Anywhere and Everywhere People: Part Two
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[five years later]
Jared’s understanding of the difference between biological and legal age has always been foggy; it’s a distinction no one he’s close to has had to deal with since his great-grandparents went into stasis when he was ten, specifying that they would like to be revived for their hundred and fiftieth birthdays and laying out party arrangements to be carried out on their behalf. His parents explained to him then how it worked, how the elderly could be so old but look and feel much younger. “So if I went into stasis right now,” Jared had asked, “I could wake up and do grownup things?” The thought was unimaginably exciting - all that freedom - and his father had smiled and ruffled his hair, and said he didn’t need to grow up like that.
Back then Jared didn’t know about the slave trade, about kids younger than Jensen revived when they were legally eighteen and biologically pre-pubescent, skirting laws that had been made to protect them. Being a grownup and a kid at once held no fear. But as Jensen nears biological maturity, yet another aspect of the distinction becomes clear.
“I can’t do it,” Jared says, stroking the shell of Jensen’s ear, the delicate pink curve of it, feeling the claustrophobic weight of a world where Jensen hears nothing but Jared’s voice. “I won’t do that to you.”
Jensen gives him a calm, emotionless look from under his eyelashes, his mouth still raw pink from Jared’s kisses. “That’s illegal,” he replies evenly.
Jared tugs his ear. “Stop. Don’t do that.”
“You want me to cry and scream and stamp my feet? It won’t change the law.”
“I can’t,” says Jared again, plaintively. He tries to imagine life without Jensen’s cutting commentary on everything around them, tries to imagine him timid and obedient the way he was when he arrived, more fully Jared’s but also… less. “I’ll figure out what to do. I’ll make sure you aren’t altered. Whatever it takes, I’ll find a way.” He taps the lightstrip overhead, plunging the room into darkness.
Softly, in the dark, Jensen says, “Thank you.”
***
He’s apprehensive going into his preliminary meeting with Dr. Morgan, Jensen beside him still and neutral, awaiting his fate. “Did you have any burning questions of your own before we begin?” Dr. Morgan asks.
“Yes, actually. Is there any reason I would not have him altered when he reaches the age of maturity? Like, is there any justification for that?”
Dr. Morgan considers him shrewdly. “It’s the law, Jared,” he says slowly. “The law says that all slaves must be fitted with aural implants upon reaching biological maturity. No ifs, ands, or buts. To fail to alter a slave would be against the law, no matter the reason.”
Dr. Morgan focuses intently on Jared as he says it, "against the law," like there's more to it than what he's saying. But Jared is too caught up in the subtle flicker of Jensen's eyelashes, the tightening of his mouth that means he'd secretly been hoping for a different response. Jared wants to reach out to him, touch his hand or his cheek, but Jensen's already strapped into the visualization chair, which will project various optional body modifications onto him, so Jared can judge if they might be desirable. Jensen is naked except a pair of tiny shorts, the projector cycling quietly through its most popular options.
“Thank you for clarifying,” Jared says after the silence has grown awkwardly long. Dr. Morgan nods and continues.
“Now, besides the required aural implants there are a number of other modifications many slave owners wish to make. Although I am unqualified to perform many of those surgeries, I can suggest excellent specialists and advise you as you make your decisions. That’s all this session is for today, to help you decide. This is important, Jared, I hope you realize how much.” Again that tight focus, and Jared knows there’s something he’s saying with his eyes that isn’t coming through in his words. “These decisions can affect not just the rest of your slave’s life but the rest of your own, assuming you don’t intend to sell.”
Jared shakes his head. “I wouldn’t sell. I won’t.”
“Then, yeah. The stakes may be very high indeed.” Jared can see that Jensen is staring openly at Dr. Morgan right now, not keeping his eyes down as usual, and Jared’s sure that Jensen’s somehow getting more from this presentation than he is.
Morgan claps his hands and switches off the projection cycle. “With that in mind, why don’t we start at the top. Are you satisfied with the color and texture of Jensen’s hair?”
They go through a long list of facial reconstructions Jared couldn’t care less about, bone shaving and chin implants and specially injected dyes to change eye color. “I don’t want any of that,” Jared says confidently. “Jensen’s face is perfect as is.”
Morgan makes a note. “I’m not surprised to hear you say that.”
Jared has to look away from Jensen’s small, private smile. Sometimes being in love with him is like this yawning pit in the bottom of Jared’s stomach, and it hurts to think too much about what he’s doing. No matter how he feels about Jensen personally, he is still Jensen’s owner, never a true equal except in private.
“So then we move on to the rest of the body. Are there any inadequacies you’d like to correct? Scars we should try to remove? Body parts that need enlargement?” Morgan asks this question with an entirely straight face; Jared can’t answer it the same way.
“Um, I think all Jensen’s parts are the right size. But thanks!” Jensen’s smile widens.
Morgan makes another note. “Then there are the more surface modifications. Tattoos, brands, piercings, other forms of scarification. Are any of those of interest?”
Jared has to stop to consider that. He imagines leaving a permanent mark on Jensen’s skin, something he can touch like he often touches the little bruises left by his mouth, stroking the marks and making Jensen shiver. As uncomfortable as he is with many of the indicators of ownership, this has its appeal. “What sort of things might those be?” Jared asks.
Dr. Morgan runs the projector through a series of possibilities. A swirling black tattoo appears on Jensen’s chest, the logo of the shipping company. “Pectoral tattoos are popular, as they can be displayed or hidden as desired.” Jared shakes his head. The tattoo moves the inside of Jensen’s forearm, the same swirling black lines, but Jensen doesn’t belong to the company. He shakes his head again. “If it’s the design you object to, that is totally negotiable. Right now just think about the placement.” The tattoo shifts to Jensen’s inner thigh, rippling over the ridge of muscle there. “If you want something less visible.”
Jared’s cheeks flush with sudden exhilaration as he watches the muscles in Jensen’s thigh twitch as he tries to look down at himself. He can imagine putting his lips on a tattoo just there, opening his mouth over the warm stretch of skin. He could claim particular ownership of Jensen’s strong thighs as they part for him… “I’ll consider that.”
“Obviously there’s a lot of other real estate for a tattoo as well,” Dr. Morgan adds, bouncing it from Jensen’s thigh down to his calf, up to his hip and then to his biceps. Jared’s gaze follows it and he wants to take Jensen out of there, run off someplace where those marks won’t mean a financial relationship between slave and master, where the hungry ache inside him won’t be tempered by guilt. He nods for Dr. Morgan to continue.
“Then of course there’s branding, which is more traditional.” He cycles through a few placement options, but there’s little of the elegance of tattooing and Jared finds himself looking at Jensen’s face instead of the projections. Jensen glances back fleetingly, like a diver breaking the surface for a sip of air, and Jared isn’t really listening until Morgan moves onto…
“Piercings. They can be both attractive and multipurpose, containing nano-trackers for example, much more reliably than those used in tattoo ink, although they are often also more easily removed if you are concerned about… well, never mind. But they can be very attractive.” Jensen smile dims a little. Jared knows the nano-trackers are meant to prevent escape, to make sure that slaves are exactly where they’re expected to be at all times.
“Can you get them without the trackers?” Jared asks.
“Of course. Anywhere you like. Ears are traditional of course. And there are also a number of different possible placements on the face, eyebrows, nose, lips, etc. I imagine you know all this.” Jared nods. He has plenty of friends with assorted facial piercings, and he doesn’t mind the thought of a thin silver ring piercing Jensen’s pouty lower lip. But he’s not sure.
“Nipples,” Dr. Morgan says next, and Jared rocks forward in his chair as his dick jumps. “One or both.” He says it so calmly, but the projection speaks for itself, rings glinting on the tips of Jensen’s nipples, real enough that Jared wants to reach out and touch them. “There are some different style choices here, rings, barbells.” He switches the projection. Jared keeps staring, mouth dry.
“I’ll think about that. I will.”
“Should I keep going?” Dr. Morgan smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners like he knows everything that’s going on in Jared’s head and in his pants right now.
“Yeah, sure,” replies Jared, knowing it will only get worse from there. And it does. The list of possible genital piercings is nearly endless, and although it’s harder for the projector to represent these because of Jensen’s briefs, Jared can imagine them quite clearly, beads of metal decorating the head of Jensen’s cock or spaced along the shaft. “You aren’t considering having him castrated, are you?” Morgan asks, and Jared’s stomach twists as he imagines taking away another part of Jensen, leaving an ugly scar in place of the soft, heavy sac of Jensen’s balls. Chad’s family owns a castrato, and Chad’s father makes him serve naked, so that Jared finds himself ashamed at their dinner table more often than not.
“Absolutely not,” Jared says decisively. He likes Jensen’s balls exactly as they are, and while he’s pretty sure Dr. Morgan knows that, he assumes it can’t hurt to be clear.
Morgan makes another note. “That’s probably a good choice. Most of the optional surgeries slaveholders are offered are reversible, but castration is permanent. Should you ever want to breed him, you’d be out of luck.”
Jared hates the thought of Jensen being with anyone else like that, giving his come to a woman he might not even know. Already people in the markets on Chrysanthemum have asked him if Jensen is available for studding, watching him greedily when they walk together, Jensen’s fine bone structure and striking green eyes drawing attention even in crowds.
As they leave the appointment with Morgan, the doctor motions for Jensen to hang back a moment as Jared looks over some vids about body modifications. Jensen comes out of the private office looking vaguely confused, his right hand gripped tight around something too small for Jared to see. “Thank you very much for coming in, Jared,” says Dr. Morgan cheerfully.
“What did he give you?” Jared whispers in the corridor.
Jensen shakes his head, eyes darting to a guard coming through the doors of a lift just beside them. “Later,” he says.
Jared takes him back to their quarters immediately, setting his status to busy on the corporate intranet and running a complete bug check before Jensen will open his hand. Cupped in his palm is a disposable holo-generator. “I imagine whatever this is isn’t legal,” Jensen points out.
“I imagine whatever it is is supposed to help,” Jared counters.
“Just so we’re clear on the not being legal.”
Jared plucks the device out of Jensen’s hand and hits the power switch.
It’s a vid, poorly made, fuzzy like it’s been resized a few too many times. “There is another way,” says a voice, not Dr. Morgan’s, not anyone Jared knows.
