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whatwekeep2009-01-27 11:34 pm
miladygrey.livejournal.com) wrote in whatwekeep2009-01-27 11:34 pm
Fic: "Custom of the Country" 2/?
And now, part 2! As always, feedback is welcomed and appreciated.
Title: Custom of the Country (2/?)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
miladygrey
Summary: Foreign-born Lord Bettany has his very first body slave--the former Lord Downey. Neither of them know quite what to make of each other.
Pairings: RPF: Lord Paul Bettany/Lady Jennifer Connelly-Bettany, Lord Paul Bettany/Robert Downey, Jr., Paul/Jennifer/Robert
Rating: Starts at PG-13, will likely wander into NC-17 before all's said and done.
Disclaimer: This is not real. This is so far from reality, they do not exist on the same map. This is RPF/RPS, nobody belongs to me, and this is not for any profit whatsoever.
Notes: This is set in the Kept-verse created bypoisontaster, where slavery is legal and accepted. Thank you for letting me play here! As for continuity with the other stories, it's probably happening around the same time or shortly after "A Kept Boy" and "A Question of Compromise".
Another Agent appeared and led them to a waiting room, where they were furnished with passable cookies and truly foul coffee. Paul had glimpsed young Lord Downey--he’s just Robert now, you read the proclamation in the papers--being led out of the viewing room, and assumed he was getting the same treatment, only without snacks. A new Agent came in after a few minutes, a pretty dark-haired woman. “I’m Agent Tunney, and I just wanted to brief you on what you’ll be getting in Robert.”
“We expect no more of him than we would of any other body slave,” Jennifer said, fiddling with her bracelet. Her pale dress and pearls were an unspoken putdown to the Agent in her standard-issue business suit, and Paul saw her shrink a bit. “I’ve had a body slave for twenty years, Agent Tunney, and my husband’s had the use of her for six. We know the routine.”
Had the use of her, indeed. Mia had joined them in bed a couple of times, on Jennifer’s request. He wasn’t the sort to turn down a threesome when offered, and Mia was really an extension of Jennifer at this point. Still, it made them sound rather harsh. “His past history’s quite well known. We trust that your training has made him worth the purchase, and any further training can be done in our household.”
“Of course, of course.” She shuffled the papers in her hands a few times. “Still, in the interest of full disclosure, we’d like to offer you a few facts and suggestions regarding him.”
Since he was going to be the owner, he shrugged and nodded. “All right, then.”
Visibly relieved to be back on track, Agent Tunney shuffled things one more time. “If you know his past, then you know he has had issues with alcohol. Don’t leave anything unattended, and if you plan to reward him for anything, don’t do it with alcohol. The same goes for drugs of any kind--his system has built up a tolerance to them, and causes some odd reactions. See a doctor before giving him anything stronger than aspirin. And if you plan to dose him with Wild Rabbit or anything similar, do it on a full stomach and make sure it’s uncut--”
“We don’t use uninhibitors,” Paul said coldly, and watched her shrink again.
“Of course, my Lord. Um…where you choose to take him is entirely at your discretion, but given his past, we strongly recommend not exposing him to crowds or formal situations until he’s had time to adjust and continue training reinforcement. And we assume you know, since you approached us, that should you choose to sell him back to us we’ll refund half his purchase price and reserve the rest for further training expenses.”
“Understood.” Charity slaves like these were always sold at a loss to Commerce, and sellbacks were common enough to warrant loss on both sides.
“Well then, it seems we have an agreement.” Looking pleased and relieved, the Agent passed him his copy of Robert’s provenance and stood. “He should be here any minute. Agent Brendon will accompany him, and answer any other questions you might have. As always, my Lord and Lady, we’re delighted to serve you.”
He nodded and attempted a smile. Jennifer didn’t even look up from the cookie she was crumbling. As the door clicked shut, she murmured “They’re happy to be rid of him. Can you tell?”
“Slavishly so. I half-expect them to throw one of those others in for free.”
“Don’t give them ideas. God, this is going to be so difficult.”
He glanced over at her, lifting his brows. “If it’s going to be that much of a bother, darling, just let me know. I’ll call back Agent Tunney and ask to see that poor little blonde. You know I don't want to complicate this any further than I already seem to have.”
