And yet, here John Watson was. Sat in a private booth, shifting awkwardly on his seat, feeling so very uncomfortable. Whereas the man in the smart suit lounging beside him lit his second Cubin cigar and smiled, patting his knee.
"Relax, Doctor. Trust me, you enjoy tonight." says Edmund in a thick Western European accent.
It was a rather unlikely 'friendship' if you could call it that. At least Edmund certainly liked to.
After inheriting a rather hefty fortune from a long-lost deceased uncle, John had surprisingly decided against the sensible decision of saving or investing the cash and - for once - decided to do something impulsive and blow most of it on travelling the contenent.
While laying on a beach in Cyrprus, he'd found himself eventually saving a teenage boy from drowning and performing CPR that stopped him from dying there.
At least he had proven he still could save some lives, even if he did fail the ones meant the world to him.
As it turned out, the kid who he saved was the son of the man sat beside him - Edmund Douglaas - who was overwhelmed with gratitude towards John. And, as John had recently started to discover, was as crooked as an Italian gangster.
It had only been an offer to take the doctor out 'to some of the finest places in Antalya'. John had expected nothing more than a crawl around some of the finest wine bars or restaurants.
Not to end up sat in what he'd initially thought was a strip club...and now..it was clearly anything but.
He took another swig of his drink and flashed Edmund a smile to make him think he was enjoying himself. And not feeling sick every time another poor boy or girl, doped to the gills or simply dead inside, was dragged out onto the stage.
If only Lestrade was nearby. If only there was anything he could do to stop this...but he knew one men against them was helpless.
His bruises are coated in a fine makeup, one that by the time they caress his skin and rub it off, they'll have made their own mark on him. It won't matter.
The drugs in his system make it a semi-comfortable haze, the people distant and wavy.
He sways, slowly walking out. Pink tongue over pale lips.
Hope it's a nice one.
"Oh look at this fine specimen," the man says. "And for sale, too - for just a price you can have him all to yourself."
Oh. Wonderful. Master doesn't want him anymore. Well. Maybe it's not that.
He shouldn't take it so personal. Maybe Master - like all the rest. Wants to make money.
He does a small spin on his toes, staring at someplace despite the brightness of the lights.
He kneels and arches back, offering for the taking. Ignoring the discomfort. He is used to this isn't he? Likes it. Likes pain. Likes showing off.
At first he thinks it's nothing more than a horrifying coincidence. It's barely recognisable at first. Hair so much longer, past your shoulders now, matted with sweat and god knows what else.
It's like God is trying to torture him for setting foot in a place like this. He hadn't known...
"We skip this one, shall we Doctor?" Edmund chides; "You only like the girls, yes?"
He doesn't reply at first, just bites down on his lips as he watches you.
And he's sees...
No.
Those eyes.
Blue-green, once so brilliant. Now. Half-dead.
But how can it be you? How can it possibly be you in this lifetime? He stares intently at your face, his nose almost pressed up to the glass. The others might just think that he's a horny pervert.
Edmund chuckles; "Oh! You like this one? I buy if you want. No money too much for my boy's hero."
A slap on John's shoulder blades wake him up from his shocked gaze.
Yes. Yes, he needs to get you out of here.
He nods vigerously. With all these psycopaths around, there's no way he can get you out of here just on his own. He's not Liam Neeson in that film. He doesn't even have his gun on him.
He writhes, twisting, licking his lips, his fingers, sliding it up his half-hard length.
This is his only existence anymore. His only purpose.
He doesn't really see outside the glass. He just can feel the lustful eyes on him, and he plays to the crowd like an instrument, pretending it's musical, arching his neck back, bowing nearly flat to the ground, arse in the air - then snapping back up continuing to dance his way across the cage. Stage. Whatever it is.
Even though, deep down - it's the cacophony of Hell.
He squirms as you present yourself up close like that. There are holes cut into your costume for the buyer to examine the 'key features' of what they're purchising.
Despite the make-up, John can see the tell-tale marks of what you've been through.
And something tells him he's only scratched the surface.
"Please...just, please get him for me." He begs Edmund, almost the point of getting onto his knees; "I'll do anything you want in return. Anything."
Edmund smirks, wryly; "My, my, you are eager, Doctor. Don't you worry now."
He presses the button.
"Six thousand!" The man bids, stubbing out his cigar.
John is practically pressed against the glass too now, hands on the surface as he looks as closely as you as he can. He doesn't know the glass is only one way and tinted on your side so you have to be fair to all the bidders around you. But he still tries mouthing your name in hope for something.
Even though, by your eyes, you don't look at all...you. Not at all.
The voice in the tanoy pipes up;
"Six thousand! What a generous offer. Will anyone match that? Going once...going twice..."
