Tag Archive | character: timaios

Beauty-Beast 14: Danny

May1

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Danny was, Ctirad noticed, not wearing a uniform or any sort of suit, just a chef’s jacket and loose pants. Danny was also a woman, as far as Ctirad could tell; she had platinum-blonde hair in loose curls to the tips of her pointed ears and darkly tanned skin, her chef’s jacket covering the type of physique that made Ctirad think she doubles as a bodyguard.

She set down a tray laden with food on a small table Ctirad had not noticed before and bowed politely to Timaios. “Will that be all?”

He snorted. “Don’t bother being on your best behavior for Ctirad here; it’ll just make him try to live up to your standards. Danny, this is Ctirad, by the way, the newest member of our household. Ctirad, this is Danny, my chef, among other things.”

Ctirad did his best to ignore the surge of jealousy that washed over him at what those other things might be. Timaios might be being kind at the moment, but Ctirad had absolutely no reason to assume that he would treat Ctirad as anything but a pet in the long run.

He nodded politely at Danny. She grinned at him with brilliantly white teeth.

“Pleased to meet you, Ctirad.” Her eyes stayed on his face and her smile seemed genuine. “You tell me if there’s anything you like eating or hate eating, all right? No need for you to eat beets if you can’t stomach them, just ‘cause his Nibs here thinks they’re the best.”

Ctiard did his best to hide his confusion. “I will, but I can eat pretty much anything, ma’am.” She wasn’t wearing a collar, after all.

“Just Danny. Or if you’re helping in my kitchen, chef. The ma’am stuff is for – well, not for me. Okay?”

“All right, Danny.” He might like helping in a kitchen. It had been a while, but it did tend to come with more food.

“Boss, you’ve got those sweats that didn’t fit you still in your bottom drawer? They should be long enough for your new guy here, and then he doesn’t have to worry about his butt sticking to the chair. I’ll be back for the plates later.”

Danny swept out before Ctirad could quite figure out what was going on, leaving even Timaios looking a little off-balance. “She’s a wonderful chef,” the boss muttered, as he headed towards his dresser and pulled out a pair of sweat pants. “Like she said.” he tossed Ctirad the pants, made a face, and said very carefully, “You have my permission to be dressed at any point where I haven’t specifically ordered you to be naked.”

Ctirad waited.

Timaios smirked a little. “Ctirad, please put your pants on. I have not specifically asked you to be naked, after all, and dinner will go easier if you’re clothed. Then come sit here at the table – in a chair,” he added hastily. “We can play with the whole dom/sub aspect once I’m sure you can make a choice about it.”

That sentence only made sense to the part of Ctirad’s brain that he had learned to ignore, so he followed the orders and put on the new pants – they were long on him, but would have been too short on Timaios – and sat down in the indicated chair.

The food smelled so good he was struggling not to drool. He waited patiently. He still wasn’t sure when the trap would spring closed.

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Beauty-Beast 13: Take it Off

Apr23

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Ctirad cleared his throat. “Sir.” he dropped to his knees on the soft, plush carpet.

“Ctirad.” There was the gentlest of chiding tones in Timaios’ voice. Ctirad fought the urge to duck his head and apologize. “When we are alone in my bedroom, at the very least, I expect you to call me by my name.”

“S- Timaios?”

It sounded strange in his voice. He could not remember the last time he’d been allowed that privilege. He didn’t know what to think about it. He looked up at Timaios and found his master wearing a crooked and strange smile.

“I do believe I like that far too much. Would you indulge me in repeating it?”

Ctirad cleared his throat. “Timaios?”

“Lovely. Now. I am torn between any number of options, very few of which will lead to that dinner I told you that you were getting. Ah, well, we can’t always get what we want.” He took a step backwards. “Will you drop your Mask willingly?”

“No, sir, no, Timaios.” He braced himself for the anger, for the order.

“Tch. Ah, well. Another time, perhaps. How about your shirt? Will you take that off willingly?”

