Fic: Last of the Wilds (Sex Corps) (2/3)
Day 3
Hank woke slowly, curled around a pillow and caught under more blankets than he usually used. His body ached, but more like the soreness after a good workout, rather than what he had endured last night. Whatever medical advances these people had, this was amazing, he didn't know of anything that could ease bruising so quickly. Something felt loose within him, and Hank couldn't explain it.
He felt almost as if he were liberated, as if they had done the worst and Hank had survived. It wasn't the worst by a long shot, Hank knew, but waking up on the other side of morning intact made him want to shout. Something had happened to him, while he hung there, bound and at the mercy of others. Albaney herself had told him he was not in control, and by the end of the night, he had accepted it, given in to everything she had demanded. And for some reason, that made Hank feel free.
"Are you awake yet?" a familiar voice said from behind him.
Hank yelped and turned around, holding the covers up to his chest. Ian sat on the edge of his bed - they hadn't brought him back to his quarters with Karl, this was someplace else entirely, once again another opulent room that seemed too bright with all the colors.
Without the guard uniform, Ian looked different. The soft green fabric clung to his defined shoulders and broad chest, showing off a muscular if fine-boned body. His eyes seemed to smolder, so dark in contrast to the brightness of his clothing, yet perfectly round in the angular face. He might have been the type of guy Hank would go for, if they had met in a Planetside bar between missions, back when he was still picking up guys for kicks.
"Were you watching me sleep?" Hank said, aware of his nudity under nothing more than the abstractly patterned comforter. Fuck it, he thought, Ian had probably seen worse. He tossed off the covers and moved to stand in front of the full-length mirror on the other side of the room, twisting to see if any of the marks remained on his body.
"I merely came to wake you. You've missed midmorning meal. I brought you some food." Ian kicked at the cart at the end of the bed, but his eyes never left Hank's body, watching intently as Hank contorted in an attempt to view all of his back.
"I don't get it," Hank said finally, unable to see a single bruise. Even the welts on his chest, which he damn well remembered happening, were gone. "What was the point of punishing me if you were just going to heal it all away?"
"You weren't the one being punished," Ian said.
"Could have fooled me," Hank snorted. But he knew exactly what Ian meant. Watching Hank being beaten was far worse to Karl than if they had done it to Karl himself. "Is Karl okay?" He asked finally, moving back to the bed and pulling the covers over his lap. He was done with the exhibitionist stuff.
Ian didn't answer at first, he merely handed Hank a small plate of pastries. "Your friend is broken," he said at last. "After your words at the Healers' I requested a soul healer be sent to see him."
"A soul healer? That means what exactly?" Hank asked. His stomach rumbled and he bit into one of the treats on the plate. Rich flavor exploded on his tongue, and he barely refrained from moaning at the taste.
"Exactly as it sounds. Someone who can heal the wounds of his heart."
"And you still felt compelled to punish him?" Even after knowing he was so broken? Hank felt the anger in his belly, souring the food he had just eaten.
"I did not order the punishment," Ian snapped. "And yes, he had to learn that his actions have consequences and they affect others beside himself. That is one of our core values."
"Now you sound like one of the trainers," Hank said.
Ian looked at his hands, his fingers unable to be still as he fidgeted uncomfortably. "I requested a leave from the guard, to direct your training. If that is acceptable to you?"
Hank remembered what it had felt like, to be taken off to some unknown punishment, alone, without this man by his side. For better or worse, they had formed some kind of bond, and yes, it would be easier to accept his instruction than from someone unknown. And Ian knew exactly who and what he was, Hank didn't have to explain about the whole being from outer space thing.
"Um, yeah, sure, that's fine." Yeah, great cover there, Major, he thought to himself, wanting to slap his own forehead.
Ian finally looked up and gave him a slow smile, his face changing from the stern guard to the man Hank had befriended on the tram. "You did brilliantly last night, you know. No one would guess you'd never been trained."
