The Weapon, ch 2
Karl Urban/Matt Damon, set in the Kept!verse.
NC-17 this chapter, issues of consent
Huge thanks to trishabooms for being my super-sweet cheerleader on this one.
Kirill. Karl. Comes with his own gear. Of all that Matt’s dealt with in acquiring him--the back-alley deals and underground informants and buying a god-damn unregistered, not-in-any-way-legal slave--seeing Karl loading mysterious black bag after bag after case after crate into the back of Matt’s rented H2 is the thing that almost breaks him into hysterical laughter. Matt had a GI Joe toy as a kid that came with all the accessories too. Go go gadget sniper rifle to go with his god-damn kung-fu action grip. The price he’s paid for Karl, the least they could throw in is some equipment.
“Are you trained in defensive and evasive driving techniques?” They are the first words Matt has heard his new slave speak. The man’s voice isn’t loud, but it’s lower than he expected. Tinged with an accent of some sort and it’d be Matt’s luck if he’s a foreign national on top of everything else illegal about him.
“No,” Matt replies as Karl closes the back gate of the vehicle. “But I’m not expecting any trouble. Not yet at least.”
Karl turns towards him but his gaze doesn’t stay locked on Matt’s; his focus floats along the rooftops of the nearby warehouses, over broken out windows and shadowed angles of buildings. The tip of his tongue flicks over his lips, followed by a graze of his teeth as he takes half a second to strategize the handling of his new master.
“A man with the wealth to buy me has enemies. Whether he knows them or not. If you wait until after first contact to begin basic defensive planning, it may be too late. I will recognize a tail that you might not. I will be able to lose a tail that you might not. I will be able to prevent a vehicular attempt on your life that you might not.” His eyes flick to Matt’s again and the corner of his mouth quirks. “It’s L.A. at four PM on a weekday. I should drive.”
And as much as Matt doesn’t want to, is afraid to, give up any control in the first five minutes, he did pay for a slave that could think. Looks like he’s got what he paid for.
“Here.” He tosses Karl the keys and walks around to the passenger side. Tells himself he didn’t really want to drive in rush hour anyway.
“You should rent a different vehicle tomorrow,” Karl says as he adjusts the mirrors and straps his seatbelt tight. “Something less noticeable and with a lower center of gravity.”
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Karl is on the freeway before Matt speaks again. “So I get the impression Mr. Black wasn’t quite accurate when he said ‘total obedience,’ am I right?”
Karl glances at him from behind his sunglasses and Matt thinks that he’s never seen a slave that looked more like a free man wearing a collar. “Have I missed a command?” No ‘sir’ at the end. Matt thinks he’s been in Europe too long. Forgotten how to speak with slaves if he can’t even figure out how to get that word of respect without sounding like a petty brat so he lets it go.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Matt corrects, and like hell he’s gonna let Karl divert the conversation away from where he wants it.
Karl watches the road for a few more blocks. “Your reasonable safety is my priority. Above obedience. Above all else.” His lips do that little twitch of a smile again. “If you are planning the world’s most expensive suicide, I apologize that you’ve purchased the wrong implement.”
Matt has one clear moment of absolute lust. Because pretty he could cope with, but a sense of humor is more than he’d expected and impossible to ignore. And god, he can’t help but push, to almost tease. “And if I’d insisted on driving?”
“I would have taken a bigger gun from the trunk to compensate. The Tavor TAR-21. Short enough to be handled inside the vehicle, half a kilometer effective range.” He glances over at Matt again. Nothing but serious this time. “You are my master. I seek to serve your interests in the most efficient way possible. I will follow your direct orders except where they are a clear threat to your safety.”
And if that isn’t a god-damn cold shower of a conversation ender, Matt doesn’t know what is.
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The rest of that first trip together is silent except for Matt telling Karl where to turn, what exit to take. Matt can’t help but watch the grace of his hands on the wheel, sure and steady. Can’t look away from the play of muscle under the fine cotton of Karl’s t-shirt. He loosens his tie and pinches between his eyes until the threatening headache subsides. He tries not to second guess what he’s planned for next; it’s still the right choice even if he wants it more than he should.
He’s got an empty storefront in an abandoned strip-mall set up as a base station and a posh hotel for appearances sake. They go to the hideout first. Karl wary and watching with his right hand always near his weapon and his left loose and ready like he’s prepared to shove Matt out of the way of a bullet at any second. It’s been a long time since Matt’s felt taken care of like that. Watched over. His parents had still been alive then, and Anna.
Behind the blue industrial tarp that covers the inside of the windows, Matt has already set up the room as a makeshift living/sleeping/staging area. Tables for gear, cots for sleep if they have to. There’s a portable shower added to the existing restroom, enough supplies that they wouldn’t need to go out if they didn’t want to. The place used to be a car window-tinting operation and the back has a roll-up garage door. He watches Karl look around and hates that he’s nervous to hear the slave’s opinion of his work.