“No, no, Paul, not that kind of difficult. I’m mainly concerned with the social side of things, as petty as that sounds. We--my family--may never have interacted much with the Downeys, but people know them. And they’ll know Robert. It might be hard for him to serve properly if former acquaintances are harassing him. It won’t do you much good either--what use is a body slave who’ll be of more interest at a party than you?”
He chuckled. “First, I’m insulted. Second, correct me if I’m wrong, but he is a slave now. Whoever he was doesn’t mean a damn thing. This has happened to Crowe and Hutton too, and despite all the media coverage and the initial flurry of photos of Crowe in his collar and Hutton working in a garden somewhere, it all faded away. Because slaves are slaves, and not worth noticing.”
“Robert did border on ‘notorious’…never mind, we’ll talk about it later.” She stood up, beckoning him up as well. “Here they come. Let’s sign the papers and get out of here.”
He was thrown a pair of black slacks and a grey Tshirt. At least they were his size, or near enough as made no difference. They weren’t his. He wondered whose they had been.
Agent Brendon kept up a sharp running commentary as he splashed water on himself and dressed. “You do what is asked of you. You learn to anticipate what will be asked of you, and be prepared for it. You cannot say no. Your Master’s word is law. If your Master gives you to another for a night, or a week, then their word is law. When in public, you’re one step behind and to one side, with your eyes always on your Master. You greet them on your knees. You--”
“I know.” Somehow, God knew how, he kept sarcasm out of his voice. “I’ve been trained well--you were there for some of it. I know my place.”
He assumed he’d be hit for that, but Brendon just laughed, a harsh little sound. “True. Just don’t forget. This is your one and only chance. It’s the mines for you if this doesn’t work out, or the Academy.”
Something must have shown on his face. Brendon nodded. “You’re luckier than you know. When you first came in, the vote was narrowly divided on whether to keep you here for the Charity Ward or send you to the Academy to be their experimental horse.”
“A horse--?” No, no, he didn’t want to know, he didn’t.
Brendon knew, he didn’t say anything else. “Lucky,” he repeated. “Don’t fuck this up, slave. Now come on.”
He kept his eyes down, straight to the floor along the way, following Brendon‘s ugly black shoes. No eye contact, it had been drilled into him relentlessly. No eye contact, possibly not even torso contact. A submissive, downcast posture at all times. As soon as a pair of very nice Italian shoes came into view, he dropped to his knees. Which hurt like hell, but he managed not to react.
“Lord Bettany, here is your new body slave, Robert. Robert, this is your new Master.”
First and only, more like. Bettany, Bettany… He knew the name from somewhere. British ex-pat, married pretty little Jennifer Connelly a few years ago, assimilated without any visible difficulty. So to his knowledge, he wasn’t going into a household full of deviants, addicts, or sex fiends. Which was good. Maybe they didn’t know him, who he’d been. But no, the voice who knew his name had been British. Damn.
Fortunately, his mouth was moving while his mind sorted through memory. “I’m at your service, my Lord.”
“Thank you, Robert. And thank you.” This, clearly, to the Agent who was still hovering. “You’ve our number and addresses if anything else needs to be sent. Let’s go home, Jen.”
“Do you want to stop and buy him a collar?” That was definitely Jennifer. Apparently her year trailing in Lord Bowie’s wake had given her a taste for British men. And oh God, he was going to wear a collar in public. A collar.
“Tomorrow, I thought. Clothes, accessories, and collar, all in one fell swoop. He can wear one of Bradley‘s spares until then. I asked Mia to bring one.” There was a brief awkward pause that he felt like a slap, then a hand resting on his head and the faint scent of cologne. “You can stand. We’re off home now, just follow us.”
Scrambling to his feet, he felt the hand fall away, and looked up quickly at his new Master. Tall, blond and blue-eyed, with patrician features and inherent grace. Beside him, Jennifer was small and brunette, with curves and a smile hiding at one side of her mouth. He vaguely remembered her circulating at a few parties. But she hadn’t been his type of girl.