"How did you…?" Hank started, but the memory returned, albeit slowly. After they had carried Karl in, he had been all Hank could focus on. But Ian had been there for the entire punishment, and he had helped carry Hank to this room. "You were there."
"Yes." Ian said.
Hank didn't know how he felt about that. It unsettled him, but he couldn't explain why. Ian had not been the only witness to what had been done to him. He cleared his throat and changed the subject. "Do you have any of that drink from yesterday? The warm tea stuff?"
Ian let him do it, Hank could tell as the other man gave him a tiny smile and nod before producing a carafe from the cart. Hank accepted a cup gratefully and got down to the business of eating.
"I also brought you a set of clothing."
"My uniform?"
"Beyond repair, I'm afraid. I'm not sorry though, black doesn't suit you at all."
"What, are you the fashion police?" Hank shook his head at the blank look on the other man's face. "Never mind. My uniform would have been just fine if someone hadn't sliced through it."
Ian laughed. He pulled a pile of fabric from under the cart, a pair of loose pants and tunic like most of the students wore, but in the color of dark blue with gold embroidered along the edges. "I thought the blue would suit you. I picked the gold to match the flecks in your hair."
Hank ran his hand through his hair, suddenly self-conscious. What the hell was Ian going on about, talking about gold flecks? It wasn't as if he were the only blond on this entire planet. "Uh, thanks. Do I have time to shower? Any pressing appointments?"
"I would like to take you to a class with some older students today. Since you missed most of the morning, we do have to hurry to make it before the fitness break."
"Right, I'll just shower after that then," Hank pulled on the clothing. The pants hung low around his waist, despite how hard he tried to draw them up, and the tunic crossed into a v over his chest, leaving most of his skin bare. He was glad he was naturally hairless - result of aforementioned blond hair, which also meant he couldn't grow a full beard if he tried. He tugged at the collar around his neck, yes still there, which seemed to be showed off by the color and cut of the shirt.
"Perfect," Ian said.
"Right." Hank played with his hair again, knowing his was mussing it hopelessly. "Afterwards…can I see Karl?"
Ian hesitated at the door. He half-turned and answered, "Only if the soul healer deems he won't be harmed by it. Otherwise, these are your quarters now."
Hank tilted his head towards the rest of the room. "I've gone up in the world."
"Surviving Albaney's whip will do that to a sub."
Before Hank could parse that statement, Ian had opened the door and strode out into the hall and he had to run to catch up.
***
The kids in this class were older, but not by much. Hank towered over the room of 15 and 16 year olds, and instead of being an interested observer, this time he was expected to participate. Ian stood in the corner of the room, arms crossed over his chest, one leg against the wall and just watched. Hank couldn't get the feeling of Ian's gaze off of him and he was sure that was the reason he kept fucking up.
Then again, there was a difference in the flexibility of a bunch of teenagers and a 36-year-old man. Hank could do most of the basic positions easily enough, although the instructor clucked her tongue at his posture while kneeling, but this last one had him tumbling off to the side. His body couldn't do it; he couldn’t bend in half and place his hands on the floor. Hank didn't like the idea of Ian back there looking at his ass either.
Before the instructor could make it to the back of the room to correct him, Ian appeared at Hank's side. "Like this," he said, placing his hand on Hank's back after he straightened back to standing. (not present standing, just standing. Damn it, Hank knew he was never going to remember all the new vocab they kept throwing at him.)
Ian held him steady as Hank slowly lowered his torso and whispered in a low voice, "Grasp your ankles, or whatever you can reach. It's an acceptable variation."
"For men my age?" Hank hissed back, slightly annoyed that he could now hold the position after Ian's advice.
"A little seasoning is better than bland obedience," Ian said, and then slipped away, leaving Hank trapped in his position and more confused than ever.
***
"Ok, I am more sore now than when I woke up this morning. Something is wrong here," Hank complained over the sound of Ian's laughter.