“Yes, sir.” He pulled his shirt off and rolled his shoulders, fighting the urge to pose.

“We’ll have to do something about that collar. It’s awful, but I’m beginning to realize I can’t expect anything different from Ermenrich. Does it hurt you?”

Ctirad’s hand went half to his collar, fell. “Not anymore.” It was heavy, but it had stopped being unbearable a long time ago.

“Then I can wait until tomorrow and decide what I want to put on you properly. Will you take your pants off willingly?”

“Yes, sir.” He hesitated. “May I stand?”

“Yes.” Timaios paused, and then added in a gentle voice, “unless I order you to your knees, which will not be often, you may stand when you need or want to. Unless I have ordered you to stay in one place, you may leave the room for such things as bodily functions or just to get a breath of air – although if we’re in the middle of something, I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me where you’re going first.”

Ctirad processed this slowly. He could remember, vaguely and as if from a very long distance, when those things would have seemed more like duh and less like huge allowances. “Thank you.” He cut off the sir before it got out of his mouth, but could not quite bring himself to say Timaios. He hesitated, feeling like that was too informal. “I appreciate it.”

“I’m glad,” Timaios answered softly. He sounded for the first time like a dangerous man. Ctirad hesitated again before standing and looked up at his master’s face.

The expression was – was almost not, as if he had learned how to Mask what he was feeling. Ctirad decided to settle on doing what he had been told – no, asked – and stood, peeling off his jeans. Belatedly, he remembered that he had to take off his boots, and left those carefully by the side of the wall.

He waited, hands behind his back, feet a shoulder-width apart, his eyes on the wall behind his master’s back. This was tricky, as his new owner was considerably taller than he was.

“So,” Timaios murmured, in the same soft, dangerous voice, “how do you look, really?”

Ctirad considered that. ”I…” He focused for a moment and then managed to shift his Mask. He had learned over the years to Mask not just his Change but to put forth an appearance of health and hale-ness. He let that drop now, keeping his Change hidden.

Timaios hissed. His hand ran over Ctirad’s chest gently, and then over his arms. “It must have been hard, keeping muscle tone when he was clearly not giving you enough food,” he murmured. “And it must be painful, these bruises.”

“I heal pretty quickly.” Ctirad answered, or, rather, didn’t answer. “Can I Mask again, sir?”

“You don’t like being seen like this?”

He considered his answer for a minute, then decided that Timaios had earned a bit of honesty. “I don’t like people knowing someone could do this to me.”

He raised his eyebrows in reply. “Considering…?”

“Even considering, yes.” He Masked again, because he hadn’t been told not to, and he was starting to wonder if there was a limit to Timaios’ generosity.

He hadn’t found it yet, at least. “Let me get you some pajama pants. We’ll worry about clothing later. Except – do you have a preference for that?”

“Things I can move in, sir. Things that don’t chafe too much.”

“You’re rather easy to please, aren’t you?”

“I-I don’t know if I’m easy to please, but I’m easy to make comfortable. I-” There was a knock on the bedroom door, and he fell silent.

“Will you be comfortable having Danny bring the food in while you’re nude?” There was a gentle teasing to Timaios’ voice. Ctirad found he liked it.

“I won’t, ah, won’t be uncomfortable, sir.”

“Very good. Come in, Danny.”

As the door opened, Ctirad realized he’d forgotten all about the food.

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Beauty-Beast 12: Tim Kaprinsky’s House, Timaios’ Bedroom

Apr21

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Timaios’ house was everything Ctirad might have expected from someone as rich as Tim Kaprinsky, and yet nothing at all he expected. It was a big house on a big lot in the middle of the city, an easy four acres of property with such good landscaping that you hardly noticed you could almost never see more than three feet in any direction, and the house itself was almost completely obscured from the road and all three of its neighbors.