He obediently followed them out to the car, where a slim, gamine woman opened the passenger-side door for Lady Connelly-Bettany. She cocked her head at Robert, sizing him up, then asked, “Mistress, where do you want him?”
“In the back with Paul, Mia, thank you.”
He was about to step inside when he saw the woman (Mia?) shake her head the barest fraction. Right, right. Dammit. Half a step back, eyes on the sidewalk. Hell, he could be daring, he lifted them to curb level. “My Lord?”
That might have been a chuckle. “Thank you, Robert.” The sound of fabric sliding across leather. “Now you.”
It was tricky to get in, sit down, and buckle a seat belt without looking up at all. He was conscious of the really nice upholstery, the almost-subliminal music coming from the speakers, and the low murmur from the front seats as Lady Connelly-Bettany and Mia discussed whatever was going to happen next. Someone reached over his bent head. “Here, my Lord.”
“Thank you, Mia. Shall we do it now?”
“Bureaucracy being what it is…” Lady Connelly-Bettany sounded amused and annoyed in equal measure. “May as well. It’s a clunky old thing, but it looks proper, and that’s the whole point of this.”
“And you accuse my country of being too proper. Robert, look up, please.”
His brain was stuttering, dazed at his abrupt change in circumstance, and he wasn’t quick enough. A hand slipped under his chin and lifted it, and he was suddenly looking straight into his Master’s blue eyes. He stared without thinking, and those clear eyes stared back. The light contact of fingers was the first touch he’d received in kindness in months, and he welcomed it. Probably more than he should, given that it was the touch of his Master‘s hand.
“I know it’s dizzying.” God, more kindness. He wasn’t sure he was ready for it. “But we’ll get home, get you some lunch, and then we’ll talk about what’s expected. You needn’t worry, Robert. Everything’s going to be fine.”
He almost responded, almost said something. Something urbane, possibly something thankful. Then cool metal tightened around his throat, and the nascent words were choked back. He touched the band of the collar involuntarily, his hand brushing Bettany’s.
“We’ll have one fit to you tomorrow. For now, it’s not too tight?”
“No. No, sir.” He pulled his eyes away from human contact, locked them on his folded hands in his lap. He couldn’t say anything else. There was nothing else to say.
Title: Custom of the Country (2/?)
Author:
miladygreySummary: Foreign-born Lord Bettany has his very first body slave--the former Lord Downey. Neither of them know quite what to make of each other.
Pairings: RPF: Lord Paul Bettany/Lady Jennifer Connelly-Bettany, Lord Paul Bettany/Robert Downey, Jr., Paul/Jennifer/Robert
Rating: Starts at PG-13, will likely wander into NC-17 before all's said and done.
Disclaimer: This is not real. This is so far from reality, they do not exist on the same map. This is RPF/RPS, nobody belongs to me, and this is not for any profit whatsoever.
Notes: This is set in the Kept-verse created by
poisontaster, where slavery is legal and accepted. Thank you for letting me play here! As for continuity with the other stories, it's probably happening around the same time or shortly after "A Kept Boy" and "A Question of Compromise".Another Agent appeared and led them to a waiting room, where they were furnished with passable cookies and truly foul coffee. Paul had glimpsed young Lord Downey--he’s just Robert now, you read the proclamation in the papers--being led out of the viewing room, and assumed he was getting the same treatment, only without snacks. A new Agent came in after a few minutes, a pretty dark-haired woman. “I’m Agent Tunney, and I just wanted to brief you on what you’ll be getting in Robert.”
“We expect no more of him than we would of any other body slave,” Jennifer said, fiddling with her bracelet. Her pale dress and pearls were an unspoken putdown to the Agent in her standard-issue business suit, and Paul saw her shrink a bit. “I’ve had a body slave for twenty years, Agent Tunney, and my husband’s had the use of her for six. We know the routine.”
Had the use of her, indeed. Mia had joined them in bed a couple of times, on Jennifer’s request. He wasn’t the sort to turn down a threesome when offered, and Mia was really an extension of Jennifer at this point. Still, it made them sound rather harsh. “His past history’s quite well known. We trust that your training has made him worth the purchase, and any further training can be done in our household.”
