his half-hearted attempts to remain grounded. Blissful dissociation beckoned. He teetered on the edge between aware and unaware.

Eventually, he crossed over. The world and all sensation felt miles away. Sound was muffled. From a distance, he heard voices. The pressure of hands on his arm, pushing his sleeve up wasn’t enough to bring the world back into focus. He drifted, detached from everything and wonderfully ignorant to his own body. A sudden prick in his arm, however, shattered the illusion.

August had half a second to recognize the needle in his arm and Dr. Winston’s distressed face above him before the welcome blackness of unconsciousness rose up to claim him.

* * *

Consciousness trickled back in increments. August first became aware of the heaviness of his eyelids and limbs. They didn’t respond to him at all for a while, and he drifted in and out of intentional thought. His foot hurt. He tried to move it to a more comfortable position, but chafing above the boot held the appendage perfectly still. Then everything snapped into focus.

He was lying on a stiff mattress—Dr. Winston’s office, then. His wrists and uninjured ankle were secured tightly to it with fabric restraints. Above him, the lights shone too blue and too bright.

He squeezed his eyes shut immediately. His pulse was already rabbiting wildly. He dug his nails harshly into the skin of his palms in an attempt to stay grounded. With careful use of a breathing exercise, he managed to calm himself down enough to crack his eyes open. Someone else stared back.

All of a sudden, he was eleven again, body aching from its brush with death and mind spinning, spinning, spinning. The eyes seemed to burrow into his soul and suck any meager warmth away. Master’s voice rang clearly despite the fuzziness of the rest of the world: “You really are just a stupid whore, aren’t you?” He could feel the fury radiating off of him just as clearly as he could see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice. “What a mess. Maybe I should just leave right back where I found you.”

The rest of his words drowned out in a cascade of panic. Pleas poured past his lips as the world faded further and further away. Darkness speckled his vision. He sank into it, wanting to hide away in it forever.

A sudden rush cleared his head, the sourness of it jolting him into awareness.

“Whoa there! Easy, Trouble. That’s it. Breathe.”

His chest heaved and tears streamed down his face. He was still in the medical room, but it was different, now. Older. Dr. Winston was holding his shoulders and staring at him with a worried gaze, nothing like the cold detached curiosity from eight years ago. “Are you with me?”

It took several seconds to control his breathing enough to respond, his voice ragged. “Yes, sir.”

Dr. Winston leaned back in his chair, letting out a giant sigh. “Thank God. I was worried that I’d have to sedate you again.”

August shivered.

“I’ll give you a second.” He got up and went into the back room. August could hear him tinkering with something. He tried to block it out, focusing instead on being present. Why was he here, anyway? He prodded at his memories tentatively. Hopefully they wouldn’t be too overwhelming and pull him back into panic. Dr. Winston was going to ask him, and he needed ot have an answer. No–what he needed was to have this whole incident undone. Erased. Forgotten, as quickly as possible.

Dr. Winston returned far sooner than he would have liked, but he doubted that he would’ve been ready regardless of when the man returned.

“So, Trouble. Feel like explaining what caused these meltdowns?”

His shoulders hunched without his permission. He forced them down again. “It’s just . . . You know. The food thing.”

“Ah. I see. Although Mr. Hudson told me he fed you right after I left. Are you sure there isn’t anything else you want to tell me?”

Was there? August didn’t know. He’d been near-delirious with hunger one moment, and the next, furious. He didn’t know what had caused it.

Dr. Winston must have correctly read his expression, because he sighed. “I know it can be hard to isolate triggers. But I for one have a hard time believing that this is all because of a late lunch. Don’t get me wrong--I know how much that can affect you. But whatever mental struggles you face tend to dissipate once you’ve eaten. And that’s not what happened here.”

Shrewd eyed seemed to bore into his mind. August traced a finger over the patterns on the sheets. An answer was probably appropriate, but his head was still spinning with residual panic, and he couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Do you think it maybe had something to do with your outing?”

Ice filled his veins as he remembered the discussion of breeding. “Oh, yeah, probably, sir.” His stomach roiled with insolent emotions. He couldn’t look up at the doctor.

When he didn’t elaborate, Dr. Winston rested a hand on his shoulder. “August.” His voice had turned hard and clinical. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“It’s–I mean, I shouldn’t–but.” He let out a breath that was more growl than sigh. “Master encountered an old acquaintance. The lady wanted to b-breed her slave with-with me. I know it’s not my place, sir. I know that. Sorry–I-I’m sorry. It’s just . . . the girl’s thirteen. Maybe. At the most, and I just.” He shuddered. Everything about everything was wrong. He couldn’t seem to force down the fury that surfaced whenever he thought of it.

There was a sudden silence in the wake of his words. August wrung his fingers together, waiting for the admonition. But it never came.

When he risked a peek up at Dr. Winston, the horror he was battling internally was pained blatantly across his face. He saw August looking and cleared his throat. “Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting that. I-I’m sorry, August.”

August blinked. When was the last time he’d called him by name? He’d certainly never apologized to genuinely before. Hell–had anyone apologized to him before?

“I know I shouldn’t say this. But I too am unsettled by that. To think that he would–” He shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I shouldn’t confuse you like this. Try to come to terms with it as well as you can. And definitely don’t let your master see how disgusted you are. But if you can, I would test the waters. If you can, mention some logical reasoning against it. Mr. Hudson does somewhat value your input, though I suppose it will be ineffective if he truly has his mind set on it.”

August swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat. That was probably the most candid Dr. Winston had ever been with him. It certainly didn’t help with the swirling role confusion in his head, though. “Thank you, sir.”

Dr. Winston ruffled his hair. “Alrighty, then. Now that that’s solved, I just have to figure out how much longer I should keep you here to let your nerves settle.”

August shook his head. “I’m okay now. Really,” he added when Dr. Winston’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “It was just a surprise, that’s all. And not having lunch on time.” The only way to get back into the right headspace would be to remind himself of his place. Dr. Winston’s too-keen eyes and sympathetic words would only muddle his head further.

The doctor sighed, massaging his temples. “Fine, then. If you make me an ironclad promise that you’ll let us know before you start spiraling again, okay?”

August squeezed his hands together, focusing on the pressure. “I promise. It won’t happen again.” The fastest way to return to normal was to be back in the routine of things, he assured himself.

Dr. Winston undid the straps on his wrists and took his forearm to help him up. They weren’t bandaged; the self-inflicted cuts had stopped bleeding, and they were shallow enough to do better in open air.

“Sorry for all the trouble lately,” August managed as he pulled on his shoe. The boot around his right foot was always heavier than he expected it to be; the designer shoe was nothing in comparison.

“Well, I didn’t nickname you that for nothing. Just try not to do such a good job of living up to it for a while now, got it?” And just like that, they were back to normal. The strange air from before had been completely replaced by semi-professional banter.

“Yes, sir.” August stood. Giving a half-bow in thanks, he limped out of the room. Already, he knew what he had to do. It wouldn’t be hard; rather, it would be far too easy. He just needed to remind himself of his place. Of why he had chosen to submit instead of fight.
Only Mrs. Velps was in the main living area when he entered the code. She looked up from her dusting as he stepped inside. With a sneer, she turned rudely away, not acknowledging his inclined head. Such behavior never really bothered him. He could understand the frustration of being free, but being of technically the same rank in regards to the household as a slave. Instead of using superficial features to claw her way up to the top, she’d had to toil for decades. He supposed that a begrudging attitude toward him could only be expected.

August shuffled over to her. “Do you know where Master is?” he asked softly, sure to keep his eyes lowered, even though he wasn’t obligated to.

“He’s in the study, I think.” Her voice was hard, and she still hadn’t turned back to face him.

Nevertheless, he inclined his head again. “Thank you, ma’am,” he murmured, and headed in that direction.

When he reached the dark wooden door, he stopped for a moment to collect himself. He glanced at the engravings carved into it, remembering a time when he was much younger, burning with curiosity at what was inside. Back then, everything had seemed magical: Elevators, clean water, the massive Megascreen in the room behind him. I would never have been able to see the sky without him. He’s kinder than anyone else has ever been or will ever be. Cherish it.

Firmly rooted in the desired mental state, he knocked.

“Come in.”

The doors opened silently. August slipped through, lowering himself as gracefully as possible into a full bow.

“You may stand. What is it?”

Pushing himself back up, August flicked his eyes up for a fleeting glance of Master’s face in order to discern his expression. Surprised, relieved, curious, lustful. Good.

Bringing his hands together behind his back, he delicately bit his lip, looking up just high enough to toe the line of propriety. “I was hoping to spend some time with you,” he said, voice pitched slightly higher than normal, and breathy.

Master frowned, folding his hands below his chin. “Are you not feeling better? I told Dr. Winston to wait until you were fully recovered before sending you back.” He stood, grabbing his coat jacket.

August took a step forward. “Wait! I’m sorry, Master. I miscommunicated. I’m all better now, I promise.”

Master narrowed his eyes, considering. “You’re sure? I can’t risk another episode like that, you understand.”

August swallowed hard. “I understand, Master. I truly am feeling better. It was just a passing panic.” He looked down, cheeks burning. “I’m sorry for inconveniencing you.”

With a great sigh, Master sat back down. “Very well, then.”

August hesitated, re-working his plan. First, he had to set the mood. An indulgent smile worked its way across his face as he sauntered forward as best he could with his right foot in a boot. Rounding the desk, he trailed a light finger over Master’s shoulders, leaning beside him to look at the papers he was working on. “Anything I can help with?” he asked playfully, batting his eyes.

A hand wrapped around to grab his waist, pulling him closer. “Not particularly. I just have to sign these contracts.” With his free hand, he picked up his fountain pen and continued his work.

August sank into a squat facing the side of the chair. He rested his chin on the armrest so he could blink up at him. Gently, he brought Master’s hand at his waist up to his mouth. First, he kissed the back of it, then each knuckle one by one.

Master chuckled, twisting to ruffle his hair with his free hand. “You little rascal,” he said fondly. He admired August for a moment, noticing his careful arrangement of limbs. “Well.” He sighed. “I suppose I don’t have to sign them all tonight.” He pushed the chair back and stood. “And besides, how could I not comfort you when you ask so politely after such a hard day?”

August brought a mischievous smile onto his face, rising with him. The hand returned to his waist as they made their way to the bedroom. Passing through the living room, August made sure to keep his eyes away from where he heard Mrs. Velps now vacuuming. He could feel her disdainful eyes on him, regardless.

The door shut behind them, and he let out a sigh. He leaned into Master, letting his head fall onto the man’s shoulder. The hand at his hip squeezed once in an attempt to be reassuring.

Master sat at the bench at the foot of the massive bed. August quickly knelt and took off the man’s shoes, placing them neatly underneath before putting his own beside them. As he did so, Master took off his jacket.

Master’s legs were spread wide, a clear invitation. Shifting forward on his knees, August nestled his face between the man's thighs. He looked up coyly. A hand made its way into his hair. With a smirk, he closed the distance, sticking his tongue out and licking the outside of his pants.

Master jerked his hair sharply. “Hey, now,” he chastised playfully. “No funny business.”
Looking up again, August winked, showing teeth. “Mmm . . . no promises, Master.” He giggled when another tug came at his hair.

Master unzipped himself and pulled free from his underwear. He was half-hard already. This time when August licked him, he sucked in a long, heavy breath between his teeth. August blinked slowly. By the time his eyes re-opened, he was ready.

Taking him in his mouth, August sucked. He bobbed his head back and forth, alternating a slow and fast tempo. Every so often, he would graze the edge of his teeth along the member, eliciting a groan and a tug of his hair.

He had him fully hard in moments. A few minutes later, he was cumming into his mouth, hips snapping against his face and hands buried in his hair. August swallowed around him. Then, he pulled away slowly, placing a last-minute nip on the head as he drew back.

Shame and bile crawled up his throat, but he shoved them away. Focus. They weren’t done yet.

While Master was still leaning back against the bed, moaning through his orgasm, August moved forward. Placing his knees to either side of the man’s hips, he leaned over him, arms braced beside his shoulders. It was one of the things that most masters would beat their slaves for; to them, any initiation was a sign of a festering desire for dominance that must be brutally stamped out. But August had found that Master didn’t mind-–and actually enjoyed-–it more often than not. For a man obsessed with control, he could be surprisingly lenient when it came to affairs of the bedroom. So long as they were alone and August wasn’t in trouble, he let him get away with a plethora of things that in some cases directly violated the typical rules of etiquette.

He placed a tender kiss on the man’s shoulder. When the response was both hands gripping his hips and pulling him closer, he moved on to his neck. Careful not to leave any marks, August worked his way back to the collarbone, then back up the neck on the other side.
Limp beneath him, Master closed his eyes in contentment.

Gradually, he worked his way back up to the man’s face. He moved from his jaw to his lips. Master almost never let him control the pace, but today he did. He’s not very good at it, he thought with a quiet snicker as Master involuntarily tried to take control yet again.

At that, Master’s hold on his hips tightened. He twisted, rolling them to the very edge of the bench so that August was under him.

Meeting Master’s eyes with a decidedly insolent smirk, August winked. “Guess we could use more practice with that, yes?”

In answer, Master grinned devilishly. He captured August’s lips in a truly violent kiss. August laughed, inadvertently breaking the kiss. “Okay, okay! You win.” He smiled up at Master as he pulled back, satisfied.

“Damn right I do,” the old man grouched. Shifting his weight, he pushed them backward, further onto the bed.

With a burst of delighted laughter, August arched his back to make it easier to move him. Master returned with more kisses to his neck, jaw, and lips. August gasped and whined at all the right times.

Master moved further down, unbuttoning August’s blouse as he moved until he reached a nipple. There he stayed for several moments, nipping and sucking as August squirmed under him. Hands fisted in the sheets to either side of him, August leaned up into his mouth. Master did not appreciate a stoic partner.

Apparently satisfied, Master moved further, hands unbuttoning in advance until he reached the end. Flinging the shirt wide open, he ran his hands over August’s torso. He kissed his navel, hands already undoing the fly of his pants. With August’s help, he shoved them off his hips, kicking off his own pants in the process.

August chuckled, gooseflesh igniting over his skin. “A bit eager are we, Master?” he prodded. He pushed himself up on his elbows, blinking innocently. “Is it something I did?”
“Lay down, brat,” came the gruff response.

With an insolent roll of his eyes, he obeyed, pulling his knees up as he did so. Ridding himself of his shirt, Master crawled over him, reaching for the bedside table. “You’re being quite cheeky tonight,” he said as he fiddled with a bottle of lube. “Are you sure you want to continue?”

“How could I not,” August replied. “Otherwise, you’ll spoil me rotten.” He said it with a grin as his heart pounded uncomfortably in his chest. He shoved the feeling down. Remember what you are. Why you do this.

Master pulled back, sitting in front of August’s open legs. “Well, then. In that case.” He drove two fingers in at once, eliciting a sharp gasp at the sudden sensation. The preparation was rougher than usual; faster and harder.

August let the mixture of pleasure and pain override his mind, producing a physical response. He moaned and gasped, still clenching his hands around the too-soft sheets. As pleasure grew, need built up to meet it.

Master smirked down at him, now throbbing in his need. “Still feeling impudent?” he asked. August moaned as he added an extra finger. He jutted them deep inside, let them twitch around for a moment, then pulled them all the way out.

“No, Master,” August breathed.

“Good.” Master patted him on the knee. “But nevertheless, there must be, mmm, consequences.” His hand moved to the junction between August’s leg and pelvis, massaging the hairless skin there.

“Please, Master,” he whimpered as his fingers drew closer.

“A bit eager are we, hmm, August?”

August scrunched up his face, fighting not to move into his hand. He panted breathlessly. All focus was on the aching need. So close.

Master grabbed his balls and jerked.

August gasped for breath, legs spasming as he tried desperately not to release.

“I believe I asked you a question.”

“S-sorry, Master. Yes.”

“Are you eager?”

August nodded furiously, eyes squeezed shut against the sensation.

“What was that?” His hand moved up to teasingly massage the shaft.

A shuttering exhale wracked his body. “Yes, Master.”

The touch left, and he whimpered involuntarily. This. This is what I deserve. “Please.”

“Uh-uh-uh. Consequences, remember? And no complaining. You asked for it.” He leaned over him again, coating himself with lube this time.

I did. I did. I did.