It’s a vid about rebellion. A small resistance movement gathering momentum, slaveholders refusing to alter their slaves, slaves keeping their hearing and their autonomy. There are directions to find out more, and an instruction to memorize the information and copy nothing down. Jared will remember though. He’s fairly sure he’ll remember those codes for the rest of his life.
When the vid finishes, the generator self-destructs, leaving a tiny splash of dust on the tabletop, no other evidence. Jensen takes a slow, shuddery breath, and Jared reaches out to take his hand. There have been no rebellions in centuries, everything carefully monitored, every slave tracked and accounted for. Even tiny uprisings in distant solar systems are quelled before they can gain any momentum, stabilizing drugs administered and further surveillance procedures instituted to keep everyone “safe”. Jared’s ashamed to admit how long it took him to realize who that “safety” really benefited.
“Was that real?” Jensen asks, his fingers weaving in between Jared’s. “Do you think that’s really happening?”
“I think Dr. Morgan’s pretty sure it is or he wouldn’t have given it to us.”
Jared watches Jensen swallow, his fingers trembling a little in Jared’s. “It’s definitely illegal.”
“But it’s definitely going to help.”
***
Jared looks up the address specified in the vid and enters the codes as prompted, typing slowly because he absolutely does not want to get this wrong. Jensen is halfway in his lap, and he gasps as the front page unfurls to reveal a network of navigation links, things like “Pickups” and “Contacts”. The largest text says, “Help” and when Jared taps it, a new message tells him to leave his name, contact details, and areas of interest, and someone will contact him soon. Nowhere does the site say it is connected to an anti-slavery movement; nowhere does it identify a sponsoring organization.
“Could it be a trap?” Jared asks, pausing with his fingers over the keyboard.
“It could,” replies Jensen reasonably. “It could all be a law enforcement ploy to quell unrest. But it might not be.”
There’s this edge of anticipation in Jensen’s voice that makes Jared do it, enter his information and hit send before he can reconsider. If Jensen is hopeful, Jared will do everything he can to prove that hope is justified. Under special skills Jared types, “Anything money can provide.” The company will be his soon enough, and then that will be true.
He sits back in his chair, pulling Jensen against his chest. “I guess now we wait.” His finger stray to the new ring in Jensen’s right nipple, twisting it, every movement of the hard little circle of metal making Jensen shiver. Jared starts on the other one with his left hand. He hasn’t been able to stop touching them, sucking at them, thinking about them every time Jensen has a shirt covering them up, Jensen’s little pink nipples more sensitive than ever.
“I wonder what we’ll do while we wait,” Jensen says wryly, but his voice is shaky and his dick is rock hard when Jared scoops it up in his hand.
“I wonder,” he echoes.
[ten years later]
The ambassador and his entourage sit in the carefully appointed lounge in the center of the station’s office suite. They are smoking cigars, an old earth custom that has for some reason been revived and updated by the fashionable in the last few years. They all blow patterns of colored smoke with the thick cigars, licking away the sweetness of the tar left behind on their lips. The ambassador’s body slave waits by his feet, kneeling daintily, her toes pointed behind her. Occasionally he reaches out to absently stroke her dark hair, but she does not move except for the slow rise and fall of her breath.
Jensen waits by the door. They’ll signal him if they need more tea or more ridiculous fruity cigars or anything else. By now every person in this room knows that Jared will only keep his appointments when he’s good and ready. He’s eccentric and rarely prompt, and he does not play politics in the traditional way, but he has plenty of money and plenty of influence to throw around on behalf of his friends. The group in the lounge talks freely with no one to overhear.
“The attacks on slavers are becoming more frequent,” one of the ambassador’s advisors says conversationally, flipping through a series of news vids. “The thieves are getting bolder.”
The ambassador waves his cigar unconcernedly. “The bolder they get the more likely they are to make a mistake. And then we’ll give a little tug and their whole organization will fall to pieces.” He leans forward a little, shoulders hunching as he gives a sly wink. Jensen does not move. “Confidentially, Central agents are getting closer. They intercepted a transmission from one of the thieves’ vessels to a ground contact on Hibiscus. They cut power to the grid where the signal was received, and they think they’ve got a line on the collaborator there. They’re probably laying a trap for him as we speak. I suspect this is the break we’ve been waiting for.”
The ambassador gestures to Jensen, who takes three measured steps to stand directly beside his chair, behind his kneeling slave. Up close he can see the scars of an old whipping lining her back, thin white lines on her olive skin. Jensen holds out his hands for the empty teapot and bows before backing out of the room.
He refills the teapot and leaves it to steep on the table in the inner corridor before placing his hand on the scanner outsider Jared’s private office. The door opens for his fingerprints.
“Misha’s in trouble,” Jensen tells him calmly. “Central’s got a line on him, and the ambassador seems to think they’re closing in. I imagine he’s enjoying leading them on a merry chase, but…”
Jared smiles wryly. “Yeah. I bet he’s about ready for a relocation this time of year. It’s monsoon season on that part of Hibiscus.”
“Then I guess we have to trust him to come in out of the rain.” Jensen turns to go.
“Hey wait,” Jared says, like he does almost every time Jensen comes to deliver a message. They can’t afford more than a few moments at times like these, but Jensen comes to stand by Jared’s desk as Jared keys in a short message to Danneel telling her that Misha may need a quick getaway. He sets it to send through the triple encode challenge system they set up for unauthorized communication and looks up at Jensen. “Are they annoyed yet, or are they still busy patting themselves on the back about the omnipotence of Central Government?”
“How could anyone ever be annoyed at you, master?” Jensen asks sweetly.
Jared pinches his thigh. “Don’t call me that when you’re being sarcastic. It takes the fun out of it.”
Jensen takes his hand, kissing the tips of his fingers. “It really doesn’t.”
“No,” Jared agrees, rubbing his thumb across Jensen’s lower lip. “It really doesn’t.”
“I should get back. I don’t want the tea to steep too long.”
“You do pride yourself on your tea.” Jared gets to his feet to kiss Jensen’s mouth, quick and easy, a smile lingering at the corners of his lips. “I’ll be out soon.”
By the time Jensen gets back to the lounge, the ambassador and his slave are demonstrating a new dance move he has just learned, and the tea goes cold on the table, Jensen once again waiting still and unnoticed by the door.
“Dear friends!” Jared exclaims, striding into the room with his arms outspread, his blindingly orange shirt almost preceding him with its glow. These are the moments when it is always hardest for Jensen to keep his composure; Jared’s entrances are unfailingly dramatic and absurd, and Jensen has to strain to keep from smiling. “I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting. I hope you have been well treated by my slave.”
“Your hospitality is renowned throughout the universe,” the ambassador simpers, reaching out to shake Jared’s hand. Jared bows. The ambassador is still a government official even if he has to spend his time coaxing favors out of private citizens.
“You are too, too kind, sir,” Jared replies. “But as you know, flattery will get you everywhere. What is it I can help you all with on this lovely day?”
“Safe passage through the Theta System for government slave transport vessels,” says the ambassador. “The recent spate of attacks by bandits has made us concerned for the safety of our transports.”
“And you are asking for… what, precisely? An escort? A better-outfitted ship? You know I am in favor of getting slaves to their appointed locations safely.”
“At this point I am asking for anything that works. Faster ships, better pilots, heavier artillery. I’ve even heard rumors that you’re making advances in stealth that might help.”
Jared laughs as though this is a particularly clever joke. “Stealth? Have you seen the size of me? I wouldn’t know stealth if it were standing right beside me. Of course, that’s the point, isn’t it?”
The ambassador gives an obligatory chuckle. “Anything you can offer, as I said, would be deeply appreciated, and both Central Government and the breeders of my home world would pay dearly for the assistance.”
Jared taps a finger against his lips, the wide cuffs of his shirt swaying. “I have two older speed freighters I could sell you for quicker passage through dangerous areas. They’re not the prettiest ships in our fleet, but they’re tough and they can outrun most other craft in the sky.”
“Pretty is not an issue our cargo will care about. Perhaps a few weeks in an old-fashioned cargo hold will teach them a little something about their place. Too many uppity slaves these days.”
“Well, perhaps we can at least give them a little color, something to look at. It never hurts to show your slaves a little kindness.”
The ambassador’s eyes flick to Jensen for the first time. “I’m sure you are very kind to yours. I’m sure you’ve been told before that your body slave is very beautiful.”
He’s absolutely right. This has happened before, often enough that it no longer makes Jensen’s skin crawl. He looks passively at the sculpture on the opposite side of the room, spirals of colored glass dancing around each other in a low gravity field. They follow a symmetrical pattern, turning in endless circles, up and down and spinning, spinning. Jensen counts the revolutions as they pair off and then join into quartets, each spiral glinting in the artificial firelight. But it doesn’t stop him hearing the things the ambassador says about him.
“You’ve had him since he was a child, yes? It’s always hard to tell if the pretty little ones will grow up well.”
“Jensen is a joy and an invaluable asset. His beauty is just a bonus.” Jensen allows himself a sideways look at Jared, responding to the sound of his master’s voice saying his name.
“Do you ever allow your friends and associates to say, borrow him? I imagine he has many special skills to offer.”
Jared laughs and reaches out to pat Jensen’s ass. “I’m afraid I’m a little more protective of my personal property than I am of my company’s ships. You’re welcome to the transports, but I’ll keep Jensen to myself.”
“Ah well, I do hope we will see you and Jensen both at the Grand Galloping Gala on Petunia next month. You’re certainly right, he is a joy.”
“We’ll be there,” Jared assures him. He looks up at Jensen beside him. “The ambassador says you’re a joy, Jensen. I think you should thank him for his interest.”
Jensen looks demurely at the ground as he replies. “Thank you very much, sir. I only do the best I can for my master.”
The ambassador continues looking at him with a sly smile for the remainder of his meeting with Jared. If Jensen had not already been dreading the indignities of the Grand Galloping Gala, he would be now.
***
“I know you’re aware of this,” Jared sighs, watching Jensen struggle into his harness, “but I hate that we have to go to these places, that you have to. You deserve… you deserve so much more than being an object at a perverse political fundraiser for hateful, bigoted people.”
“I’m not going to argue with you,” Jensen says, shrugging. He straightens up so that Jared can buckle the straps of the harness, locking it into place around his chest. Jensen’s skin is even paler against the black of the harness. Living on the station, no one expects him to get much sun, and his fair, freckled shoulders are just one more thing for strangers to exclaim over, brushing their fingers against him as he pretends he can’t hear the outrageous propositions they’re whispering in Jared’s ear. And there are always outrageous propositions, at every dinner party and ball and charity concert and gala they’ve ever attended, no matter how Jensen was dressed or the very good cause the party was supposed to support.