“Of course, of course.” She shuffled the papers in her hands a few times. “Still, in the interest of full disclosure, we’d like to offer you a few facts and suggestions regarding him.”
Since he was going to be the owner, he shrugged and nodded. “All right, then.”
Visibly relieved to be back on track, Agent Tunney shuffled things one more time. “If you know his past, then you know he has had issues with alcohol. Don’t leave anything unattended, and if you plan to reward him for anything, don’t do it with alcohol. The same goes for drugs of any kind--his system has built up a tolerance to them, and causes some odd reactions. See a doctor before giving him anything stronger than aspirin. And if you plan to dose him with Wild Rabbit or anything similar, do it on a full stomach and make sure it’s uncut--”
“We don’t use uninhibitors,” Paul said coldly, and watched her shrink again.
“Of course, my Lord. Um…where you choose to take him is entirely at your discretion, but given his past, we strongly recommend not exposing him to crowds or formal situations until he’s had time to adjust and continue training reinforcement. And we assume you know, since you approached us, that should you choose to sell him back to us we’ll refund half his purchase price and reserve the rest for further training expenses.”
“Understood.” Charity slaves like these were always sold at a loss to Commerce, and sellbacks were common enough to warrant loss on both sides.
“Well then, it seems we have an agreement.” Looking pleased and relieved, the Agent passed him his copy of Robert’s provenance and stood. “He should be here any minute. Agent Brendon will accompany him, and answer any other questions you might have. As always, my Lord and Lady, we’re delighted to serve you.”
He nodded and attempted a smile. Jennifer didn’t even look up from the cookie she was crumbling. As the door clicked shut, she murmured “They’re happy to be rid of him. Can you tell?”
“Slavishly so. I half-expect them to throw one of those others in for free.”
“Don’t give them ideas. God, this is going to be so difficult.”
He glanced over at her, lifting his brows. “If it’s going to be that much of a bother, darling, just let me know. I’ll call back Agent Tunney and ask to see that poor little blonde. You know I don't want to complicate this any further than I already seem to have.”
“No, no, Paul, not that kind of difficult. I’m mainly concerned with the social side of things, as petty as that sounds. We--my family--may never have interacted much with the Downeys, but people know them. And they’ll know Robert. It might be hard for him to serve properly if former acquaintances are harassing him. It won’t do you much good either--what use is a body slave who’ll be of more interest at a party than you?”
He chuckled. “First, I’m insulted. Second, correct me if I’m wrong, but he is a slave now. Whoever he was doesn’t mean a damn thing. This has happened to Crowe and Hutton too, and despite all the media coverage and the initial flurry of photos of Crowe in his collar and Hutton working in a garden somewhere, it all faded away. Because slaves are slaves, and not worth noticing.”
“Robert did border on ‘notorious’…never mind, we’ll talk about it later.” She stood up, beckoning him up as well. “Here they come. Let’s sign the papers and get out of here.”
He was thrown a pair of black slacks and a grey Tshirt. At least they were his size, or near enough as made no difference. They weren’t his. He wondered whose they had been.
Agent Brendon kept up a sharp running commentary as he splashed water on himself and dressed. “You do what is asked of you. You learn to anticipate what will be asked of you, and be prepared for it. You cannot say no. Your Master’s word is law. If your Master gives you to another for a night, or a week, then their word is law. When in public, you’re one step behind and to one side, with your eyes always on your Master. You greet them on your knees. You--”
“I know.” Somehow, God knew how, he kept sarcasm out of his voice. “I’ve been trained well--you were there for some of it. I know my place.”
He assumed he’d be hit for that, but Brendon just laughed, a harsh little sound. “True. Just don’t forget. This is your one and only chance. It’s the mines for you if this doesn’t work out, or the Academy.”
Something must have shown on his face. Brendon nodded. “You’re luckier than you know. When you first came in, the vote was narrowly divided on whether to keep you here for the Charity Ward or send you to the Academy to be their experimental horse.”
“A horse--?” No, no, he didn’t want to know, he didn’t.
Brendon knew, he didn’t say anything else. “Lucky,” he repeated. “Don’t fuck this up, slave. Now come on.”