Finished, he grabbed August’s hips, lifting them off the bed. “Don’t you dare spill on my sheets,” he warned. With a wink, he pushed in. The pace he set was punishing, but never so brutal as to make him bleed.

The combination of need, pleasure, and pain made August’s head spin. It was only through an immense display of self control that he managed not to release, even as Master hit that perfectly right spot over and over and over. Finally, he buried himself deep with a powerful snap of his hips and released.

He pulled out, leaving August feeling every kind of filthy. “Oh, baby,” he murmured, leaning over him to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. Only when August felt the kiss did he realize that his cheeks were wet with tears. “I’m going to go take a shower.” Master kissed him again, this time on the lips. One hand went down between them to touch the head of August’s hard member. “This better stay just like this. We’ll see about your behavior when I get back.”

With that, he left him, panting and crying on the bed. Limbs weak, August closed his eyes, not watching him go. This is what I wanted, wasn’t it? He thought. To remember that I deserve it. That I want it. Even though he never felt like he did. But that didn’t matter. He was property. Had been all his life. And he was far from the only one. How could he complain when some slaves never even left the Dark City? When he had one of the most considerate masters available?

He wouldn’t defend the idea of breeding him with the girl. But perhaps Master wasn’t planning to go through with it at all. Sometimes he would show inflated interest in order to skew things in his favor. Yes, that must be it.

The shower started up, bringing his attention back to the present. With a jolt, he realized that he’d gone almost completely soft, the negative ball of emotions in his gut having doused any remnants of pleasure.

Gritting his teeth, he took hold of the bedclothes once again. He had to maintain the erection until Master returned. But no slave was ever allowed to touch themself without explicit permission. So he thought about sensation. A gentle hand caressing his face, soft lips against his. A smooth face. Long hair tickling his bare shoulders. A body soft where Master’s could never be. Hands gentle and chaste. Eyes sparkling with shared secrets. She was a ghost. An intangible person who never had and never would exist. But he could almost make himself believe that she was real.

It took awhile to return to his previous state. He focused on maintaining it until the door to the bathroom opened, spoiling the fantasy.

In a daze, he followed Master back into the bathroom. He turned on the shower, letting Master’s appreciative comments flow over him as easily as the water did. When he finished washing his hair, Master opened the glass door, drawing him away from the water. Apparently pleased with his obedience, Master stroked him several times before finally letting him release onto the tile.

When he got out, weak-kneed and feeling no cleaner but certainly more clear-headed, Master was waiting on the couch watching him. He handed him a towel, which he took respectfully.

As he dried himself, Master hummed contentedly. “Mmm, you haven’t practiced your instruments in a while. The maid’s going to all that effort to keep them in working order, and we hardly ever use them. You should perform for me tomorrow.”

Hanging the towel up, August knelt in front of him, resting his chin on crossed arms on Master’s lap. “I’d love to,” he said with a smile. A partial truth. It was nice to do something that had purpose; creating beautiful music was something he could do, and-–like his work in the office—wasn’t an activity that was exclusive to slaves. But stress always surrounded the experience due to Master’s keen eyes and ears and love of perfection.

Master ran his hands tenderly through August’s damp hair. “You play so beautifully. Almost as well as . . . ” He trailed off, eyes defocusing. Uh-oh. Not good. Him thinking of his wife always threw a wrench into everything. But there wasn’t much August could do to bring him back. He hummed, gently drumming his fingers on Master’s thigh.

“Let’s get to bed. It’s been a long day.” Master’s voice had a dreamy quality to it. He stood, careful not to knock August away, and led him back to the bed. He shuffled under the sheets, patting the bed beside him to welcome August on as well.

Sliding between the sheets, August maintained a short distance between them, watching for any indication that he should back away.

But Master rolled over to embrace him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Mmm, there’s my good boy,” he mumbled.

August nestled into him, overriding the panicked thoughts that wanted to take control by focusing on the sensation only. Once he was past the context of it all, it was actually quite nice to be held like something precious.

Chapter Text

He woke up sore. The room was cold. In his sleep, he’d somehow managed to create as much space between himself and Master as possible without actually pulling out of the man’s hold. He quietly corrected it, snuggling back into the embrace. Master mumbled something in his sleep, holding him closer.

The clock read 7:08, seven minutes before the alarm. August closed his eyes again. He simultaneously hated and treasured these moments of quiet. His mind was not a considerate companion, but it was rare that he existed without someone’s eyes on him or some task to accomplish.

He listened to the whirr of the air conditioner, staring at the curtains and wishing he could open them to see the sky. Relaxing into the sensation of being held, he rested. Unhelpful thoughts and memories tugged at his attention, but he pushed them away. Let me have this, he thought. Just this, and I’ll be good.

The blaring of the alarm jolted him out of his half-dozing state. Master’s eyes fluttered open. Grumbling under his breath, the man extricated his limbs and rolled over to turn it off.
August yawned and stretched. He let the covers slip down his abdomen, shivering slightly without the warmth.

Master turned back to him, smoothing the fabric of his pajamas. He held a bottle of ointment. “Turn over on top of the covers.”

August obeyed, resting his chin on crossed arms. The balm was shockingly cold on his goose-flesh covered skin. The welts had healed well over the past few days; the application no longer stung.

“After last night’s behavior, I should really make you do this yourself,” Master said. “Or withhold it entirely. You’re healed up enough.” But he continued to gently apply it over the marks.

August hummed contentedly. “Thank you, Master.”

The hand pinched him suddenly and he hissed. “Of course, you’re probably sore enough to make up for it, yes?”

August chuckled, pressing upward ever so slightly. “Oh, that? That was nothing.”

Master slapped him hard enough for it to sting for a moment before fading. “Don’t tempt me, now. I was planning to give you a pass this morning but I might just change my mind.”

“Mmm, I wouldn’t mind that so much.”

Master snorted. “You’ll mind this evening at the event we’re going to attend.”

August barely contained his groan. Again? He forced himself to laugh. “Well in that case, Master, thank you for your consideration.”

“That’s what I thought.” He finished applying the ointment, screwing the lid shut and putting it back in the drawer of the bedside table. Sitting back down beside August, he traced a finger over the faded scars on his back. “This week has been tough, hasn’t it, Love? Tonight we have an event, but tomorrow we’ll just stay home. Does that sound good?”

August sighed, pushing the unconscious tension from his body. “Yes, Master.”

“Come here.” Master guided him up into a sitting position with a hand on his shoulder. “You know I love you, sweetheart.”

He smiled. “Yeah. I know, Master.” He closed his eyes as Master leaned forward to give him a tender kiss.

He kept it short, leaning back and smiling. “You need to brush your teeth.” With a hand on his forearm, he led August into the bathroom. They brushed their teeth, side by side in front of the mirror. At one point, Master grabbed August’s brush and shoved it to the back of his throat. When August just stared at him in confusion despite the intruding object, he smiled and stepped back again. “You really are feeling fine, aren’t you?”

“Of course, Master.”

He ruffled his hair. “Good. Go make breakfast. Something simple off the menu.”

Still somewhat flustered, August washed his mouth and left. On his way to the kitchen, he cleared his throat, swallowing past the vestigial feeling there.

He inclined his head to Mrs. Velps in the living room. She ignored him, so he continued on to the kitchen.

He’d learned the basics of cooking in training, and almost always made meals on weekends, as the cook had those days off. Mrs. Velps had only ever cooked for them once at Master’s behest—only for all her efforts to result in disaster, after which she had only been allowed in the kitchen to clean or deliver dishes.

Putting together a quick but nutritious breakfast, August hummed quietly to himself. He hoped that he really did get the chance to practice playing today. It had been a long time since he’d picked up the cello or sat down at the piano. He just hoped Master wouldn’t be too disappointed with everything he’d forgotten.

Finishing the presentation of the food as he’d been taught, he pressed the button on the counter that signaled that the food was ready. He cleaned up the area as best he could before heading to the dining room. The curtains were open, showcasing the sunrise. August waited in the corner, looking out.

Master arrived shortly afterward, dressed in comfortable but stylish pants and a sweater. He gestured for August to sit and started eating. “When you come back from the gym, go straight to the practice room. We’ll brush up on some of your skills.”

“Yes, Master.” Excitement bubbled up alongside the corners of his lips. It truly had been far too long.

They ate in relative silence, August soaking in the view of the sky and checking incrementally that his attention wasn’t required elsewhere.

Having finished, Master pushed himself back in his chair. He patted his lap. “Come here.”

August set down his spoon and rose, moving over to him. Master took his hand, guiding him down onto his lap facing him. The material of his pants was silky smooth against his bare skin. With a hand on his chin, Master pulled him forward into a kiss. The wet sound echoed in August’s ears. Arms wrapped around him, just below his hips.

He ground down on the man’s lap, and he bucked up against him, groaning. It wasn’t long before Master pushed him to the floor, undoing the fly of his pants himself. He pulled himself free of his underwear, grabbing the back of August’s head.

August took him easily, working him to full hardness slower than necessary. Master liked variety, after all, and it was a Saturday, so they weren’t needed anywhere soon.

He’d just deepthroated the man when Mrs. Velps walked in, high heels alerting him to her presence.

After a lifetime of similar situations, he should really be shameless at this point. But knowing that she was there only grew the pool of shame in him. Master kept him right where he was, breathing through his nose in order to not choke.

“Would you like me to clear the table, sir?” the maid asked.

“Yes, please.”

August thought longingly of the two or so spoonfuls left in his bowl as she carried the dishes away.

Master waited until she was gone before continuing. Not long after, he released into August’s mouth. He swallowed and dutifully licked the tip clean.

They went their separate ways, August to the gym and Master to his study. Lights turned on as he walked the halls, activated by movement; none of the employees on this floor came in to work until Sunday evening when they freshened everything up for the workweek. Typically, he would don his exercise shorts before leaving the penthouse, but that wasn’t necessary on weekends.

He used the timer on his watch to safely navigate each doctor-approved exercise on time before washing up. The clothes that Master had sent down to him were mostly comfortable; a blue button-down under a milky white sweater-vest. The jeans were quite tight, but not more than he was used to; he could tell they were designed for slaves because the harsh fabric cut away on the inside at the top, replaced with a softer material in the place of underwear. All this just for a few seconds’ shorter wait, he thought sardonically.

He reached the lesson room just as the clock hit ten thirty. Master was waiting on the sofa inside, facing the piano. He was nursing a mug of tea in one hand, looking more relaxed than usual.

August bowed formally in greeting, keeping his forehead on the ground until Master acknowledged him. He did so almost immediately. “Have a seat at the piano bench.”

August obeyed, sliding open the cover after a questioning look.

“Play a few scales to get back into the feel for it. Think of something nice to play. I’d like to show you off a bit tonight. Something impressive but not too long or overwhelming. Preferably upbeat. I trust you’ll know better than me.”

The weight of expectation dragged his shoulders down, but he nodded nonetheless. At first, his playing was awkward and stilted; he hadn’t practiced in at least two months. But after a few warm-ups, it smoothed out.

At Master’s behest, he got out the folder of repertoire kept on a bookshelf to the side and played some excerpts. Although he had found his rhythm, he couldn’t help but make several mistakes–especially since Master wanted him to play them up to tempo. It was more frustrating than rewarding. He just couldn’t make his fingers move the way they used to.

After he finished a particularly challenging section, there was a pause. He could feel Master’s disappointment radiating from his right. He drew his hands back from the keys, folding them in his lap.

Finally, Master spoke. “You have some work to do before tonight.”

Even though he’d been expecting them, the harsh words still stung. He hunched his shoulders. “Sorry, Master. I’ll be ready.”

“Yes, you will. You’ll stay in here as long as it takes to get an appropriate piece to a respectable level.”

August heard him stand and cross to the door. “I’ll have Mrs. Velps bring your lunch. Don’t get the keys sticky.” With that, he left, locking the door behind him.

Flinching at the sound, August turned his attention back to the instrument. Without Master’s heavy gaze, he found his head much clearer. He flipped through the folder again. As he neared the end, he found an etude with crumpled edges and yellowing paper. The title was in an Old European language, but he recognized the notes. It was the first piece that he’d performed in any capacity. It had been his exam in Piano Music Performance–the last official class he’d taken and the one that promoted him to a gold collar. The paper was covered in light pencil marks and creased slightly where it had bent and been re-smoothed.

He felt his back straighten. It wasn’t a long piece, and it was mostly upbeat, with only a few phrases of gentle melodies sprinkled in. This, he might actually have a chance at getting presentable before that evening. He placed his fingers on the keys, then hesitated. The piece was almost sacred to him, if anything truly could be any more. It held all of the bottled up emotions of his last few years of training inside of it. He just knew that once he started playing it, they would well up again.

But he quickly curbed the thought. He needed something to play, and this was the only piece that would fulfill Master’s criteria. It didn’t matter what he wanted; he had to do it. So he started. At first, it felt strange, like someone else was playing it. He took it slow the first several times through, working through the most difficult passages several times before moving on. It felt foreign to go so slow, but he sped it up gradually.

As soon as he got into the rhythm of the piece, memories started welling up. Initially, they were mostly just him remembering which notes and rhythms to pay extra attention to, which phrases he’d practiced for hours and hours on end before finally mastering them. But as his old muscle memory returned, the music itself started tugging at his mind, willing him to slip back into his old emotions, to remember who he had been.

For a while, he drifted on the sensation. But as it started to dive deeper, he pulled his mind away. He wouldn’t be able to coast along on the music when he was performing it anyway, he reasoned.

At some point in time, Mrs. Velps delivered a plate of food. He vaguely heard her say something disdainful, but he was already tuning her back out.

Hours flew by in what felt like minutes as he fine-tuned the piece, running through it countless times before sitting back, satisfied. It was as good as it would get.

Sitting back, he stretched his fingers, massaging the ache out of his hands. Hopefully they wouldn’t cramp while he was performing.

He heard the door unlock and turned, falling gracefully to the floor. He touched his forehead to the ground in formal greeting.

“I take it you’re sufficiently prepared?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Alright. Let’s see. Get up and run through it for me.”

August didn’t look up at the man as he re-settled on the bench.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

With a nervous swallow, August started. It certainly wasn’t his best run-through, but he didn’t mess up anything too obvious. In the aftermath, he waited with baited breath. What if Master didn’t like it? Would he try to have August learn another piece in a too-short amount of time?

Master’s voice cut him off before he could spiral too far. “Acceptable.”

He exhaled slowly in relief. Relax. Everything’s fine. Master is satisfied.

They left the practice room, August with the music for the etude tucked under his arm. As they walked back to the main rooms, August became aware of the emptiness in his stomach. He’d assumed he’d only been practicing for a few hours, but it must’ve been more than that. When they arrived in the living room, he read the clock on the far wall, almost tripping over his own feet in his surprise. It was almost 6:00.

Master noted his reaction and chuckled. “I skipped most of our normal obedience work time in favor of your practice. We’ll tack on an extra hour tomorrow to make up for it.”

August’s eyes widened. Master never skipped the obedience training–not even when one of them was sick or immobile.

“Don’t make me regret that tonight.” His voice slipped into a slightly darker tone, and August shivered.

“Yes, Master.”

“Melissa!” Master raised his voice to get Mrs. Velp’s attention, frowning at August’s small flinch.

“Yes, sir?”

Master took the music from August and handed it to her. “Put this in the closet with the other preparations for tonight.”

The maid bowed and hurried to obey.

Master’s hand came around August’s waist, pulling him closer. “Dinner should arrive soon. There’s a rather lovely sunset underway that I think you’ll enjoy.”

August let a genuine smile take over his features as they made their way to the dining room. As promised, the sight was splendid. With the curtains pulled out of the way, he could see what seemed to be the whole stretch of the sky. The setting sun put on an artistic display, painting the clouds below a vivid yellow, red, and orange.

For a moment, August forgot about Master’s presence beside him and stepped all the way up to the glass, as close as he could without smudging it. The glass fogged with his breath and he remembered himself, taking a step back and turning sheepishly back toward Master.

The old man was sitting in his seat and regarding him with a soft expression. “You’ve grown so much, I sometimes forget how you used to be.” He extended a hand, an unspoken command. August reluctantly left the window and took it, kneeling beside the chair. He waited for Master to say something further, but the man just rested his other hand in his hair, stroking it softly.

A knock came at the doorway. August glanced up. Mrs. Velps entered, bearing a box of food with the logo of a restaurant on the front. Master sent August to his seat and dismissed her.