The inside, though – or, at least, from the garage to the stairs upward – looked comfortable. It was more spartan than opulent, as long as you didn’t think too much about what some of the materials cost, and the sitting room he got a glimpse of was done in overstuffed upholstery that actually looked designed to sit in.

“Sal,” Timaios asked of his driver, “can you tell Danny to send up food for two? A real meal, but keep it relatively bland. I’m not sure how much good food our Ctirad here has had in the recent past.”

None was a safe bet, but he hadn’t been asked, so he didn’t answer. Timaios’ hand was on the small of his back, steering him as effectively as if he’d had him on a leash.

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you, Sal. This way, Ctirad.” The back stairs – they had to be back stairs, any place this big had to have a grand staircase somewhere – were carpeted in something soft under Ctirad’s boots, and he stumbled for a minute, thinking he ought to have taken his shoes off.

“Easy,” Timaios murmured. On the stairway, he was practically pressed against Ctirad’s side. It was a warm feeling, pleasant, and yet distracting as well. “You’re fine. Just up these stairs and, here, to the left.”

To the left took Ctirad to a smallish door, just barely big enough to allow for the horns he couldn’t currently see on Timaios. He made a questioning noise in his throat, not quite trusting him with words.

“There, yes. It’s okay.”

He hadn’t been this skittish in a long time. Then again, it had been a long time since he’d had a new Owner. He opened the door.

The room inside was – well, it looked lived-in. Someone had tidied, he thought, and made the bed, but there was a stack of books on one nightstand, a tablet and a laptop on the other, and three pairs of shoes under the bed.

Timaios’ bedroom had no mirrors, and the wide wall of windows was covered with blinds and curtains. The decor was expensive understated wood and neutrals in light colors, except something in purple silk thrown across the desk chair.

“Steady, steady. All right, my lovely man, I’ve got you in my bedroom.”

All thoughts of dinner fled at the rumble in Timaios’ voice.

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Beauty-Beast 11: Masks

Apr17

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“Now you know half of it.” Timaios leaned back, searching Ctirad’s face. “And, yes, that’s a fairly common reaction. Although you don’t seem like you’re awed by my money.”

“Why should I be, sir?” Ctirad cleared his throat. “I mean. You have money for yourself, not for your toys – except to buy them.”

“If you’re not careful,” Timaios warned, “I’m going to take certain words away from you.”

“Sir?” Ctirad searched Timaios’ face, but could find nothing helpful there.

“I am not particularly fond of my Kept referring to themselves as toys. You’re Mine, yes. That does not make you something to be put in a box when I’m bored.”

Ctirad swallowed. “Experiences differ, sir,” he said as politely as he knew how.

“I’m beginning to get that impression. However, you are not my toy. You Belong to me. That is different.”

Ctirad wanted to ask how, but he’d already pushed his owner too far. “Yes, sir.”

“Are you ready for the next part of this little show-and-tell?”

“As you will, sir.” He had no idea how to be ready or now or how that would change anything.

“Sal?”

“Workings are up, sir. We can see them but they can’t see us.”

“Very good, thank you.” He shook his head once, and his Mask dropped.

Ctirad took a careful moment to take in the changes, his expression set at “neutral waiting”. His Owner was… he was still the same man. That was the first thing he noticed. “Same chin, same cheekbones,” he muttered, mostly to himself, but so his Owner knew he was processing. “The tusks’ve got to be interesting.” The tusks curved downward; there were horns curving upward. The whole visage had a slightly grey, stony tint to it.

Timaios snorted, when it became clear that was all Ctirad was going to say. “That’s it?”

Ctirad looked up, meeting his Owner’s eyes. “Does the stone look go all the way down?”

He surprised a laugh out of Timaios and a squeak-like noise out of Sal. “You’re either a good faker or impressive.”

“Little of both, sir. I’m not freaked out by the whole thing, if that’s what you mean. But I see how people would be.”

He didn’t know if it was the right answer, but he kept running into situations here where Timaios didn’t want the “right” answer anyway, so he figured honesty was his best bet.