They had gone to the mess after Hank's little attempt at class participation. Well, they probably called it the cafeteria or 'Food Place' or something else appropriately descriptive. The whole set up reminded Hank more of Basic than he was completely comfortable with. The instructors - trainers - were like drill sergeants to these kids, who seemed to have just embraced their lot in life from childhood. Hank wondered what it would have been like growing up with boot camp and shuddered at the very idea.
He poked at the food on his tray, grateful that he didn't have to just gobble it up and rush out to his next task, like he would have to if Hank were actually back at basic training. Even so, this lunch didn't look nearly as appetizing as breakfast had, although he suspected it had something to do with his own distaste for carrots. Stars, come all the way to an alien world, get abducted, whipped and it's the carrots that trip him up?
"You'll never be as good as they are," Ian was saying. "You've started training too late."
"Yeah, there's nothing like early indoctrination," Hank pushed the carrots away from the rest of his meal. "But how do you select them? How do you know who is a sub and who isn't?" And why me and Karl?
Ian looked at him, surprised. "You don't know?"
"Never got around to answering me yesterday," he said. "Remember, you can't count on me knowing what you know."
The other man nodded, putting down his own fork. "Our destiny is determined at birth. Our very genes dictate our nature - sub or dom."
"And you can tell this how?" Hank pictured obscure DNA tests with nucleotides encoded and deciphered by healers in white robes.
Ian tapped the side of his head. "The eyes reveal the soul. Those with blue eyes are born subs."
"Holy fuck," Hank sat down. "You mean I got grabbed cause I got blue eyes?" They didn't put situations like this in the manual. He tried to recall the eye color of the rest of the team, but it wasn't something he knew about his colleagues. Now, ask him who was the better shot, or who he'd want working on the engine of the shuttle and Hank had answers.
"This is different where you come from."
"Hell yeah," Hank shook his head. "Not everyone does this sub/dom stuff. I know it happens, in clubs and stuff, but not like you guys."
"I don't understand," Ian said. "You can choose to live as we do, but you don't?"
Ok, how to explain kinks and fetishes to a guy where those things were the norm. "Well, basically. It's more complicated than that, really."
"I want to know more about where you come from," Ian said, surprising him. "You are a warrior, correct?"
"A soldier," Hank supplied. "I noticed you don't have subs in the guard."
"It isn't permitted." Ian shook his head.
So to Ian, Hank was something Ian had never seen before. Perhaps that explained the interest. "I joined up when I was eighteen. I was born on this backwater little planet called Biloxi, and I loved it. We were in the middle of war and I wanted to help. So I joined what we call Planetside or the Ground Corps. I didn't want to go out into space and get shot at in a tin can. I wanted to see my enemy."
"Yet here you are?"
"Well, yeah, nobody told me back then that Planetside didn't necessarily mean my own planet. And then I ended up taking over my platoon when my commanding officer was killed and the guy above him put me in for officer training." Hank made a gesture with his hand. "One thing leads to another and they need a guy with Ground experience for the Reclamation Project. Here I am."
"You realize very little of that made sense to me," Ian said with a sparkle in his eyes.
Hank laughed. Finally, he was able to get some of his own back.
After lunch Hank and Ian joined in with the fitness break, something Hank got the impression that every citizen in Harmony did as a matter of course. These people put so much emphasis on their bodies - perfect postures, revealing clothing - that an obsession with physical fitness seemed only proper. Hank thought he was in good shape, but Ian wiped the floor with him when they tried sparring.
"Too much fucking time on a starship," Hank muttered, wiping sweat out of his eyes. He'd kept up with his required exercises, but it just wasn't the same under the artificial gravity. Well, he figured he might as well make the most of this while he could and Hank threw himself into the training, going for a run with Ian after the sparring, on an indoor track that spanned the second floor of the gym.
Afterwards Ian took him to the public baths - although why the hell did they need public baths when each room had its own freakin' Jacuzzi tub Hank didn't know. And then he saw the hooks and chains set into the fine tile walls, the convenient surfaces and benches just perfect for bending someone over for a quickie, and the collection of lube along with the soaps and shampoos.