“Is it in your name?” Karl asks at last and Matt shakes his head.
“Friend of mine’s holding company. Off the books and off the market. There’s no legitimate reason for anybody to come onto the property.”
“It’s good,” Karl decides and Matt refuses to acknowledge that little rush of pride that comes with the compliment.
They pull the H2 into the building then and work side by side to unload Karl’s gear onto the tables. He has an order for everything, weapons on one table, climbing gear, rope and body-armor on another, garment bags and a couple duffels on the last.
When he’s unpacked, Karl turns to Matt and waits, waits for instruction and okay. Enough stalling. Time to find out. Time to know for sure.
Matt heads over to one of the cots. Tosses the pillow on the cement floor. “Come here,” he says and Karl comes. Calm and sure and graceful as any body-slave Matt’s ever seen as he goes to his knees at Matt’s feet. So damn confident even as he slips into this role. He keeps his gaze on his master’s and he’s so god-damn serene it’s disconcerting.
Matt’s hands shake as he unzips his pants and the slightest flicker of confusion passes over Karl’s face. Matt’s not hard. Not at all and it takes a few tugs by his own fingers for him to feel remotely ready for this. “Keep your eyes on me,” he says. Because he has to see. Has to know if Karl belongs to him or if he’s as free as he acts most of the time.
“Open,” he says and Karl does without hesitation. They both fumble a bit, getting his half-hard dick into Karl’s mouth. It’s awkward. The way Karl’s teeth graze him before he covers them with his lips. The way his tongue brushes the underside before pulling away again. Christ, there’s no way a mouth like that hasn’t sucked a dick before. “It’s okay,” he whispers. Can’t manage anything but a whisper. “It’s okay. Go ahead. Get it wet.”
The flicker of confusion turns to puzzled concentration. Like Karl has no idea why someone would want to do this but is determined to do it right. He pulls back a little. Presses the flat of his tongue against Matt’s shaft and slides it along. Pushes forward and takes him deeper, rubs the wet parts of Matt’s dick against the dry of his lips. And fuck. That’s---fuck. Matt’s hips stutter forward and Karl makes a little cough-gag but keeps going. Keeps going and they find a rhythm together and Karl’s eyes never leave his and Matt has to run his thumb over the sleek darkness of Karl’s eyebrow. Has to feel the short velvet of his hair against his palms. Has to know and never. Not once is there a flicker of resentment. Of defiance.
He comes with a groan. Breathing hard and Karl’s hands come up to steady his hips as he sways. “Fuck,” he groans as he finishes. As Karl chokes and swallows and is still looking at him with those intense eyes when Matt gets his shit together enough to look back down at him.
“I’m sorry,” he says as he regains his balance. His fingers fumble on the knot of his tie and finally get it loose. I’m sorry, he thinks as he drapes it behind Karl’s neck, as he wraps it around and then over and under and twines his fists around each end of the strong silk for a grip that won’t break and then pulls it tight.
He can see. He can feel Karl tense as his air cuts off. Hear that last breath half-caught as his airway closes. See his chest heave for the next inhale that never comes. He waits for the fury. For Karl to come up fighting. Watches as the man’s hands half-rise and then stop. Reverse direction and disappear behind his back and stay there. Watches Karl’s face go dark and his eyes water as Matt strangles him and Karl just--lets him.
And fuck. He almost misses it as Karl gets heavier. As his eyes roll back. He lowers the unconscious man to the floor and unwinds his hands. Releases the garrote. The tie should fall away but it’s caught itself and Matt just about panics as he struggles to get it untangled and open. Frantic, he feels for a pulse, finds it but Karl isn’t breathing. Fuck. Fuck. “Karl!” He taps the slave’s cheek. Slaps him then, hard. “Kirill!”
The slave’s eyes flash open and the ragged sound of his first gasp of air will haunt Matt’s worst dreams for weeks. Karl rolls over and gags and coughs. The room smells of his piss and of all Matt’s done today he thinks maybe that’s the thing he’s most ashamed of, that he’s brought this strong and competent man so low.
“I had to know,” he says because he can’t apologize again. Not to a slave.
“You still don’t,” Karl rasps out but there’s no anger in it, no blame. He wipes the tears from his face and Matt thinks he’s wrong. Because if Karl was counting on the price Matt’s paid for him to guarantee he wasn’t intending to kill him, then he also knows he’s not legally a slave at all and he could just walk out. Walk away from his collar and be a free man.
“Go take a shower and change into something pretty,” Matt says, and as horrified as he is with what he’s done, the payoff is there, so close he can taste it this time and hope blooms sweet and dangerous in his belly.