Timaios raised his eyebrows. “Tempted to ask what’s under your Mask.”

“I Belong to you, sir. You can tell me to do anything you want.”

“I’m beginning to understand that that is your very polite way of saying ‘no way in hell without an order’, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir. But it’s also the truth.”

“It is, yes.” His hand felt the same on Ctirad’s face as it had before. His Mask went up as he reached out to Ctirad, and some discomfort seemed to leave him with the reappearance of his public face. “I will ask you for your face behind your Mask. But I will wait until we are alone.”

He couldn’t argue with that. He couldn’t really argue with anything. “Thank you, sir.” Maybe if he was sufficiently distracting, his new Owner would forget about that.

“Speaking of ‘alone’, Sal, how long until we’re there?”

“Three minutes, sir. But i can do a pretty good Ignore the Back Seat Working on myself, too.”

“No, that’s not needed. I can wait three minutes. Thank you, Sal.” Timaios’ hand moved down to Ctirad’s knee and rested there. “We’ll get you settled in and then eat dinner in my room, I think,” he mused in Ctirad’s general direction. “And I’ll have Honore take your measurements and get you some new clothes. If I’m going to have you at my side in public, you’re going to have to look like you belong there.”

Clothes didn’t matter, as long as he could move in them. “Yes, sir.” He remembered, vaguely, having an opinion on such things once. He wondered if he’d left that back with his favorite color.

“And then, maybe…” Timaios’ hand slid up to Ctirad’s thigh, “you can tell me what you really think of my Change, when we’re alone.” His fingers were suddenly tight on Ctirad’s leg – not tight enough to hurt, more of a promise of entertainment than of pain.

That, he could answer without having to think about. “I look forward to seeing how far down the stone goes, sir.”

And that was a genuine smile, or at least he thought it was real smile. Ctirad swallowed around pleasure and the strange feeling that he’d done something right.

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Beauty-Beast 10: Impressions

Apr9

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“Ctirad.” There was a hand on his chin, with a grip that he would have to fight to get out of. He held even stiller, if that was possible. “I did not buy you to use you. I bought you to have you, yes. To own you. But not to use you.”

“But…” Ctirad felt his brow furrow. “Why? And…” He considered his question before deciding he had already pushed all his limits and might as well keep pushing. “What’s the difference? And why have slaves if you’re not going to use them?”

“That – well, both of those, it’s going to take time to answer, because the answers need to be lived. But the short version is, if I’m using you, it has nothing to do with you, just a vessel for my wants.”

“…I Belong to you, sir.”

“Sir,” Sal said quietly from the front seat. “When you end Ermenrich, can I be there?”

Ctirad flinched back, although the hand on his chin kept him from moving far. “I’m fine,” he protested. “You make it sound like I’m sort of whipped dog and he was holding the whip.”

“I’m sorry, Ctirad.” The hand released his chin, only to appear a moment later on his shoulder. “You’re right. You have… beliefs that don’t mesh with how I handle Keeping, that’s all.”

The rush of misery that flooded over Ctirad was nothing new, yet somehow it was even worse than it had been with Ermenrich. He bowed his head and held his shoulders stiff and tight and straight. “I’m sorry, sir,” he muttered. “I’ll try-”

“Balls. Listen, please. Just try – not an order, a request – try to give it a couple weeks until you can see how things work in my household before assuming you’re going to be pimped out or put out on a leash to kill, all right? I want you to understand how I want to treat you, but I don’t think you can, yet.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” he didn’t know what to do with not an order. He clenched his fists in his lap and waited for punishment or explanation of his mistakes.

He didn’t expect the soft hand on his cheek. “I know it’s not going to be easy. But I think you can adjust, if you trust me a little bit and give me a little time to show you what I want of you – and what you can expect from me in return. All right?”

What was he supposed to say to that? “Yes, sir.” He tried not to lean into the touch, but it felt good, and he had not been touched so much in the last two months as he had since Timaios had taken possession of him.

