Get Your Money's Worth
Title: Get Your Money's Worth
Author: jaune_chat
Fandom: Heroes
Characters/Pairings: Luke/Lyle, Sylar, Claire, West
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 9,739
Spoilers: Vague S3 for characters
Warnings: Slash (one boy is 16), slave!fic AU, language
Disclaimer: Heroes belongs to Tim Kring, NBC et al.
A/N: Written as a pinch-hit for takhallus for the Summer 2010 Heroes Fic Exchange. Thanks to a_cook1 for betaing!
Summary: A slave named Lyle is bought for a college student named Luke, who didn’t want him in the first place. And if he can’t be what his master wants, how can he get what he needs?
Lyle tried to wait quietly as the two buyers came closer to his room. He had a good feeling about them, even if they looked a little intimidating. The taller of the two, dark-haired and with aggressive features, walked with easy confidence, assessing each slave they passed with an expert eye. His clothes were rich and well-tailored, showing he had wealth as well as taste. This was the kind of buyer Lyle had been hoping to attract.
As they drew closer, Lyle squared his shoulders and stood straight, eyes downcast respectfully as the buyer paused in front of him. He’d watched the man pass by the females of the Training House with almost no second glance, despite the longing glances of his younger companion, so Lyle was praying the man was looking for a male slave.
The dark-haired man turned Lyle’s neck to the side to get a closer look at his tattoos. All slaves had them, on the neck, chest, and on the non-dominant hand, marks that showed their name, ID number, birth date, and any significant training or warnings. The microchip at the back of his neck held the information in more detail, but the tattoos were easier to examine for a casual viewer.
Lyle had worked his ass off to get the merit marks that he had, and he prayed all the hard work had been worth it. Getting a paid contract to a single owner could shorten his debt to society by two thirds or even more, meaning he stood a chance of being able to see his family again.
The man ran his thumb over each mark, the book that showed Lyle had completed his secondary education already, the stylized circuitry that meant he was computer-literate, the dollar sign that meant he was gifted with numbers and money. Finance wasn’t exactly the most exciting thing in the world, but Lyle knew from letters that his dad worked as an account manager for a paper company. The same gift of math must have been passed down to Lyle, because he found that kind of thing easy. It made him more marketable, so Lyle had managed to fit the necessary classes into his day.
The last two marks were a bit unusual, but in Lyle’s mind, absolutely necessary. One had the crossed fists that showed he was trained in self-defense. Some Specials without combative powers liked a slave that could defend them, and those who had combative powers sometimes liked a slave that they didn’t have to worry about rescuing. The bruises and pain from tae kwan do training had raised his value another notch. The final one was the crimson red hollow outline of a heart, showing he’d been well-trained in the sexual arts. If the heart had been solid, it would mean he had experience, but Lyle hadn’t been ready to take that step. Just knowing he’d been trained would be enough for him to command a higher price, if he could entice the right buyer.
The man raised his eyebrow at Lyle’s unusual collection of marks, and pushed his collar down a bit, hunting for any warning marks. He wouldn’t find any; no scourge that showed he had needed physical discipline, no handcuffs that mean he needed to be restrained to keep from running off, no outline of a brain showing he’d been mentally modified.
The thought of the last made Lyle shiver. Slaves entered training at six, and if they put their heads down and learned, they could make themselves very marketable, get their contracts bought, and be out by the time they were in their late twenties. If they didn’t apply themselves, or if they fought, worse could happen. Ron hated school so much he’d been put to work at fifteen as a laborer: he’d be at that job thirty years or more, and might well die before his term of service was up. Diane had rebelled so often eventually they’d brought in a telepath to break her. Now anyone that knew the right passwords could turn her into a living doll, a slave in mind as well as by society.
But if you worked the system, you could end up very well off. One of his teachers, Nathan, was Lyle’s example. He’d worked hard to become a lawyer, an excellent one, and still had the scales of justice as one of his marks. There were telepathic courts, of course, but the wait for those was so long that people still preferred to hire a lawyer when they could. Nathan had combined those skills with marketing his sexual prowess (“cross-marketing,” he called it), and had bought himself free at twenty-six.
Now the heart on his neck was crossed out, and instead he bore a horse. Not the horsehead that showed he knew how to ride, but the full horse outline that meant he was a stud. No longer did he perform any allowed act for money, but instead was very well-paid for his genetics. He had a recessive gene for abilities, and had already successfully bred three Special children. Nathan lived as well as a Special, and had more money than any human Lyle had ever known.
Lyle only hoped he could do half as well. If he didn’t get his contract bought, he’d be doing piecemeal jobs for twenty years or more, a public servant at any number of institutions.
The man finally finished his inspection and took his hand away, pointing a scanner at Lyle to read the detailed version of his sixteen years of life. His younger companion, close to Lyle’s age and far less dramatic in looks, with a round face and red-brown hair, seemed very bored with the whole affair. His clothes were fashionable, but were worn with a careless air that made him look disheveled.
“Seriously, bro, you don’t have to do this.”
“Luke, you’re going to Georgetown in the fall. You’re selected for Research and Development. You can’t not have a slave along; you’d be the only one without,” the older man said in a tone that booked no opposition.
“I don’t need someone to carry my books and wipe my ass for me, Sylar,” Luke said testily.
“You’re going to be learning more in the next five years than you have in the rest of your life. It’s going to be brutal. You aren’t going to have time to breathe, let alone wipe your ass,” Sylar shot back. “You have to study, and you can’t fall behind. Let…” he double-checked Lyle’s name, “Lyle take care of the incidentals for you. That’s what he’d be there for.”
“You expect me to fuck him too?” Luke asked, glancing up at Lyle briefly, flushing a bit, and then nailing his eyes back on the floor.
“If it’ll keep your mind on work, yes. Don’t take a chance with someone on campus. You could end up with your dick frozen off or your mind turned to mush,” Sylar said, looking especially dour. Luke winced visibly, and Lyle winced inside in sympathy.