Hank sluiced the sweat off of his skin post haste, and then high tailed it out of the main bathing room, not stopping for a soak in the heated waters beyond the antechamber. With the training collar on he didn't know if he were up for grabs or not, and Hank wasn't about to find out.
Ian followed - probably making sure Hank didn't bolt again - with a puzzled look on his face. Hank didn't explain, just dressed quickly in the dark blue clothing Ian had picked out for him. "Is there any way I can talk to Karl?"
"I'll contact the soul healer. It will be her decision."
An hour later, Hank stood outside the door to his old stomping grounds, the cell the guards had chucked him into three days ago. "It's probably a good idea if you wait out here," he said.
Ian only nodded and pressed his palm to the wall, and the door rippled open.
Maybe I should have knocked first, Hank thought as he stepped inside. He saw Johnson curled up on his bed, the covers drawn up to his neck. "Karl?"
Johnson sat up and Hank noticed two things - Karl no longer wore a white collar, but his arm was shackled, joined to a long stretch of chain that connected with the foot of the bed. "Going native, Major?"
"Well, my uniform was kind of shredded," Hank threw out flippantly only to regret his words at Johnson's flinch. "Karl, it's ok, it wasn't your fault."
"No, it's the bastards who fucking tortured you. I know that." Karl pushed himself off of the bed and walked towards their window, not looking at Hank once. The chain skittered across the floor with a harsh clang and Hank saw it lengthen to allow Karl to reach the window. Perhaps it only shortened if Karl did something threatening?
"Sure, try saying that again when you can look me in the eye." Hank strode across the room and nearly grasped Karl's shoulder, but he thought better of it. The last thing Karl probably wanted was to be touched right now. "Why did you run, Karl? We had no way of getting back to the ship or even contacting Morgan. I know you're not military, but seriously…"
"Major….Hank," Johnson took a deep breath. He reached out and flicked the force field in the square window, but it produced no sound. "I know I haven't been behaving very well."
Hank squelched his sarcastic response to that. He merely stepped back and let Karl walk back to the bed, dropping down to sit on the edge and propping his face in his hands.
"I was a slave," Karl said, so softly Hank barely heard him.
Hank sank down on the opposite bed. "What?"
"It's one of the first things the Confed does when it attempts total take over of a planet - enslaves the children. If the citizens are good enough, they may get them back. I was seven years old when I was taken."
"Fuck, Karl," but the word wasn't strong enough, could never convey the horror Hank felt at those words. "How'd you…"
"The UP captured the slave ship I was being transported on. They were taking us to market in the Core. I was damn lucky we got boarded when we did." Karl waited a beat before adding, "I was sixteen."
Nearly ten years, Hank thought, Karl had spent nearly ten years being someone's property. The fact that he'd survived and then thrived in the UP was a miracle, Hank couldn't conceive of that kind of horror, after living with the pale shadow of it for the past three days. "I'm sorry, man," he said, not knowing what else to say.
Karl shrugged. "Apparently I've never actually dealt with it, at least that's what the soul healer says."
"So she's actually helping?" Hank asked hopefully.
"It would help if we got off this damned planet," Karl snapped. "I don't need their platitudes and their condescending attitudes."
That would be a 'no' then, Hank thought to himself. "The kids here, Karl, they go back to their parents at night. It's not the same thing."
"Oh certainly not. The collars, the whipping, the chains, not the same fucking thing at all." Johnson's voice remained level the entire time, which only freaked Hank out even more.
He knew Karl could never see past the trappings of slavery, and hell, for all Hank knew, Karl was right. But he thought of the people he had met these past two days, the trainer of the little ones who wore her collar so proudly, the healer with the gentle touch, and his fellow students in training. None of them were cowed or beaten into submission. Not yet anyway.
Besides, Hank had a mission here. He couldn't protect Karl from himself, but he could learn all he could about this strange city, so when Morgan finally got here, Hank would be able to report. Giving in to the impulse, he touched Karl's hand gently, relieved when the other man remained still. "Hang in there. Morgan is coming. You know he is. He'd never leave a man behind."