“I think – I think it is time for you to see me.” Timaios still sounded reluctant. Ctirad was beginning to get concerned about what his new Owner must look like. “I think I have to start introducing you to me sooner rather than later. You can open your eyes.”

Ctirad opened his eyes slowly, letting himself adjust to the light. It was late in the day, the sun not too bright, but he’d had his eyes closed for a while.

He blinked a few times before his new Owner’s face came into view, and then he blinked a few more times. “You’re…” He worked his jaw and blinked again.

“Yes,” Timaios agreed. “That’s the first reaction.”

“…. You’re Tim Kaprinsky. You’re the mogul. The- uh. The mogul heir. You’re Tim Kaprinsky? And you wanted me. And Ermenrich crossed you. And – and you wanted me.”

“Yes.” His new owner nodded. His face, along with being famous, was perfect, chiseled cheekbones, firm chin, dark brown hair just long enough to look tousled, skin just a few shades lighter than his hair, eyes a sort of golden hazel. Ctirad worked his jaw a couple more times and thought about being the bedroom toy of Tim Kaprinsky.

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Beauty-Beast 9: Weapons

Apr7

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There was a moment of silence in the car. Ctirad could hear the road under the tires, some traffic noise, the breathing of all three of them.

“You Belong to me,” Sir agreed carefully. “And I neither object to you having claws nor intend to use you as a murderer. Would you like my word on that?”

Ctirad wasn’t certain he could speak. He cleared his throat and settled for “sir?” with an intonation that might have relayed what the fuck?

“I am not going to use you as a tame killer. I will never order you to kill and I won’t put you in a situation where the bond is forcing you to kill if I can help it. Okay?”

“Sir.” He didn’t know how to express what he was feeling. He didn’t believe it, but he wanted badly to. He swallowed around the dryness of his throat and the way everything felt like it was pressing down on him, taking his air. “…sir?”

“My name is Timaios, Ctirad, and when we’re alone – which includes with Sal – you have permission to use it. Does that offend you?”

“Does…” There were too many options. Shit. “Does what offend me, sir… Ti… sir?”

No. Fuck it, he was not going to give in to that trap. Timaios was his owner, and he was not going to forget that, not even for a second.

“Does it offend you that I won’t use you as a weapon?”

“Sir. I am a weapon.” There was nothing to be offended by, or not, in that. He pointed his face blindly at his owner’s and waited.

“Do you want to be used as a weapon?”

“Sir.” His throat worked as he tried to come up with a safe answer. “Sir, I Belong to you. I Belong to be used. There is some use you are going to have for me, or you wouldn’t have taken me as payment. I’m not decorative-”

“The fuck you’re not,” Sal muttered from the front seat. Ctirad ignored him.

“-I don’t talk sweet, not without paying a lot of attention to my words. I don’t do accounting, I’m a lousy housekeeper-”

“-bet you look great in an apron.”

“Sal. That’s enough.”

“-I’m a decent cook, but nobody buys a Kept because they can cook. So that leaves bitch, whore, and weapon, and of those, sir, I prefer weapon. I’m better at it anyway.”

“Sal?” Ctirad’s owner’s voice was tight. “Please remind me to find an unpleasant end for Ermenrich and, more immediately, to find a way to rehome or free all of his other servants, slaves, and Kept?”

“Yes, sir.” The joking was gone from Sal’s voice, too. Ctirad held still and waited for the fallout.

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Beauty-Beast 8: Claws and Monsters

Apr2

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Ctirad could practically feel Sir’s eyes on him. The silence seemed to hang in the air, something nobody was saying just waiting to be said.

Finally, Ctirad cleared his throat. “So what should I know?”

Sir chuckled. “I’m not Ermenrich. Sometimes I’m an asshole, and I admit it – Sal will tell you…”

“Sometimes he’s an asshole,” Sal agreed cheerfully.