Humans worked for their place in the world through years of service before buying themselves free. Specials had far more privileges, but they never left service. If they didn’t manage to succeed at their chosen job, bad things could happen, which mean they were under a lot of stress to get things right the first time. And of course they had their abilities to consider too. If a Special got drunk and tried to get fresh, he or she was liable to have an ability used on them. The results could be anywhere from humiliating to fatal. That was why Lyle had gone through sexual training: it made him a safe alternative that didn’t get to say no. And it raised his price.
Lyle dared a glance at his potential new owner, assessing him more carefully. He had had a much softer life than Lyle, but anyone going into Research and Development had to know exactly what he wanted. The scientists in that division were responsible for a lot of important discoveries. Luke could end up pretty famous, if he got involved in the right experiments. That could end up being really good for Lyle, if he could capture Luke’s attention…
“We’ve been looking at slaves all day, though. What makes him special?” Luke asked, a whine audible in his voice.
“He’s close to your age, he’s ready for college, and he can handle money, which you certainly can’t do. He can defend himself and provide an outlet for you too,” Sylar said, ticking off all of Lyle’s good points.
“Why can’t we get a girl?” Luke pleaded. “A girl could do all that, too.”
“Because you’d forget a condom or forget to allow her to get her birth-control shots and then she’d end up pregnant, and you’d lose her service,” Sylar said scathingly. “Girls take more responsibility than you have. Luke, he’s pretty, he’s trained, and he has everything else we were looking for.”
“Yeah, sure, except for a pussy.”
Sylar glared down at Luke and raised his hand to signal the House manager.
“We’ll take this one.”
Lyle felt his heart leap into this throat even as Luke glared at him with hatred.
----
“And sign here please, Mr. Gray.” Sylar signed where Simone, the House manager, indicated, and passed over his account card to pay. Luke had flung himself into one of the chairs farthest from the desk and was scowling at the floor. Lyle swallowed uncertainly and tried to look politely interested as his life was sold away.
“Luke, you have to sign,” Sylar said, turning to glare at his younger brother. “I’m paying for him, but you’ll be listed as his owner.”
“I don’t fucking want him!” Luke groused.
“Stop being a damn brat and sign. I told you I’d get you something special for your eighteenth birthday-.”
“I didn’t want a slave of my own in the first place, and I didn’t want a maid, and I didn’t want a piece of convenient ass, and I didn’t want a guy, and look what the hell you’re buying!” Luke said loudly.
Lyle felt his gut twist and tried to keep his face neutral. He’d hoped that his buyer would want him, that all the training he’d gone through would have attracted someone who appreciated all the hard work Lyle had done to get his body and mind prepared for service. He hadn’t ever thought that he’d be foisted off on a reluctant owner as an unwanted gift.
“Luke, take it out on me if you want, but Lyle is standing here ready to do your bidding, so you could be a little more polite to him, at least,” Sylar said, teeth gritted.
Luke didn’t look very mollified, but his expression softened just a bit when he looked at Lyle, which gave him a shred of hope.
“And how is Lyle going to enter service with you?” Simone asked, politely ignoring the byplay in favor of finishing the sale.
Lyle held his breath as Luke turned to consider him. How he was designated determined his duties and his price, and therefore his term of service. A Domestic did cooking and cleaning, a Companion entertained intellectually, socially, or romantically depending on what the owner wanted, True Slaves, or Trues, entered into deep sexual submission to their owners, while Partners worked alongside their owners in their place of business. There were other designations, but one of those four, alone or in combination, would probably be Lyle’s lot.
“Domestic,” Luke said dismissively, and Lyle tried to quell the surge of disappointment. Fifteen years, at that rate, if Luke decided to keep him that long. All that work almost for nothing.
“Lyle is very well trained in many different fields. He can handle Companion duties with ease. Perhaps Domestic Companion would get your money’s worth?” Simone suggested delicately. Lyle silently blessed her for fighting for him. She’d known him since he’d come to the training center when he was six years old. Domestic Companion could cut his term down to ten years. Well-worth the hard work…
“He’ll enter in as Variable,” Sylar interrupted, as Luke shot him a glare. Simone stifled a gasp and Lyle felt faint. A Variable was just that, someone who could be called upon to render any service for their master. A designation like that was incredibly expensive. As a Variable, Lyle could finish his term in five years. He could be finished at twenty-one! If, of course, he could survive those years. Variables earned every penny twice over, was how the saying went. It was the closest that service came to old-style slavery.
“Variable? You’re shitting me,” Luke said, eyes widening in the first show of genuine interest Lyle had seen from him.
“If that’s what it takes. You take Lyle, I’ll pay for him as a Variable.”
“Fucking A!” Luke said, jumping up to sign Lyle’s papers.
----
Simone showed up to help Lyle pack his few belongings, handing him a slim folder for him to peruse before he joined his new owner. She gave him a compassionate glance and let him sit down to read it in peace. He was going to need every scrap of information he could get. If he’d gone into defined service, as a Companion or Partner or even a True, there were strict limits and rules that would have defined his duties and rights. Now he was entering uncharted territory, and he had no idea what to expect next. Hands shaking slightly, his eyes burned as he desperately tried to memorize what was on the page.
Because for the next five years, Luke was going to be the center of Lyle’s world.
---
His new owner hadn’t said a word to him the entire ride home, instead spending the time exchanging barbed comments with his brother. Lyle had just quietly endured, keeping his attention on Luke the whole time. But when they arrived, Lyle felt his eyes widening when he saw the size of the house they pulled up to… and the elaborate security measures that protected it: high walls, razor wire, security cameras, retinal and thumbprint scanners on the gates, the works.
Sylar seemed to sense Lyle’s unease, and turned in his seat to smile slightly wolfishly at his brother’s new slave.
“My father and I work as Reapers for DOSC. You’ll be safe in here,” he said, flashing gleaming white teeth at Lyle before driving through the open gates.
Lyle could feel blood draining from his face. The file on Luke hadn’t mentioned that crucial detail. The people who worked for the Department of Special Corrections were feared by everyone, human and Special alike. Reapers were feared above all. “Power-thieves,” some called them, or “soul stealers.” When one of the elite broke the rules, Reapers made certain their powers didn’t go to waste. The loss of one’s ability was the harshest punishment imaginable, over and above death. Reaped ex-Specials immediately entered service as slaves, and the humiliation of that was enough to keep most Specials on the straight and narrow.