He kept his eyes down, straight to the floor along the way, following Brendon‘s ugly black shoes. No eye contact, it had been drilled into him relentlessly. No eye contact, possibly not even torso contact. A submissive, downcast posture at all times. As soon as a pair of very nice Italian shoes came into view, he dropped to his knees. Which hurt like hell, but he managed not to react.
“Lord Bettany, here is your new body slave, Robert. Robert, this is your new Master.”
First and only, more like. Bettany, Bettany… He knew the name from somewhere. British ex-pat, married pretty little Jennifer Connelly a few years ago, assimilated without any visible difficulty. So to his knowledge, he wasn’t going into a household full of deviants, addicts, or sex fiends. Which was good. Maybe they didn’t know him, who he’d been. But no, the voice who knew his name had been British. Damn.
Fortunately, his mouth was moving while his mind sorted through memory. “I’m at your service, my Lord.”
“Thank you, Robert. And thank you.” This, clearly, to the Agent who was still hovering. “You’ve our number and addresses if anything else needs to be sent. Let’s go home, Jen.”
“Do you want to stop and buy him a collar?” That was definitely Jennifer. Apparently her year trailing in Lord Bowie’s wake had given her a taste for British men. And oh God, he was going to wear a collar in public. A collar.
“Tomorrow, I thought. Clothes, accessories, and collar, all in one fell swoop. He can wear one of Bradley‘s spares until then. I asked Mia to bring one.” There was a brief awkward pause that he felt like a slap, then a hand resting on his head and the faint scent of cologne. “You can stand. We’re off home now, just follow us.”
Scrambling to his feet, he felt the hand fall away, and looked up quickly at his new Master. Tall, blond and blue-eyed, with patrician features and inherent grace. Beside him, Jennifer was small and brunette, with curves and a smile hiding at one side of her mouth. He vaguely remembered her circulating at a few parties. But she hadn’t been his type of girl.
He obediently followed them out to the car, where a slim, gamine woman opened the passenger-side door for Lady Connelly-Bettany. She cocked her head at Robert, sizing him up, then asked, “Mistress, where do you want him?”
“In the back with Paul, Mia, thank you.”
He was about to step inside when he saw the woman (Mia?) shake her head the barest fraction. Right, right. Dammit. Half a step back, eyes on the sidewalk. Hell, he could be daring, he lifted them to curb level. “My Lord?”
That might have been a chuckle. “Thank you, Robert.” The sound of fabric sliding across leather. “Now you.”
It was tricky to get in, sit down, and buckle a seat belt without looking up at all. He was conscious of the really nice upholstery, the almost-subliminal music coming from the speakers, and the low murmur from the front seats as Lady Connelly-Bettany and Mia discussed whatever was going to happen next. Someone reached over his bent head. “Here, my Lord.”
“Thank you, Mia. Shall we do it now?”
“Bureaucracy being what it is…” Lady Connelly-Bettany sounded amused and annoyed in equal measure. “May as well. It’s a clunky old thing, but it looks proper, and that’s the whole point of this.”
“And you accuse my country of being too proper. Robert, look up, please.”
His brain was stuttering, dazed at his abrupt change in circumstance, and he wasn’t quick enough. A hand slipped under his chin and lifted it, and he was suddenly looking straight into his Master’s blue eyes. He stared without thinking, and those clear eyes stared back. The light contact of fingers was the first touch he’d received in kindness in months, and he welcomed it. Probably more than he should, given that it was the touch of his Master‘s hand.
“I know it’s dizzying.” God, more kindness. He wasn’t sure he was ready for it. “But we’ll get home, get you some lunch, and then we’ll talk about what’s expected. You needn’t worry, Robert. Everything’s going to be fine.”
He almost responded, almost said something. Something urbane, possibly something thankful. Then cool metal tightened around his throat, and the nascent words were choked back. He touched the band of the collar involuntarily, his hand brushing Bettany’s.
“We’ll have one fit to you tomorrow. For now, it’s not too tight?”
“No. No, sir.” He pulled his eyes away from human contact, locked them on his folded hands in his lap. He couldn’t say anything else. There was nothing else to say.
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But really, this is great. Looking forward to more.
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