The meal was light–barely more than an appetizer. But it was to be expected since they would be out socializing that night. Once they finished, they headed directly to the bedroom. Nerves finally started to make their appearance in August’s stomach as they entered the walk-in closet. The room was easily big enough to be a bedroom all on its own. One side belonged to Master, the other to August. Hanging just inside the entrance to the room were two prepared outfits.

He found himself whole-heartedly hoping that something would happen so that they wouldn’t have to go. Horrible weather, downed maglev tracks, anything. But as passionate as the desire was, the reluctant resignation was just as powerful. They warred with each other, yanking August’s mind and heart back and forth, making him nauseous. He hated it, but since there was no way out of it, he had to maintain the facade. And he couldn’t just drag his feet, but had to perform through it all with relish.

He helped Master into his suit, sliding a priceless watch onto his wrist. Then, it was his turn.

The clothes hung up for him weren’t too risqué, so far as evening socials went. The black leather pants were tight, but didn’t quite dip below his hip bones. There was a netted black top with a leather harness that fit over it, silver clasps gleaming in the light. There was a thick black collar, too, but it would have to be put on after the gold collar signifying his rank, as it was cut to fit above and below the official collar. It was thick enough that it would be hard to lower his head while it was on.

Undressing was a whole production unto itself. Master watched as he teased the fabric off, every flex, bend, and flourish carefully calculated. Once he was naked, he waited for Master to tear his eyes away and reach for the clothes, hoping that despite his display, the old man would exhibit restraint.

When Master stepped forward, he tensed, then forced his muscles to relax.

Master stretched out his hand to lightly caress his face. “You’ll do wonderfully tonight, won’t you, pet?”

“Yes Master.” He pushed aside his confusion as Master stepped back.

Master handed the clothes to him, the order implicit. August took them and dressed, every movement a sensual statement. They moved to the vanity, where August did his makeup and hair, put in the earrings, and Master rested his hands on either side of the headrest to observe. The cloying scent of cologne and perfume filled the dressing room. August tried not to gag.

Master checked him over, running his hands over the outfit and judging the arrangement of the fabric. It took several minutes of adjusting before he was satisfied. August straightened his tie, wishing that the whole evening was already over.

After a brief run-through of obedience and etiquette practice, they headed out. Mrs. Velps smiled politely and bowed as they left. August avoided her gaze, focusing on keeping up. His foot was feeling much better, and he could put quite a bit of weight on it now, but he still lagged slightly as they made their way to the elevator.

The bodyguards met them in the underground garage. They rode in the purple Hyera car again. Master kept the windows fully tinted as they drove so that August could pleasure him with his mouth, collars tight on his throat and lifebelt undone.

Master let loose that it was Bethany’s estate that they were going to. August went rigid, thoughts locked on the possible breeding. His stomach roiled at the thought. The fact that they were attending a party of hers at all was a bad sign. But there was nothing he could do about it, so he sucked in measured breaths and forced himself to appear at ease.

After what felt like ages on a straight track going what was likely hundreds of miles an hour, August felt the change in momentum. They slowed gradually, then curved away from the straight path they’d been on for the past while. Soon, they disconnected from the tracks. The path from there was bumpy and slow; Master untinted the windows to reveal an endless forest to either side of them.

Unlike the pristine lawns and green spaces in the Light City, the surrounding area was truly wild. Birds flitted about, squirrels scampered along the leaves and leapt from bough to bough; countless dead trees sagged against their neighbors for support, covered in moss. Evening sunlight streamed through the leaves, casting everything in a soft golden light.

August couldn’t bear to take his eyes away. For once, he wasn’t denied.

Not long after, the lush forest receded to kept land. The road became substantial under them once again, and they picked up speed. It wasn’t long before they reached the massive gates of Bethany’s estate.

They stood for a brief moment in the chilly evening air while Master looked him over for obvious flaws. After smoothing back an errant hair with his spit, he nodded.

Entering through the front entrance was like being swallowed by a giant beast. A breath of warm, moist air enveloped them as the doors clanged shut. August scanned the room before deciding not to offer the traditional bow. The event hadn’t yet begun. Blue collared slaves moved frantically about, finishing up the last touches on the decor. Other than them, there was no one.

August squinted down from the landing to the expansive room before them. The walls were coated in glowing paint with aggressively bright strings of light parading down their sides. His eyes were already stinging. The thought of spending several hours in the room was almost as powerful a motivator to fake sick and damn the consequences as the dread of performing. With that lovely reminder, he turned away from the walls.

In the center of the room was a stage, in front of which circular tables had been set. Everything was bright and bold. Overlaid on top of everything was the music. Giant speakers let out little whispers of a symphonic piece. It was so at odds with the rest of the presentation that August almost forgot to school his features.

Beside him, Master sighed. “It’s going to be a rather long night, I figure. When do you think Bethany will let us leave? Midnight? One?”

August dipped his head. “Protocol dictates that it’s polite to stay at least an hour after the main course.”

Master started down the shimmering stairs. “A shame. She’s most likely planned that last in order to make it impossible for us to escape.”

August didn’t know what to say to that, so he just went with, “Yes, Master.”

Master flagged down one of the bustling slaves. The woman directed them to a side room that was no less ostentatious than the main one. Inside, Bethany was lounging on a sofa, weaving a tiny braid into Lily’s hair. The girl, who had been gnawing viciously at her lower lip, froze when they entered. She mirrored August’s bow mechanically.

August kept half his attention on the adults’ pleasantries as he looked Lily over. She looked terrified. Seeing such fear reflected in her young face made him want to turn tail and run as fast as he could. He shoved that instinct down. You can’t afford a freak-out now. Just do what you need to do. Lily’s baby pink dress covered more skin than her first outfit, but was no less revealing. The fabric clung to curves she barely even had yet, parting to reveal her pierced navel. Her face was touched with makeup, and her haired looked professionally curled. The number of clasps across the material would be a hassle to remove; August let out a relieved sigh. He probably wouldn’t have to face her unclothed tonight, at least.

She was surreptitiously monitoring him, too, though her observation was more an assessment of potential danger than concern. Lord knew he did the same thing. It was better to be prepared.

They locked eyes suddenly, light blue against brown. He wondered if the fear she saw in his made it better or worse.

He didn’t have time to ponder it, because Master lowered himself onto a sofa opposite Bethany, gesturing for him to kneel in front of him.

“So, what should I expect from your little golden boy?” Bethany asked. “How long did it take you to decide which of his skills to show off?”

Master dropped a hand onto his shoulder and started kneading absently. “Not too long. Though I’m certain you’ll disapprove.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“I felt it appropriate to do my utmost to distinguish him. I doubt any other competitors are as skilled on the pianoforte.”

August’s mouth went dry. Competitors? That could mean anything, but he had a sickening idea he already knew what it was for.

“Ugh! You truly are the worst.”

“Don’t let yourself be too offended, Beth. If there’s anything you require a demonstration of, you are free to help yourself to a private sample. I’m merely opposed to flaunting him so crudely.”

“You and your ergonomics.”

“I believe you mean economics?” Master’s voice was playfully innocent.

“Don’t be pretentious. You’re already here ten minutes early; you don’t have to overdo it.”

“Within some circles, it’s a sign of consideration for the others’ time,” Master said dryly.

“Phf. Blither blather. It just makes you want to leave sooner.”

“I will leave when my presence is no longer required.”

“Oh? And what if you’re the guest of honor?”

August was glad he’d had very little to eat before they came. His stomach was twisting up so tightly, if there was anything left inside it would have ruined Bethany’s plush carpet.

There was a brief pause in which August could practically see Master raise one sardonic eyebrow. “Now why would that be the case? I thought this whole extravaganza was designed to narrow down your choices.”

“Oh, Alex, you really are clueless sometimes, you know that, right? Of course I’ve already decided. It’s just a formality at this point. But a woman reserves the right to change her mind. Besides, I’d like Lily to get to know him a bit more. If she hates him, I’ll reconsider.”

Wait. No. No-no-no-no! This was happening too fast. It was already decided? He’d known it was likely inevitable ever since Bethany had sampled him, but hearing it made it feel all too real.

“I’d rather be clueless to the ways of the foolish than wise,” Master scoffed. “Since we’ve gotten all of the smoke and mirrors out of our way, shall we set up a meeting time to hash out the particulars?”

“I don’t see why not.”

August tuned them out again to focus on his breathing. Don’t let them see. He felt more than saw Lily’s eyes on him. He couldn’t look at her. All he could think was, No, no, no.

Chapter Text

Daniel hugged his thinning jacket tighter around himself, shifting from foot to foot to fend off the cold. The sky was black, as it always was this time during the fall. His breath misted in the air in front of him, mimicking the steam from the approaching train. Numb fingers remained clasped around the handle of his worn briefcase by muscle memory.

The train screeched to a halt in front of the platform, and the doors slid open. Only a handful of people got out. As soon as the light above the doors turned green, the horde on the platform surged forward. Daniel managed to get into the train with the first wave. He snagged a seat quickly before the rushing mass could trample him.

People flooded in, pressing themselves against one another to get out of the way of the more insistent ones. Gardeners, cleaners, and nannies, all going home to the Dark City from work in the Middle City. They were worn and haggard, but they had nothing on the bone-deep, empty-eyed exhaustion of those who never left the Dark City.

Once the rabble was more or less settled, he got up, letting an elderly woman take his place. It wasn’t a long ride, and his legs were strong.

As the train dove down into the mountain, he thought about Martha. That morning when he had last seen her, she’d been out cold, exhausted from wrangling two children and a job at home that didn’t pay enough. He thought about her sleeping face, more relaxed than it ever was awake now, and remembered her as she was full of vitality: A Dark City girl just like him, sponsored by some Middle City benefactor and full of hope. Her dark eyes would twinkle and shine with anticipation, and her full lips would spread wide in a grin. Before he’d lost his job, that was.

The train pulled into the dingy station. He followed the sea of people down and out, taking a deep breath of the dusty air. He ambled down the main road, eyes flicking around and ears listening intently for a threat. It may not be the Lower or Middle Dark City, but it was still dangerous. He needed to be careful; with a briefcase, he telegraphed his relative wealth and became a target. Even his stocky, muscled build wouldn’t be enough to deter the most desperate. The streets were crowded with people rushing to get home before the Dark Hours.

When he finally had to turn down a side road, he ever so slightly picked up his pace. His apartment wasn’t too far off of the main road, so he reached the building quickly. His legs burned pleasantly as he climbed the cement steps up to the fifth floor.

Pulling his keys out of their hiding place in his boot, he unlocked the door. He entered quickly and relocked it, turning to face the room.

The small area was full. Theodore and Elizabeth were occupied with wolfing down their bowls of instant pasta. Martha was sitting on the sagging couch with another woman who sat facing away from him. They were so deep in conversation, Daniel had to clear his throat to get their attention.

“Hello . . . ” The word died on his tongue when the woman turned around. “Rachel?” he asked, voice barely more than a whisper.

His now almost thirty-year-old sister gave him a small smile. The last time he’d seen her, she was still dependent on their eldest sister Gaby, wide-eyed as she begged for food and sucked on her thumb. Now, she looked haggard and worn down from life in the Middle Dark City. Her shoulders drooped under an invisible load. She looked gaunt and tired.

And yet, when she smiled, he knew for a fact that it was her.

“Hey, Danny.”

“Rachel,” he murmured, kicking off his shoes and dropping the briefcase so he could hug her. She felt even thinner than she looked. He pulled back and got a good look at her face, eye bags and all.

She pulled the rest of the way away and sat back down on the couch. Wringing her hands together, she glanced around the room. “Uh, Danny, listen.” With a serious tone, she sounded less like herself and more like Gaby.

Daniel sat down next to his children in front of the couch. He rubbed their backs as they licked their bowls clean. He could tell from the way Rachel shifted in her seat that this would not be a happy family reunion.

“Wait until the kids go to bed,” he said, taking the empty bowls. Theo grumbled about still being hungry. Elizabeth pouted and crawled onto Martha’s lap.

Rachel waited patiently as he and Martha wrangled them into the bedroom and tucked them in.

“I’ll stay with them until they fall asleep,” Martha said. “You go on ahead.”

“Thanks, honey.” He kissed her and went back out into the living room.

Rachel was still on the couch, fidgeting. He sat down next to her, gently taking her hands in his. “What is it?”

She lip her lip, tears welling up. “There’s so much, Danny. Since you left . . . ”

“It’s okay.” He patted her hand. “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “Don’t be. Jacob and Hannah did and—oh, you didn’t know!” She retracted her hand to swipe at her eyes. “Hannah died.”

A lead weight sank to the bottom of his stomach. Hannah? Dead? He’d always thought of her as a fortress of sorts, steady and strong amidst the chaos of constant siege. But it appeared that someone had breached her walls. Grief welled up, alongside guilt. I left them. She was always working so hard, destroying herself to support us, and I left them. “When?” he choked out.

“She went missing seven years ago. But she was confirmed dead just recently.”

Seven years. “She was thirty-four.” Younger than he was now.

“After she disappeared, Gaby went out hooking in her place, and picked up a trash boyfriend.” Now that she had started, the words kept coming, like a dam overflown. “He beat her half to death, so she couldn’t work. Somehow he convinced her to marry him, and they moved down to the Lower Dark City.” Her voice cracked but she kept going, each sentence like a knife in his chest. “That piece of trash that married her got our mom hooked on some drug before he left, so now she’s basically dead. And Dad’s got some problem with his memory—he can’t even button up a damned shirt! So now it’s just Isaac and me, and I have to stay home to watch after Mom and Dad. I—I hate to say this, but we need help. And I know that you’re having money troubles now, but we ran out yesterday. And the rent is due in five days. Going down to the Lower Dark City is a death sentence for Mom and Dad!”

The gravity of the situation grounded Daniel as anger, grief, and guilt warred for his attention. “You need money.”

He finally looked up and met her eyes; she did the same. “I need money.”

“How much for the rent?”

“Seven hundred tira.”

He exhaled shakily. That was a whole week’s worth of the bare minimum of food. But they would have to make do. “Okay. But I can’t do this every month. We have to find a better solution.”

Rachel visibly relaxed, melting into the couch and not bothering to wipe away the tears of relief running down her face. “Thank you, Danny. I—thank you.”

He touched her shoulder in comfort. “Do you want to stay here tonight?” he asked.” It’s late; the Dark Hours will probably start before you get home.”

She pinched her nose, shaking her head. “I can’t. Theo leaves for work at three, and Mom and Dad can’t be left alone.”

Daniel nodded reluctantly. “I’ll walk you there. Martha needs to know what’s going on, then I’ll get the money.” He got up and tip-toed his way across the room to the bedroom door. He eased it open.

Martha was sitting beside the sleeping forms of Theo and Elizabeth. She looked up at him with a strained smile. He beckoned her forward.

She wormed her hand out of Theo’s grip and stood quietly. “What is it?” she whispered when she reached him.

“Rachel needs seven hundred tira. I’m going to give it to her.” He watched her face carefully.

She frowned, eyebrows pinching together. “We’re barely scraping by with what we have. How are we going to afford this?”

He held her hands, massaging gentle circles over them. “Don’t worry. It’s not a long-term setup. I’m just giving her the amount due this week. Then we’ll have a month to figure something out.”

Martha scrunched her face up, shaking her head. “We’ve been trying to figure out a way to scrape in more money almost all year. How do you know we’ll think of something? That we’ll have enough? What about the kids? I can’t take a job until Theo’s old enough to look after Elizabeth.”

“Shh,” he soothed her.

She blinked furiously, taking in shaking breaths. “Okay, I’m calm now. I’m sorry. I trust you, I do. I just don’t see a way out of this.”

Daniel waited until she met his eyes before he said, “Don’t worry. I won’t let you or the kids go without food. If we run out, I’ll just go without until we have more. We’ll need to brainstorm some more tomorrow. But I’m walking Rachel home tonight.”

Martha’s shoulders sagged, and she nodded. “Alright. Be safe.”

Daniel kissed her forehead. “I love you.”

She smiled and cradled his hand to her chest. “I love you, too.” With that, she snuck back into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Daniel took a few moments to process before he turned back into the living room. Rachel sat at the edge of the couch.

“Well? What’d she say?” she asked anxiously.