And when Reapers weren’t performing that rare duty, DOSC found other things for them to do, none of which made for pleasant dreams.
Lyle followed Luke out of the car in a numb daze, trailing him into the house and up to his room without really registering the layout, or exits, or even if there were other people there. The most he could do was focus on his master; that was safest. He had to learn how to anticipate Luke’s needs, to give him whatever he wanted, and to look grateful for it all. And he expected to be put through all his paces.
Once the door to his room was shut, Luke shoved Lyle back against the wall and looked at him from arm’s length. Lyle stood at attention, eyes downcast, as Luke looked him up and down, as if hoping something had changed. Lyle felt his stomach churn as he tried to hold his stomach flat and shoulders even; if he couldn’t be the girl Luke had wanted him to be, at least he could look as good as he could.
“So, you’ll do anything?” Luke asked thoughtfully.
“Yes, master,” Lyle said softly, eyes on the ground.
“Ok, one, can that ‘master’ shit. You can call me Luke.”
Lyle looked up, surprised. Luke might have been enthusiastic about having a Variable slave of his own, but Lyle hadn’t been his choice at all.
“Ok…Luke,” Lyle managed, smiling a little.
“We have Domestics and Companions around the house, and I’m fucking tired of hearing ‘master’ every third word. Dad thinks it’s fucking respectful or something.” Luke’s eyes narrowed as if he’d suddenly had a thought. “Hey, do you play Road Carnage?”
Lyle blinked, glanced over at the video game console, and nodded enthusiastically. He had never had a lot of time for video games, but the few times he had played, it was a blast.
“Let’s play. I’ve beaten the computer on every challenge rating and I want to try to two-player mode.”
Ten minutes later, Lyle was getting thrashed at Road Carnage, and thought Luke was actually warming up to the idea of having him around.
Two hours later, just when they were about to hit the final level, Sylar banged on Luke’s door and pulled him out for a heated, whispered conference in the hall. Lyle didn’t dare move closer, but once they started to get more passionate, he had no trouble eavesdropping.
“I buy you the most expensive slave contract available and you’re having him play video games with you?” Sylar was saying.
“Why the hell do you care? I can do anything with him. If I want him to play Road Carnage with me, he’ll fucking play Road Carnage. No one else will, so what the hell is wrong with him doing it?” Luke asked, sounding pissed.
“You can do anything to him,” Sylar said, stressing the word so hard it nearly broke.
“What, you expect me to just throw him on the bed and tell him to turn over and bite the pillow? Just because you do that to all the stiffs you’ve reaped-.”
There was a loud crack as Sylar struck Luke across the face. Lyle’s mouth dropped open in shock. He knew that Specials didn’t always get along, but to hear Luke getting reprimanded like a disrespectful slave shook him.
“What I do in my house with my slaves is my business,” Sylar said, his voice murderously soft.
“Yeah, and what I do with my slave is mine,” Luke said, voice a bit choked. “He’s not a damn True.”
“He can be. He’s trained for it, that’s what that heart means. Give him the word and he’ll do anything you want and love you for it. Use him, Luke. That’s what I bought him for. Use him and maybe you’ll stop mooning over Claire. She’s never going to sleep with you, never going to go out with you, never even going to give you the time of day, and just because you’re going to the same college doesn’t mean anything’s going to change.”
Lyle’s stomach jumped when he heard the name of Luke’s crush. He’d be competing against an unobtainable dream girl, something that didn’t tend to go well. Nathan had given out that warning, amongst many others, in the first day of the sexual training course. Five people had backed out from that lecture alone.
“But it might change,” Luke said, his voice small.
“It won’t. She’s on the fast track to high office, and she has Monroe as her patron. You’re going to be R&D; you don’t mix. Don’t try.” Sylar abruptly walked away, his footsteps echoing on the marble floors outside.
Lyle quickly turned back to the screen as Luke came back in, sniffling and rubbing surreptitiously at his eyes. Lyle instinctively hunched his shoulders, bracing for a blow that never fell, and pretended he hadn’t heard. Luke just sat down next to him and picked up his controller, though he didn’t press the start button.
“I’m not going to fuck you,” Luke said, after staring at the buttons for a long minute. Lyle dared a sideways glance, and saw a bruise darkening on Luke’s cheek. “I don’t fucking care what he says, I’m not fucking you.”
Lyle focused his gaze on the red heart outline on his hand and felt obscurely disappointed. Everything that Luke had him do would be recorded, at least in the general sense, and his competence evaluated. Being on contract to one person meant there would only be one record, and if that record showed gaps or absences in the duties he was asked to perform, people might wonder if there was something wrong with him.
“I-,” Lyle stopped, uncertain if he should venture an opinion, and got bolder as Luke waved him on. “I’ll do anything you want me to. I can get better at Road Carnage, if I practice, I swear.” He didn’t dare voice his full opinion openly, but he could hint.
Luke barked out a laugh that was more than half sob at Lyle’s words, and bit his lip. He turned to Lyle and grabbed Lyle’s left hand, running his thumb over the small tattoos inked on the flesh between Lyle’s thumb and index finger.
“You want a scroll to add to these?” he asked. Lyle nodded slowly. A scroll tattoo was indicative of a college education, vital for finding a job if Lyle got out as early as he hoped he would. “They run slave classes concurrently at Georgetown. Sign up for what you want, as long as you’re free when I am.”
“Thank you!” Lyle said, surprised. He hadn’t thought Luke would be willing to give him anything, after his initial reaction this afternoon.
“Always tell me the truth,” Luke added, with a glance at his closed door. “Even if you think it’s something that I don’t want to hear. Got it?” His grip on Lyle got a little bit warm, and Lyle nodded quickly.
“Got it,” he said fervently.
Luke released his hand and hit the start button.
“Let’s game.”