“-Thanks, Sal. But I’m not a monster,” his voice did something strange. Ctirad looked up at the voice as if that would help.

He felt a hand on his hair. “If you would, if you can, keep your eyes closed just a little longer, please.”

Well that, for all the buffer, was an order. Ctirad nodded slowly. “Yes, sir. That’s fine, I can handle that, sir.” Some impulse made him add, “as long as I’m not left alone, please, sir.”

There was silence for a moment, and then Sir’s hand moved from Ctirad’s hair to his cheek. “It’s a deal. I won’t leave you alone and blinded ever, all right?”

“Thank you, sir.” He swallowed, worked his way around a lump in his throat, and nodded his head uncertainly. “I just. Can’t read your expression,” he admitted. “…Shit, I sound ridiculous.”

“You sound,” Sir corrected, “like someone newly under a new bond of Belonging, someone who didn’t have a very good time of his last Keeper and maybe not the Owner before that. You sound like someone who needs to be treated with respect. Because I can see your claws, Ctirad, and I am very interested in them, but I wonder if you know exactly how much they show.”

Ctirad swallowed. “Sir?” He flexed his fingers. He did not have claws, not with his Mask down. He never had – at least, he was pretty sure he never had.

Sir stroked Ctirad’s back and the back of his hair. “You have anger in you, which is completely understandable, but you have barely-restrained violence, too. Frustrated violence, if I don’t miss my guess, but also, mmm, like a tiger. Simply sitting there, you have the potential to murder.”

Ctirad went stiff. “Sir.” He tried to show nothing in his voice. He was pretty sure he failed. “I Belong to you.”

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Beauty-Beast 7: Sal’s Questions

Mar29

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Ctirad tensed. That… was a bad sign.

Sir stroked the top of his back gently, such that the touch might be missed from the rear-view mirror, if Ctirad had his positioning right.

“What’s your name mean?” Sal sounded completely serious. Ctirad gave the question consideration.

His name wasn’t all that common in America, he knew that. And among fae, the name your father chose to give you was heavy with meaning (sometimes). Of course, he had no idea if Sal was fae or not. He cleared his throat. “Joy and honor, or joy from honor.” It wasn’t a name that brought him any joy anymore, but it was all he had left that was his.

“And what about your Name?”

He knew he went still. He knew his fists clenched. He didn’t try to hide any of it. He was not going to punch the driver in the back of the head, not with his eyes closed, not when Sal was driving. “I don’t have one of those.”

“But you did. You were Named before you were Collared, or someone needs to pay pretty badly.”

“I don’t have one now.” He knew he sounded like murder. He just wondered if he could do it before he was stopped.

“Sal. That’s enough. Allow him his secrets, if he wants them.”

Even though he couldn’t see, Ctirad turned towards Sir’s voice. “Sir?”

“Yes, sir.” Sal sounded, Ctirad thought, irritated. “But you said to ask questions.”

“It was a fine question, and it’s fine that he didn’t want to answer it.” And now Sir sounded irritated. Ctirad tensed.

“Sorry, Ctirad.” Sal didn’t exactly mutter the apology, but it sounded a little abashed and a little embarrassed. Ctirad, on the other part, was entirely surprised.

“Wha-” He shook his head. “It’s fine, Sal. I just don’t want to go back there, ‘cause, well, I can’t go back there, you follow?”

“Pardon me for saying so, but you probably won’t be Kept forever, will you?”

Ctirad swallowed. It didn’t hit with the same pain it would when he’d been under Sir’s collar for any length of time, but there was still an edgy panic to the thought. “If,” he said, carefully and slowly, every word its own individual thought, “I’m ever… ever not Kept… I’ll… make a new Name. Have to. The old one’s burned.”

“Woah.” Sal drew the word out. “I retract the question.”

“Thanks.” He leaned back against the seat, suddenly exhausted. “What next, sir?”