Daniel shuffled into the cramped kitchen. “Don’t worry. She’s not against giving you the money, just stressed about what it means for us.” He knelt in front of the cabinet the furthest from the oven, running his fingers along the seam of wood meeting the plastic flooring. With a bit of probing, the entrance gave way, and he reached inside. Pulling out a wad of cash, he counted through it. He put the excess back inside and closed it.

Standing again, he crossed over to Rachel. “Here.” He offered it to her.

“Thank you.” She hesitated a moment, staring at it, then accepted it. She tucked it inside her shirt. “Can we get going?

He felt a small smile creep across his face at the familiarity of the phrase. Before Hannah disappeared, she must’ve had an impact on Rachel. “Yes,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

It seemed like ages before guests started trickling in. August spent that time studiously avoiding Lily’s attempts at eye contact and keeping half an ear on the conversation going on above his head as he tried to freak out quietly. He wasn’t entirely confident in his success, but no one mentioned anything as of yet.

When the group of people became too large to fit comfortably in the side room, they moved out to the main area. The perfumes and colognes of the attending people and their slaves formed a dizzying cloud that hovered over the proceedings.

Most of the slaves were green-collared, with a handful of silver collars and a few blue. All of them were male, and were dressed anywhere between slightly suggestive and barely clothed. By unspoken agreement, none of the slaves made eye contact. It was enough that the free people were there to observe their discomfort; no one wanted the additional weight of pity and knowledge that came from each other.

When the room was sufficiently filled, everyone migrated over to the tables in front of the stage. Servers brought the first round of food, which the personal slaves arranged in accordance with their owners’ preferences.

After a while of feasting and chatting which August tuned out, the room went dark, a spotlight appearing in the center of the stage. Bethany sauntered to the microphone set out. The guests dutifully quieted and turned to her.

“I’d just like to take the time to welcome everyone who came today. You will all be compensated for your attendance, so don’t worry about that.” She waited for the pleased titter to circulate around the room before continuing. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time. We all know why we’re here, so let’s have a show!” The audience cheered. “The winner will be announced after dessert. And with that, I’d like to welcome Mrs. Adams with her competitor Glimmer!”

The pair made their way to the stage. The man trailing behind the woman more closely resembled a bodybuilder than a personal slave. His beard was shorn close to his face, but it was clear that he was at least in his thirties. Lily stared wide-eyed. Mrs. Adams gave a brief introduction, then stepped off. Raunchy music began, and the man began to move. August kept his gaze on the speakers near the stage - close enough that it would seem like he was paying attention, but far enough to not actually see anything. Why bother, when all it would do was upset him?

Instead, he ran through the piece he’d prepared, surreptitiously drumming the fingerings into his thigh. Master’s hand came to rest in his hair as he watched the display.

And so the pattern went. It seemed to be going alphabetically by the owner’s last name, so August kept one ear peeled for the H’s.

Every so often, the crowd would let out a cheer or someone would wolf whistle. August glanced over to Lily where she sat directly to the right of the stage where she could both observe and be observed. Her face was ashen, and she fidgeted more than she ate. He couldn’t blame her.

Despite his best efforts to zone out during the performances, he still caught a few moments that sent his anxiety skyrocketing. One blue-collared boy tripped and fell in the middle of a dance routine. His red-faced owner stomped onto the stage and dragged him away without letting him finish. Another sang an excerpt from a difficult aria so flawlessly that Master squeezed the back of his neck in warning. You have to do better than that.

All the acts seemed to be the rote result of weeks of practice. Doubt creeped in. August shook his head slightly to focus himself. The deal was already done. All he had to do was put on a good show for Master. But he hadn’t performed in years. What if he got stage fright? No. He couldn’t think like that.

Not for the first time, he wished that Master would permit him to play with the music. But Master was far too fond of showing off his memory to even entertain the idea. Besides, he liked to keep it to himself and follow along with August’s playing, making note of every mistake for later reference. It wasn’t that he couldn’t memorize the piece. But having the music there just in case was a reassurance that August would do almost anything for.

Before he knew it, Bethany was calling them up. The walk to the stage passed in a blur of faces and vibrant colors. August wrangled his expression into impassivity and his breathing into a semi-stable rhythm. He could freak out later. For now, he had to perform.

Master made their introductions, adding on a comment about how ‘skills can be trained and beauty is guaranteed, but intelligence is rare’, then stepped off the stage to observe.

All eyes locked onto August. His palms were sweating, the leather outfit suddenly stifling. Every muscle was humming with tension. Not a twitch. Everything has to be perfect. He flashed a winning smile and started to play.

It seemed to be going well. He didn’t look up to see how the crowd - or Lily, or Bethany, or Master - were reacting, but he could tell by the almost reverent silence, the muffled clapping that threatened to distract him through the difficult parts. He was close. So close to the end, he could feel it. The hardest passage of the piece was approaching, but he felt confident. It was flowing smoothly. He barely had to think about it as muscle memory ingrained from months upon months of practice kicked in. So he risked a glance up.

His fingers stalled, then panicked, the discordant chord slamming into the brief silence brought about by surprise. Because standing directly in his line of vision was Gerard. Grinning. Flanked by two bodyguards.

His distraction lasted only about two seconds, but that was plenty of time to seal his fate. He didn’t remember where he’d left off, and his hands were in the wrong places and Master was going to be so furious, he would –No. He snatched the panicked thoughts and shoved them deep down where they couldn’t take over. Finish the piece. Just finish it. He improvised as best as he could until he found the right place, then brought the piece to a close.

Heart in his throat, tears stinging his eyes, he looked up. He slid a pleasant expression back on as he turned to face them but his hands were shaking, breath coming in short gasps. The polite applause from the audience seemed muffled as all his senses narrowed in on Master. He was frowning. Bethany was smiling as if nothing was wrong, but Lily was regarding him with a contemplative expression. August forced himself up from the piano bench. He bowed to the audience and fled the stage in as stately a manner as he could manage.

Master turned stiffly and led August to the hallway just outside the main room. They passed by hushed chastisements and quiet begging. More than one slave was crying. August’s nails dug into his palms. He’s never cruel, never cruel.

They went further down the hallway until a bend hid them from all others. There, Master suddenly whirled, grabbing August by the collar and slamming him against the wall. “What was that?” he hissed. “You know better than that! You should be glad you were lucky enough to find your way back or so help me — What is Bethany supposed to do now? She can’t very well announce a fumbled act as the winner!” He grabbed one of the loops on the leather collar surrounding his gold one and pulled. “What happened?”

August swallowed, trying to bring moisture back into his dry mouth. Apologies crawled up his throat but he swallowed them down. “I s-saw him.” He shook his head. Be clear, damnit! “Mr. Chambers, Master. He was here. I saw him and - ”

“Panicked.” Master rolled his eyes. “Right.” He released August, taking a step back. His furious gaze still pinned him in place. “I know it’s been a trying month, but this behavior is completely unacceptable.”

August flinched.

“We’ll have to go back to the basics in training, tighten up the rules a bit until you can handle things better.”

“Yes, Master.” He ducked his head, shame heating his cheeks. He really did know better. Master was right. If he hadn’t looked up, nothing would have happened.

“You can expect the punishment tomorrow morning, followed by a day of reviewing the basics. I may alter our future schedules if necessary to accommodate more training.” With that, he turned on his heel and stalked back toward the venue. August followed silently.

When they emerged into the main area, another performance was already wrapping up. They took their seats unobtrusively and sat in stiff silence for the rest of the show.

When the overhead lights came on, a smattering of chatter began again. Before it could progress to full-blown conversation, Bethany took the stage again. Master gave August’s hair a warning tug before resting possessively on the back of his neck.

The pressure on the collar made bile rise. Or maybe that was Bethany’s unbothered expression as she spoke into the microphone. Would she choose someone else? Did he even want to be chosen?

“That was spectacular, don’t you think?”

Applause and cheering.

He’d been hoping that the deal would fall through ever since it was first brought up. But after witnessing the other performers . . . Most were either grown men or kids as young as Lily.

“That’s the best time I’ve had in awhile! Same goes for Lily. Isn’t that right, sweetpea?”

Everyone’s gaze shifted over to the now blushing girl. Lily ducked her head sharply in agreement.

“I’m sure you’re all on the edge of your seats to see who won - and don’t worry, we’ll get to that. But what do you say to starting the main course?”

Cheers welled up once more, but the knot of tension in August’s stomach refused to dissipate. Needless to say, Master didn’t share any of his food. August was almost grateful; he doubted he could stomach anything at the moment.

About fifteen minutes into the meal, Bethany and Lily got up to mingle with the guests. As they made their slow way in Master’s direction, August willed them to go somewhere - anywhere else. But his wishes had never counted for much, and within five minutes they were exchanging greetings.

“Alex! That was wonderful. Consider me thoroughly impressed. Lily too.”

August kept his eyes firmly on his lap.

“My deepest apologies for the slip up. I don’t know what got into him. I assure you that that is not the norm.”

“Oh, nonsense! He was wonderful. He only paused for a second. Of course, it helps that Lily was making goo-goo eyes at him the whole time.”

Yeah, right. Willing me to fail more likely.

“I’m glad you were satisfied. Does your initial inclination hold?”

“Why yes, yes it does if we’re using fancy talk.”

August’s shoulders sank in restrained relief even as the bile climbed higher in his throat.

Bethany continued. “I’ll announce it after dinner. For now, though, I have someone for you to meet.”

“Who?”

“My father. He’s in his office. I told him that I’d send you there to arrange a more formal meeting time with him, so you can head up whenever you’re ready. Just ask the black collar by that door there.”

Master stood. August shifted to follow suit, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. “Actually, Beth. I’d prefer it if you kept an eye on August while I’m gone. I shouldn’t be too long.”

The words stung more than they were probably intended to. August’s shoulders hunched. Why didn’t he want him there?

“Of course!” Bethany agreed. “It’ll get the people talking about him being the winner too. I’m sure Lily will appreciate the extra time to get to know him.”

“I’m sure she will.” Master’s footsteps faded away.

“Actually, that reminds me . . . ” Bethany’s voice trailed off. “Come,” she ordered.

August rose, taking a moment to remember what his position should be. Lily was Bethany’s personal slave, so she walked two steps behind her and slightly to the side, even though August’s collar was higher than her’s. Since he was a gold collar, he could either walk the same distance away to Bethany’s other side or directly behind her four steps back. He elected for the latter as it was less presumptuous - especially since Bethany wasn’t well versed in the particulars of slave etiquette.

They entered the smaller room they’d started in. Bethany had Lily and August kneel on cushions facing each other before ordering them to stay there. “I’ll be back in a bit, darlings. Get to know each other while I’m gone.” With a kiss on Lily’s cheek and a ruffle of August’s hair, she left, closing the door behind her.

Lily cleared her throat into the sudden silence. “Um, hi?”

August looked up to meet her gaze. “Hi.”

She flushed. “Sorry, sorry. I don’t really know how to talk to anyone who’s not Beth.”

He stiffened, gaze inadvertently shooting to the door behind him.

“Oh! Don’t worry. She lets me call her that. Sorry. Probably should have told you that first.” She hugged her thin torso with thinner arms.

“I guess I don’t really talk to anyone but Master either.”

“Right. How is he? Like, is he strict? Or does he just seem like that? Y’know, my old master, he looked like a big ol’ grouch, but he was actually pretty nice.” She looked at him expectantly.

August flicked his gaze around the room uncomfortably. “Kind of? With some things he’s more rigid than others. He gives me extra privileges, but only in private.”

“Huh. But he doesn’t, like . . . hit you?”

August blinked. Because what the actual fuck. What master didn’t hit their slave on ocassion? “I mean, only when I mess up.” Her eyes blew wide so he hastened to add, “It’s really not that bad. It doesn’t even bruise most of the time.”

That only seemed to make her more concerned.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. He’s my master, not yours. I take it your mistress doesn’t hit you? What does she do then?”

Lily shrugged. “Not much, really. She’ll lock me in my room when she's really mad, or make me skip dinner. But most of the time she just glares until I fix it.”

Shoving down a bitter wave of envy, August nodded. “Weird. Good for you, I guess?”

Lily cast her gaze to the side. “She’s still breeding me, though.”

And just like that they turned simultaneously to face the elephant in the room.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It’s so messed up. I just . . . it’s my fault, too. That Beth picked you.”

Really? August was opening his mouth to respond when the door opened. Expecting Bethany, August initially didn’t turn. But Lily’s wide-eyed look of confusion had him twisting around. As soon as he had, he wished he hadn’t.

An oily smirk slipped onto Gerard’s face as he locked the door behind himself. “Well hey there, Love Bug. I was starting to think you’d already gone home.”

August bowed silently, hearing Lily do the same as Gerard circled the couch separating them to kneel beside him. Already, his nerves were lighting up at any movement, his heart hammering against his ribcage as if determined to break free.

His voice sharpened. “Yeah, you better fucking bow, cunt.” A harsh kick shoved him onto his side. Lily let out a strangled sound. He recovered the appropriate position, hands fisting in the plush carpet. How did he get in here? He’d thought that Bethany had locked the door behind her. Apparently not.

Gerard twisted a hand in his hair. “After what you did, you owe me big time. You know what? Fuck you. Fuck you, dipshit.” He punctuated his words with kicks and punches. August curled up instinctively to protect his stomach as blows rained down. “You think you’re better than me? Huh? Think you can just do whatever the fuck you want? Get me fired?”

Where was Bethany? Where was Master? Were there even any security cameras in this room? He couldn’t look up without Gerard knowing exactly what he was doing, and as stupid as the man could be, he probably wouldn’t fall for the same trick twice.

Lily was silent off to the side. He couldn’t see her from his defensive position. He wished she would have the sense to escape while Gerard was preoccupied and get help. That wouldn’t be possible if she was frozen in panic. Hopefully Gerard would leave her alone until help arrived. But how much longer would it take?

A foot made it past his blocking, landing squarely on his jaw. Another slammed down repeatedly on his booted foot. August grit his teeth, refusing to cry out.You think I can’t take a beating?

He heard sniffling behind him; Lily was crying. Somehow, that was worse than the pain that now ricocheted around his body. How dare Gerard do this in front of her. She was already freaking out because she was going to be raped by a total stranger and have to carry a baby to term before she would even be able to drive if she were free. She shouldn’t have to deal with this too.

A hand around his neck was all it took for anger to twist into stomach-churning fear. Gerard climbed on top of him, pinning him to the floor by his hips and neck. The hand constricted suddenly. One moment his breaths were coming sporadically, the next, not at all. His hands scrambled for purchase, body involuntarily bucking to get Gerard off. Miraculously, the man’s grip loosened. August slammed the palm of his hand into his throat, sending him sprawling.

“Get in here!” Gerard shouted.

Gasping for breath and shaking so hard he could hardly move, August met Lily’s gaze. “Go,” he rasped, “Get - ”

Men poured into the room before she could move. They wore suits and earpieces and locked the door behind them. One assumed a guard position but the rest made quick work of pinning August to the ground, this time on his stomach with his hands twisted behind his back. Someone was sitting on his back, and it seemed that each of his limbs were being held by a different man.

Pressure. Pain. He shut his eyes, pressing his face into the floor, but he could still see the looming, gleeful faces. As clothes began to give way to sharp, cold air and too-hot hands, he wasn’t even sure if what he was seeing was these men or a group long past. All he knew was that one moment he was on the ground being held down, breath wheezing and pain sparking, and the next he was gone.

Numb, he watched a too-familiar scene play out once again. It didn’t matter which six men it was this time, just that they were there. The girl in the corner covered her ears and screamed. The piercing sound tugged at his free-floating consciousness, not quite enough to drag him back into his body.

He watched dispassionately as the body that was his was brutalized six times over. Why? He thought. I thought this part was over. It had been. For almost a decade, he’d been safe from these kinds of violent encounters. Master made sure of that. Master never gave him to more than one person at a time. Master set strict rules that he not be damaged. Master wasn’t cruel. Master kept his promises.

He didn’t remember what happened next. He merely floated, hardly even existing. He thought he quite liked it like that. Maybe if they damaged his body badly enough, he’d never have to go back. He could just hover in this limbo space forever. Or maybe they’d kill him. Gerard certainly seemed angry enough to. He didn’t have the control that so many owners had, the restraint not to take it too far, the training to know when to stop. That wouldn’t be so bad either. He wouldn’t even have to feel it. It’d just be over suddenly, like a light turning off in a room. Like slipping into a sweet, dark sleep.