---
“What’re you gonna take?” Luke asked, as Lyle finished arranging Luke’s new textbooks on the bookshelf. Though Luke had said he didn’t want anyone to “wipe his ass” at college, there were things that Specials just didn’t do unless they were very poor (which was rare), eccentric, or practicing with their ability. And there were some things to which certain slaves were just more suited; plus they gave their masters an extra set of hands. Luke could arrange his things in his dorm room while Lyle took care of getting textbooks and syllabi, getting’s Luke’s schedule, mapping out his classes, and paying all his beginning-of-semester fees.
“Finance and accounting classes,” Lyle responded, quickly shelving his own books in the tiny slave quarters right off of Luke’s room.
“You actually like that stuff? What, you gonna be an accountant?” Luke asked.
“Maybe. There’s lots of places I can go with that degree…” Lyle said, and trailed off, thinking.
He was luckier by far than some of the other slaves here. Luke didn’t mind if he talked to him like he was a normal person. Other students preferred their slaves completely silent. Some liked them gagged. Lyle could walk openly, a few paces behind his master, in normal clothes. He didn’t have to wear a distinctive uniform; it was even possible for someone to mistake him for a regular student here, at least until they got close enough to see his slave tattoos. That gave him the confidence to talk to Luke almost as if he were another slave. Not that he’d ever tell him that. And while on one hand it was rather nice, it left Lyle a little off-balance sometimes, waiting for more specific orders.
“You could come work for me,” Luke offered.
“What?” That was the last offer Lyle had expected. Luke didn’t seem to mind having him around, but the most he’d been for the past few months could have been easily classified under Domestic Companion. Getting a job offer out of the blue, when Luke had barely seen what Lyle could do, threw him for a loop.
“They put me in Research and Development, you know that, right?” When Lyle nodded, Luke went on. “I’m going to be testing materials and stuff to see how tough they are. Blow shit up all day. But I got to know exactly what I’m doing with my ability and exactly how the experiment’s set up, plus there’s all this paperwork with funding and grants…”
“I can learn that, if you want me to,” Lyle offered obediently. Lyle’s “expertise” on finance mostly amounted to being good with numbers, knowing how to make a budget, and being able to balance a checkbook, but if Luke was the one letting him get his college degree, he’d go the full nine yards with it.
“Fuck, I’m gonna need everything I can just to pass these damn classes,” Luke said, looking over his list of classes for his major with a frown. He ran a hand through his hair and pulled his head down so his chin was at his chest. Lyle could see his shoulders heaving, as if breathing heavily. Like to hold back sobs.
The few months of being a full-fledged slave had awakened Lyle to the fact that no matter how hard he had to work, no matter what he might be asked to do, in many ways his lot was better than that of a Special. Slaves got a little choice in what kinds of things they were to learn, Specials didn’t. They were assigned their jobs based on their potential and their ability. And if they didn’t manage to make it… Then people like Sylar and Sampson Gray awaited them. There was no such thing as a “rogue Special.” Luke had to pass his classes.
“I’m here for anything you need,” Lyle said automatically. Luke looked up sharply and speared him with a glance of irritation, mixed with a hint of speculation.
Very few Specials actually failed at their jobs, not with the consequences for failure being so high. And according to some stories that circulated in the Training House, some of the marginal Specials succeeded in their education or jobs by burning through a succession of slaves to tend to every need and frustration. Faced with the possibility of meeting his brother in a professional capacity, Luke’s use of Lyle as a maid, bookkeeper, and games partner might suddenly turn into something very different.
---
The second week after school started, on a Friday night, Luke came home drunk, flushed, and smelling like a brewery. He was also mad as hell.
“Fucking bitch,” he announced when Lyle opened the door for him. Luke stumbled for the bed, kicking his shoes off into opposite corners and sprawling face-up on the mattress. “Fucking Claire. Thinks she’s so much fucking better than me.”
Lyle quickly straightened up the chaos Luke was leaving in his wake, putting his shoes in the closet and kneeling to grab Luke’s socks, all the while keeping an attentive ear open. Tonight Luke had gone to a popular sorority party with the hopes of meeting the girl of his dreams, Claire Bennet. But she apparently had shut him down. That didn’t bode well.
He hadn’t seen Luke this mad since the last time he’d talked to his brother, before coming to college. Living in the shadow of someone like Sylar had given Luke a huge chip on his shoulder. If he even talked to anyone else other than Lyle about, well, anything, Lyle would have been shocked. Living up, or down, to the Gray family legacy wasn’t something that made Luke very popular.
“Fucking tease,” Luke muttered, and slipped one hand down his pants. “Can’t even get drunk, fucking regenerator. Got fucking blue balls.” His hand moved inside, apparently cradling a swollen cock from an evening of lusting for a girl who wouldn’t let him touch her. Lyle swallowed in fear, but kept to his duties. Luke grew oddly silent as Lyle put things away, and Lyle looked up to see Luke staring at him like he was seeing him for the first time. Like he’d suddenly remembered he had a Variable at his beck and call, and promises made to a slave didn’t have to mean anything.
“Come ‘ere,” Luke said, waving a hand towards him. Taking a shaking breath, stomach turning to ice, Lyle went to stand at the end of the bed as Luke propped himself up. “You learn how to kiss?”
Lyle nodded again. Most of his sexual training had revolved around learning how to give or receive so neither partner got hurt, but Nathan, his teacher, had included a short segment on kissing. The first time, he’d used Lyle as an example. Lyle remembered his knees giving out on him in front of class when Nathan had reduced him to a pile of quivering need with just his lips on Lyle’s. He was nowhere near Nathan’s league, but he’d learned and learned well.
“She says I kiss like a leech. ‘s it true?” Luke slurred, and reached up to pull Lyle down. Their mouths met with a crash of teeth, Luke being too uncoordinated to slow them down. He latched onto Lyle’s lips like they were the source of life, sucking on them, nibbling, pulling with his teeth, clutching to Lyle’s neck so hard he was certain he was going to have bruises. He pulled away before Lyle would have had to gasp for air, and stared at him with dark eyes.
“Is it true?” Luke demanded, sounding slightly more sober. “And don’t fucking lie!”
Lyle worked his mouth to make certain his lips could still function. His mouth felt numb, his neck was sore, and the sour taste of beer was thick in his mouth from Luke’s tongue. Shivering all over, Lyle nodded.