[[ooc: LOL, Sorry. Having to do lots of overtime this week to make up for being ill yesterday. :-/ They hate people being sick.]]
[[ooc: that's a bit mean, in my opinion - I've done retail (I suppose that's what we call it over here) and although I've not had that done, I've had bosses that made me want to strangle things - last job for example, so I can relate? In a way.]]
"Ten thousand!" shouts another voice.
He's thrumming, shaking a little - most of them think it's part of the act as shaking fingers trail down his back and chest.
Yes, please. Highest price, always the highest price. He squirms in almost a pleading guesture.
"Such a slut," remarks someone. "Reckon he'll earn his keep as a rental to anyone who buys that." It's one of the bidders who have bowed out - rather willing to take the girls - but. Bin's caught his eye, even if he can't affort it.
He bends and bows in movements that befit a contortionist. Flexible.
Will do anything you want, anything at all.
Pleading eyes stare out into the glass, at the buyers he can't see.
[[ooc: Yeah we call it retail too. Or 'sales'. I only have six hours to make up for but because it was a weekend day my boss has argued that I'll need extra time to make up for the commission. Ugh.]]
Edmund rubs at his forehead; "Oooh, to match ten thousand. That is 'stretching the bank' as you say."
John doesn't bother to correct the saying.
"Please...Like I said, I'll do anything to pay you back." He's desperate now, shivering all over; "Whether it's money or anything else. Just please make sure I get him."
"Do not be obsurd! There is no price a father can put on how much his son's life is worth." The man presses the button again; "Fifteen thousand!"
When he hears the mutterings about you, his fist clenches as white hot fury rages inside of him, threatening to spill.
No. He needs to keep himself restrained.
Edmund pats his shoulder; "I pay, you enjoy. And maybe, in future, I need eh...'favour doing', I come to you, yes?"
John nods vigerously; "Yes. Of course. Anything. You need someone's life saved or...Or something else, I used to be a soldier as well, anything you need and I'll do it."
[[ooc: I'm in the process of going to school for audio technology (offers opportunities in production, etc), hope I break into the industry. Commission in retail/sales is a bit less common among "big box" stores than the specialty shops, here anyway.]]
Hands trail down his body again and he twitches his hips, neck arching back, kneeling to the ground.
Picture that on top of you.
The others have had to be prodded or just stand there forlorn.
Not him. He's a veteran - knows how the Master's like to break him in that first night.
He sucks on his fingers, trying to draw moisture for his dry mouth, indicating his talents.
Maybe they'll let him rest after his "show". It's foolish to hope.
[[ooc: It's pretty poor comission at that. Like say I sell a £1000 macbook, I only make about £3 of that. :-/ ]]
John is practically chewing on his fingertips now.
"Fifteen thousand? Going once...Going twice...SOLD!" The tanoy lets out an obnoxious bleating sound; "For fifteen thousand to booth 5. Please go to the foyeer to collect your purchase."
He feels as if his heart is going to explode with relief. He kisses Edmund's hand, tearing up with gratitude.
Edmund chuckles and gives him the ticket he needs to collect his 'gift'.
He's guided out of the cage, sighing in relief. Chains are clamped on his wrists, lest he try to escape.
He wouldn't now. Escape? Escape to what? The cold and the dark?
At least, in Master's home he was fed (most of the time), his every need was met. It was ungrateful and bad to run off.
And besides, thanks to the collar that his new buyer is going to clamp around his neck, you'll be able to track him, just for yourself. This is his life now, after all.
He passes the next one up for sale (for the night, this time). Ungrateful little shit isn't even going to try and sell itself.
This is all he's known, isn't it? That's easier to believe.
The boy's demeanor is different now, a collar around his once bare throat, and he keeps his gaze mostly directed at shoes or legs.
Meek. He isn't a threat.
Show too much pride and defiance and First Night hurts.
He swallows, unable to help the nervous bubble that rises in his chest, adam's apple bobbing against the collar.
He's still in his costume, too tight with it's leather straps.
He trembles with anticipation as he's shuffled forward and handed over to his new Master who will use him and plug him until he is a husk, and then he'll be carted off again.
The man's shoes aren't Italian leather. He shudders at the thought of withdrawl again.
Deplorable.
And yet, here John Watson was. Sat in a private booth, shifting awkwardly on his seat, feeling so very uncomfortable. Whereas the man in the smart suit lounging beside him lit his second Cubin cigar and smiled, patting his knee.
"Relax, Doctor. Trust me, you enjoy tonight." says Edmund in a thick Western European accent.
It was a rather unlikely 'friendship' if you could call it that. At least Edmund certainly liked to.