Jared tugs at the straps so they sit snuggly around Jensen’s torso, the full weight of the harness coming down on Jensen’s shoulders as Jared lets go. He meets Jensen’s eyes, looking contrite, and Jensen lets him wallow for a second before kissing him. “Your self-flagellation doesn’t do anyone any good here.” Normally Jared handles his own guilt so well, diverting it into the work of his double life with an almost vicious energy. But every once in a while he hits a rough patch, and Jensen has to get him through it because Jensen is the only one who can. He kisses Jared again, cupping his chin and blocking his denials. Jared has more power than Jensen can even really contemplate, and he takes risks to match it. “You have to be witty and fashionable in a couple of hours. All I have to do is look like a pony. Get moving, Jared.”
The Grand Galloping Gala encourages costumes from any equestrian Ancient Earth culture, leaving room for just about every kind of outfit Jensen can imagine: Classicists in togas and sandals, men and women in frilled dresses and coats, more Modern types in fitted pants and high boots. Jared’s costume is something called a cowboy, a herder on ancient Earth signified by a tall, broad-brimmed hat and a pink plaid shirt over tight denim trousers. Jensen tucks a hand around Jensen’s belt in the shuttle, his own reins hanging loose over his shoulder. Jared has him bridled but not bitted and his hand strokes over the leather strap under Jensen’s chin, down the side of his neck. Jensen can’t sit comfortably on the seat like he usually would, so he kneels at Jared’s feet, chin propped on Jared’s knee after takeoff, tail whisking between his naked calves laced into their high boots. He hates wearing the plug in public, the helpless arousal of it pressing up into his prostate, but the alternative is being open and available to the prying fingers of any wealthy business owner who wants him. And that would be worse. Jensen lays a hand over his stiffening cock, squeezed into a fitted leather codpiece that’s buckled to the base of the tail and locked with a magnetic key Jared wears as a ring.
“Do you need some relief before we land?” Jared asks, watching Jensen squirm as the computer announces that they are fifteen minutes out from Petunia’s capital city.
Jensen bites his lip. “That would help, yeah.”
“Come here.” Jared hauls Jensen up onto his lap facing him, Jensen’s knees spread around Jared’s hips, his tail swinging. Jared kisses him, and Jensen knows that he will only attract more attention with his mouth swollen and dark from Jared’s, but he wants to be kissed. He wants the easy luxury of Jared’s lips parting on his, Jared’s eyes sealing shut and his whole body pressing forward into Jensen’s. Jensen’s dick goes even harder and he moans, soft and plaintive, as Jared presses his ring into the lock that snugs up right behind Jensen’s balls. Jared’s knuckles brush sensitive skin, and Jensen’s dick goes wet at the head, smearing inside the loosened cup before Jared’s fingers wrap it, holding him loosely as Jensen struggles to keep his balance. The plug rubs thickly inside him, still slick and frictionless, pressure keeping his insides spread wide.
Jared jerks him off patiently and never stops kissing him, even when Jensen can do nothing but pant into his mouth. He gets close to coming, making it quick for both of them, but Jared grips the base of his dick and holds him back. “Not yet,” he says. “You’ll make a mess.”
He pushes Jensen up against the backrest of the seat, the harness digging in a little as Jensen tries to sit still. Jared spreads his thighs and nuzzles in between them, sprawling onto the floor of the cabin and angling until he can take the head of Jensen’s cock into his mouth. Jensen wants to grab his hair and force him closer, but he knows he shouldn’t put his hands anywhere near Jared’s head when Jared’s spent hours getting ready for an event. So he squirms against the seat, digging his fingers into the plush upholstery, the plug rubbing differently inside him every time he moves. Jared starts to take him deeper, looking up into Jensen’s face as he licks up the underside of his cock, lifting his eyebrows in a question. Jensen comes just like that moments later, Jared’s eyes on him and one big hand rolling his tight balls, stroking the soft, sensitive flesh behind, rubbing back around Jensen’s stuffed hole.
The computer chimes a five minute warning as Jared swallows spurt after spurt of Jensen’s come, catching it all on his tongue and gulping it down, leaving no trace when he pulls away and wipes a hand across his mouth. “See? Wasn’t that neater?” he asks.
“It was something,” Jensen replies. He needs to straighten his harness and refasten his codpiece, but his hands feel clumsy, the rest of his body boneless with release. He lets Jared handle the lock for him, tucking Jensen’s spent cock away again, gently.
“I love you like this,” Jared admits, climbing back onto the seat and thumbing the rise of Jensen’s cheekbone. “I love when you let yourself not worry.”
“Same to you,” Jensen replies. He puts a hand on Jared’s thigh. “Can I help you? I swear I could be quick.”
Jared shakes his head and puts his hat on as they are picked up by the port authority’s tractorbeam. “I don’t want it quick. I want it slow when we get to the hotel.”
“I could do that.”
Jared wraps his fingers around the shoulder strap of Jensen’s harness. “I’m going to be thinking about it all night, how good it’ll feel to finally get into you, make you come on my cock.”
Jensen’s breath hitches, and if he weren’t so spent, his dick would be springing hard again just from the sound of Jared’s voice. His asshole flexes around the plug as he imagines stripping down at the end of the night, opening himself up all over again on the length of Jared’s dick.
“One minute to landing,” chimes the computer, and Jensen barely has time to look at himself in the foldout mirror over the seat before the shuttle touches down, a slave in full pony regalia, complete with a jeweled and feathered headdress, ushering them out to the transporters.
***
Misha seems to be extremely drunk by the time he makes his way to Jared’s side, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “I almost got caught in a monsoon, you know,” he says loudly. “I was afraid I would never see your smiling face again.” The way he stumbles sideways almost immediately distracts from the paper note he stuffs into Jensen’s hand.
Jensen isn’t surprised, folding his fingers loosely around the waist strap of the harness so no one will ask what he’s holding before he has a chance to read it. Misha always likes to make a little production of his updates, and Jensen can’t begrudge him that. He has easy cover as the dissolute heir to a fortune in beryllium mining; no one cares much what he does as long as it makes for a good story to tell at parties.
Jared laughs gleefully and pats Misha on the shoulder. “Why don’t you regale us with the tale of your daring escape then? Were there rushing rapids? Dangerous wildlife? A brush with death?”
“All of the above!” Misha replies, straightening up and turning his attention to Chad and Chad’s friend Hank, both of whom have their slaves’ reins hanging loosely in their hands, the slaves themselves standing idly by. Misha is alone; if he came with a pony, he has forgotten. He starts to tell a surely exaggerated version of how he left Hibiscus at the start of the rainy season, giving a date several days before the pirates had made contact with him.
Sometimes Jensen wonders what life would be like if he had been altered, the isolating boredom of listening to his master make small noises of sympathy and surprise as someone else tells a story he can’t hear. It’s horrifying to imagine, makes his throat go tight, and he can’t even look at Chad and Hank’s slaves, two petite women in tall boots who look alike enough that they could be sisters.
Jensen shuffles back a step, glancing at Misha’s note, which just says, “Greenhouse, 1AM,” before crumpling it back into his palm. One in the morning will keep them stranded at this party longer than Jensen really wants, but Misha’s undoubtedly right to set a late hour to meet with them. Less chance of discovery once most of the party is drunk and fucking in shady corners.
***
“That planet is a pit,” says Misha, stepping out from behind a palm tree of an heirloom variety that was common on Earth’s tropical beaches. The greenhouse ceiling is domed above it, the tips of its fronds brushing the lass anyway, its broad, scarred trunk showing its age.
“I don’t think anyone’s going to argue with you there,” Jensen replies dryly. He’s never sure if he likes Misha, or if Misha likes anyone at all. His performances seem to please him, the play at dissolution keeping him out of worse trouble than the occasional citation for vandalism. He was a sneak before any of the liberation groups got to him, listening in on the rich and powerful for the gossip feeds. Jensen trusts that he’s on their side now, but he’s really no one’s friend.
“It’s a centrally located pit,” Jared points out. “Finding a better dispatch point is going to be a pain in the ass.”
“I have ideas on that,” Misha says. He looks around the darkened greenhouse, gauging whether the glow of his holo-generator will attract undue attention. He must decide it’s not worth it. “I’ll send you something. But seriously, this time I’m going to get myself a better position, and I don’t mean sexually.”
“You got out okay though?” Jared asks. “I assume the stuff about the magical elves was some kind of exaggeration.”
“I’ll never tell. But I’m here now.”
There’s laughter at the other end of the greenhouse, and Jensen straightens as Jared takes up his slack lead. A clatter of footsteps moves towards them and then away again, but Misha seems warier now. “Talk to Danneel if you need to know more,” he hisses, shrugging on his torn coat, one ruffled sleeve hanging loose. “Hell, talk to Danneel anyway.”
“Did you have a pony?” Jared asks, as Misha turns to leave.
Misha snaps his fingers. “Damn. I knew I forgot to bring something to this party. I thought it was just a hostess gift.”
He walks away before Jared can reply.
Jensen feels very tired suddenly, their last errand of the night complete. He wants the plug out of him, and he wants out of the awkward harness, and he wants to go to bed. Jared calls the shuttle to meet them at the nearest door. The party has quieted and dissipated as expected, most of the guest moved into the farther, darker corners of the house. Jensen still isn’t clear on who the house belongs to, and at this point it doesn’t matter. He dozes on the shuttle ride into the center of the city. He’s vaguely, hazily turned on, his thighs stiff from hours of standing at attention at Jared’s side. The plug is a little painful now, tugging inside him. When they dock beside their hotel, Jared hauls Jensen up with an arm around his waist, hands warm and soft on Jensen’s bare skin.
“We’ll be all alone soon,” coaxes Jared. “And then I’ll be able to take care of you right.”
There’s a big bathtub in their suite, not a regular sonic shower, but real, deep water. Jared fills the tub and then opens the straps of Jensen’s harness, rubbing at the vague pink marks left on his shoulders from the weight of it. He unlaces Jensen’s high boots, kissing his knees and then down the length of his calves.
“You were great tonight,” Jared says softly. “Everyone was really jealous of my beautiful, well-disciplined pony. With his pretty pink mouth that didn’t even have to be bitted. All those people watching you, wanting you.”