“Kiss me. Show me,” Luke said, grabbing at Lyle’s shirt to haul him down into range again. For the first time, Lyle pushed back, slowing their collision so they met softly. Lyle tried to remember everything he’d learned; one hand cradled Luke’s head to guide him, while the other propped himself up on the bed. The kiss started out soft, easy, and Luke remained mostly passive, just breathing into Lyle’s mouth. Then Lyle turned up the heat, slipping his tongue along the seam of Luke’s lips, and then dipping inside when he gained entrance. Gentle sucking on Luke’s tongue elicited a muffled noise of surprise as Lyle finally pulled away.
Luke’s hand was moving fast within his jeans, and he was looking up at Lyle was slightly glazed eyes.
“What wouldja do fer me?” Luke asked, tongue still slow and tripping over the words.
“Anything,” Lyle responded, honestly.
“Would you suck me?”
Lyle swallowed and licked his lips, making them look shiny and obscene. “Yes, I would. I want to.”
Luke smiled lazily and kept up his stroking, eyes fixed on his slave. “Bet you’re good at it. Bet you can take it all. Bet you swallow and beg for more.”
“Yes-,” Lyle whispered, one hand fisting the fabric of his jeans in a fierce reminder to not rub himself, no matter how much he wanted to.
“Would you let me fuck you? Get on your knees and put your ass in the air for me? Spread yourself out and call my name when I let you come?” Luke asked more forcefully, sounding more sober by the minute.
Lyle could feel his hips starting to jerk in time to Luke’s words and bit the inside of his cheek for control. “Yes. Luke, yes, yes I would.”
Luke’s hand didn’t pause in its stroking as he glared up at Lyle in challenge. “Would you fuck me, if I told you to? Would you open me up and set me down on your dick? Would you let me ride you? Would you? Lyle, would you? Fuck, Lyle, would you?”
“Yes, please!” Lyle cried.
Luke suddenly froze as Lyle watched a spreading damp stain cover the front of his pants. Lyle swallowed hard, feeling his own cock throbbing in response, but kept himself still, holding onto control by the thinnest of margins. Training dictated that he came when his master allowed. And if Luke never gave him permission, he would just have to endure.
“Oh fuck, fuck that was good,” Luke mumbled, closing his eyes.
“Do you… want more?” Lyle asked hesitantly, desperately hinting at his own frustrated arousal.
Luke blinked a few times, seeming to come back to himself, and realized Lyle was staring at him, his hand still down his pants. Flushing, Luke pulled his hand out and tried desperately to look casual.
“No, no, fuck,” Luke muttered, kicking off his sticky pants and underwear, and then shucking the rest of his clothes as he grabbed his robe. “Uh… just put those in the laundry.”
Grabbing his toiletries, Luke turned to leave for the bathroom, and hesitated.
“Why couldn’t you be a girl?” he muttered, and finally left, leaving Lyle behind with an aching cock and a mess to clean up.
---
In the morning, Luke was nursing a hangover and apparently a case of temporary amnesia regarding jerking off in front of Lyle the night before. Which actually suited Lyle just fine, because if Luke was going to do this regularly, getting Lyle so hot and bothered and then denying him permission to release, then the next five years were going to be a living hell. Not that Lyle thought Luke had been deliberately cruel, but it had taken Lyle almost two hours to get to sleep.
By mid-morning, however, the mail had arrived, which contained a message that temporarily swept aside any lingering awkwardness.
Claire had sent Luke a note.
“She wants to meet me. She fucking wants to meet me!” Luke crowed, his hangover all but forgotten in the euphoria of receiving the tiny slip of paper in the mail.
Lyle had to dig out some of Luke’s best clothes for him, stomach in knots the entire time. If Claire was meeting Luke, what would that mean for him? What did she want? Why meet him now, when he’d been desperately trying to get her alone for weeks? Especially after she’d apparently humiliated him at the party last night.
But he couldn’t ask, and didn’t, just trailed after Luke to the student lounge at noon, where Claire was waiting in one of the best chairs, enthroned like a queen, her slave kneeling next to her in a graceful show of obedience. Unlike Luke, who’d demanded one of his brightly-colored clubbing shirts and brand-name baggy jeans, Claire was in a conservative business suit, with modest jewelry. She looked sophisticated, elegant, and completely out of Luke’s league.
Luke seemed to get it immediately, and almost stumbled in the doorway, nearly making Lyle crash into him.
“Uh… hi. Claire. Hi,” he managed, and seemed to be struggling to decide between a casual wave and a more formal handshake. Claire decided for him with a cool, impersonal nod, and waved at a chair opposite hers. Luke numbly sat down, leaving Lyle standing next to him. In absence of other orders, Lyle would stand to be able to defend his master, not that Luke had ever seemed to give it a second thought.
“Luke, I wanted to apologize for the scene at Lambda Kappa Phi last night. I thought you knew I was a regenerator,” she said pleasantly. Luke flushed red and Lyle strived to keep his eyes away from his master, remembering the incident last night with unwanted clarity.
To keep from looking at Luke, Lyle flicked his gaze over to Claire’s slave, a young woman about her age, pretty and well-groomed. He saw her name on the side of her neck, Jackie, along with the usual book and circuitry tattoos. She also had the blue-shadowed eye tattoo of someone skilled with wardrobe and cosmetics: a modern lady’s maid necessary for someone who would be attending a constant stream of meetings, gatherings, conventions, and parties full of high-powered politicos. No heart tattoo though. Claire liked to keep the appearance of complete propriety.
“Uh, yeah, no prob. My fault for not asking,” Luke mumbled, barely able to meet Claire’s eyes.
“Why don’t you ask Food Service to bring us up some refreshments? You look a little pale, and I’d like to talk to you about something when you get back,” Claire suggested with a tiny hint of a smile.
Lyle smothered a grin as Luke all but leapt up to do Claire’s bidding, not even considering delegating the task to his slave in an effort to gain Claire’s favor. He was out of the room in a trice, and Claire signaled her slave to stand.
“Jackie, keep watch for us,” Claire said, and her slave quickly went to the doorway to watch for Luke’s return.