After inheriting a rather hefty fortune from a long-lost deceased uncle, John had surprisingly decided against the sensible decision of saving or investing the cash and - for once - decided to do something impulsive and blow most of it on travelling the contenent.
While laying on a beach in Cyrprus, he'd found himself eventually saving a teenage boy from drowning and performing CPR that stopped him from dying there.
At least he had proven he still could save some lives, even if he did fail the ones meant the world to him.
As it turned out, the kid who he saved was the son of the man sat beside him - Edmund Douglaas - who was overwhelmed with gratitude towards John. And, as John had recently started to discover, was as crooked as an Italian gangster.
It had only been an offer to take the doctor out 'to some of the finest places in Antalya'. John had expected nothing more than a crawl around some of the finest wine bars or restaurants.
Not to end up sat in what he'd initially thought was a strip club...and now..it was clearly anything but.
He took another swig of his drink and flashed Edmund a smile to make him think he was enjoying himself. And not feeling sick every time another poor boy or girl, doped to the gills or simply dead inside, was dragged out onto the stage.
If only Lestrade was nearby. If only there was anything he could do to stop this...but he knew one men against them was helpless.
A new boy is walked out. Rather tall this one.
Wait...
Reply
The drugs in his system make it a semi-comfortable haze, the people distant and wavy.
He sways, slowly walking out.
Pink tongue over pale lips.
Hope it's a nice one.
"Oh look at this fine specimen," the man says. "And for sale, too - for just a price you can have him all to yourself."
Oh. Wonderful.
Master doesn't want him anymore. Well. Maybe it's not that.
He shouldn't take it so personal.
Maybe Master - like all the rest. Wants to make money.
He does a small spin on his toes, staring at someplace despite the brightness of the lights.
He kneels and arches back, offering for the taking. Ignoring the discomfort. He is used to this isn't he? Likes it. Likes pain. Likes showing off.
"Oh, look at this beauty, shall we start?"
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It's like God is trying to torture him for setting foot in a place like this. He hadn't known...
"We skip this one, shall we Doctor?" Edmund chides; "You only like the girls, yes?"
He doesn't reply at first, just bites down on his lips as he watches you.
And he's sees...
No.
Those eyes.
Blue-green, once so brilliant. Now. Half-dead.
But how can it be you? How can it possibly be you in this lifetime? He stares intently at your face, his nose almost pressed up to the glass. The others might just think that he's a horny pervert.
Edmund chuckles; "Oh! You like this one? I buy if you want. No money too much for my boy's hero."
A slap on John's shoulder blades wake him up from his shocked gaze.
Yes. Yes, he needs to get you out of here.
He nods vigerously. With all these psycopaths around, there's no way he can get you out of here just on his own. He's not Liam Neeson in that film. He doesn't even have his gun on him.
But he's not leaving you here...Sherlock.
Edmund presses the button; "500!"
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This is his only existence anymore. His only purpose.
He doesn't really see outside the glass. He just can feel the lustful eyes on him, and he plays to the crowd like an instrument, pretending it's musical, arching his neck back, bowing nearly flat to the ground, arse in the air - then snapping back up continuing to dance his way across the cage. Stage. Whatever it is.
Even though, deep down - it's the cacophony of Hell.
"One thousand," someone shouts across the cage.
Yes. Buy me.
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Has to...pretend. JUst until this is over.
He slams down on the button.
"Two thousand!" He cries and then looks to the bewildered Edmund; "I...I'm sorry, I will pay you back."
Edmund chuckles; "Nonsense, dear Doctor. It is all on me!"
He bites his lip, watching you. Oh, Sherlock...
[[ooc: Night night. Need an early night, got a busy week ahead. :( x ]]
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Please, I'll be anything for you. Anything you want.
He moans lewdly, offering his arse to the glass. Smirking to himself as the hands can't touch him and want to.
Please. Please hurry.
He's used to being traded about at the club. This, with only a plug for him, it's - it's not enough.
It's the only time anyone wants to touch him. He wants that. Yes.
That's what he wants.
[[ooc: you torture me, lol. sleep well :) I'll not be here much tomorrow - Tuesday is busy day.]]
Reply
Despite the make-up, John can see the tell-tale marks of what you've been through.
And something tells him he's only scratched the surface.
"Please...just, please get him for me." He begs Edmund, almost the point of getting onto his knees; "I'll do anything you want in return. Anything."
Edmund smirks, wryly; "My, my, you are eager, Doctor. Don't you worry now."
He presses the button.
"Six thousand!" The man bids, stubbing out his cigar.
John is practically pressed against the glass too now, hands on the surface as he looks as closely as you as he can. He doesn't know the glass is only one way and tinted on your side so you have to be fair to all the bidders around you. But he still tries mouthing your name in hope for something.