It’s not a game Jared usually plays, talking about Jensen as though the things they do in public are sexy or even enjoyable. But Jensen knows how much Jared loves him plugged, and he knows how his body looks trussed in black leather. He can let himself like the trappings of it, the reluctant arousal he feels, when he’s here in their room, with Jared kissing the sore spot behind his should his shoulder blade where the harness hit when a drunken captain of industry grabbed it and swung him around by it. “Whoa, boy,” as much to the stranger as to Jensen, touching the back of Jensen’s neck like he really was soothing an animal.
Jared’s mouth slides up Jensen’s spine, lacing small kisses along the line of it, nuzzling at Jensen’s shoulders. His hand cups the swell of Jensen’s ass, feeling out the smooth, damp strap of the codpiece with his fingertips, stroking the base of his tail, the plug tapering up to it.
Jensen climbs into the water on shaky legs, all of him throbbing with relief, hours of orders and careful decorum leeching out through his skin as he settles chin-deep in the water. Every part of his complicated costume is in the pile beside the door, everything except the plug that’s still seated in his ass, and he knows Jared has plans for that.
“Do you want me to get in with you?” Jared asks, his sleeves rolled elbow-high, and shirt buttons half-undone.
“I didn’t realize that was in question,” Jensen replies. He settles himself against the sloping side of the tub, sighing with relief. He watches as Jared peels off his shirt, the familiar shift of muscle beneath Jared’s skin, all those places that will be his to kiss as thoroughly as he likes once Jared slips into the tub with him. He folds up his knees to give Jared room, and his plug moves slightly inside him, tugging at the rim of his hole.
He must make an uncomfortable face because Jared says, “I’m planning to help you out with that right about now.” He trails a hand along the inside of Jensen’s thigh. “Where do you want me?”
Jensen considers, really considers this. “Behind me. Just, here.”
It’s messy, even in the spacious tub, a tangle of limbs while they sort themselves out, laughing and splashing at each other. No matter how uncomfortable the plug is, having the freedom to laugh with Jared is an unbelievable relief.
Jared’s thighs squeeze around Jensen’s, his cock pressing hotly against Jensen’s lower back. “Do you want me to take it out?” Jared asks, flexing his fingers on Jensen’s still-tense shoulders, smoothing his wet hands up the nape of Jensen’s neck, brushing over the short, bristly hair there.
“I think there are better alternatives to be had,” Jensen replies diplomatically, “if it pleases my master.”
“Why do you say things like that?” Jared presses his face to Jensen’s shoulder, sighing pleasantly to show he doesn’t mean it.
“Why do you like it when I say things like that?” Jensen replies. He puts his hands on Jared’s knees, tapping out a rhythm there. It’s strange touching Jared of his own volition after hours of playing the good, obedient slave, keeping his hands folded demurely in front of him, though not cuffed like some of the slaves’ at the gala.
“I love you,” Jared tells him, and Jensen’s not sure if it’s an answer or a general statement, Jared’s lips pressed to his ear.
Jensen turns to kiss the corner of his mouth. “You too,” says Jensen.
Jared’s hands drift down, cupping his hips, fingertips teasing at the base of his dick, stroking gently over sensitive skin. By the time he finally slides the plug out, Jensen is nearly boneless in the warm water, easy for Jared’s stroking fingers, easy for his cock. Jared whispers filth into Jensen’s wet hair, telling him how good he was, how beautiful, how Jared couldn’t stop staring at him and thinking about this. Jensen comes with him, moving slowly, deliberately, his body heavy with weariness as he curls more closely into Jared’s arms.
***
No one questions Jared’s request for a private shuttle for him and his slave with no tracking devices or offworld permissions. No one questions that a man like Jared might have business on Petunia he didn’t want to broadcast all over the solar system, and besides that, Jared’s random whims are fondly looked upon by the ambassador, who is still nursing a hangover in his darkened bedroom when he orders Jared’s transport.
Jensen is glad to be wearing real clothes again, soft polyfiber against his skin instead of creaking leather as they board the shuttle and Jared eases it out of port for a cross-continental jump. The little craft handles nicely, weaving out into the upper atmosphere past the air-trains on their morning commuter loops and shuttles bearing the shield of the building commission supervising construction of a new elevated office complex. Jared smiles as he handles it, leaning into a hard turn and then banking sharply up, putting the shuttle through its paces. “Maybe we should get one of these,” Jared says cheerfully.
“And a shuttle that is only designed for orbital travel would be useful on a deep-space station how exactly?”
“Shh. You’re ruining my fun.” Jared dives, nosing the shuttle down until it almost brushes the high wispy clouds over Petunia’s second largest city. “Well, okay, not really. But you could be.”
“You are very, very good at making your own fun. I don’t think I could do anything to diminish that.”
Jared practically flips the shuttle on his next steep climb, and the safety straps of the seat tighten around Jensen’s chest, keeping him in place. “I guess I haven’t entirely figured out the controls yet,” Jared admits, leveling out and settling them at a steady altitude as miles and miles of agricultural land slip by below them, smooth green from this height, not even interrupted by roads.
“Danneel won’t be happy we’re late,” Jensen points out, looking at the time on the display console in front of him.
“Which is why we won’t be late,” Jared replies. He speeds the shuttle up a little, makes the fields race by below until they hit desert, terraforming equipment slowly transforming even desolate rock into land fit for human habitation.
Danneel’s house sits on a hill, overlooking several new terraforming sites, and acting as supervisor on this work in the middle of nowhere allows her plenty of time to make transport runs on behalf of the liberation movement. The terraforming is steady but time-consuming, pulverizing the rock and churning it into fertile soil deep enough that no farmer will hit rock again for centuries.
She meets them at her door, her hair piled messily on top of her head and her shirt half done like she’d gotten dressed in a hurry. The side door slams as they’re exchanging pleasantries and Jensen’s pretty sure he sees a human silhouette cresting the hill that holds the house high above the planet’s newest wheat fields. At this distance he can’t tell if it’s the same cute, brown-haired mechanic she was sleeping with the last time Jared and Jensen came through this part of Petunia. Jared keeps talking as though nothing else is happening, filling her in on how much information he got from Misha at the Grand Galloping Gala, and how much more he wants to know before the next pickup.
“You should really get out to the colony sometime soon,” Danneel tells him at the big old-fashioned wooden table in her kitchen, “see for yourself how everyone’s getting along. They all ask about you. The great and good Jared Padalecki. I think a visit would be fun for everyone.”
Jared starts to protest, the way he always does when someone suggests he get more closely involved in the freemen’s colony he’s been funneling money into for the past five years since he took over his parents’ company. “I’m just funding them. Besides, I really don’t have time,” he says, and Jensen puts a hand over his, squeezing gently.
“You have time if you make time.”
“The cute one’s right. If you want to get out there, you’ll find a way.”
Jensen likes Danneel. She says what she means, and she seems to think nothing of threatening slavers with weapons she doesn’t have to make them give her what she needs. Jensen appreciates her stubbornness, maybe even more than her superb flying skills. It’s clear that Jared’s going to need a little push when it comes to something like visiting the colony.
“We wouldn’t have to go for long,” Jensen points out. “Say there’s some exclusive spa on Honeysuckle that’s perfected the best method for relaxation, and you’ll be out of contact there for a few days. Every real spa on Honeysuckle will be falling all over themselves trying to find out which of them was worthy of your attendance while trying to convince all of the others it was really them.”
“And in the meantime, maybe you could get some real relaxing done,” Danneel points out. “Pimpernel’s a pretty great place for a vacation. Everyone actually likes their jobs, so they won’t begrudge you coming in as a tourist. Not that they’d begrudge their great benefactor anyway, but you know.”
“We know,” agrees Jensen.
“I wish everyone would stop referring to me that way. I do so little, in the greater scheme of things. I just have money.”
“Is that Jared Padalecki telling a woe is me, I have money story again?” calls Aldis, coming in through the back door and stripping out of his flightsuit.
“It sure is,” Danneel calls back, grinning.
Jared gives a longsuffering sigh. “You don’t have to say it like that.”
“If we said it any other way, it’d sound like we meant it mean,” Aldis says. He takes another chair at the kitchen table and thumps his feet up onto the scarred wood. “And you know we like you too much for that.”
Jensen coughs skeptically, but Aldis just raises his eyebrows.
“Speaking of people we like, was that Gen I saw running away across the hills as I was coming in to land?”
“She was not running,” Danneel objects. “She just didn’t need to meet my gentleman callers.”
“How Ancient Earth of you,” says Aldis. “Was she naked this time too? I couldn’t tell from overhead.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Danneel says cheerfully. “She definitely wasn’t running that time. And there’s no point in living in the middle of a secluded patch of desert if you can’t spend some time outside in your altogether every once in a while.”
“I thought the point was to have someplace to land your ship and regroup with your crew after any kind of trouble. Or if, say, you had to spend some unsupervised time with the head of a well-respected shipping company. I guess nudity would be a pretty big surprise for them. I mean, I’m just saying.” He lifts his eyebrows at Jared.
“You have no idea the kind of parties the heads of well-respected shipping companies get invited to,” Jensen puts in with a grin.
***
Danneel's house sprawls across the crest of a barren hill above the arable plains; that much is easily visible to anyone passing. What's less visible is the tunnels beneath it, storage for spare parts for her ship, old construction equipment she's tinkering with, extra bedding, packaged food and medical supplies for her runs. There's a door that looks like a closet in the front hall, and from there a winding set of roughly carved stairs. No part of the tunnels is very far down, and a few of Danneel's storage rooms have peepholes disguised as rabbit holes above ground. The first time she shows it to them, it's with an air of solemn secrecy Jensen's never seen in her before. "I figure in an emergency I could house a couple of dozen people here for a few days, you know, if something happens and I can't make it to the rendezvous point. Nobody knows this is all down here, except you and Aldis and Misha. And Misha only knows because he needed to hide out for a few days when he didn't have a base."
Jared nods, looking around with a strange, almost sad look on his face. "It's amazing that you do this. In your own house. You could never pretend you didn't know it was there."
Danneel shrugs. "You spend your days lying to the most powerful men in the universe. I'd say you've got just as much to get caught in. Although if you’re looking for an alternate way to spend your time, I know a great vacation spot on a little planet on Pimpernel."
Jared sighs. “We’ll see.”