Once she was busy, Claire dropped every vestige of aloofness and hugged Lyle hard.
“God, you look great,” she said, holding him at arm’s length to look at her brother. Despite the similarity to someone looking him over for flaws, Claire was just checking to see if he was all right. The happiness in her face made all the difference.
“You too,” Lyle said, grinning. He hadn’t seen Claire since he was six, but they had exchanged more letters and e-mails than he had with his parents. It was part of the reason that he’d pushed himself so hard in order to pay off his debt as early as possible. Claire was studying to be in high political office, and there would be no way Lyle could possibly see her ever again if he wasn’t able to get picked up by a wealthy or powerful owner.
“How is Luke treating you?” she asked.
“Fine! He’s great, I swear.”
“You sure? He’s been pretty weird at all the parties…”
“Probably just around you,” Lyle pointed out, and Claire grimaced.
“Not my type. I’m going to have to start bringing Alex around just so Luke knows that yes, I am taken. Seriously. I didn’t want to shut him down so hard, but he couldn’t take a hint,” Claire said.
“I-. I think it’s because of his family. His brother’s always gotten what he wanted, you know?” Lyle explained in Luke’s defense.
Claire got a worried expression on her face. “You need to be careful when you’re out with Luke. There’s more than one person here with family who’s been reaped by his brother, and they’re nursing a serious grudge against his whole family.”
Lyle hissed and nodded. Luke might not need the protection, but Lyle would. Thank God he’d decided to go for martial training.
“Do you like Luke?” Claire asked. “Really?”
Lyle hesitated and blushed, looking down at the floor. “Yeah.”
“Oh. Oh no,” Claire said softly, her eyes grazing over Lyle’s neck, and then she picked up Lyle’s left hand. The heart outlines there were still empty.
“He kind of treats me like a friend. We talk all the time, hang out… He doesn’t know a lot of other people.” Lyle shrugged and gestured at Claire, acknowledging that Luke’s family was a major stumbling block in getting to know the other students.
“He hasn’t-,” Claire stopped herself from asking the obvious question when the answer was there for her to see. “But you want him to.”
“Yes.” Lyle’s answer was almost on top of Claire’s question.
“Is this just training talking?” she persisted. Sexual training included some deep triggers to want to please one’s master. It wasn’t mental modification, but it was still powerful, and anyone that owned a slave with such training usually couldn’t wait to take advantage of it.
“Not all of it,” Lyle whispered. “He wants you badly. Really badly. One time, he was almost about to… do something, and then he looked at me… He wanted a girl!” The last came out in a blurt of frustration.
“Oh no,” Claire said, covering her mouth to keep from either gasping or laughing. “Oh Lyle, I’m so sorry. Look, I’m going to have Alex have a little friendly chat with him or something. He’ll get the message, I swear. Once he stops looking at me, he’ll open his eyes and see you.” Claire paused, a thoughtful expression on her face. “You know, I think the lad doth protest too much. I saw him checking out some of the guys at the party. Didn’t make any moves, but he was definitely looking.”
Lyle felt a huge wave of relief wash over him at that news. “I was afraid he didn’t…” he trailed off, not wanting to say it out loud.
“I get it,” Claire said, with a sympathetic smile. “I’ll do everything I can to help-.”
“Ma’am, he’s coming back,” Jackie warned.
Lyle stepped back into place as Jackie knelt beside Claire again.
“You have her call you ‘ma’am’?” Lyle asked, eyebrow quirked.
“Appearances,” Claire said, grimacing. “Jackie knows.”
Jackie smiled briefly, and then everyone adopted a very sober mien as Luke all but bounced back in the room, one of the college’s slaves trailing behind him with a tray of food and drink.
Claire ate and drank sparingly, deflecting every one of Luke’s tentative advances, before abruptly deciding to end the audience.
“Luke, my boyfriend Alex is coming up to see me from Florida State next week. Maybe you could show him around while I’m in class. I’d appreciate it,” she said sweetly.
Luke’s mouth worked a few times before he nodded almost reflexively.
“You should learn to appreciate what you have, instead of wanting what you can’t. That’s what my parents always say,” Claire said, rising to leave.
“Yeah? What do your parents do?” Luke asked.
“They’re slaves,” Claire said pointedly. “Freed slaves, but slaves. Appreciation is very important to them.”
With another cool nod, Claire swept out of the student lounge, leaving Luke alternately looking after her and looking back at Lyle. Lyle smiled back at his master, and felt his heart flip over as Luke’s gaze lingered on him before finally snapping back to watch the doorway.
“What the fuck was that?” Luke muttered under his breath. Now away from the mesmerizing presence of his crush, her tone of cool dismissal and the easy way she had manipulated him was suddenly penetrating Luke’s brain. “Fucking ordered me around like a damn Domestic!”
Lyle bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as Luke suddenly seemed to get that Claire didn’t care for him. At all.
--
Lyle waited outside his last classroom for Luke. Luke’s classes always got out after his did, leaving him enough time to get things for Luke or run any necessary errands. But today he was just waiting under the light by the door, looking out at the treed expanse of the commons, rendered almost indistinguishable by the dark.
Luke pushed open the door a few minutes later, hitching his backpack up on his back. He grinned a bit when he spotted Lyle, and started heading home, Lyle falling into step behind him almost instinctively. Ever since Claire had forcibly deprived Luke of his crush on her, Luke had been a lot less moody. He still didn’t talk to many of his classmates, but he hadn’t gotten drunk again, and had stopped complaining endlessly about Claire.
Luke was concentrating on his classes, finishing his assignments, doing his experimental protocols, slogging through a mountain of work with a fierce determination to impress someone. Lyle just didn’t know who. Maybe Luke was just trying to impress himself. More likely he was trying to impress his family, who hadn’t so much as phoned him the entire time he’d been at college. Or maybe he was just trying to find who he was outside of their sphere.
Luke’s family reputation pretty much precluded people talking to him, so focusing on work was the only thing he could do. Once he moved himself out of the Reapers’ orbit, people would probably start seeing him for himself. And Lyle was right there with him, aiding him every step of the way. He needed Luke to succeed as much or more than Luke did. The more successful his master was, the better off Lyle would be when his term of service was up. Besides, he wanted Luke to succeed!