* * *

He woke in an unfamiliar bed in a too-white room with a raging headache and a body that felt as though it had been simultaneously shredded with knives and bludgeoned with a hammer until nothing remained but one big wound. There was a soft pink comforter over the sterile sheets. His wrists and ankles were free of bonds. His foot throbbed in its cast. He wondered how far his recovery had been set back.

Maybe if waking up knowing that something horrible had happened but not remembering it was less common for him he would be more alarmed. As it was, it only took him a minute or so to remember who his current owner was. None of his previous owners could ever even dream of having enough money to use a room this nice. Even if they did, they certainly wouldn’t spend it on August.

He ran an inventory of his injuries. His foot was re-injured and he was shredded from the violence of the rape. His ribs could either be broken or cracked, but either way they were shooting him constant reminders not to move or breathe too deeply.

He was still awakening to new subtle sensations, settling back inside his body when the door opened. Master entered, followed by a flock of medical personnel. His thundering expression faded slightly as August bowed his spinning head.

The nurses bombarded August with a myriad of questions and prodding touches, recommended painkillers to Master, and left.

Master sat on a chair to his left. “Good news first. I had an STD test run, and it came back negative.”

August felt the tension in his shoulders ease somewhat. At least he wouldn’t have to go through that awful treatment again. He shivered slightly just remembering it. Master regarded him thoughtfully.

With a stab of panic, he snapped his mask back into place, surprised he’d let it slip. “Sorry, Master. I’m listening.”

Master frowned. “That’s another thing. Regardless of outside circumstances, your behavior as of late has been abysmal. I wouldn’t have left you with Bethany at all had you performed well at the competition. This has to stop.”

August froze. He couldn’t mean . . . he wouldn’t . . . would he? His cracked ribs protested as his breathing picked up.

Master sighed. “Relax. I’m not willing to pay for re-education at the TVSS unless things truly start to spiral.”

August let out a breath of relief, sagging back against the pillows.

“There’s also the safety risk that we need to address. Everyone involved in this attack has been fined, not to worry. But we can assume that Mr. Chambers is not deterred by serious consequences, given the current incident.”

“Yes, Master.”

Master sighed. “I suppose I shouldn’t overwhelm you so soon after waking up. But you should know regardless. I’ve decided to hire a bodyguard for you.”

August’s head snapped up.

“Thirty applicants have already been selected to continue on to the next step.”

He seemed to be waiting for a response, so August cleared the confusion out of his voice. “Thank you, Master.”

“Whoever is chosen will act as a proxy in my absence until my trust in you is renewed. I will take your opinion into consideration when making the final decision.” He pushed a clump of hair behind August’s ear. “I know it’s been hard, but we’ll get it sorted out, alright? Everything will be back to normal soon.”

“Yes, Master.”

Master pressed a soft kiss against his lips. “There’s my good boy.” He stood. “I’ll permit the use of painkillers so you can rest for now. Tomorrow we’ll start narrowing down the applicant pool.”

“Thank you, Master.” August breathed out slowly as the door shut once more, leaving him alone.

Mere minutes later, painkillers started pumping into him from an IV on the back of his hand. Instead of thinking through the new information like he probably should, he lay back and closed his eyes, slipping into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

It was the last day of the month. Daniel swiped his ticket to enter the train station for what may be the last time. If he didn’t get a job in the Upper City, he would be stuck in the Dark City to scrounge around until he could afford the travel fee again.

The walk to the employment office was particularly chilly. The sun was hiding behind several layers of clouds to the point that it reminded him of the Dark City. No, he corrected himself. Even at night, it’s nothing like that. The open feeling of the sky above him could never be compared to the crouching stone roof of the Dark City.

He waited in line for one of the computers, then scanned the screen for any new jobs. He applied for those he could, dismissed the ones that had rejected him, and made room for the next person. He didn’t really read any of them. As long as he was qualified and they would pay him, he didn’t have any requirements. After all, the whole process was monitored and regulated by the Office of Employment, so nothing listed there would be illegal.

Instead of returning home as he probably should have, he milled about the Upper City. Even on the outskirts, luxuries that he would never afford were on constant display. Miniscreens, decorative clothing, jewelry worth more than his entire block of buildings.

He bought the cheapest toy he could find to avoid being jailed for loitering, as obviously from the Dark City as he was, and watched the muted sunset from a bench outside the train station. When he could afford to stay no longer, he turned his ticket in and rode the train down, deep into the heart of the mountain.

Theo and Elizabeth were thrilled by the toy; they hadn’t had anything new in at least a year. They set about playing with it on the floor. Daniel sat with Martha on the bowed couch, watching them. Strange as it was, they didn’t discuss their finances. There was nothing to discuss. They both knew that they would be on the streets within a week if Daniel didn’t find a job. Martha’s contributions just weren’t enough to keep their heads above water. They couldn’t support Rachel the next time she came. They couldn’t afford food for two meals a day.

They sent the kids to bed and stayed up late sipping hot water.

A day passed. Two. Daniel did odd jobs in the Dark City. It was never enough. He visited the train station every day in hopes of seeing a ticket sponsored by someone offering him a job. He came back with empty hands. Three days. Four. They were down to one meal a day. Daniel started cutting his portions to make more go around. Five. Six.

As he entered the train station on the seventh day, he held no hope. He was already debating what to do when the ticketmaster slid a ticket and note across the counter. Trembling, Daniel reached across. He double-checked that it was, in fact, addressed to him.

He tore through the crowded room to look at the timetable. The ticket was dated two days from then. He ran all the way home.

Martha was scrubbing clothing in the bathing bowl when he burst through the door. Her eyes latched onto the ticket. “Is it really?” She stood, laundry abandoned.

“Two days from now. I haven’t read the note yet.”

They opened it together, eyes devouring the words. Daniel could hardly read with how much his hands were shaking. Martha’s hand held his steady.

It wasn’t a straight job offer, but it was close. He was invited to a skill demonstration in two days. Hudson Magnetics. The Tower. Noon. Bring proof of identity.

Daniel frowned. “‘The Tower?’ Which one? It can’t mean . . . ”

Martha laid a hand on his shoulder, leaning in to kiss his cheek with smiling lips. “Oh, honey. If it was anything else, they would provide an address.”

A flutter of excitement lit up his chest. If he could get a job in the Tower . . . Not only was it in the Upper City, it was near the city center. He scanned the rest of the note, wondering if there was a salary estimate.

His eyes caught on a word in the job description. His body turned to lead. “I . . . I can’t accept this.”

Martha paled. “What? Why not?”

He pointed.

Job Description: Bodyguard and supervisor for a gold collar slave, 24/7. Two vacation days a month, pre-applied. Employee housing for 10% of offered salary (K5.000.000).

“Oh.”

The brief silence between them sucked every ounce of relief away, leaving them stiff and devastated.

“I can use this ticket to go back to the employment office. Apply for some more jobs.” Frustrated tears pricked at his eyes.

“Actually, I think you should still try it.”

Daniel whirled to face her. “What? No! I promised myself that I would never participate in that!”

“I know! But think. If you take the job, you won’t have to participate, per se. I mean, it’s up to you since you’ll likely have to observe plenty of . . . revolting practices. But think. If you don’t get the job, who will? Someone who sees nothing wrong with what’s going on. You have the opportunity to make that slave’s life better. Provide moments of decency and respite. Theo and Elizabeth need to eat. Don’t berate yourself for this.”

He hesitated.

“And, if you don’t get the job, at least you tried. I refuse to just give up.”

Taking her hand in his, he melted. She pulled him close, swaying them back and forth. Foreheads pressed together, they closed their eyes. Martha waited silently as he thought. But as soon as his wife had spoken, he’d known that she was right. “Okay,” he whispered, and it was a mountain off his shoulders. “I’ll try.”

* * *

Daniel stared up at the Tower in awe. It was easily the tallest building in the area. Amidst the skyscrapers of the city center, that was saying something. Everything about the area screamed wealth and luxury, from the cars to the perfectly trimmed and arranged greenery. There was a noticeable absence of anyone looking any less than plastic perfect.

In the middle of all the splendor, Daniel couldn’t help but feel like a muddy child tracking dirt through the house.

If he let himself look, he knew he would see countless people being led around on leashes or following silently behind others. He would see collared children dressed to draw sexual attention, non-collared children passing the sight by. But he didn’t let himself look. He turned his eyes away.

Automatic glass doors slid silently open before him. A woman wearing a black collar bowed deeply and checked his identity before directing him to a rapidly filling room. There was a water fountain in the wall, a chandelier in the ceiling, and armchairs and sofas scattered about. Men and women in spotless suits milled about, plucking light confections from a table in the corner. Not a single one marked his presence.

Tugging his fraying coat tighter, he slunk into a corner and sat in the most unassuming chair he could find.

A tall, preening man entered not long after and called the first two applicants. From then on, they were called one by one. Thirty-five minutes exactly passed between each person.

Finally, it was his turn. He rode up the smoothest elevator he’d ever seen for long enough to get sick of it, then entered a colossal room. Lights in the high ceiling shone bright enough to blind. A track encircled a gym’s worth of exercise equipment. The gargantuan space took up the majority of the floor. They followed the track halfway down the room before ducking through a doorway to the side. One wall consisted entirely of a mirror. The floors were padded.

The man who was guiding him bowed to a camera in the corner of the room, then excused himself. Daniel turned to the only other people inside.

One of the first applicants who had been called stood across from him. The man’s suit jacket and shirt were hanging on the wall, leaving him in dress pants and a tank top. Another man in a suit stood at the back of the room, hands behind his back.

Daniel nodded politely.

“Daniel Smith?” asked the man in the corner.

“Yes, sir.”

The man marked something on a clipboard. “Take off as many layers as you desire. You’ll spar against Roda Kilmore for fifteen minutes. If you lose, you are dismissed and removed from the application process. If you win, you will remain here and spar each new applicant until you either lose or are the last one remaining. The five best sparrers will continue on to the next day of application - the interview.” He sighed, bored by the information. “You have two minutes to prepare. Starting . . . now.”

Chapter Text

August spent the following week in the hospital. Strangely enough, he hardly thought about the attack. After so many like it, it was hardly worth pondering. Thinking about it would do him no good, so he didn’t bother. Yes, it was a shock after so long without experiencing violence like that. Yes, it brought up all sorts of horrible memories that he’d thought had been long forgotten. He avoided prodding at it, hoping that then perhaps the rest of the memories would stay away, too. At least he couldn’t remember the night terrors that left him exhausted and terrified each morning.

Master stopped by once a day for as rigorous an obedience session as the medical staff would allow. He seemed determined to fix the blotches in August’s behavior quickly. Something about not wanting to lose respect from Bethany. He was less than pleased with August’s accumulating mistakes due to the exhaustion. Apparently he had hoped that all manner of unnatural things had become second nature for August after all this time.

Besides that, August spent his time working on his laptop or looking over the application tapes. They were muted to avoid distraction. Several people stood out, mostly due to their devastating aggression. One man caught his eye for another reason. He was dark-skinned and shorter than average. His quiet wariness and life-trained reflexes were efficient, but lacked the smooth, practiced quality of the other applicants. Once August finished watching the first round of applications, he started on the interview tapes. The interviews were less gripping than watching two men wrestling each other to the ground, but he made sure to pay close attention in case Master asked him about it. To preserve fairness, the interviews were audio recorded but not filmed. August listened to them, taking dutiful notes.

As soon as the third applicant spoke, the hair on the back of his neck rose. That accent . . . he hadn’t heard it in years. What was someone from the Dark City doing applying for a job in the Tower? The two places couldn’t be more dissimilar; they might as well be on separate planets. But here he was, Mr. Applicant Three. Instantly, he was reminded of the dark-skinned man in the sparring tapes.

There was something oddly familiar about the man’s voice that prickled in the back of his mind. He pushed it away; any reminder of his time in the Dark City was an unwelcome one. Yet he found himself hanging on every word, basking in the relaxed nature of his speech. It had taken at least five years for Master to work the accent out of him and shove him into the Upper City one instead. The sound of it both drew him inexplicably in and repelled him with the force of a thousand Yuldrin magnets.

Applicant Three shared August's wonder of everything above, but he also represented the demographic that had caused him the most misery in his life. Dark City men knew no restraint. He couldn’t be fooled by his soft spoken words.

There was a tremor in this man’s speech, a hesitation between question and answer. He spoke clearly but softly, gentle but certain. His answers themselves were individually fascinating.

“What prior experience do you have that makes you a good fit for this position?”

“I’m glad you asked that. While I never had a formal education, I was an underground mixed martials fighter for seven years, a boxer for two, and a protector of my family always. The Dark City streets aren’t exactly a walk in the park. You have to be constantly vigilant.”

This man had, at the very least, lived an interesting life. Which of the sparring men had he been? Was he the giant tank of a man that had used little to no technique but won every bout regardless? Was he the thin, older man with surprising speed but a tendency to strike in more serious places? Or was he the unrestrained, efficient dark-skinned man?

The door slid open. “Going over the interview tapes?”

August bowed. “Yes, Master.”

“Any favorites so far?”

He hesitated. “Not yet, Master. I haven’t gotten through them all.”

“I suppose that’s fair. Unfortunately, you won’t have time to finish going through them today. You’ve been discharged from the hospital. Mrs. Velps has made up your old room for the time being.”

The words hit him like a slap to the face. Was he still angry with him? They hadn’t slept apart in years, not since his last major misstep. “Wh-what did I do?” Was his behavior not improving rapidly enough? Had he forgotten some form of etiquette and not realized it? Maybe Master was growing sick of him. Maybe he was tired of dealing with August’s more frequent panics, maybe -

“Nothing specific, love. You and Lily will be spending a lot of time together, and it would hardly be appropriate for two slaves to make themselves at home in a master’s bedroom. No,
your old room is perfect.”

August pushed down the bitter sting with a smile. He took Master’s hand in his, bringing it up to his lips for a soft kiss. “You’ll allow me back after the - ” He coughed to give himself time to shape the correct inflection on the word “ - breeding?”

Master ran the tips of his fingernails over his skin, making him shiver and lean into the touch. “Of course, love. There’s no doubt I’ll miss you while you’re away. But I agree with Bethany - for once - that this is the right way to go about it.” He pressed a kiss to August’s forehead. “Now let’s get you ready to go.”

Master helped him up, tutting in displeasure when August grimaced through the pain. “Honestly, August. What did you think we’d be up to in the bedroom with you still like this?”

August hissed a breath out through his teeth. At least his foot was almost completely healed. His ribs were still a constant discomfort, though most of the bruising had faded.

He showered and dressed in clothes brought from home, bit his lip as the golden collar clicked into place around his neck, and followed Master to the elevator.

Despite his reservations around August’s injuries, Master made use of his mouth on the ride home. August had almost forgotten how annoying it was to forcibly regulate his breathing with injured ribs.

The trek to the elevator was uncomfortable; it took a while before he slipped into an old gait that took pressure off of his injuries. Regardless, he was still huffing slightly by the time they reached the penthouse.

When they reached the door to his old room, a shiver skittered down his back. It’s not a punishment, he reminded himself. It’s not for long. Just until after the . . . breeding.

Master swiped his card over the lock and it clicked open. Stepping inside was like going through a time machine. Everything was identical to how it was the last time he’d been there. The four-poster bed in the center had the same blue duvet, the bookshelf in the sitting area to the right was still overflowing with books on etiquette, music, business, and countless other things. Everything was immaculately clean. He knew that if he were to wander through the door in the back, he would find himself in a large bathroom with blue and gold accents. Even the smell was the same. The air was dry from circulating up hundreds of storeys and smelled faintly of lavender.

As luxurious as it was, August’s lungs ached as the door shut and locked behind them. The windowless room felt more like it was hundreds of storeys below ground rather than above it. The camera in the corner was on. August forced his expression into placidity as Master turned around.

“Nostalgic, isn’t it? I’ve had the waterproof cover removed from the bed seeing as we don’t have to worry about you wetting it anymore.” He chuckled.

He pushed out a dry laugh, blushing scarlet. “I don’t think Lily would much appreciate that, Master.”

“No, she wouldn’t. Neither would Bethany, I imagine.” He gestured inside. “I’ll have the cello moved in here, along with what you’ll need for work. Though I expect that you attend to Lily while she’s here. Bethany wants you to court her properly before the breeding.”