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Art Post
[five years later]
Jared’s understanding of the difference between biological and legal age has always been foggy; it’s a distinction no one he’s close to has had to deal with since his great-grandparents went into stasis when he was ten, specifying that they would like to be revived for their hundred and fiftieth birthdays and laying out party arrangements to be carried out on their behalf. His parents explained to him then how it worked, how the elderly could be so old but look and feel much younger. “So if I went into stasis right now,” Jared had asked, “I could wake up and do grownup things?” The thought was unimaginably exciting - all that freedom - and his father had smiled and ruffled his hair, and said he didn’t need to grow up like that.
Back then Jared didn’t know about the slave trade, about kids younger than Jensen revived when they were legally eighteen and biologically pre-pubescent, skirting laws that had been made to protect them. Being a grownup and a kid at once held no fear. But as Jensen nears biological maturity, yet another aspect of the distinction becomes clear.
“I can’t do it,” Jared says, stroking the shell of Jensen’s ear, the delicate pink curve of it, feeling the claustrophobic weight of a world where Jensen hears nothing but Jared’s voice. “I won’t do that to you.”
Jensen gives him a calm, emotionless look from under his eyelashes, his mouth still raw pink from Jared’s kisses. “That’s illegal,” he replies evenly.
Jared tugs his ear. “Stop. Don’t do that.”
“You want me to cry and scream and stamp my feet? It won’t change the law.”
“I can’t,” says Jared again, plaintively. He tries to imagine life without Jensen’s cutting commentary on everything around them, tries to imagine him timid and obedient the way he was when he arrived, more fully Jared’s but also… less. “I’ll figure out what to do. I’ll make sure you aren’t altered. Whatever it takes, I’ll find a way.” He taps the lightstrip overhead, plunging the room into darkness.
Softly, in the dark, Jensen says, “Thank you.”
***
He’s apprehensive going into his preliminary meeting with Dr. Morgan, Jensen beside him still and neutral, awaiting his fate. “Did you have any burning questions of your own before we begin?” Dr. Morgan asks.
“Yes, actually. Is there any reason I would not have him altered when he reaches the age of maturity? Like, is there any justification for that?”
Dr. Morgan considers him shrewdly. “It’s the law, Jared,” he says slowly. “The law says that all slaves must be fitted with aural implants upon reaching biological maturity. No ifs, ands, or buts. To fail to alter a slave would be against the law, no matter the reason.”
Dr. Morgan focuses intently on Jared as he says it, "against the law," like there's more to it than what he's saying. But Jared is too caught up in the subtle flicker of Jensen's eyelashes, the tightening of his mouth that means he'd secretly been hoping for a different response. Jared wants to reach out to him, touch his hand or his cheek, but Jensen's already strapped into the visualization chair, which will project various optional body modifications onto him, so Jared can judge if they might be desirable. Jensen is naked except a pair of tiny shorts, the projector cycling quietly through its most popular options.
“Thank you for clarifying,” Jared says after the silence has grown awkwardly long. Dr. Morgan nods and continues.
“Now, besides the required aural implants there are a number of other modifications many slave owners wish to make. Although I am unqualified to perform many of those surgeries, I can suggest excellent specialists and advise you as you make your decisions. That’s all this session is for today, to help you decide. This is important, Jared, I hope you realize how much.” Again that tight focus, and Jared knows there’s something he’s saying with his eyes that isn’t coming through in his words. “These decisions can affect not just the rest of your slave’s life but the rest of your own, assuming you don’t intend to sell.”
Jared shakes his head. “I wouldn’t sell. I won’t.”
“Then, yeah. The stakes may be very high indeed.” Jared can see that Jensen is staring openly at Dr. Morgan right now, not keeping his eyes down as usual, and Jared’s sure that Jensen’s somehow getting more from this presentation than he is.
Morgan claps his hands and switches off the projection cycle. “With that in mind, why don’t we start at the top. Are you satisfied with the color and texture of Jensen’s hair?”
They go through a long list of facial reconstructions Jared couldn’t care less about, bone shaving and chin implants and specially injected dyes to change eye color. “I don’t want any of that,” Jared says confidently. “Jensen’s face is perfect as is.”
Morgan makes a note. “I’m not surprised to hear you say that.”
Jared has to look away from Jensen’s small, private smile. Sometimes being in love with him is like this yawning pit in the bottom of Jared’s stomach, and it hurts to think too much about what he’s doing. No matter how he feels about Jensen personally, he is still Jensen’s owner, never a true equal except in private.
“So then we move on to the rest of the body. Are there any inadequacies you’d like to correct? Scars we should try to remove? Body parts that need enlargement?” Morgan asks this question with an entirely straight face; Jared can’t answer it the same way.
“Um, I think all Jensen’s parts are the right size. But thanks!” Jensen’s smile widens.
Morgan makes another note. “Then there are the more surface modifications. Tattoos, brands, piercings, other forms of scarification. Are any of those of interest?”
Jared has to stop to consider that. He imagines leaving a permanent mark on Jensen’s skin, something he can touch like he often touches the little bruises left by his mouth, stroking the marks and making Jensen shiver. As uncomfortable as he is with many of the indicators of ownership, this has its appeal. “What sort of things might those be?” Jared asks.
Dr. Morgan runs the projector through a series of possibilities. A swirling black tattoo appears on Jensen’s chest, the logo of the shipping company. “Pectoral tattoos are popular, as they can be displayed or hidden as desired.” Jared shakes his head. The tattoo moves the inside of Jensen’s forearm, the same swirling black lines, but Jensen doesn’t belong to the company. He shakes his head again. “If it’s the design you object to, that is totally negotiable. Right now just think about the placement.” The tattoo shifts to Jensen’s inner thigh, rippling over the ridge of muscle there. “If you want something less visible.”
Jared’s cheeks flush with sudden exhilaration as he watches the muscles in Jensen’s thigh twitch as he tries to look down at himself. He can imagine putting his lips on a tattoo just there, opening his mouth over the warm stretch of skin. He could claim particular ownership of Jensen’s strong thighs as they part for him… “I’ll consider that.”
“Obviously there’s a lot of other real estate for a tattoo as well,” Dr. Morgan adds, bouncing it from Jensen’s thigh down to his calf, up to his hip and then to his biceps. Jared’s gaze follows it and he wants to take Jensen out of there, run off someplace where those marks won’t mean a financial relationship between slave and master, where the hungry ache inside him won’t be tempered by guilt. He nods for Dr. Morgan to continue.
“Then of course there’s branding, which is more traditional.” He cycles through a few placement options, but there’s little of the elegance of tattooing and Jared finds himself looking at Jensen’s face instead of the projections. Jensen glances back fleetingly, like a diver breaking the surface for a sip of air, and Jared isn’t really listening until Morgan moves onto…
“Piercings. They can be both attractive and multipurpose, containing nano-trackers for example, much more reliably than those used in tattoo ink, although they are often also more easily removed if you are concerned about… well, never mind. But they can be very attractive.” Jensen smile dims a little. Jared knows the nano-trackers are meant to prevent escape, to make sure that slaves are exactly where they’re expected to be at all times.
“Can you get them without the trackers?” Jared asks.
“Of course. Anywhere you like. Ears are traditional of course. And there are also a number of different possible placements on the face, eyebrows, nose, lips, etc. I imagine you know all this.” Jared nods. He has plenty of friends with assorted facial piercings, and he doesn’t mind the thought of a thin silver ring piercing Jensen’s pouty lower lip. But he’s not sure.
“Nipples,” Dr. Morgan says next, and Jared rocks forward in his chair as his dick jumps. “One or both.” He says it so calmly, but the projection speaks for itself, rings glinting on the tips of Jensen’s nipples, real enough that Jared wants to reach out and touch them. “There are some different style choices here, rings, barbells.” He switches the projection. Jared keeps staring, mouth dry.
“I’ll think about that. I will.”
“Should I keep going?” Dr. Morgan smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners like he knows everything that’s going on in Jared’s head and in his pants right now.
“Yeah, sure,” replies Jared, knowing it will only get worse from there. And it does. The list of possible genital piercings is nearly endless, and although it’s harder for the projector to represent these because of Jensen’s briefs, Jared can imagine them quite clearly, beads of metal decorating the head of Jensen’s cock or spaced along the shaft. “You aren’t considering having him castrated, are you?” Morgan asks, and Jared’s stomach twists as he imagines taking away another part of Jensen, leaving an ugly scar in place of the soft, heavy sac of Jensen’s balls. Chad’s family owns a castrato, and Chad’s father makes him serve naked, so that Jared finds himself ashamed at their dinner table more often than not.
“Absolutely not,” Jared says decisively. He likes Jensen’s balls exactly as they are, and while he’s pretty sure Dr. Morgan knows that, he assumes it can’t hurt to be clear.
Morgan makes another note. “That’s probably a good choice. Most of the optional surgeries slaveholders are offered are reversible, but castration is permanent. Should you ever want to breed him, you’d be out of luck.”
Jared hates the thought of Jensen being with anyone else like that, giving his come to a woman he might not even know. Already people in the markets on Chrysanthemum have asked him if Jensen is available for studding, watching him greedily when they walk together, Jensen’s fine bone structure and striking green eyes drawing attention even in crowds.
As they leave the appointment with Morgan, the doctor motions for Jensen to hang back a moment as Jared looks over some vids about body modifications. Jensen comes out of the private office looking vaguely confused, his right hand gripped tight around something too small for Jared to see. “Thank you very much for coming in, Jared,” says Dr. Morgan cheerfully.
“What did he give you?” Jared whispers in the corridor.
Jensen shakes his head, eyes darting to a guard coming through the doors of a lift just beside them. “Later,” he says.
Jared takes him back to their quarters immediately, setting his status to busy on the corporate intranet and running a complete bug check before Jensen will open his hand. Cupped in his palm is a disposable holo-generator. “I imagine whatever this is isn’t legal,” Jensen points out.
“I imagine whatever it is is supposed to help,” Jared counters.
“Just so we’re clear on the not being legal.”
Jared plucks the device out of Jensen’s hand and hits the power switch.
It’s a vid, poorly made, fuzzy like it’s been resized a few too many times. “There is another way,” says a voice, not Dr. Morgan’s, not anyone Jared knows.