But, on a more selfish note for Lyle, Luke still wasn’t using him as much more than a Domestic Companion and Lyle was starting to get a little frantic. He had skills that were going to waste, and he couldn’t even keep them that sharp, as he was afraid he’d disgrace himself and come without permission. And when he’d hear Luke taking care of his morning wood by himself, he wanted to beg for that permission with all his heart.
He would have given anything to repeat the incident after the Lambda Kappa Phi party, but somehow change the script, and have Luke order him into his bed…
Particularly when he’d come in one morning after starting a load of laundry to hear Luke, muttering softly into his pillow, “Why couldn’t you be a girl?” And then he’d looked at him. Stared at Lyle with such heat in his eyes that Lyle had broken out in a sweat.
He’d broken protocol to stand in a cold shower for fifteen minutes after that. Luke’s laundry had been late, but at least Lyle hadn’t violated his training.
“Hey!”
Lyle was jerked out of his reverie by a sharp yell from above. Looking up, he saw another student, a couple years older than Lyle with brown hair and dark eyes, floating, flying, near the branches of one of the huge trees on the commons.
“You Luke?”
Luke glared up at the tall kid with annoyance. “What’s it to you?”
“I’m Rosen. West Rosen. Than name ring any bells?” the guy demanded.
“No,” Luke said shortly, and turned to head back home.
“Don’t you fucking walk away from me, you little shit!” West yelled.
Luke froze in his tracks and turned around.
“You really sure the name Rosen doesn’t sound familiar?” West asked again.
Luke scowled and shook his head.
“My dad’s been a slave in your house for the last five years, and you don’t even know his name?!” West asked incredulously, face darkening in anger.
“I didn’t pick who serves in the house! That’s all Sylar’s gig,” Luke said defensively, one hand curled into a fist. Lyle had taken a step forward and gotten himself centered, ready to defend himself and Luke, adrenaline singing in his ears.
“Sylar.” West spat the name like it was a curse. “And who the hell is that?” he asked, pointing at Lyle. “Another reaper victim?”
“No!” Luke said. “Sylar bought him for me as a birthday gift-.”
Lyle bit back a gasp as West’s eyes narrowed in speculation. Luke had just identified him as a favored possession.
“You ought to be more careful with your toys, Luke. All sorts of bad things can happen to them…” West moved fast, almost too fast to see, blurring in the dim light. Lyle reacted out of pure reflex, foot snapping out in a side kick that he’d drilled so relentlessly he didn’t have to think about it, cracking into West’s ribs as the flyer tried to grab him. West gasped and curled around his side, sliding two yards across the grass as he came to a tumbling excuse for a landing.
Luke shot Lyle an astonished glance and ran forward before West could recover, Lyle right on his heels. He grabbed West’s collar with one hand and the other grabbed between West’s legs, making Lyle wince and West gasp in pain.
“Hey, asshole,” Luke growled. “I’m not in Criminal Justice. I didn’t fucking reap your dad. I’m not fucking responsible for where the hell he ends up afterwards, and I sure as hell don’t bother to touch any of Sylar’s property. You got that?”
Luke waited until West had managed a nod before going on. “I’m not going to be a Reaper. I’m in R&D. You know what that means? That means I know exactly how to fry your balls while leaving your brain intact enough for you to scream about it. You got problems with Sylar? Take it up with him. Because I’m not going to be cleaning up his shit.”
Luke released West and took a few steps back, waiting until West had painfully lifted himself back into the sky and disappeared before turning on Lyle. Then Luke all but rammed Lyle back against a tree, one arm across his throat so he could glare in his face.
“What the fuck was that?” Luke demanded. “Fucking hell, he could have dragged you up into the sky and splattered your body across half of campus.”
Lyle could feel the heat of Luke’s body along the entire length of his, and repressed an entirely inappropriate moan. The rush from the fight along with Luke’s unexpectedly forceful behavior had every training trigger in him primed. And Luke’s concern about Lyle’s well-being had everything else in him sitting up and begging too.
“I’m supposed to protect you,” Lyle managed, biting back a gasp. Closing his eyes, he risked moving just enough so Luke could feel his arousal.
“What, don’t think I can?” Luke asked, voice just a little shaky.
“It’s my job-.” Lyle strangled himself to silence as Luke suddenly ground down against him. God, he was just as hard as Lyle.
“Should let you do your job more often,” Luke muttered, his arm against Lyle’s throat easing up.
“I want to,” Lyle whispered.
Luke leaned forward and pressed his lips and tongue against the empty heart on Lyle’s neck, drawing a groan out of him.
“I’m so fucking glad you aren’t a girl,” Luke said, drawing back. Lyle blinked at Luke stupidly, suddenly deprived of the heat and hardness.
“Yeah?” Lyle asked, not sure he believed his ears.
“Home. Now,” Luke managed.
They made the sprint across campus in record time.
--
Luke was struggling out of his clothes before the door was even closed. Lyle moved to help, only to find Luke was undressing him at the same time.
“Come on, come on,” Luke chanted to himself, writhing out of his clothes and yanking off Lyle’s as fast as he could. When they were down to jeans, Luke pulled away and pointed to the bed. Lyle didn’t even remember moving before he was face-up on the cover, propped up on his elbows to watch Luke crawl on the bed and lean over him.
“You remember what I asked you? After that party?”
Coherent thought left for a minute as Lyle threw his head back and groaned in an agony of arousal, hips involuntarily jerking upwards to press into Luke’s.
“Christ,” Luke whispered. He pressed his thumb hard into the hollow heart on Lyle’s chest, and that brought Lyle back to reality.
“I can’t stop remembering,” Lyle confessed.
“Fucking hot,” Luke said, and leaned down to kiss him. No longer sucking like a leech, Luke let Lyle lead them, but kept his hand on Lyle’s chest, tracing the outline of the heart over and over again until he pulled away.
“I can’t be a girl,” Lyle said, staring up at his master, slightly hesitant.
“Girl can’t do what I want,” Luke said, grinding down against Lyle, rendering his protests irrelevant.