August’s smile faltered. He ducked his head to hide it. “Thank you, Master.”

Master ruffled his hair. “Alright, then. You have the place to yourself for tonight. Lily will be coming over tomorrow morning at eleven o’clock. I left you a checklist of tasks to finish before then.”

“Yes, Master.”

Master grabbed his chin, kissing him firmly. “Be good.” The door closed and locked behind him.

August let his shoulders fall. He found the checklist on the bedside table and got to work. The list was surprisingly short and easy to accomplish. A glance at the digital clock set into the wall showed that he still had several hours left in the day. He could hardly remember the last time he’d had time to kill.

Nostalgia led him to the sitting area in the corner. Gingerly, he lowered himself into an armchair within reach of the bookshelf. It positioned him with his back to the camera. That way whoever was watching could see that he was reading but not his expression. Given the grainy nature of security cameras, they wouldn’t be able to make out the words on the page.

He ran a finger along the books with a sigh. Some were intimately familiar; their spines bore the marks of frequent openings, and sticky notes poked neatly out of the top. The closest titles were among the most worn: Advanced Music Theory, Microeconomics Volumes one through five, The Art of Pleasure: A Comprehensive Guide to Male and Female Sexual Experience, The Slave’s Place: A Rulebook for Interaction.

He picked up the etiquette book, one of the largest of the bunch and easily the most used. He knew this book like a lover. Better, even. Opening it carefully, he traced a finger over the sloppy, barely legible handwriting of his younger self near the beginning. The first few chapters contained only pictograph notes. He’d learned to write as he read the book. Scanning the bookshelf again, he was almost certain that this was the first book he’d ever read. The words were so familiar to him now that he couldn’t imagine struggling to read them.

The notes were another matter. He half expected them to be some sort of window into his past mind. But each note was carefully worded. There was no emotion or opinion in any of them. Both Master and his tutor at the time read each one. He’d spent almost as long deciding what notes to write as he did memorizing the information.

With a sigh, he closed it and slid it back onto the shelf. He hesitated, then reached for a book on the bottom shelf, hidden mostly by the chair he was sitting in. On the outside, it appeared to be a book on human anatomy. However, upon closer inspection it was rather clear that the cover had been ripped off some poor medical book and glued onto a novel of great length. The sight of it made it slightly easier to breathe. It was still here. He flipped it open to the beginning and started it anew. It had been several years, after all. He read until his computer arrived.

That night, he stared listlessly at the ceiling more than he slept. The distinct lack of warmth at his side was unsettling. He hadn’t slept alone in years. The smell and sound and feel was all wrong.

The next morning while he was reading, the door unlocked and opened. Expecting Master, he slammed the novel shut.

Dr. Winston stepped inside. His gaze went immediately from August’s flustered expression to the book in his lap. A crooked smile cut up the hard lines of his face. “I’m glad to see you enjoying my gift. I told you it was more riveting than it first appeared.” He winked.

August flushed, embarrassed to be caught reading it. “Just re-familiarizing myself, sir.” He set it back in its place out of sight, turning expectantly toward the doctor.

“Right. Mr. Hudson sent me here to help you through a new exercise regimen that’s a little easier on your injuries. Miss Bethany Tomcast will be bringing over a girl named Lily at around eleven o’clock. That gives us an hour and fifteen minutes to work on getting you back into shape.”

* * *

Lily arrived at the room at eleven-seventeen. Mrs. Velps let her in, locking them in together. The hateful look she gave August just before the door slid closed had goosebumps erupting down his arms. It wasn’t her usual disdainful glance; it was potent fury.

What, you think I want to do this?

Running a hand down his face, he turned back to Lily.

The girl was dressed in a lavender miniskirt and crop top, blonde hair twisted up in twin ponytails. She shivered in the harsh air conditioning. Arms wrapped around herself, she flicked her eyes around the room. Her gaze skittered away every time it came close to touching him.

“Do you want a blanket?”

Her eyes snapped to him, but she still didn’t quite meet his gaze. His brows drew together when he realized that she was using a trick that he often used on Master - looking high enough to show that you’re paying attention without meeting the person’s eyes.

After a moment’s hesitation, Lily nodded.

August stripped the blue duvet from the bed. She wrapped it around herself like a cape. It probably wasn’t what Master and Bethany intended for their ‘bonding’ time, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He wasn’t going to make Lily any more miserable than she had to be.

“Do you want to sit down?”

She nodded mutely. He led her to the small gathering of chairs by the bookshelf, letting her pick which chair to sit in. He took the one next to her so that his back faced the camera and hid both of their expressions.

Lily hovered on the edge of the chair. She was still shivering.

“Are you . . . afraid of me?” Lord knew he couldn’t blame her if she was.

But Lily shook her head. “No. Not you.” There is something to be said about the eyes of someone who has seen you at your lowest fixed upon you. Lily’s blue eyes drilled into his heart and ripped out his soul without even meaning to.

It was August's turn to look away.

“I probably should be.” She huffed a nervous laugh. “With . . . everything. But you haven’t done anything to scare me yet, I guess. And . . . ” She was quiet for long enough that August wondered if she would finish speaking at all. “When Beth brought it up, I saw your face.”

“Oh.”

She hunkered down further behind the blanket before mumbling, “I didn’t watch.”

“Huh?”

“What they did to you. I didn’t look.”

August huffed out a nervous laugh. “Oh, well. Thank you. I’m . . . glad you didn’t see.” The various hurts still healing around his body made themselves known. It was a relief to know that at least one person fewer had witnessed the attack. Her eyes had felt especially heavy.

“What’s it like? When it happens, and you don’t want it.” She pulled the blanket even tighter so that only her eyes were visible.

Like they tear you apart until they reach your soul and shatter it. Like they dirty every particle of your being until you’re soaked in filth. Like they scrape away your humanity until there’s nothing left. Like they steal your body away and give it back broken. Tears budded in his eyes but he blinked them away. How had it come to this? Lily was a child. She was a child, and she had to ask this because she had to know.

“S-sorry. You don’t have to tell me, I just - ”

“It's awful.” He met her watery blue eyes, stark against her pale skin. “It rips something away that you can never get back.”

Lily blinked frantically, but the tears still fell.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He ground his palms against his eyes, trying to breathe past the constricting guilt in his throat.

“Shh, it’s okay.” Somehow Lily was right next to him, a comforting hand on his bowed shoulder.

Get ahold of yourself! She shouldn’t have to comfort you, when you’re about to destroy every last fragment of her innocence. He wrangled his breathing into a rhythm, forcing his mind to blank. When his eyes were sufficiently dry, he straightened. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have broken down on you like that.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

“ . . . It’s better to be prepared. To know what it’s going to cost you.” He traced the books on the shelf with his eyes. “Do you want me to teach you about it? Things that make it easier to bear?”

She gnawed on her lip, following his gaze to the bookshelf. “If you think it might help. Only . . . can we do it later? Beth told me that they’ve already planned some more ‘dates’ before the big thing.”

“Of course. Whatever you need."

Lily smiled then - a real, genuine smile with teeth. “In that case, have you got anything good to read?” As she scanned the book titles, her smile faded. “Oh, I forgot. Your master is a big fat lame-o-saurus. Of course he wouldn’t give you anything but a bunch of dusty bores.” She sniffed. “Beth gave me a whole shelf full of real fiction books! It’s my favorite thing to do, so she lets me, even though she’d prefer I play dress-up.”

August’s lips twitched upward without his consent. Was this what most children were like? Or did Lily have some special kind of resilience? “I do have one book,” he hedged, grinning when her eyes went wide. “But you’ll have to find it. It’s got the cover of a ‘dusty bore’. If you find it, I’ll let you read it. If not . . . ” He gave her a secretive smile. “I might just spoil it all!”

Lily rolled her eyes and August realized that he’d never actually been so engaged in a conversation before. There was no real front to keep up, no mask. No lie. He didn’t have to fake enjoyment or regret. With Lily, he could simply exist. He wondered if she noticed it too. Was this what it was like to be free? In another life, could Lily have been a younger sibling?

Most people don’t have to force themselves on their siblings.

The thought stole the smile from his face. He relaxed into his chair, watching Lily rampage through his carefully ordered books in search of the fiction one. Regardless of her exuberance, she was still mindful of the bindings and corners. August kind of wished that she would just throw them to the ground. Maybe rip them to shreds. Maybe tear them to pieces and burn them until nothing but ash and smoke remained. The strange thing? He could actually almost imagine her doing those things. It felt wrong that someone as free as her was trapped into a life of mindless compliance. It didn’t suit her.

“Aha!” She held the novel aloft. Her stick-like arm wavered under the weight, but her toothy grin touched both sides of her face. “You call that hidden?”

Chapter Text

When Lily left, August found himself strangely cold, like she had taken the warmth with her. Carefully, he pushed a bookmark into the novel to save her place and set it into its hiding spot. Then, he set about straightening the room. He pushed books back into their places and returned the duvet to the bed.

Mrs. Velps arrived with a meal, a garment bag, and a note from Master: ‘Finish interviews and be ready by 4:15. Do something special.’

He finished watching the interviews first. He ate quickly, dropping the dirty plate into the disposal chute. After a quick shower, he got to work. He dressed first, taking in the look from different angles. The outfit consisted of a shiny charcoal grey dress shirt and black dress pants. He dried, then styled his hair. ‘Something special’ would be easier to accomplish with makeup than anything else, he reasoned. He applied the typical foundation and highlights, then a generous amount of a luscious lip gloss. But the true artistry he saved for his eyes. He went for a bold eyeliner that had taken him months to master and a smokey grey eyeshadow to match the shirt. Carefully, he raised the tip of the eyeliner again to create a teardrop effect on his cheek. The dresser was stocked with his current accessories. He rifled around until he found what he was looking for: a stick-on jewel to match the shape he’d outlined on his cheekbone.

Leaning towards the mirror, he examined his work from different angles. Satisfied, he locked it all in place with a fixative. He enhanced the look with threader earrings and a matching teardrop necklace. Two thin rings fit onto his fingers. A sharp perfume completed the ensemble.

August spared a glance at his watch. 4:02. After a few more moments of intense scrutiny in front of the full-length mirror in the bathroom, he sank into the armchair in the corner, careful not to wrinkle the suit. It was the sort of airy, slippery material that never failed to make him feel naked. He wondered what exactly he was dressed up for. Judging by the outfit and instructions, it was something important, but not so important that Master felt the need to micromanage the minutiae of it.

Perhaps it had something to do with the interviews? The thought was slimy, covering the rest of his mind in an unpleasant goo. He hadn’t put much thought into the fact that he would soon have an additional minder. Mostly, he had avoided the topic due to the sheer amount of uncertainty regarding it. There were so many ways in which this change could be devastating. It wasn’t worth the risk of panicking. But he couldn’t avoid the topic forever.

The sound of the door opening drew him from his thoughts. Seeing Master, he slid to the ground, not quite touching his forehead to the floor to prevent it from messing up his makeup.

“Look at me,” Master ordered. August caught a glimpse of the man’s frown before it warmed into a smile. “Wonderful choice, Love. You look stunning.”

August blushed. “Thank you, Master.”

Master held out his hand and August took it, letting the older man guide him to his feet. “You’re so tempting right now.” He chuckled. “Perhaps I should have come earlier and given you time to fix it before we left.” With a sigh, he pulled something from his pocket. “Next time, maybe.” He held up the object and August locked down his expression. It was his golden collar.

August pushed the sides of the necklace away from the base of his neck so Master could lock the collar in place. He swallowed against the metal, fighting back a grimace at the sensation.

Master took him in. His smile was smug as he turned to unlock the door. “I take it you finished the interviews?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good.” Master held the door open for him and led the way down the hall to the elevator. “Today is the final round of interviews. I’ve eliminated two of the five from the previous round, but I’d like for us both to be present today. You’ll observe, and at the end of each interview, I’ll give you the opportunity to ask your own questions. Afterward, I will hear your thoughts before I make my final decision.”

Already? “Yes, Master. Have you decided when they will begin working?” Please don’t be soon.

The elevator doors opened and they entered.

“That will depend on which applicant is chosen. They may need a training period before beginning work officially. I estimate that they will join us starting a day or two after I reach my decision.” He reached over to flick a hair off of August’s shoulder, then captured the limb in a firm grip, eyes boring into the side of his head. “I don’t expect the transition to be flawless, but that doesn’t mean that I will be lenient with missteps. Especially given your recent behavior.”

August swallowed. “Yes, Master.”

The rest of the elevator ride was quiet. Master was deep in thought for most of the way. August continuously monitored his posture, repeating silent reminders to himself to take his focus away from the collar around his neck.

By the time the elevator slowed to a stop, he was more or less settled. Master led the way toward his office. Before they turned the corner, however, they turned into a sitting room instead. August wasn’t sure if he had ever been in this room before. It didn’t look familiar. It was small, but not cramped. Tasteful decorations were scattered around in various shades of blue and grey. There was a medium-sized window on the far wall. Against one side of the room was a two-cushioned sofa and lamp. Across from it was an imposing armchair with its footrest placed beside it. An end table stood at the height of the armrest on the other side. Master’s laptop was waiting atop it.

Master claimed the armchair. He snapped his fingers and pointed to the footrest for August to sit, gaze already fixated on his laptop.

August obeyed, leaning against the armrest in a casual but appealing arrangement of limbs. He spotted a clock above the door frame. It was just past four-twenty. Accounting for Master’s obligatory ten-minute settling period, he guessed that the interviews would commence at four-thirty.

He directed his focus to the window. On this floor, they were just below the swirling autumnal clouds. It was raining, a soggy drizzle that cast the gloomy grey city in an even duller light. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Despite the dismal atmosphere, August felt his shoulders relax. The textured clouds had their own kind of beauty. A restless power roiled them around in layered designs like ocean waves. He wished was outside to smell the electrified air and feel the rain on his skin.

A knock at the door drew his gaze.

“Come in,” Master said.

August’s pulse kicked up, hammering against the collar. Which were the three that were chosen? Would they make him comparably miserable or would one of them be better than the others? He wasn’t ready to face them. He wasn’t ready for this change. Things had been good with Master until Gerard had ruined everything. What if this made everything worse?

The door opened without a sound, and a thickly muscled man entered. He’d slicked his light brown hair back with enough pommade to drown a rat. His cologne was thick and expensive and his dark brown suit was silky and tailor-made. “Mr. Hudson. I would like to first and foremost thank you for this wondrous opportunity.” He flashed a smile that was almost as oily as his hair.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jackis. Please sit.”

Mr. Jackis obliged. His gaze raked over August’s figure, lingering shamelessly on the exposed skin of his chest before lowering further. It felt like his sharp gaze had punctured a bucket of snakes in August’s stomach, letting them out to writhe around. It was a familiar sensation, if an unwelcome one. August was more annoyed than afraid until he caught a glimpse of the man’s eyes. He froze. There was nothing amiss that any free person might notice, but August had been attuned to that special glint of danger since before he could speak. It was a greedy, sadistic fire that viscerally repelled him. He had to tune the conversation out for several moments to maintain his placid expression.

“August.” Master’s voice cut through. He didn’t sound upset, so his inattentiveness must not have been obvious.

“Yes, Master?”

“Say hello.”

August bowed from his seated position, holding it for a moment before rising. He kept his gaze firmly on the ground to both avoid angering the man and to refrain from looking at him. “Hello, sir.”

“Well, you’re a pretty little slut, aren’t you?”

“Thank you, sir.” August glanced at Master out of the corner of his eye. He was frowning slightly in displeasure. That made it a little easier to breathe.

Master began the interview, but August couldn’t focus on the words. Mr. Jackis’ voice was just as slimy as the rest of him. It felt like his gaze coated August’s skin every chance the man got, and August had to focus to maintain his composure.

It seemed like hours before Master dismissed him. Belatedly, August realized that he hadn’t been given the opportunity to ask questions of his own. Sensing his confusion, Master squeezed his hand. “Pleasant fellow, wasn’t he? Don’t worry, dear. He’s no longer under consideration.”

August didn’t realize how tense he’d gotten until he felt himself relax. “Thank you, Master,” he breathed.

“Now you understand why I wanted you here.”

“Yes, Master.”

The next applicant knocked not long after. He was a tall, imposing figure with a keen gaze and a firm set to his mouth. He wasn’t as thickly muscled as Mr. Jackis, but his frame was significantly larger than the application recording had led August to believe. His white-blonde hair was cropped close to his head. Cold blue eyes swept the room once before settling on its occupants.