He got up to leave and heard the clatter of the chain as Karl stood. "Where are you going?"
Oh, right. Hank half-turned back. "They changed my sleeping arrangements."
"They're separating us."
"What the hell did you expect, Karl?"
"And you're just going along with this? Just strolling about like you're enjoying the attention?"
Hank stiffened. "I know you're upset, Karl. And that's why I’m not going to answer you just now." He put his palm against the wall where he knew the doorway hid and at his touch, it rippled opened. Hank walked out of the room, leaving Karl behind.
Day 4
The next morning Hank made sure to shower and dress long before Ian got there. He didn't really want to take another trip to the public baths, the thought of going back there, no matter how luxurious it all was made him twitch and tug at his collar. The dang thing marked him like a piece of meat in there.
When Ian finally did arrive, he just walked in to Hank's room like he owned the place. Of course, Hank was the prisoner here. He just tended to forget since most of the time Ian treated him like a rambunctious prep school student rather than the enemy. This time Ian strode in and snapped out, "Present kneeling."
"Oh for crying out loud," Hank griped, but moved smoothly into the pose he had learned yesterday, dropping to his knees and clasping his hands behind his neck, leaving his body completely exposed, if he had been naked and not wearing another of those brightly patterned suits he had found in the drawers of the fancy dresser in this room. "For fuck's sake, what's next, are you going to check the corners on my bed sheets too? I thought I was done with this shit when I finished boot camp."
Of course, if Ian did check the sheets, he'd find Hank had made the bed to perfection.
Hank's mouth snapped closed with a click when Ian touched his fingertip to Hank's chin, causing Hank to look up, instead of being properly lowered. Ian's eyes burned, and Hank found himself swallowing hard at the intensity there. Like everyone else on this planet, Ian had his own beauty, his chiseled features, his golden skin, but nothing else like the boldness in those dark eyes. Hank felt himself stiffen in his pants in response and had to fight to keep from shifting in his pose.
"Are you gonna run me through my paces?" Hank asked, wincing at how rough his voice sounded.
"You're wearing far too many clothes for that," Ian rasped back. He pulled away, leaving Hank kneeling there as he turned away, rolling his shoulders as if they felt tense. "I just wanted to make sure that you remembered."
"Not likely to forget. Can I get up now?"
"Yes, of course." Ian turned around; the intense look no longer in his eyes. "Today is a rest day for the Schola, so there are no classes."
"Nothing for me to crash then," Hank said. "So what's on the agenda?"
"I thought we'd go for a walk."
"A walk?" Hank repeated. "No kinky orgies?"
Ian crossed his arms. "We can try one of those later, if you wish."
Hank had no idea if he were joking or not.
So that was how they found themselves a little while later, walking along a small cobblestone street, a few clicks out from the Academy. Hank pulled on the leash attached to the basket that held the picnic Ian had packed, it hovered a meter or so in the air behind him. He had balked at first when Ian ordered him to take charge of it, bristling at the insinuation of "You're the sub, you do the grunt work," but once Ian had grinned and made the damn thing float, Hank got that he was on the tail end of some common 328 joke.
Most of the kids were apparently going home for the day of rest, whatever it was. Hank wasn't sure if they had regular weekends here, or if this was some sort of break. Ian said something about preparing before the Choosing, but never explained what the hell the Choosing was. The streets around the tall Schola tower were filled with groups of them, still clustered together and laughing, like any group of students out on leave.
Here the city grew quieter, the lofty towers making way for tall houses surrounded by gardens that crept up alongside the hills behind each home. Though the floor looked like stone, just like the walls on either side of the street, it didn't feel like stone under his sandaled feet. For once Hank didn't miss his boots, glad to air out his feet in the warm weather, although the heat never became oppressive, and a calm breeze darted down.
He saw a few students from the Schola heading into some of the houses, some greeted at the gate by others, he assumed their families. Other than that, no others thronged this narrow road, and Hank was almost disappointed not to see any of the disturbing sights of his first walk through the city, no subs being whipped, no one up for sale on a stage.
