Fic: Irae Dies (2/?)
Title: Diversus (chapter 2/?)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine, no profit is being made from this.
Warnings:Slavery, mentions of dub-con/non-con. Possible squicking with slight disfigurement. Oh, and some slash, too. :) (Hightlight to read warnings)
AN: Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to read this and review it. I`m so excited to see where this story takes Blaine and Kurt and I hope you are too! On with the tales!
Blaine tried to maintain a smile as they walked from D Sector to the center of the compound where his parents would pay for, and he would receive, his slave. They would get the boy's paper work at the center desk, and then Blaine would know where the boy came from, how old he was, what his name used to be. Well, at least he would know what the paper said. It was common knowledge that the history of the slaves was often fudged, or even faked entirely to cover up the true fashion in which the slave was procured. When the Alliance had come into being, the world was still divided into countries, and Russia was its starting point. There it was easy to find lonely singles that had no attachments to anyone else what so ever. They were abducted and sold on the black market, quietly, so as not to arouse too much suspicion. But at the same time, the government of many countries was just beginning to crumble. The revolution in Egypt of 2011 began a worldwide revolt against organized governments. Eventually the entire economy shifted to a global one, borders were re-drawn and a world government ruled.
When the new government took over, somehow the Alliance had made friendly with some top guns and wedged its way in. Now the chairman of the Alliance held a seat at the right hand of the world's president and as such, the Alliance always got what they wanted. So if a few good people went missing, if a few records were changed or shredded entirely, the president and his underlings tended to look the other way. It wasn't perfect by any means, nor, for some countries, was it better than before. In fact, for what had once been North America, things were much, much worse. But Blaine had been born into this world, he knew nothing of the world in which his parents had tried to find a home and build a foundation on which to raise a family. All he knew was a world where slavery was once again legal, and his bank account was held with GBW: Global Banks of the World.
The halls of the compound soon changed from a glazed cement to marble. The center of the compound, entirely made of ridiculously expensive stone, was chilling in size and temperature. Blaine pulled his arms around his waist to retain some heat and sped up his stride, wanting to leave the imposing building as soon as possible. He liked the center even less than he had liked D Sector. The light shone in through a high opening in the ceiling, but with the room being so large, all of the heat rose to the top and was far out of Blaine's grasp. Now he understood why all of the compound staff wore coats. His father strode purposefully to the desk. "I'm here to pay for Blaine Anderson's purchase."
Surprisingly, to Blaine, the woman at the desk was the first seemingly friendly face he had seen within the compound. She nodded and turned, and miraculously, Harold was behind her. Either there was a short cut, or he walked alarmingly fast because Blaine had neither seen nor heard Harold while the family had traversed to the center. Harold gave her the receipt slip and winked at Blaine, who had to mentally will himself not to shudder. His father held out his wrist and lady swiped a large black wand over it. The wand beeped once and flashed a green light before she nodded. "Good to go," she said to Harold, "Bring it out."
There was a door on the far end of the room and Blaine instinctively turned to watch it. It opened shortly after her announcement, regardless of the fact that neither the woman, nor Harold had moved. Did these people just sit at doors, eavesdropping until they heard their cue to come out? The boy from the cell was pushed out, unsteady and nervous on his feet. There was now a thick black leather collar around his neck, which was attached to a shining, sterling silver chain. A tag hung off of the front of the collar. The boy's eyes were wide with fear and what was quite possibly hatred - Blaine had never seen a slave with any emotion in their expression, let alone something as passionate as hate. His heart fluttered at the thought that perhaps this young man was not a lost cause. The woman bringing him out had to push and force him forward so that he tripped over his own feet, struggling against his shut mouth to voice his anger. Strangled moans and grunts emanated from his throat and were echoed by the large room. The patter of his bare feet on the cold floor rang in Blaine's ears. When the boy was close enough, Blaine could see that he was, expectedly, covered in goose bumps.
The boy stumbled forward so that he was only a foot or so away from Blaine, close enough that their breath was mingling. The woman handed the chain leash to Blaine, who took it with shaking hands, though he tried to hide it. His father took the handbook from Harold and handed it to Blaine. "Your mother and I know all of this, of course, and I'm sure you've picked some of it up around the house. But having your own is different. I want you to have this read by tonight, okay? We should avoid any slip ups in procedure." Blaine nodded and gripped the book so hard, his knuckles whitened. He turned to follow his father out of the compound and felt a slight tug on the end of the leash, but when he turned to look, the boy was hastening to follow along, arms tied awkwardly behind his back.
The drive home was long and winding. The new slave sat in the trunk, as all of the other slaves had before him. There was an old quilt back there, and his hands had been untied and re-tied in front of the boy's torso ("We're not barbarians," Blaine's father had said while fixing the knot.) to offer him some sense of comfort, curled in the trunk of the van and bouncing hard with every pot hole that the vehicle hit. The boy didn't make any noise while they were traveling, and Blaine's younger sister ended up falling asleep. Alone in the back seat of the car, Blaine turned to the Slave Owner's Guide, being one of the few people who does not get sick while reading in the car.