“Mr. Branson,” Master greeted.

“Mr. Hudson.” He nodded respectfully. He held himself with a militaristic posture. Violence seemed to hum under his skin, waiting to be set free. August found himself subconsciously shifting into a more formal position of respect.

Master placed a hand over August’s wrist where it rested on the armrest. “This is August.”

August bowed, bracing for the weight of the man’s gaze.

Instead of greeting him, Mr. Branson glanced at him disinterestedly before turning back to Master. “You have a good eye.”

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” Master agreed. “Now, I’m well versed in your career history, so there’s no need to go over that. Why don’t we touch on some of the differences between the job I’m offering and what you’re used to?”

“That would be most efficient.”

August followed their terse conversation, ever mindful of his gaze and posture due to Mr. Branson’s commanding presence. This was the kind of man Master was looking for, he was certain. Someone with a rigidity about them and a harsh willingness to hold August to the letter of the law with unflinching efficiency. From their discussion, he gathered that not only was the man ex-military, he was a special operations team leader. He reminded August of Master before he’d warmed up to him: Cold, inflexible, and unforgiving.

This was undoubtedly the man that Master would choose. The thought made him cold. Master was already matching his conversation style, his voice dipping into the clipped coldness that August had once been used to from him. Now, it was like being dipped in ice water. Once Mr. Branson was hired, would he suck the warmth out of Master too? Would he prompt him to dismantle everything about August’s life that made it liveable? He didn’t want to go back to what it was like before, but Master was quite taken by the man. It wasn’t often that he met someone as rigid and uncompromising as himself, after all, and Mr. Branson was perfect. August despised him.

By the time the interview ended - not ten minutes after it had begun given the nature of both conversation partners - Master had a satisfied smile tugging at his lips.

“August, do you have any questions for Mr. Branson?”

He actually did have questions. More than could be addressed quickly, which was strange. Typically, Master was so aggressively thorough that there was nothing left to ask. But with Mr. Branson, he had skipped over several basic questions. “Yes, Master. I have two questions, if you permit.”

Those glacial eyes fixed on him. His mouth dried.

“Very well.”

Brr.

He swallowed, then cleared his throat quietly to make sure his voice didn’t come out as a pitiful squeak. “Thank you for your time, sir. Have you owned before?”

“No. I’ve been much too busy. However, I am familiar with the etiquette of company-owned pleasure companions. I doubt there’s much difference.”

August was surprised by his own bristling. No difference? Really?

“Actually, there may be considerable difference between slaves for employee usage and gold collars like August,” Master cut in. “I put considerable time into customizing his responses to my preferences. Maintaining those extralegal rules will be a part of your duties if you are accepted to the position.”

Mr. Branson nodded. “I see. Next question.”

Was it just him or was there a hint of annoyance in his tone? “Uh-yes, sir. Are you familiar with the laws specific to gold collars?”

“Vaguely. But I am an efficient student.” He turned to Master. “If that’s all?”

“Thank you for your time.” Master actually stood to shake Mr. Branson’s hand. “I will inform you of the results within the week.”

“Most appreciated.” He left without fanfare.

August mulled over his answers in silent resignation. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad? If Master felt that he could leave the discipline up to Mr. Branson, would he be gentler? He shuddered at even that thought; he was barely capable of holding himself together during Master’s familiar punishments. What if Mr. Branson was worse? Would he be patient if he panicked?

In the minutes between Mr. Branson’s departure and the third candidate’s arrival, Master typed out notes on his computer. August didn’t risk a glance. He already knew the gist.

How many times would his life undergo a dramatic change that he could neither anticipate nor protect himself from? He’d finally gotten used to Master and now he’d have to go back to the beginning. It was a good thing that Master was busy because he was having a hard time controlling his expression.

The knock that came at the door was so timid, August nearly convinced himself that he’d imagined it until Master acknowledged it.

The third applicant stepped through and August stopped breathing. His entire body froze as his mind spun in memory. Skin so dark it was almost black, stocky figure, fraying suit. He’d noticed as much from the sparring tapes. But there was something he hadn’t seen on the tapes: the applicant’s face. Because he recognized him. Warm brown eyes, jagged scar above his left eyebrow, I won’t hurt you–

* * *

It was dark, even with the flickering municipal lights scattered in front of the crumbling apartment. The stinging cold of the rocky ground had long since been lost in a waterfall of more agonizing pains. He wished that he would go numb with cold, if only to escape his mangled body. There was no way to lay that didn’t grind his tender skin into the gritty ground, so he hadn’t bothered to move from where he’d been thrown.

He didn’t remember how long he’d lain tied there, just as he didn’t remember what he’d done to make Master angry this time. He’d tried so hard to stay on his good side, not making a single sound or movement unless prompted. But maybe that wasn’t enough. Maybe he wasn’t enough. Maybe that’s why Master had left him tied to a post in front of the apartment, an open invitation to anyone who passed by. It was an often enough occurrence that it made sense that it would be due to an intrinsic flaw rather than a specific behavior.

He felt like one open wound, covered in blood and piss and cum and various other materials that he’d rather not investigate. Hardened globs of the stuff stuck to the ground, nearly indecipherable from the rocks in the dim lighting. Pain throbbed with every breath and grew to excruciating heights whenever he shifted. Exhaustion tugged at him, but he couldn’t allow himself to shut his eyes for longer than a few seconds. At any moment, one of the passers-by on the street could approach to take their frustrations out on him. Even though the last group of visitors had just left. Even though he was more blood than boy, as responsive as a corpse.

He wondered how long Master would leave him out here for this time. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he hadn’t been able to cry since the last group arrived. Even the filthy puddle of run-off water a few feet away looked so tempting, he would have drank from it in a heartbeat if given the opportunity. How much longer would he last like this? Would . . . would Master just let him die? He’d almost done it before, and that had been an accident. What if he didn’t come back in time?

He was too far gone to fully feel the panic that gripped his insides, scrunching his empty stomach up into a tense ball. The sudden shivers that wracked his body got the point across. Blistering pain ricocheted around his body in a punishing reminder not to move.

Finally, he felt himself slipping away, his grasp on reality loosening in a way that dulled the overwhelming pain to an ignorable thing. He eagerly wrapped himself in the numbness, not even caring that in the state he was in, it could very well be permanent.

A sudden grip in his hair yanked his head back. He inhaled sharply, eyes snapping open to take in the threat–threats. He hadn’t heard the men approach, but they couldn’t have been very quiet.

The hand in his hair gave his head a vicious shake. “Oh, good. Thought somebody’d left a corpse out here for a second.” A dry laugh.

“Reckon it won’t be long ‘til you’re right,” one of the others added.

“Yeah, hurry up. I want my turn ‘fore it happens,” another whined.

“Alright, fine,” the one holding him said. The hand relinquished its grip. Without something supporting his head, it fell unchecked to the ground with a painful thud. Clothing rustled behind him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Brilliant pain flared as he was manhandled into position, but all that his shredded vocal chords managed was a dry whine. Good. Screaming only attracted more assailants.

He wasn’t fully present, which was good. Especially since he could hear the slither of a belt being pulled from its loops. The man above him muttered something he didn’t bother listening to. He shuddered in anticipation of a blow against his already mangled skin. His hold on reality loosened again as every part of him hunkered down to survive the incoming pain.

Someone snarled something above him and he flinched. What had he done now? Or was the man just angry at something else and about to take it out on him? The familiar sound of flesh hitting flesh filled his ears, and it took him a moment to realize that he wasn’t the one being hit.

Peeling open his scrunched-shut eyes, he took in the scene around him. A new man had appeared, dark skinned and stocky. His face was twisted up in terrifying rage. His knuckles were split and bruised, a mixture of new and old injuries all piled atop one another. The men surrounding him had turned to face the newcomer with varying degrees of confidence.

He couldn’t make out what they were shouting at each other through the shock, but both sides only grew more agitated. Forgoing the universal rule to not move from where someone put him, he curled up into the smallest ball he could manage. He just knew that all that anger would soon be redirected onto him and he just wanted it all to stop.

More sounds of fighting erupted, alongside the thudding of footsteps and the shriek of a man not expecting being hit to hurt quite so much. It only lasted a minute or so before silence rushed in to take the cacophony’s place. He remained huddled in his protective ball, not yet willing to face the winner. Whoever had won must be the most violent and sadistic of them all and he did not want to deal with it yet.

Something warm touched his shoulder and he let out a terrified sob, curling tighter.

“Shh, it’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”

His eyes stung and he knew that if it was possible, tears would be streaming down his face because how cruel. Almost no one ever bothered to pretend to have good intentions with him. No point in putting up a whole production when they were just going to take what they wanted anyway. What did it matter what he thought? All it did for them was delay their gratification, but for him it felt like putting a soothing balm on a small cut, only to immediately rend the skin apart into a gaping wound. Or giving him food only to make him throw it back up.

The hand on his shoulder disappeared, and he tensed, waiting for the blow.

“I won’t touch you. I promise.”

What a strange hallucination. He should probably be concerned with how dehydrated he was, but it was hard to think past the impossible words that kept ringing in his ears, doubly loud since the man had yet to contradict them. Hesitantly, he unburied his face from his arms.

The man was kneeling about a foot away, brows furrowed and mouth set in an unhappy line. His bloodied hands were sitting innocuously on his folded legs. A strained smile spread over his dark features. “Hey, kid. Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to scare you. I got some water for you.” The man rifled briefly through a bag at his side, withdrawing a half-empty water bottle.

The rest of the world faded away as his gaze snapped to the water. That. Suddenly, he couldn’t bear another second without it. Please, please, please, I’ll be good. I’ll do anything. Anything, I promise. Just please give me a sip.

Impossibly, the man unscrewed the lid and held it to his lips. Slowly, he tilted it until some glorious water trickled into his mouth.

He almost choked but managed to swallow it down. The man poured a little bit more of it, and now he chased it with his lips, shamelessly desperate for more. He was almost certain he was imagining it when the man indulged him, giving him the rest of the bottle in small, controlled sips. It wasn’t enough. It hardly touched the desert that was his mouth, but it took the edge off. The relief was immediate, and he found himself relaxing back into the ground like a violent man wasn’t sitting right in front of him.

“What’s your name, son?” The man asked.

Seriously, what kind of hallucination even was this? Unless he was dead. But he didn’t think being dead would hurt this much, even with the gracious gift of water. Wasn’t the pain supposed to go away?

The man shifted and he flinched away, realizing he hadn’t answered him. “S-sorry!” Speaking felt less like swallowing glass now, but his throat was still far too dry and it came out garbled and hoarse.

“It’s okay, kid. Take your time.”

He cleared his throat carefully before trying again. “I don’t gotta name, sir.”

The man frowned again, and this time he noticed the bleeding gash above his left eyebrow. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

He frowned. What did this man have to be sorry about? He could do anything he wanted to him now, and he wouldn’t even mind. That water had undoubtedly saved his life. Assuming he wasn’t dead.

“Sorry about the water, too. It’s all I had but I would’ve given you more if I could.” He glanced around at the streets, mostly empty as lights-out approached. “I-” His expression crumpled as he turned away to scrub at his face. “I’m sorry, kid. I have to go. I’ll bring you water tomorrow if–” He cut himself off, but the ‘if you’re still alive’ rang out loud and clear. “I’m sorry.” He pushed himself to his feet and lumbered away, broad shoulders drooping inward.

He watched him go, straining his eyes in the dark until the last glimpse of his savior was gone.

* * *

Breathing was impossible. Moving was a herculean task. It was a good thing he was already sitting down or else he might have collapsed.

Daniel Smith. That was his name.

Mr. Smith had shown up the day after, true to his word. August had seen him from the grimy kitchen window while he was fetching his old master some alcohol. Mr. Smith had brought a full water bottle and a granola bar. August had still been starving, and he had desperately longed for the man to somehow see him in the window and give it to him without his master knowing. But his master had snapped at him to hurry up, and Mr. Smith had turned away and left.

His mind was spinning. How? How was this man before him again? Why? August was eternally grateful that Master didn’t spare him a glance as he welcomed the man - his savior - into the room. He didn’t want to know what he would find in his expression.

Mr. Smith bowed politely before perching on the sofa like he was afraid to stain it. “Thank you for taking the time to interview me, Mr. Hudson.” That voice. No wonder it had sounded familiar. How could he ever forget it? It lent a warmth to the Dark City accent that August hadn’t heard from anyone else.

Look at me, he silently begged. Look at me like you looked at me then. Like you think what’s happening is wrong.

“Your application was impressive,” Master said. Then, to August, “Introduce yourself.”

August bowed. “Hello, sir. My name is August.” His younger voice croaked, “I don’t gotta name, sir” somewhere in the back of his mind.

Mr. Smith turned to him, but his face was hard and his eyes were cold. He nodded his head politely. “Nice to meet you, August.”

Chapter Text

The kid was dressed better than the wealthiest freeman of the Dark City, and probably half the population of the Two Cities. He was thin but not starved, reserved but not cowering in fear. He looked nothing like the dead boy that haunted Daniel’s memory aside from wishful thinking. Not every boy slave of Asian heritage could be him. Given the state that boy had been in, if he had survived Daniel doubted he would be able to recognize him.

Besides that, the kid was openly staring, no doubt shocked and appalled at the poor garb of a man being hired to watch him. Daniel’s Dark City pride reared its head and he felt his face harden.

What was he thinking? The kid probably looked down on him. Perhaps this wouldn’t be as bad as he thought. This slave could very well be living a better life than him. Daniel internally kicked himself for presuming that anyone so well-off could need anything at all from him.

Mr. Hudson quickly absorbed his full attention as he started shooting off questions, listening with sharp eyes that seemed to shine every time he faltered. This was a man of immeasurable power. Being under his gaze felt wrong, like he'd been caught in a predator's sights.Perhaps that was why Daniel wasn’t surprised with the almost bored way that the man conducted the interview. His hope of actually getting this job had been dashed the moment he walked into the room and felt the power swirling like electricity around the pair before him.

When the ruthless questions finally came to an end, Mr. Hudson turned to the slave. “Any questions?”

Daniel turned to face him, too. While no longer staring unabashedly, the kid still looked spacey. He shook his head mutely before forcing out a hoarse, “No, Master.”

Well, that was the final nail in the coffin of this job opportunity. Instead of disappointment, relief welled up. He hated to return home yet again with no money, but at least he would be able to breathe. The air this high up felt thinner, like those of higher station sucked it all up before he could get to it. He thanked Mr. Hudson for his time and bowed his way to the door.

Before buying his last ticket into the Dark City, he applied for as many surface jobs as he could. At least he could accomplish something today.

Typically, his journey down into the mountain felt like a descent into hell. This time, it felt like returning to solid ground from a dangerous height.

Chapter Text

“The decision is perhaps too easy, isn’t it?” Master said, shutting his laptop. “What do you think?”

August’s voice still felt trapped inside his lungs, but he forced out the right answer. “Mr. Branson seemed the most qualified.” He couldn’t help but tack on, “But Mr. Smith was promising, judging by the tapes.”

Master paused. “Interesting fellow, isn’t he? But you’re right. Branson is unequivocally the winner.” He tucked the laptop into a bag. “Tomorrow morning you have another meeting with Lily. I believe it will take up half the day. Initiate touch this time.”

“Yes, Master.” He clenched his teeth.

“I’ve also pursued legal action against the attackers from Bethany’s. In addition to the requisite fine, our lawyer is convinced she can put them away for two years apiece.”

“Thank you, Master.”

“Come here.”

August slid to the floor in front of him as directed. He held onto his neutral expression with aching metaphorical fingers. He managed not to shiver at Master’s cold touch on his cheek.

“We haven’t spent enough time together lately, but there’s no need for such listlessness. Lock the door.”

August dragged himself to his feet to obey before returning, doing his best to look eager. Master was already patting his lap. “Sit facing me.”

August lowered himself onto the chair, folded legs to either side of Master’s.

“Just because I’m not inclined to pleasure at the moment doesn’t mean that I will deny you yours.” He undid August’s fly, then pulled him out, holding the sensitive skin in his rough hand. August’s hands flew up to Master’s shoulders as he gently rubbed him, gasping softly. Master chuckled. He wound his other hand around to grope at August’s ass. “You’re so tense. Relax. All will settle down in due time.”