It’s a vid about rebellion. A small resistance movement gathering momentum, slaveholders refusing to alter their slaves, slaves keeping their hearing and their autonomy. There are directions to find out more, and an instruction to memorize the information and copy nothing down. Jared will remember though. He’s fairly sure he’ll remember those codes for the rest of his life.
When the vid finishes, the generator self-destructs, leaving a tiny splash of dust on the tabletop, no other evidence. Jensen takes a slow, shuddery breath, and Jared reaches out to take his hand. There have been no rebellions in centuries, everything carefully monitored, every slave tracked and accounted for. Even tiny uprisings in distant solar systems are quelled before they can gain any momentum, stabilizing drugs administered and further surveillance procedures instituted to keep everyone “safe”. Jared’s ashamed to admit how long it took him to realize who that “safety” really benefited.
“Was that real?” Jensen asks, his fingers weaving in between Jared’s. “Do you think that’s really happening?”
“I think Dr. Morgan’s pretty sure it is or he wouldn’t have given it to us.”
Jared watches Jensen swallow, his fingers trembling a little in Jared’s. “It’s definitely illegal.”
“But it’s definitely going to help.”
***
Jared looks up the address specified in the vid and enters the codes as prompted, typing slowly because he absolutely does not want to get this wrong. Jensen is halfway in his lap, and he gasps as the front page unfurls to reveal a network of navigation links, things like “Pickups” and “Contacts”. The largest text says, “Help” and when Jared taps it, a new message tells him to leave his name, contact details, and areas of interest, and someone will contact him soon. Nowhere does the site say it is connected to an anti-slavery movement; nowhere does it identify a sponsoring organization.
“Could it be a trap?” Jared asks, pausing with his fingers over the keyboard.
“It could,” replies Jensen reasonably. “It could all be a law enforcement ploy to quell unrest. But it might not be.”
There’s this edge of anticipation in Jensen’s voice that makes Jared do it, enter his information and hit send before he can reconsider. If Jensen is hopeful, Jared will do everything he can to prove that hope is justified. Under special skills Jared types, “Anything money can provide.” The company will be his soon enough, and then that will be true.
He sits back in his chair, pulling Jensen against his chest. “I guess now we wait.” His finger stray to the new ring in Jensen’s right nipple, twisting it, every movement of the hard little circle of metal making Jensen shiver. Jared starts on the other one with his left hand. He hasn’t been able to stop touching them, sucking at them, thinking about them every time Jensen has a shirt covering them up, Jensen’s little pink nipples more sensitive than ever.
“I wonder what we’ll do while we wait,” Jensen says wryly, but his voice is shaky and his dick is rock hard when Jared scoops it up in his hand.
“I wonder,” he echoes.
[ten years later]
The ambassador and his entourage sit in the carefully appointed lounge in the center of the station’s office suite. They are smoking cigars, an old earth custom that has for some reason been revived and updated by the fashionable in the last few years. They all blow patterns of colored smoke with the thick cigars, licking away the sweetness of the tar left behind on their lips. The ambassador’s body slave waits by his feet, kneeling daintily, her toes pointed behind her. Occasionally he reaches out to absently stroke her dark hair, but she does not move except for the slow rise and fall of her breath.
Jensen waits by the door. They’ll signal him if they need more tea or more ridiculous fruity cigars or anything else. By now every person in this room knows that Jared will only keep his appointments when he’s good and ready. He’s eccentric and rarely prompt, and he does not play politics in the traditional way, but he has plenty of money and plenty of influence to throw around on behalf of his friends. The group in the lounge talks freely with no one to overhear.
“The attacks on slavers are becoming more frequent,” one of the ambassador’s advisors says conversationally, flipping through a series of news vids. “The thieves are getting bolder.”
The ambassador waves his cigar unconcernedly. “The bolder they get the more likely they are to make a mistake. And then we’ll give a little tug and their whole organization will fall to pieces.” He leans forward a little, shoulders hunching as he gives a sly wink. Jensen does not move. “Confidentially, Central agents are getting closer. They intercepted a transmission from one of the thieves’ vessels to a ground contact on Hibiscus. They cut power to the grid where the signal was received, and they think they’ve got a line on the collaborator there. They’re probably laying a trap for him as we speak. I suspect this is the break we’ve been waiting for.”
The ambassador gestures to Jensen, who takes three measured steps to stand directly beside his chair, behind his kneeling slave. Up close he can see the scars of an old whipping lining her back, thin white lines on her olive skin. Jensen holds out his hands for the empty teapot and bows before backing out of the room.
He refills the teapot and leaves it to steep on the table in the inner corridor before placing his hand on the scanner outsider Jared’s private office. The door opens for his fingerprints.
“Misha’s in trouble,” Jensen tells him calmly. “Central’s got a line on him, and the ambassador seems to think they’re closing in. I imagine he’s enjoying leading them on a merry chase, but…”
Jared smiles wryly. “Yeah. I bet he’s about ready for a relocation this time of year. It’s monsoon season on that part of Hibiscus.”
“Then I guess we have to trust him to come in out of the rain.” Jensen turns to go.
“Hey wait,” Jared says, like he does almost every time Jensen comes to deliver a message. They can’t afford more than a few moments at times like these, but Jensen comes to stand by Jared’s desk as Jared keys in a short message to Danneel telling her that Misha may need a quick getaway. He sets it to send through the triple encode challenge system they set up for unauthorized communication and looks up at Jensen. “Are they annoyed yet, or are they still busy patting themselves on the back about the omnipotence of Central Government?”
“How could anyone ever be annoyed at you, master?” Jensen asks sweetly.
Jared pinches his thigh. “Don’t call me that when you’re being sarcastic. It takes the fun out of it.”
Jensen takes his hand, kissing the tips of his fingers. “It really doesn’t.”
“No,” Jared agrees, rubbing his thumb across Jensen’s lower lip. “It really doesn’t.”
“I should get back. I don’t want the tea to steep too long.”
“You do pride yourself on your tea.” Jared gets to his feet to kiss Jensen’s mouth, quick and easy, a smile lingering at the corners of his lips. “I’ll be out soon.”
By the time Jensen gets back to the lounge, the ambassador and his slave are demonstrating a new dance move he has just learned, and the tea goes cold on the table, Jensen once again waiting still and unnoticed by the door.
“Dear friends!” Jared exclaims, striding into the room with his arms outspread, his blindingly orange shirt almost preceding him with its glow. These are the moments when it is always hardest for Jensen to keep his composure; Jared’s entrances are unfailingly dramatic and absurd, and Jensen has to strain to keep from smiling. “I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting. I hope you have been well treated by my slave.”
“Your hospitality is renowned throughout the universe,” the ambassador simpers, reaching out to shake Jared’s hand. Jared bows. The ambassador is still a government official even if he has to spend his time coaxing favors out of private citizens.
“You are too, too kind, sir,” Jared replies. “But as you know, flattery will get you everywhere. What is it I can help you all with on this lovely day?”
“Safe passage through the Theta System for government slave transport vessels,” says the ambassador. “The recent spate of attacks by bandits has made us concerned for the safety of our transports.”
“And you are asking for… what, precisely? An escort? A better-outfitted ship? You know I am in favor of getting slaves to their appointed locations safely.”
“At this point I am asking for anything that works. Faster ships, better pilots, heavier artillery. I’ve even heard rumors that you’re making advances in stealth that might help.”
Jared laughs as though this is a particularly clever joke. “Stealth? Have you seen the size of me? I wouldn’t know stealth if it were standing right beside me. Of course, that’s the point, isn’t it?”
The ambassador gives an obligatory chuckle. “Anything you can offer, as I said, would be deeply appreciated, and both Central Government and the breeders of my home world would pay dearly for the assistance.”
Jared taps a finger against his lips, the wide cuffs of his shirt swaying. “I have two older speed freighters I could sell you for quicker passage through dangerous areas. They’re not the prettiest ships in our fleet, but they’re tough and they can outrun most other craft in the sky.”
“Pretty is not an issue our cargo will care about. Perhaps a few weeks in an old-fashioned cargo hold will teach them a little something about their place. Too many uppity slaves these days.”
“Well, perhaps we can at least give them a little color, something to look at. It never hurts to show your slaves a little kindness.”
The ambassador’s eyes flick to Jensen for the first time. “I’m sure you are very kind to yours. I’m sure you’ve been told before that your body slave is very beautiful.”
He’s absolutely right. This has happened before, often enough that it no longer makes Jensen’s skin crawl. He looks passively at the sculpture on the opposite side of the room, spirals of colored glass dancing around each other in a low gravity field. They follow a symmetrical pattern, turning in endless circles, up and down and spinning, spinning. Jensen counts the revolutions as they pair off and then join into quartets, each spiral glinting in the artificial firelight. But it doesn’t stop him hearing the things the ambassador says about him.
“You’ve had him since he was a child, yes? It’s always hard to tell if the pretty little ones will grow up well.”
“Jensen is a joy and an invaluable asset. His beauty is just a bonus.” Jensen allows himself a sideways look at Jared, responding to the sound of his master’s voice saying his name.
“Do you ever allow your friends and associates to say, borrow him? I imagine he has many special skills to offer.”
Jared laughs and reaches out to pat Jensen’s ass. “I’m afraid I’m a little more protective of my personal property than I am of my company’s ships. You’re welcome to the transports, but I’ll keep Jensen to myself.”
“Ah well, I do hope we will see you and Jensen both at the Grand Galloping Gala on Petunia next month. You’re certainly right, he is a joy.”
“We’ll be there,” Jared assures him. He looks up at Jensen beside him. “The ambassador says you’re a joy, Jensen. I think you should thank him for his interest.”
Jensen looks demurely at the ground as he replies. “Thank you very much, sir. I only do the best I can for my master.”
The ambassador continues looking at him with a sly smile for the remainder of his meeting with Jared. If Jensen had not already been dreading the indignities of the Grand Galloping Gala, he would be now.
***
“I know you’re aware of this,” Jared sighs, watching Jensen struggle into his harness, “but I hate that we have to go to these places, that you have to. You deserve… you deserve so much more than being an object at a perverse political fundraiser for hateful, bigoted people.”
“I’m not going to argue with you,” Jensen says, shrugging. He straightens up so that Jared can buckle the straps of the harness, locking it into place around his chest. Jensen’s skin is even paler against the black of the harness. Living on the station, no one expects him to get much sun, and his fair, freckled shoulders are just one more thing for strangers to exclaim over, brushing their fingers against him as he pretends he can’t hear the outrageous propositions they’re whispering in Jared’s ear. And there are always outrageous propositions, at every dinner party and ball and charity concert and gala they’ve ever attended, no matter how Jensen was dressed or the very good cause the party was supposed to support.