His attention waned, however after page 3 or so of the directives given by the author. The Alliance had written the book at least 20 years ago, and some of it was absolutely irrelevant to the current situation. They had so much money, Blaine thought to himself, why didn't they have someone re-write this thing? He dropped the book onto his lap, leaving it open to the page he was on. He turned to look over his shoulder into the trunk. His present was curled into a tight ball, his head tucked under his arm. Blaine dropped his hand over the back of his seat and it landed lightly on the boy's hip. The slave hissed quietly but looked up obediently at the contact. There were tear tracks on his face, and Blaine could see his chin quivering. Trying to be of some comfort to the poor creature, Blaine softly traced a circle on the soft skin. The boy nodded but otherwise didn't respond. The two sat like that for a few moments until Blaine's arm began to ache from its contortion and he forced himself to turn away. He wasn't sure if the slave had kept eye contact because he wanted to, or because he had to. Picking up the book again was one of the last things Blaine wanted to do, but he did want to prepare for the arduous task ahead of him. Owning a slave was a huge responsibility.
When they arrived home, Blaine's neck ached from bending over the book for so long. But he had finished the introductory chapter and the section on owning D Sector slaves. The rest of it was superfluous knowledge that he could soak up at his own leisure - he knew the important stuff, at least. He tucked the book under his arm before getting out of the van and walking around to the back to open the trunk. His slave was still awake, his eyes wide. It seemed his wasn't sure who his owner was - slaves were not made aware of the laws of purchasing, so unless they could ask other slaves, they usually didn't understand the process. But when Blaine took a hold of his leash, he could see the realization in the boys eyes, and what was quite possibly relief. Blaine understood why - D Sector slaves were often young and beautiful, and sold to wealthy adults. The life they would have was generally one full of pain and humiliation, degrading sex and a long yearning for death. This boy was one of the lucky ones, and even if he didn't know the rules, he knew that.
He climbed out of the car, pushing his arms out to stretch. He looked as though he wanted to yawn, but then remembered that he no longer had the freedom of opening his mouth. Instead he arched his back and stood on the balls of his feet, stretching out his aching muscles. Blaine tugged gently on the leash. "I want to clean you up," he said and began walking inside the house. Before opening the door, he turned back to his parents. "Thank you again," he said stiffly. Blaine didn't want this, he hadn't asked for it, but proper etiquette dictated that he should be grateful, and so he was going to at least pretend to be. His mother nodded while his father pulled his still sleeping younger sister out of the vehicle.
"When you get inside, call Mimi, won't you? Jenine needs to be put to bed."
Blaine didn't answer, but his parents knew he would do as he was told. He led his slave upstairs after shouting out to Mimi. After directing the small boy into his room, Blaine shut the door. He walked over to the bed and patted it. "You can sit here," he told the slave. The boy came over and sat next to him while Blaine dropped the manual onto the desk. "I'm sure you'd like to have a bath," Blaine began talking to the boy, "but I bet the first thing you want to do is get that string out of your mouth."
The boy shrugged. Most of the time the only reasons D slaves could open their mouths was to perform sexual favours. He would probably rather get used to not being able to move his mouth, than be forced to provide oral sex. "Don't worry," Blaine told him, moving to his desk to get a pair of scissors. "I'm not like them." He wasn't sure who he was referencing when he said them, but he wanted his slave to know that he was different. He was his own person, uncontrolled by society. The boy stared nervously at the scissors as they came to his face, but when Blaine snipped open the first stitch, it was as though the slave leaned in, eager to be free - if only in the most meagre sense of the term. Blaine carefully cut each section of thread until he got to the other end of the boy's mouth. He was afraid he might cut the kid's lips in the process and he had already been put through enough pain for one day. After letting the boy experimentally open and close his mouth a few times, Blaine snipped off the dangling threads.
Even with his potential vocal freedom, the boy hadn't said anything. Blaine threw the pieces of thread into the garbage can and dropped the scissors on his desk. "Do you want to take a shower?" he asked. The boy nodded and stood so Blaine could remove the leash attached to his collar. The collar however was not legally allowed to be taken off. Ever. The other slaves of the house slept in their own wing, and had their own bathroom. But Blaine had discussed things with his father, and it had been arranged that Blaine's slave would stay with him. D slaves were a different breed of their own, and as such, families had different standards for them. Blaine led his slave into his bathroom and turned on the shower. "That way is hot," he said, illustrating by turning the handle, "and that way is cold. I'll bring you a towel, and you only use that soap." Kind as he was, Blaine would never share soap with a slave. The boy nodded and climbed into the shower. "Don't be too long," Blaine directed as he turned to leave the bathroom, not bothering to close the door.
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