"Here." Ian called a halt before a wrought iron gate, curved at the top with a symbol inset into the pattern. He touched it, and instead of creaking open, as Hank expected, the gate shimmered away into nothingness, letting them pass.
Once beyond, they were surrounded by greenery. Hank followed Ian up a set of stairs cut into the earth, part of a path purposely driven through the heart of the garden. A sweet scent of flowers touched his nose, bright and alive, but never cloying. Hank spotted the culprit, a bush with purple buds that looked something like roses. Each tree seemed set to give the perfect amount of shade, all of it coming together in precise symmetry.
"This garden is freakin' amazing," Hank said with a whistle, catching sight of a bush trimmed in the shape of a dog.
"Why thank you, I do try."
Hank whirled around at the voice that intruded. The man who spoke stood off to the side of the path, shielded from view by a leafy branch. He stepped forward, and Hank's eyes flew to his neck, noting the black leather collar there. The newcomer stood tall, very tall, with salt and pepper hair and a half beard, the first sub Hank had ever seen with facial hair. He lacked the prettiness of most of the men Hank had met so far, with a crooked nose and angles instead of curves, he looked older and more polished, his imperfections making him all the more attractive.
"Hello, Father," Ian said with a grin, and Hank whirled around, moving so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.
"He's your father?" he asked.
Ian shrugged, pushing past him to give his dad a pounding half-hug. With a second glance, Hank could see those angles in Ian's face, smoothed by youth and genetics. "Why do you sound so surprised?"
"Because he's…" He was a sub, and really, Hank needed to re-evaluate that statement before he let it out. He had no clue about how families worked here, and he was the last person to judge, Hank barely remembered his own father, lost to the war before Hank was old enough to walk. "Never mind."
Ian flashed him a slight grin and a raised eyebrow, like he just knew Hank would be chewing his ear off later about this. "Father, this is Sub Henry."
Ian's dad got a funny expression on his face, his eyes widening and he turned to stare at his son. "Is he your…?"
"No! No," Ian repeated. "I am aiding in his training. I know," he said to forestall the question even Hank could see in the older man's eyes. "It's unusual, but nothing about this situation is normal."
"You can say that again," Hank muttered.
"Welcome, Sub Henry. I am Liam, sub to Lady Verona."
"Uh, hi, nice to meet you," Hank attempted to mimic the half bow that Liam threw at him. Couldn't these guys shake hands like normal people?
Ian led them over to a bench nestled between some rose bushes and under a willow tree, long boughs gently caressing the dark wood and wrought iron in the light breeze. Between bits of the picnic lunch he had packed, he haltingly told the story of how Hank came to this city.
"Another planet?" Liam said, stroking his beard as he spoke.
"Well, another star system actually, if you want to get technical." Hank polished the shiny apple on his pants. How did they get fresh fruit here? He hadn't seen any orchards or farms.
"There were stories, but I never believed they could actually be true."
"Yeah, I get that a lot."
"But that does not explain why you are in white? And in my son's care?"
Ian stood and dusted off his hands. "Henry has never been trained."
"Hey, I got plenty of training. I'd like to see one of you field strip a laser rifle in under ten." Hank enjoyed the blank looks he received in return, at this point he took what he could get. "But that's because I joined the military. We don't choose people's life paths from birth like you do."
"Your world must be a very confusing place." Liam shook his head.
Hah, like he had reason to talk! Hank thought.
"But you aren't a trainer, Ian."
"Someone had to ensure Henry actually showed up for training."
It was entirely more complicated than that, but Hank let it slide. He didn't want to bring up Karl, or that the man was currently back at the Schola in chains.
Ian shook his head. "I was hoping you could speak to him, answer some questions I can't." He pointed back towards the house. "May I…?"
Liam smiled. "Mistress Natalie is in the study, helping Ewan go over contracts. I'm sure you could add a word or two."
"Ewan is still here?" Ian seemed surprised. "I thought he completed training."
"Yes, eight months ago. He wanted to wait for the Choosing, so he took the yellow and remained home."