Jared tugs at the straps so they sit snuggly around Jensen’s torso, the full weight of the harness coming down on Jensen’s shoulders as Jared lets go. He meets Jensen’s eyes, looking contrite, and Jensen lets him wallow for a second before kissing him. “Your self-flagellation doesn’t do anyone any good here.” Normally Jared handles his own guilt so well, diverting it into the work of his double life with an almost vicious energy. But every once in a while he hits a rough patch, and Jensen has to get him through it because Jensen is the only one who can. He kisses Jared again, cupping his chin and blocking his denials. Jared has more power than Jensen can even really contemplate, and he takes risks to match it. “You have to be witty and fashionable in a couple of hours. All I have to do is look like a pony. Get moving, Jared.”
The Grand Galloping Gala encourages costumes from any equestrian Ancient Earth culture, leaving room for just about every kind of outfit Jensen can imagine: Classicists in togas and sandals, men and women in frilled dresses and coats, more Modern types in fitted pants and high boots. Jared’s costume is something called a cowboy, a herder on ancient Earth signified by a tall, broad-brimmed hat and a pink plaid shirt over tight denim trousers. Jensen tucks a hand around Jensen’s belt in the shuttle, his own reins hanging loose over his shoulder. Jared has him bridled but not bitted and his hand strokes over the leather strap under Jensen’s chin, down the side of his neck. Jensen can’t sit comfortably on the seat like he usually would, so he kneels at Jared’s feet, chin propped on Jared’s knee after takeoff, tail whisking between his naked calves laced into their high boots. He hates wearing the plug in public, the helpless arousal of it pressing up into his prostate, but the alternative is being open and available to the prying fingers of any wealthy business owner who wants him. And that would be worse. Jensen lays a hand over his stiffening cock, squeezed into a fitted leather codpiece that’s buckled to the base of the tail and locked with a magnetic key Jared wears as a ring.
“Do you need some relief before we land?” Jared asks, watching Jensen squirm as the computer announces that they are fifteen minutes out from Petunia’s capital city.
Jensen bites his lip. “That would help, yeah.”
“Come here.” Jared hauls Jensen up onto his lap facing him, Jensen’s knees spread around Jared’s hips, his tail swinging. Jared kisses him, and Jensen knows that he will only attract more attention with his mouth swollen and dark from Jared’s, but he wants to be kissed. He wants the easy luxury of Jared’s lips parting on his, Jared’s eyes sealing shut and his whole body pressing forward into Jensen’s. Jensen’s dick goes even harder and he moans, soft and plaintive, as Jared presses his ring into the lock that snugs up right behind Jensen’s balls. Jared’s knuckles brush sensitive skin, and Jensen’s dick goes wet at the head, smearing inside the loosened cup before Jared’s fingers wrap it, holding him loosely as Jensen struggles to keep his balance. The plug rubs thickly inside him, still slick and frictionless, pressure keeping his insides spread wide.
Jared jerks him off patiently and never stops kissing him, even when Jensen can do nothing but pant into his mouth. He gets close to coming, making it quick for both of them, but Jared grips the base of his dick and holds him back. “Not yet,” he says. “You’ll make a mess.”
He pushes Jensen up against the backrest of the seat, the harness digging in a little as Jensen tries to sit still. Jared spreads his thighs and nuzzles in between them, sprawling onto the floor of the cabin and angling until he can take the head of Jensen’s cock into his mouth. Jensen wants to grab his hair and force him closer, but he knows he shouldn’t put his hands anywhere near Jared’s head when Jared’s spent hours getting ready for an event. So he squirms against the seat, digging his fingers into the plush upholstery, the plug rubbing differently inside him every time he moves. Jared starts to take him deeper, looking up into Jensen’s face as he licks up the underside of his cock, lifting his eyebrows in a question. Jensen comes just like that moments later, Jared’s eyes on him and one big hand rolling his tight balls, stroking the soft, sensitive flesh behind, rubbing back around Jensen’s stuffed hole.
The computer chimes a five minute warning as Jared swallows spurt after spurt of Jensen’s come, catching it all on his tongue and gulping it down, leaving no trace when he pulls away and wipes a hand across his mouth. “See? Wasn’t that neater?” he asks.
“It was something,” Jensen replies. He needs to straighten his harness and refasten his codpiece, but his hands feel clumsy, the rest of his body boneless with release. He lets Jared handle the lock for him, tucking Jensen’s spent cock away again, gently.
“I love you like this,” Jared admits, climbing back onto the seat and thumbing the rise of Jensen’s cheekbone. “I love when you let yourself not worry.”
“Same to you,” Jensen replies. He puts a hand on Jared’s thigh. “Can I help you? I swear I could be quick.”
Jared shakes his head and puts his hat on as they are picked up by the port authority’s tractorbeam. “I don’t want it quick. I want it slow when we get to the hotel.”
“I could do that.”
Jared wraps his fingers around the shoulder strap of Jensen’s harness. “I’m going to be thinking about it all night, how good it’ll feel to finally get into you, make you come on my cock.”
Jensen’s breath hitches, and if he weren’t so spent, his dick would be springing hard again just from the sound of Jared’s voice. His asshole flexes around the plug as he imagines stripping down at the end of the night, opening himself up all over again on the length of Jared’s dick.
“One minute to landing,” chimes the computer, and Jensen barely has time to look at himself in the foldout mirror over the seat before the shuttle touches down, a slave in full pony regalia, complete with a jeweled and feathered headdress, ushering them out to the transporters.
***
Misha seems to be extremely drunk by the time he makes his way to Jared’s side, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “I almost got caught in a monsoon, you know,” he says loudly. “I was afraid I would never see your smiling face again.” The way he stumbles sideways almost immediately distracts from the paper note he stuffs into Jensen’s hand.
Jensen isn’t surprised, folding his fingers loosely around the waist strap of the harness so no one will ask what he’s holding before he has a chance to read it. Misha always likes to make a little production of his updates, and Jensen can’t begrudge him that. He has easy cover as the dissolute heir to a fortune in beryllium mining; no one cares much what he does as long as it makes for a good story to tell at parties.
Jared laughs gleefully and pats Misha on the shoulder. “Why don’t you regale us with the tale of your daring escape then? Were there rushing rapids? Dangerous wildlife? A brush with death?”
“All of the above!” Misha replies, straightening up and turning his attention to Chad and Chad’s friend Hank, both of whom have their slaves’ reins hanging loosely in their hands, the slaves themselves standing idly by. Misha is alone; if he came with a pony, he has forgotten. He starts to tell a surely exaggerated version of how he left Hibiscus at the start of the rainy season, giving a date several days before the pirates had made contact with him.
Sometimes Jensen wonders what life would be like if he had been altered, the isolating boredom of listening to his master make small noises of sympathy and surprise as someone else tells a story he can’t hear. It’s horrifying to imagine, makes his throat go tight, and he can’t even look at Chad and Hank’s slaves, two petite women in tall boots who look alike enough that they could be sisters.
Jensen shuffles back a step, glancing at Misha’s note, which just says, “Greenhouse, 1AM,” before crumpling it back into his palm. One in the morning will keep them stranded at this party longer than Jensen really wants, but Misha’s undoubtedly right to set a late hour to meet with them. Less chance of discovery once most of the party is drunk and fucking in shady corners.
***
“That planet is a pit,” says Misha, stepping out from behind a palm tree of an heirloom variety that was common on Earth’s tropical beaches. The greenhouse ceiling is domed above it, the tips of its fronds brushing the lass anyway, its broad, scarred trunk showing its age.
“I don’t think anyone’s going to argue with you there,” Jensen replies dryly. He’s never sure if he likes Misha, or if Misha likes anyone at all. His performances seem to please him, the play at dissolution keeping him out of worse trouble than the occasional citation for vandalism. He was a sneak before any of the liberation groups got to him, listening in on the rich and powerful for the gossip feeds. Jensen trusts that he’s on their side now, but he’s really no one’s friend.
“It’s a centrally located pit,” Jared points out. “Finding a better dispatch point is going to be a pain in the ass.”
“I have ideas on that,” Misha says. He looks around the darkened greenhouse, gauging whether the glow of his holo-generator will attract undue attention. He must decide it’s not worth it. “I’ll send you something. But seriously, this time I’m going to get myself a better position, and I don’t mean sexually.”
“You got out okay though?” Jared asks. “I assume the stuff about the magical elves was some kind of exaggeration.”
“I’ll never tell. But I’m here now.”
There’s laughter at the other end of the greenhouse, and Jensen straightens as Jared takes up his slack lead. A clatter of footsteps moves towards them and then away again, but Misha seems warier now. “Talk to Danneel if you need to know more,” he hisses, shrugging on his torn coat, one ruffled sleeve hanging loose. “Hell, talk to Danneel anyway.”
“Did you have a pony?” Jared asks, as Misha turns to leave.
Misha snaps his fingers. “Damn. I knew I forgot to bring something to this party. I thought it was just a hostess gift.”
He walks away before Jared can reply.
Jensen feels very tired suddenly, their last errand of the night complete. He wants the plug out of him, and he wants out of the awkward harness, and he wants to go to bed. Jared calls the shuttle to meet them at the nearest door. The party has quieted and dissipated as expected, most of the guest moved into the farther, darker corners of the house. Jensen still isn’t clear on who the house belongs to, and at this point it doesn’t matter. He dozes on the shuttle ride into the center of the city. He’s vaguely, hazily turned on, his thighs stiff from hours of standing at attention at Jared’s side. The plug is a little painful now, tugging inside him. When they dock beside their hotel, Jared hauls Jensen up with an arm around his waist, hands warm and soft on Jensen’s bare skin.
“We’ll be all alone soon,” coaxes Jared. “And then I’ll be able to take care of you right.”
There’s a big bathtub in their suite, not a regular sonic shower, but real, deep water. Jared fills the tub and then opens the straps of Jensen’s harness, rubbing at the vague pink marks left on his shoulders from the weight of it. He unlaces Jensen’s high boots, kissing his knees and then down the length of his calves.
“You were great tonight,” Jared says softly. “Everyone was really jealous of my beautiful, well-disciplined pony. With his pretty pink mouth that didn’t even have to be bitted. All those people watching you, wanting you.”