Even though, by your eyes, you don't look at all...you. Not at all.
The voice in the tanoy pipes up;
"Six thousand! What a generous offer. Will anyone match that? Going once...going twice..."
[[ooc: LOL, Sorry. Having to do lots of overtime this week to make up for being ill yesterday. :-/ They hate people being sick.]]
Reply
"Ten thousand!" shouts another voice.
He's thrumming, shaking a little - most of them think it's part of the act as shaking fingers trail down his back and chest.
Yes, please. Highest price, always the highest price. He squirms in almost a pleading guesture.
"Such a slut," remarks someone. "Reckon he'll earn his keep as a rental to anyone who buys that." It's one of the bidders who have bowed out - rather willing to take the girls - but. Bin's caught his eye, even if he can't affort it.
He bends and bows in movements that befit a contortionist. Flexible.
Will do anything you want, anything at all.
Pleading eyes stare out into the glass, at the buyers he can't see.
Please buy me. Use me.
Reply
Edmund rubs at his forehead; "Oooh, to match ten thousand. That is 'stretching the bank' as you say."
John doesn't bother to correct the saying.
"Please...Like I said, I'll do anything to pay you back." He's desperate now, shivering all over; "Whether it's money or anything else. Just please make sure I get him."
"Do not be obsurd! There is no price a father can put on how much his son's life is worth." The man presses the button again; "Fifteen thousand!"
When he hears the mutterings about you, his fist clenches as white hot fury rages inside of him, threatening to spill.
No. He needs to keep himself restrained.
Edmund pats his shoulder; "I pay, you enjoy. And maybe, in future, I need eh...'favour doing', I come to you, yes?"
John nods vigerously; "Yes. Of course. Anything. You need someone's life saved or...Or something else, I used to be a soldier as well, anything you need and I'll do it."
Yes. He would sell his very soul for you.
I'll always come for you.
Reply
Hands trail down his body again and he twitches his hips, neck arching back, kneeling to the ground.
Picture that on top of you.
The others have had to be prodded or just stand there forlorn.
Not him.
He's a veteran - knows how the Master's like to break him in that first night.
He sucks on his fingers, trying to draw moisture for his dry mouth, indicating his talents.
Maybe they'll let him rest after his "show". It's foolish to hope.
Reply
John is practically chewing on his fingertips now.
"Fifteen thousand? Going once...Going twice...SOLD!" The tanoy lets out an obnoxious bleating sound; "For fifteen thousand to booth 5. Please go to the foyeer to collect your purchase."
He feels as if his heart is going to explode with relief. He kisses Edmund's hand, tearing up with gratitude.
Edmund chuckles and gives him the ticket he needs to collect his 'gift'.
Reply
He wouldn't now. Escape? Escape to what? The cold and the dark?
At least, in Master's home he was fed (most of the time), his every need was met. It was ungrateful and bad to run off.
And besides, thanks to the collar that his new buyer is going to clamp around his neck, you'll be able to track him, just for yourself. This is his life now, after all.
He passes the next one up for sale (for the night, this time). Ungrateful little shit isn't even going to try and sell itself.
This is all he's known, isn't it?
That's easier to believe.
[[ooc: less than 3% commission is awful.]]
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John feels sick just standing here.
Even if his intentions are different.
"Number 3!" A voice calls out.
John races to the front; "That's me!"
He hands over the ticket. The doorman gives the humbly dressed man a dubious look before nodding. The door is opened and his prize brought out.
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Meek.
He isn't a threat.
Show too much pride and defiance and First Night hurts.
He swallows, unable to help the nervous bubble that rises in his chest, adam's apple bobbing against the collar.
He's still in his costume, too tight with it's leather straps.
He trembles with anticipation as he's shuffled forward and handed over to his new Master who will use him and plug him until he is a husk, and then he'll be carted off again.
The man's shoes aren't Italian leather.
He shudders at the thought of withdrawl again.
He hated being sold then.
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But all he can do is take your hand and tilt your chin up to meet his eyes.
"...hello." he says with a ghost of a smile. Something to give you hope.
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"He-h'lo," is the soft tone. Barely above a whisper, really. His new Master is shorter than he is but - he is alright at lifting if need be.
His head bends and he kisses his Master's neck. Touching his tongue to just the right bundle of nerves near the earlobe. "Thank..you. For buying me."
His body presses against yours, testing just where his lines are.
His past two Masters had loved that.
The one before had beaten him for it.
Hopefully you'll - feed him.
Won't sell him when he does withdraw.
At least it's not cocaine - he'll take anything you give him.
In fact he takes anything anyone will give him.
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