"I see." Ian turned to Hank. "I'll be right back. Don't wander off."
Hank snorted. "Where would I go? Especially when there is still so much food to finish off?"
"Stay away from the parfaits!" Ian called as he ducked back down the path, disappearing from view.
Hank eyes Liam awkwardly, what the heck did Ian mean, questions Liam could answer? It wasn't as if he had prepared Hank for this visit, where he could have at least come up with a few in advance.
"So you're the gardener for, uh, Lady Verona?" He hoped the got the name right.
"It is one of my duties. One that I enjoy."
"So you don’t," Hank waved his hand, but when Liam only looked at him curiously, knew he had to clarify. "She doesn't…you're not her … uh sex slave?" Oh stars, just shoot him now. This is why he never should be allowed on diplomatic missions.
Liam burst out laughing, which mollified him somewhat. Hank would rather get laughter than outrage at his offensive comments. "You are untutored, boy. I would not have believed it, of a man your age. Of course my duties include those of a sexual nature. I would not have signed the contract otherwise."
Hank supposed he had to get used to people saying things he didn't understand, but damn it, Ian had told him to ask questions. "Contract?" he asked.
"Every sub learns to negotiate as part of their training," Liam seemed to take Hank's ignorance in stride. "No collar is locked without a contract. However, once it is, a sub must abide by those terms. I have been with my mistress most of my adult life. I am content, and very lucky to have found a good match so quickly."
"So you negotiated a contract with her, before you got that," Hank pointed to the black collar.
"This is my second collar," Liam clarified. "We simply renewed the contract when the first twenty year term expired."
"Twenty years?" Hank gasped. He shook his head at that. Sure, he was career military and might look at twenty or thirty years of service if he managed to survive that long, but he renewed his commission in five year bursts. "Aren't there shorter terms?"
"Of course! A contract can be written for a short as a single night. We aren't savages, Sub Henry."
"Please, call me Hank. It's what my friends call me."
The older man smiled, "Then I shall be simply Liam to you."
Hank looked around, sometimes he still felt like he had fallen asleep and was having one whacked out hell of a dream. "If you signed up for twenty years, you must have been darn sure of what you wanted."
"I had a temporary contract before that. I admit I may have gone for the black sooner than most would have deemed wise, but I am content."
"And what about Ian?" Hank asked. "He's your son? But your mistress isn't his mother?" He'd guessed at that, his intuition pinging strongly with the way Ian had asked permission to go inside.
"No. His mother is Guard Elisa. She asked for my services for the Fertility Rite and my mistress agreed. I only asked to be allowed to know my child."
"Yet another contract?" Hank asked. These people seemed to just love their contracts. He made a mental note to mention this to Morgan, if he ever saw the man again. They had some precedent for an agreement here, if he could ever get the Queen to talk to them again.
Voices from along the path had them both looking as Ian emerged from the foliage with a young woman with large brown eyes and dark hair that tumbled down her back in waves. Behind them walked a sub, remarkable for his red-gold hair. Hank thought he was the first redhead he had seen the entire trip.
He stood on instinct, always wanting to greet a new encounter on his feet. Ian came to his side and put one hand on Hank's shoulder, pushing gently, and Hank got the point and kneeled, the brick of the path hard on his knees. "I present the Lady Mistress Natalie. My sister." Ian inclined his head at the young woman, who merely smiled as he spoke. "And Sub Ewan. This is Sub Henry."
"You may rise, Sub Henry," Natalie said. "My brother has told us much about you."
"Well, this is the first I've heard of you," Hank said, rising to his feet, shaking Ian's hand off of his shoulder.
"You did not exaggerate his boldness," she said, with a smirk for Ian.
Ian merely shrugged. "Have you even known me to exaggerate?"
"Mmm, we'll debate that another time," Natalie said. "It will certainly be an interesting Choosing, if we have visitors from the stars present!"