It’s not a game Jared usually plays, talking about Jensen as though the things they do in public are sexy or even enjoyable. But Jensen knows how much Jared loves him plugged, and he knows how his body looks trussed in black leather. He can let himself like the trappings of it, the reluctant arousal he feels, when he’s here in their room, with Jared kissing the sore spot behind his should his shoulder blade where the harness hit when a drunken captain of industry grabbed it and swung him around by it. “Whoa, boy,” as much to the stranger as to Jensen, touching the back of Jensen’s neck like he really was soothing an animal.
Jared’s mouth slides up Jensen’s spine, lacing small kisses along the line of it, nuzzling at Jensen’s shoulders. His hand cups the swell of Jensen’s ass, feeling out the smooth, damp strap of the codpiece with his fingertips, stroking the base of his tail, the plug tapering up to it.
Jensen climbs into the water on shaky legs, all of him throbbing with relief, hours of orders and careful decorum leeching out through his skin as he settles chin-deep in the water. Every part of his complicated costume is in the pile beside the door, everything except the plug that’s still seated in his ass, and he knows Jared has plans for that.
“Do you want me to get in with you?” Jared asks, his sleeves rolled elbow-high, and shirt buttons half-undone.
“I didn’t realize that was in question,” Jensen replies. He settles himself against the sloping side of the tub, sighing with relief. He watches as Jared peels off his shirt, the familiar shift of muscle beneath Jared’s skin, all those places that will be his to kiss as thoroughly as he likes once Jared slips into the tub with him. He folds up his knees to give Jared room, and his plug moves slightly inside him, tugging at the rim of his hole.
He must make an uncomfortable face because Jared says, “I’m planning to help you out with that right about now.” He trails a hand along the inside of Jensen’s thigh. “Where do you want me?”
Jensen considers, really considers this. “Behind me. Just, here.”
It’s messy, even in the spacious tub, a tangle of limbs while they sort themselves out, laughing and splashing at each other. No matter how uncomfortable the plug is, having the freedom to laugh with Jared is an unbelievable relief.
Jared’s thighs squeeze around Jensen’s, his cock pressing hotly against Jensen’s lower back. “Do you want me to take it out?” Jared asks, flexing his fingers on Jensen’s still-tense shoulders, smoothing his wet hands up the nape of Jensen’s neck, brushing over the short, bristly hair there.
“I think there are better alternatives to be had,” Jensen replies diplomatically, “if it pleases my master.”
“Why do you say things like that?” Jared presses his face to Jensen’s shoulder, sighing pleasantly to show he doesn’t mean it.
“Why do you like it when I say things like that?” Jensen replies. He puts his hands on Jared’s knees, tapping out a rhythm there. It’s strange touching Jared of his own volition after hours of playing the good, obedient slave, keeping his hands folded demurely in front of him, though not cuffed like some of the slaves’ at the gala.
“I love you,” Jared tells him, and Jensen’s not sure if it’s an answer or a general statement, Jared’s lips pressed to his ear.
Jensen turns to kiss the corner of his mouth. “You too,” says Jensen.
Jared’s hands drift down, cupping his hips, fingertips teasing at the base of his dick, stroking gently over sensitive skin. By the time he finally slides the plug out, Jensen is nearly boneless in the warm water, easy for Jared’s stroking fingers, easy for his cock. Jared whispers filth into Jensen’s wet hair, telling him how good he was, how beautiful, how Jared couldn’t stop staring at him and thinking about this. Jensen comes with him, moving slowly, deliberately, his body heavy with weariness as he curls more closely into Jared’s arms.
***
No one questions Jared’s request for a private shuttle for him and his slave with no tracking devices or offworld permissions. No one questions that a man like Jared might have business on Petunia he didn’t want to broadcast all over the solar system, and besides that, Jared’s random whims are fondly looked upon by the ambassador, who is still nursing a hangover in his darkened bedroom when he orders Jared’s transport.
Jensen is glad to be wearing real clothes again, soft polyfiber against his skin instead of creaking leather as they board the shuttle and Jared eases it out of port for a cross-continental jump. The little craft handles nicely, weaving out into the upper atmosphere past the air-trains on their morning commuter loops and shuttles bearing the shield of the building commission supervising construction of a new elevated office complex. Jared smiles as he handles it, leaning into a hard turn and then banking sharply up, putting the shuttle through its paces. “Maybe we should get one of these,” Jared says cheerfully.
“And a shuttle that is only designed for orbital travel would be useful on a deep-space station how exactly?”
“Shh. You’re ruining my fun.” Jared dives, nosing the shuttle down until it almost brushes the high wispy clouds over Petunia’s second largest city. “Well, okay, not really. But you could be.”
“You are very, very good at making your own fun. I don’t think I could do anything to diminish that.”
Jared practically flips the shuttle on his next steep climb, and the safety straps of the seat tighten around Jensen’s chest, keeping him in place. “I guess I haven’t entirely figured out the controls yet,” Jared admits, leveling out and settling them at a steady altitude as miles and miles of agricultural land slip by below them, smooth green from this height, not even interrupted by roads.
“Danneel won’t be happy we’re late,” Jensen points out, looking at the time on the display console in front of him.
“Which is why we won’t be late,” Jared replies. He speeds the shuttle up a little, makes the fields race by below until they hit desert, terraforming equipment slowly transforming even desolate rock into land fit for human habitation.
Danneel’s house sits on a hill, overlooking several new terraforming sites, and acting as supervisor on this work in the middle of nowhere allows her plenty of time to make transport runs on behalf of the liberation movement. The terraforming is steady but time-consuming, pulverizing the rock and churning it into fertile soil deep enough that no farmer will hit rock again for centuries.
She meets them at her door, her hair piled messily on top of her head and her shirt half done like she’d gotten dressed in a hurry. The side door slams as they’re exchanging pleasantries and Jensen’s pretty sure he sees a human silhouette cresting the hill that holds the house high above the planet’s newest wheat fields. At this distance he can’t tell if it’s the same cute, brown-haired mechanic she was sleeping with the last time Jared and Jensen came through this part of Petunia. Jared keeps talking as though nothing else is happening, filling her in on how much information he got from Misha at the Grand Galloping Gala, and how much more he wants to know before the next pickup.
“You should really get out to the colony sometime soon,” Danneel tells him at the big old-fashioned wooden table in her kitchen, “see for yourself how everyone’s getting along. They all ask about you. The great and good Jared Padalecki. I think a visit would be fun for everyone.”
Jared starts to protest, the way he always does when someone suggests he get more closely involved in the freemen’s colony he’s been funneling money into for the past five years since he took over his parents’ company. “I’m just funding them. Besides, I really don’t have time,” he says, and Jensen puts a hand over his, squeezing gently.
“You have time if you make time.”
“The cute one’s right. If you want to get out there, you’ll find a way.”
Jensen likes Danneel. She says what she means, and she seems to think nothing of threatening slavers with weapons she doesn’t have to make them give her what she needs. Jensen appreciates her stubbornness, maybe even more than her superb flying skills. It’s clear that Jared’s going to need a little push when it comes to something like visiting the colony.
“We wouldn’t have to go for long,” Jensen points out. “Say there’s some exclusive spa on Honeysuckle that’s perfected the best method for relaxation, and you’ll be out of contact there for a few days. Every real spa on Honeysuckle will be falling all over themselves trying to find out which of them was worthy of your attendance while trying to convince all of the others it was really them.”
“And in the meantime, maybe you could get some real relaxing done,” Danneel points out. “Pimpernel’s a pretty great place for a vacation. Everyone actually likes their jobs, so they won’t begrudge you coming in as a tourist. Not that they’d begrudge their great benefactor anyway, but you know.”
“We know,” agrees Jensen.
“I wish everyone would stop referring to me that way. I do so little, in the greater scheme of things. I just have money.”
“Is that Jared Padalecki telling a woe is me, I have money story again?” calls Aldis, coming in through the back door and stripping out of his flightsuit.
“It sure is,” Danneel calls back, grinning.
Jared gives a longsuffering sigh. “You don’t have to say it like that.”
“If we said it any other way, it’d sound like we meant it mean,” Aldis says. He takes another chair at the kitchen table and thumps his feet up onto the scarred wood. “And you know we like you too much for that.”
Jensen coughs skeptically, but Aldis just raises his eyebrows.
“Speaking of people we like, was that Gen I saw running away across the hills as I was coming in to land?”
“She was not running,” Danneel objects. “She just didn’t need to meet my gentleman callers.”
“How Ancient Earth of you,” says Aldis. “Was she naked this time too? I couldn’t tell from overhead.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Danneel says cheerfully. “She definitely wasn’t running that time. And there’s no point in living in the middle of a secluded patch of desert if you can’t spend some time outside in your altogether every once in a while.”
“I thought the point was to have someplace to land your ship and regroup with your crew after any kind of trouble. Or if, say, you had to spend some unsupervised time with the head of a well-respected shipping company. I guess nudity would be a pretty big surprise for them. I mean, I’m just saying.” He lifts his eyebrows at Jared.
“You have no idea the kind of parties the heads of well-respected shipping companies get invited to,” Jensen puts in with a grin.
***
Danneel's house sprawls across the crest of a barren hill above the arable plains; that much is easily visible to anyone passing. What's less visible is the tunnels beneath it, storage for spare parts for her ship, old construction equipment she's tinkering with, extra bedding, packaged food and medical supplies for her runs. There's a door that looks like a closet in the front hall, and from there a winding set of roughly carved stairs. No part of the tunnels is very far down, and a few of Danneel's storage rooms have peepholes disguised as rabbit holes above ground. The first time she shows it to them, it's with an air of solemn secrecy Jensen's never seen in her before. "I figure in an emergency I could house a couple of dozen people here for a few days, you know, if something happens and I can't make it to the rendezvous point. Nobody knows this is all down here, except you and Aldis and Misha. And Misha only knows because he needed to hide out for a few days when he didn't have a base."
Jared nods, looking around with a strange, almost sad look on his face. "It's amazing that you do this. In your own house. You could never pretend you didn't know it was there."
Danneel shrugs. "You spend your days lying to the most powerful men in the universe. I'd say you've got just as much to get caught in. Although if you’re looking for an alternate way to spend your time, I know a great vacation spot on a little planet on Pimpernel."
Jared sighs. “We’ll see.”
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