“Well, hrrm. What’s the most important thing you think I should know about you that I don’t already? And what about Sal? What’s the most important thing Sal should know about you?”

Ctirad considered the question for a moment. There were too many ways to answer.

“I’m not tame.”

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Beauty-Beast 6: The Driver Weighs In

Mar26

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Sir ran a hand over the side of Ctirad’s hair. Ermenrich had cut it short again, shaved on the sides, military-looking. Ctirad hated it that way – but it wasn’t his hair, any more than when he had been in the military. “So, I trust Sal with my life, with my secrets, and with a good deal of my fortune – and not just in this car, which you can’t see at the moment, but is very expensive. But I assured you that when we weren’t alone, I would not make you answer questions – and while Sal does count as ‘private’ for me, I can’t say the same for you. You follow?”

Oh. “I… follow, sir.” Ctirad swallowed. “What do you want me to do?”

“Easy there, darling. Remember, I said this would be up to you? So. The question is, what do you want to do?”

“With all due respect sir,” he was going to get his ass kicked. He was going to go without food for a week, “that’s a trap. I can’t answer if I don’t know what you want me to want.”

There was a short laugh from the front of the car. “He’s got you there, sir.”

“Not helping, Sal.” Sir sounded a little grumpy. Ctirad worked his jaw and wondered how bad this one was gonna hurt. “Ctirad, it was not intended as a trap, but I understand how it might look that way. Let me put it this way. Are you comfortable with me touching you in front of Sal?”

He didn’t have honesty orders. On the other hand, he couldn’t see Sir’s face to see if his lies were going over well. Ctirad chewed it over. “With my clothes on, sir, yeah. That’s nothing new.”

“That’s not quite the same, but I’ll go with it. Okay. Are you comfortable answering questions in front of Sal?”

“Boss…”

“It’s a long drive, Sal. Unless you want to regale him with tales of your life?”

“Carry on, boss.” It sounded like there was a salute in the reply. Ctirad was suddenly more curious about this Sal.

“So, Ctirad?”

“Uh. If I’m being honest, depends on the question, and depends on if I get wiggle room or it’s an order.”

“I’d prefer you be honest – but that’s not an order, not yet. All right. So.” He got the impression Sir was looking at him. “Sal? Any questions?”

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Beauty-Beast 5: Drive Home

Mar24

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“Down three stairs here, right – now. There you go. You’re quite good at this.” Sir guided Ctirad down the stairs, his arm very warm and his grip pleasantly firm.

“Would you believe practice?”

“At the moment, from you, I’d believe any number of things, my handsome dear. Did Ermenrich know what you are? How good you are?”

“He…” Ctirad considered his answers. “Didn’t really care, sir. He was interested in what he wanted, and that was about as far as it went.”

“A short-sighted man in many ways. Ah, well. Door here, hold on.” The sound of a door being opened was followed by faint traffic noises. Not on the road they were on, then. Ctirad wondered where, exactly, they were. One of Sir’s buildings? One of Ermenrich’s? He didn’t think even his former master would have left him in an abandoned building helpless to wait for his new owner.

Not, at least, if it would cause the deal to fall through.

“All right, we’re going to get into the car. Here we go, mind your head.” Sir’s hand was very firm on the back of Ctirad’s head as he steered him down and into a car. It smelled like leather and cleaner, like it had very recently been detailed.

He scooted over and felt Sir’s leg next to his, and then the door closed firmly. “We’re going home, please.”

“Yes, sir.” The voice was a warm alto. Ctirad could tell almost nothing from it about the speaker, except that they were in front of him, in the driver’s seat, and that there wasn’t glass.

“Now.” He could feel Sir shifting, his knee leaving contact only to brush against Ctirad’s leg again. “We’re not in private, but we’re not in public, either, so what happens for the next half hour is, at least in part, up to you.”

That was new. Ctirad wanted badly to open his eyes, if only to see what sort of body language went with that. “Sir?” had to suffice instead.

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