August let out an embarrassing squeak as Master stroked him just so. He pressed his forehead into Master’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut to ride out the sensation.
Master was as relentless a pursuer of August’s pleasure as he was of his own. Perhaps even more so since August’s body required more persuasion. He expertly wound August up until he was teetering on the edge of release, then stopped, leaving August panting and whining desperately into the crook of his neck. “Hush, honey,” he murmured, voice gravelly. “I’ve got you.” He coaxed him slowly back to the edge, this time sending him tumbling over with one decisive stroke.

August didn’t realize how tightly he was clutching the material of Master’s suit until his limbs melted and his clenched hands released their iron hold. He forced himself to breathe in and out deeply as he collected himself. Master waited patiently, hugging August to his chest and stroking his back.

“Thank you, Master,” August murmured when his voice wasn’t liable to break.

Master patted his back a few times before pushing him back so that he was sitting up on his own. “There now. Feel better?”

“Yes, Master. Thank you.”

“Good.” He tucked him away again, patting the front of his pants fondly. “Now run along back to your room. The exterior code is the same as my office.” He took off his befouled suit coat, laying it across the armrest.

August forced his melted limbs to function, pushing gently away from Master and bowing before stepping out of the room. His legs wobbled under him but he kept moving determinedly forward. His climax had at the very least distracted him from the bodyguard situation, but he could already feel the coils of tension returning.

He had seen his savior again. He didn’t know how he felt about that, though he supposed it didn’t matter since he’d never see him again. Their meeting was a brief moment of serendipity unlikely to be repeated. August supposed he should be grateful that he had met the man at all, even though he was certain Daniel didn’t recognize him. He wondered how he would have reacted if August had told him. ‘You saved my life back in the Dark City. I’m alive because of you.’ Perhaps it was his current despondency, but he couldn’t help but give a note of accusation to the words. It was probably best that he hadn’t had the chance.

He was so lost in his head that when he wandered into his room, it took him several moments to notice Dr. Winston sitting in the corner reading the hidden novel. He closed it and stood, making it most of the way across the room before August remembered himself and bowed. “Sorry, sir. I wasn’t paying attention.”

Dr. Winston waved his apology away. “Happens to the best of us.” His expression was unreadable. “Do you know why I’m here?”

“No, sir.”

“Lovely. Well, in the interest of producing the best possible outcome in offspring between you and the Lily girl, I have been ordered to conduct a virility test.”

August nodded, nauseous but resigned.

“It’s a bit later than Mr. Hudson wanted, but I’ve been otherwise occupied. I’ll make this quick so that you can go about whatever else he has you doing today.” He handed him a clear, disposable cup. “First, I need a semen sample. I trust you know what to do better than I do.”

August bit his lip. “It . . . might take a while, sir.” He stared at the distorted image of his shoes through the bottom of the cup, cheeks flaming. “I, uh, just . . . well.” Please don’t make me say it.

“Oh, well, that-that’s quite alright.” Dr. Winston sounded just as flustered. “If it helps, you can do it in the bathroom. I’m not exactly required to supervise.”

“Thank you, sir.” August bowed slightly lower than he technically needed to. Dr. Winston didn’t need to afford him any sort of privacy, but he did, and that meant everything. He made his escape into the bathroom. It was only then that the situation became real. After all, he wasn’t faced with it very often. Master had never been keen on watching him self-pleasure, though he had ordered it at times. However, at August’s utter incompetency even after years of training, he’d mostly dropped the matter. Every once in a while he’d have him try again, but he had only gotten worse. August hadn’t climaxed at his own hand in years.

Bile skittered up his throat. He swallowed it down. Damn, he hated this. More than anyone else’s, his own touch made him want to strip off all his skin and burn it to ashes.

He sagged against the door, breathing in for four counts and out for eight. Gritting his teeth, he unzipped his dress pants, holding himself just as Master had. His limbs were still loose from his recent climax, but he forced his arm to move. He tried picturing the woman he usually did, but her image kept on being superimposed by Lily’s, and he ended up retching into the sink. After that, he just squeezed his eyes shut and pretended that it was Master’s hand around him.

It still took longer than it should, longer than Master was ever inclined to wait, but he managed to force himself over the edge. By the time he did, real tears had smeared the fake one, sending the makeup running down his cheek in black rivulets.

Setting the foul cup beside the sink, he scrubbed his hands clean, washed his face, then scrubbed his hands again. He would have jumped into the shower and scalded himself raw if Dr. Winston wasn’t waiting for him in the main room.

He zipped himself back up with shaking hands, forced his face to even, and stepped back into the bedroom.

He didn’t look at Dr. Winston as he handed the cup over, and the doctor didn’t mention the time it had taken or his scrubbed-clean face and irritated eyes, or any retching sounds he might have heard. He just capped the sample and tucked it away in his bag. “Lay down on the bed. I just need a blood sample and then we’ll be done.”

August bowed in lieu of a verbal response and swallowed down the pathetic sound that tried to escape his throat when he lay down in front of the man. He really needed to get his shit together soon. It was getting embarrassing.

He lay perfectly still, numb, as Dr. Winston rolled up his sleeve. He stared at the blank white ceiling, willing his mind to be just as empty.

When it was over, Dr. Winston patted his bare forearm. “I’m sorry, August.”

August blinked, pushing himself up. “What for, sir?”

He turned back to the sitting area where he’d left his bag, fiddling with the blood sample. “Oh, never you mind. I’m off to get these tested before Mr. Hudson sends me a strongly worded message through the terrifying mouth of Mrs. Velps.” He paused in the doorway, turning back and meeting August’s gaze. “I know I call you Trouble, but you’re a good kid.” His expression was filled with some unnameable emotion that had August diverting his gaze.

I’m nineteen, he wanted to say. Not a kid. Not anymore. Maybe not ever. “Thank you, sir,” he said, but Dr. Winston was already gone.

* * *

It took Lily approximately one hundred pages - about a tenth of the way through the book - to get bored and toss it back to August. “And that’s the most interesting one you have?” She heaved a sigh of dramatic proportions at his amused nod. “How are you not bored to death, like, all the time?” She kicked her legs up on the footrest of her armchair, letting the duvet slide off her somewhat.

“I’m too busy - or, well, I’m usually too busy.”

“Doing what?”

He cracked a smile. “I help Master with his work, go to the gym, occasionally practice instrume–”

Lily leapt up. “I forgot! Beth said you can play the cello too and that she’d make sure it was in the room with us.” She scanned the room, letting out a delighted giggle when she spotted the case in the far corner. “C’mon, you have to play it for me!”

“I have to warn you that I haven’t played the cello in several months.” But he was already walking over to the case. Lily flounced along behind him with her blanket-cape, so full of innocent joy that it spilled out of her. She seemed miraculously untouched by a life that could only ever crush the spirit and drain the soul. As always, the reminder was a sharp knife of guilt to the heart. And I have to destroy that.

He’d hardly gotten the cello to a place where he could sit properly to play it when she found a book of music and shoved the page she wanted him to play in his face. “This one! This one!”

“You’ll have to hold it up. Master neglected to send a stand.” He raised an eyebrow, asking if having sore arms was truly worth the price of his music.

Lily sniffed. “I’m not that weak.”

August didn’t bother fine-tuning the springs; Lily wasn’t Master. She probably wouldn’t even notice if he was out of tune. For his own sanity, he tweaked it until it was within the realm of acceptability before he set to tackling the piece she held before him. It was covered in scribbled notes, though not to the same extent as the piano piece she’d heard. He scanned it, trying to match it to a remembered melody in his head before making a total fool of himself. The first few notes were tenuous, but he found his rhythm after a while. Lily didn’t seem to mind. She tapped her foot along to the tune. The movement wiggled the music book until the notes were almost illegible.

Amidst the most marked-up part of the piece, Lilly sneezed, jolting the music so hard that August completely lost his place. He laughed at her affronted expression. “You’re the worst music stand I’ve ever had,” he declared.

She sniffed. “I’ll improve with practice. So will you.”

“Would you like me to finish the piece or not?”

She held the book up again. “Finish it!”

He did, and though it was quite possibly the worst he’d ever played it, it sounded the brightest he’d ever managed.

“That’s enough of that,” he said after Lily’s enthusiastic applause had finally ceased. His fingers were already sore and, he realized with a huffed laugh, he didn’t have to keep playing. He could just . . . stop.

Lily pouted but put the music book away as he returned the cello to its case. When August returned to his usual spot, she was hunched defensively in her armchair, wrapped tightly in the duvet. He met her eyes, waiting for her to choose whether or not to breach the subject.

Her gaze flicked from his face to the floor, to the door, the camera, and finally the bookshelf. “You said that you could . . . teach me some things. To make it better.”

And just like that, the weight of his life settled back onto his shoulders, heavier now even though he hadn’t noticed when it lightened. “I can,” he said immediately. “If that’s what you want.”

She sucked in a deep breath, her whole frame shaking with it as she let it back out. She raised her chin until she was meeting his gaze. “It is.”

August hugged his arms to his chest, closing his eyes. “Okay.” He let out a long breath, organizing his thoughts. “What do you know about sex?”

“My old master used to have me touch his privates sometimes, or lick them. At the end, he would pee this thing he called come? And I know where your part is supposed to fit with mine. And . . . that’s it?”

August turned to the bookshelf, pulling out an anatomy book. “Knowing what’s going on and why makes it easier.” He flipped to the chapter on the female experience. “Sometimes your body reacts on its own even though you don’t want it to. It just responds to sensations, not always how you feel about them.”

He showed her the page, but she had to lean forward to be able to make out the diagram. She moved to the two-seater couch without a word, patting the other cushion. “Here.” At his hesitation, she sighed. “I’m not scared of you, remember?”

“Not yet at least,” he mumbled. He sat on the opposite side of the couch, placing the book in the empty space between them. Using the book to bridge his own experience to a woman’s, he walked her through the basics, trying to use the clinical language that made it somewhat easier to digest.

Lily processed silently, asking questions intermittently but for the most part gnawing at her lip.

When he was confident she understood the process and some things to do to make it bearable, August shut the book. “It can help to think of what’s happening like it’s in a book like this. It can dilute some of the fear if you walk yourself through what’s going on. If someone’s being rough, you can list the extent of the injuries such roughness might cause, recovery times, etcetera.” Feeling her frightened gaze, he bowed his head. “I can’t promise that your mistress won’t have you do this again. And I don’t know who the next person will be. I will–” His voice broke. “I will be as gentle as I can, especially since it’s your first time.”

He startled when her cold fingers wrapped over his shaking ones. “I’m sorry,” she sniffled.

“For what?”

“I told you, back at Beth’s house, that it was all my fault. I told Beth that I wanted you. I even argued with her because she wasn’t sure she could convince your master.” Her hands tightened. “I don’t regret it, either. Everyone else was horrible.”

Her shudder shook their connected hands.

“There were full grown men, and that was scary with how big they were. But then the ones my age . . . they were just as scared as me, and that just made it worse. But you . . . You know what you’re doing. You can explain it and help me and– Thank you. You’re trying so hard to make it easier and I’m happy that you’re stuck here with me. How selfish is that?”

Releasing the book, August turned his hands over so that he was holding hers. He stared at them. “If you need it to be me, then I’m glad I’m here. Do whatever you need to make it more bearable. Just tell me if there’s something I can do, and I’ll do it, I promise.” Anything to ease the guilt already crushing him from the inside out. Anything to make the experience less miserable for her.

She squeezed his fingers again before retracting her hands. “Well, you can teach me more about how to deal with it.”

“Right.” August reshuffled his thoughts. One thing at a time. “There’s two things that I think we should go over. The act itself and the . . . pregnancy.” She inhaled sharply. “Which would you like to start with?”

“The act,” she said immediately. “I can’t think about the after. Not yet.”

August nodded. That was a relief, though guilt crept in alongside the thought. Pregnancy was an added pain that he would never have to experience and he was endlessly grateful for it. He realized for the first time that after this, he would have a child. A child who looked like him, who maybe inherited some of his preferences or mannerisms, who was doomed to live the same life as him.

Stop. He forcibly removed that train of thought from his mind, refocusing on Lily. “Focusing on your breathing helps, and so does grounding yourself with a different sensation. Dig your fingernails into your palm - even though your mistress probably won't like it - do it if it helps. Bite the inside of your cheek or hold your breath. You can try out different things beforehand - see which methods command most of your attention. The more distracted you are, the better.” He paused. “There’s also the issue of positions. I don’t know if that will be dictated to us or if we can choose. But if you want, we can find out which one you prefer in case we have a choice.”

“I think . . .” Her voice trembled. “It might make it too real.”

“It’s going to be real,” August gently reminded her. “For me it’s easier when it’s familiar. The more used to it you are, the less you’ll freak out.” He waited while she thought.

“You’re right. I just want none of it to be real.” There was anger coloring her voice. A helpless anger he was far too familiar with. It drained from her as soon as it had appeared. “Let’s try. Which position do you prefer? Can we do that one first?”

“Of course.” He offered her his hand, reminding himself that the more she got used to his touch, the easier it would be. He willed himself not to look as sick as he felt.

He walked her over to the bed. “You can keep the duvet this time, but once we find a position that works, we should try it without that layer of protection. When it comes time for the real thing, I’ll keep you as covered as we’re allowed, but you’ll still be exposed.”

She blushed scarlet and nodded, gripping his hand tighter and clutching the blanket around herself with the other.

“The best position is one where you can detach from yourself but also don’t feel too trapped. The more active the position, the harder it is to float away, but the more confining the position, the more miserable you’ll be before you go away. For me, the best position is usually lying on my back.” He was planning on explaining why, but his lungs were so tight, he had to stop and force a breath.

Lily climbed up onto the bed and rolled onto her back.

August gritted his teeth before continuing. “The hardest part of this position is dependent on the other person. Tell me if I do anything you can’t stand - or if you want to stop. I’m going to climb over you now.”

Lily nodded, her grip on the blanket seeming to tighten with every breath.

August approached as quickly as he could while still giving her some time to process. The dread of things to come could sometimes be worse than the thing itself. He cringed at the sound of the bed dipping beneath his weight, forcing himself to keep moving until he was hovering over her, his body framing hers. He stared at the sheet to the left of her head. “Breathe through the initial panic,” he coached both himself and her. “Find something to distract you.” He bit the inside of his lip until blood coated his teeth.

He heard her shift, then felt her fingers gripping his wrists by her head. She was shaking, but so was he. “Breathe in for four, out for eight if you can. If not, try to blow out, like extinguishing a candle.”

He held the position until her grip loosened and finally started fidgeting, more bored than nervous. “Feeling okay?”

“Yes. I think I see what you mean.”

“Do you want to try another one?”

“No, but I want to be prepared.”

They tried three different positions before Lily had enough, and August was right there with her. The exercise had his stomach churning with nausea and his breath stuttering with memory. It was enough to make him eye the cello case, wondering if the strings were sharp enough to cut skin. He buried the thought under the reminder that there was both a child and a camera in the room.
In the end, Lily shared his preference. They returned to their usual spots. Lily looked grim, her mouth set in a hard line. August felt shaky and only half-present. He offered her the novel to read again, but she opted instead for the anatomy book he’d taught her from earlier.

After half an hour of silent study, she slammed the book shut. “I’m done for today.” She shoved the book back onto the shelf and returned not to her armchair but the couch where she curled up into a tiny ball. “Will you come sit with me? I need touch that’s not . . . not sex. Or practice. Is that weird?”

August cleared the lump from his throat. “No, I understand.” How could he not? His life was overloaded with touch, but all of it came with expectation, memory, pain, performance. He sat beside her, opening his arms for her to fall into. She snuggled into his shoulder and he held her tight, wishing that protecting her could be as easy as holding on and never letting go.

She fell asleep against him. Her quiet snores filled his ears as all the remaining tension melted out of her. She uncurled slightly, falling more firmly atop him. One of her hands clutched the fabric of his shirt with a determined grip. Not even that combined with the slight weight pinning him back resulted in so much as a flicker of panic. Is this how Daniel had felt when he had saved him? This overwhelming urge to drive away anything that would ever think to hurt her, to steal her innocence and freedom. This anger so potent it made him think suicidal things.

August didn’t dare move an inch lest he disturb her rest. He just watched her wispy hair flutter away from her face with every exhaled breath.

She’s safe for now, he told himself. She’s safe for now.