"Only a few days away now, eh, Ewan?" Liam said, bringing the yellow-collared sub into the conversation. Hank was beginning to finally get some of the odd phrasing Liam had used when he spoke of Ewan 'taking the yellow' but what the hell did the yellow collar mean?
The young man tilted his head. "At first it seemed like it would never come. Now it is far too soon."
"You'll be fine. It's a good contract. I just wish you'd consider staying." Natalie reached out and ruffled his copper locks, fondling him as if he were some kind of pet.
Hank made a fist with one hand and stayed silent. If it didn't bother Ewan it was none of his business.
Ewan's eyes narrowed. "I've lived my entire life here. I want something more."
Natalie frowned and pulled away from him, obviously stung by his words. Uh oh, Hank thought, some trouble in paradise there.
"And what if the Choosing reveals you should stay?" Ian asked, breaking the tension between the two.
"Of course I will abide by whatever Harmony decides," Ewan agreed.
Natalie seemed mollified by that. She put her hand on the sub's shoulder. "Come, let's enjoy the weather before going back to work. It was an honor to meet you, Sub Henry. Don't let my brother grow complacent!"
While Hank was trying to figure out what that meant, the lady and her sub vanished into a deeper part of the garden. Liam bowed at Hank. "I am required inside, but I am glad Ian brought you by. If you have any more questions, please call. I'm sure Ian can show you how."
"Sure. Uh, nice meeting you too."
"And you," Liam pulled Ian into another hug. "You need to settle down."
"Father…"
"It's long past time for you to have found a sub. If you are having trouble finding one I can speak to my mistress…"
Hank got a vivid image of his aunt back on Earth telling him the same thing - find someone and settle down. Of course, he doubted the girls she had tried to set him up with were anything like what Liam had in mind for his own son.
"Please, father." A flush rose across Ian's cheeks, the first time Hank had ever seen him embarrassed like that. "I just haven't found the right sub. It isn't something one should approach lightly."
"No," Liam agreed. "No it is not."
And with those cryptic words, Hank and Ian were left alone in the garden. Hank moved to repack their little picnic lunch, figuring they would be heading back to the Schola soon. He felt a light touch on his lower back, Ian's hand pressing there, coming up just under the shirt that had ridden up at Hank's movement, so warm skin pressed against his. Hank stilled, not certain what the intimate touch meant.
"I wanted you to see," Ian said softly. "How we live. How a man like my father is content with his destiny."
"The other kid sure didn't seem content," Hank took a chance and straightened, but Ian didn't remove his fingers, and they remained like that, Hank facing away from the guard, but aware of the warmth at his back.
"He wants to leave home, and Natalie, who is a little bit in love with him, wants him to stay."
"Ok, ok, wait," Hank rubbed his eyes. "Ewan isn't related to either of you?"
Ian chuckled, the laughter warm breath against Hank's ear. When did he get so close? "He is the child of two subs in Natalie's mother's household. He is temporarily under her guardianship until he finds a master of his own. So, no, we are not related to him. He does not deny what he is, but like any sub, must find someone worthy of being owned by."
"You know, just when I'm starting to figure this place out, you always throw a monkey wrench into things." Hank said lightly.
"Whatever that is," Ian said, "I'm about to throw another one at you. The Queen has given me permission to court you."
Hank swallowed thickly. "Is that…is that what it sounds like?"
"What do you think?" Ian's voice rasped against his jaw, his lips leaving a moist trail against Hank's skin.
Hank turned his head, turning towards Ian and parted his lips as they touched Ian's for the first time. The kiss remained gentle, a chaste meeting of mouth to mouth, a tentative lick of Ian's tongue against Hank's lower lip, before he pulled away. Hank liked how Ian looked, his face flushed, lips swollen and shiny and for a moment, he forgot why they couldn't do this and he wanted to push forward, to claim the other man's mouth with his own, to give into the attraction that pulsed between them.
"We can't," Hank said, stepping away, breaking all contact between them.
"No," Ian agreed.
Hank thought that was the end of it right there, the tentative beginning between them shattered without repair. He couldn't have been more wrong.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3