“But, but-,” Lyle sputtered, unable to get any more eloquent to ask why Luke hadn’t taken his rights for all the months he’d owned him. Why he’d bemoaned Lyle’s sex where he could hear him…
“Had to get the guts,” Luke said obliquely. He bit back a gasp of his own as he felt Lyle’s cock leap in response, and bore down fiercely against him. “Know what I want now.”
“Yes…” Lyle breathed.
“Lyle,” Luke whispered, leaning down to speak right in his ear. “Fuck me.”
Lyle didn’t remember how he got the pants off of both of them without ripping the denim, but the next part was in shocking clarity. Luke, leaning over him, pressing the tube of lubricant in his hand, kissing Lyle with frantic heat as his body was breached. Lyle slowed down, soothing his master with one hand while the other worked him open, spreading Luke on his fingers, making him slick and ready.
“Oh fuck,” Luke said, breaking off the kiss to concentrate on the new sensations Lyle was awakening in him. “Yeah, that’s good, fucking good.” Luke rocked back on Lyle’s fingers for several long minutes, and then grabbed Lyle’s other hand and put it above his head on the bed.
“Keep it there,” Luke commanded, and pushed Lyle’s other hand to join it. He shuffled back on his knees until he could see Lyle’s cock, standing proud and tall away from his body. Luke’s own dick twitched at the sight, and Lyle moaned softly.
“I’m gonna ride you. I’m gonna take everything you have,” Luke said in a low voice. One hand, slick with more lube, ran down Lyle’s length just enough to get him glistening and ready.
“Please,” Lyle begged. “Master, please!”
“Jesus,” Luke breathed, and pushed himself up. He braced himself and then sank back slowly, squeezing Lyle’s cock in a brutal crushing heat from tip to base. Lyle gripped the headboard and prayed for strength, head arched back in the mattress and eyes screwed shut to keep control.
Luke let out a bright string of obscenities as he leaned back, bracing one hand on Lyle’s thigh. He lifted up and sank back again to a new string of curses, slowly devolving into wordless cries as his pace picked up. Lyle’s grip on the headboard increased until his knuckles were white and all the muscles of his arms and chest were tense with the effort, bracing himself again Luke’s brutal pace. His head came up and he watched with his mouth open as Luke impaled himself on Lyle’s dick over and over, body flushed and totally in control of the situation.
Luke looked down to see Lyle watching him and leaned forward, bracing his hands on Lyle’s chest and digging his fingers into his muscles. The side of his thumb hit the heart tattoo on Lyle’s skin, and both of them gasped as they felt Lyle’s body jerk in reaction.
“You close, Lyle? Gonna come?” Luke asked breathlessly.
“Let me, please!”
Luke leaned back again, his smile one of absolute confidence as he began to stroke himself. “Come on!”
Lyle felt the splatter of Luke’s come against his skin before his own long-delayed orgasm broke over him, spurting deep into Luke’s body. Everything he had poured into his master, and Lyle felt himself floating on the feelings of euphoria and completeness. Luke lifted himself off only after Lyle had completely relaxed under him, and turned towards him for another kiss. Lyle gave it everything he had, and Luke’s indistinct words of praise were the last thing Lyle heard before exhaustion claimed him.
It was only later, in his dreams, when he realized what Luke had said.
“You’re mine now. You’re really mine.”
--
It was early the next morning when Luke draggled Lyle to campustown. He didn’t offer a word of explanation, just had Lyle follow him past the indeterminate number of bars, exotic restaurants, coffee houses, printing and copying stores, and novelty shops. He dragged him up a staircase to a second-story shop, and Lyle only realized what it was after he’d entered. The myriad of colored artwork and photos along the walls, along with the chairs and sound of buzzing needle guns, was a familiar sight to Lyle.
The heavily tattooed woman at the front desk, Lydia, listened to Luke’s explanation, too low-voiced for Lyle to hear, with some interest. Smiling, she gestured Lyle deeper into the tattoo parlor and pointed to a chair.
“New marks for you. You know the drill, I expect,” Lydia said without preamble, assembling her inks. Lyle pulled his shirt over his head without a second thought, sparing a glance for Luke. The openly appreciative leer at Lyle’s musculature was refreshing, but the fact that he had no idea what mark was going on his skin was not.
“You’ll like it,” Luke insisted, taking a seat across from Lyle and picking up a magazine.
Turning his neck to the side obediently, Lyle put his worries from his mind as the artist put the buzzing needle to his skin. If he couldn’t trust Luke after last night, he never would.
The rising and fading burn was familiar to Lyle, and it took less than a half-hour to finish the marks on his neck, chest, and hand. As Lydia was about to put on the gauze pads, Luke stopped her and took the mirror off her tray.
“I want him to see.”
Lydia shrugged and stood back as Luke held the mirror so Lyle could see his new marks. He felt his pulse begin to pound as he saw the heart outline had been filled in. But not with the simple red that meant experience. No, it was with the black ink of exclusivity, with a cursive red letter “L” in the center. Luke was promising not to share him, not to rent him out, not to use him to pay a debt. To touch Lyle without Luke’s permission was to risk his wrath, and Lyle was permitted to use every talent at his disposal to keep himself solely for his master’s use. That kind of mark implied a rank of excellence, of dedicated service and unparalleled obedience. It showed Lyle was of the highest quality, and any future employer would know he’d gone above and beyond the norm to be the best he could be.
Lyle’s mouth moved soundlessly, mouthing the words “Thank you” without anything actually coming out.
Luke’s thumb skimmed lightly over the stinging skin on Lyle’s chest before he waved at him to cover the fresh tattoos and get dressed again.
“Gotta get my money’s worth,” Luke said, pulling Lyle into brief, intense kiss.
“Me too,” Lyle said, and felt the answering smile against his mouth as his new heart stung under his master’s hand.
--------------
If you want some extra "cut scenes" from this story, go here: Slave AU Extras
This way to a sequel! Halfways Point To Everywhere
Author: jaune_chat
Fandom: Heroes
Characters/Pairings: Luke/Lyle, Sylar, Claire, West
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 9,739
Spoilers: Vague S3 for characters
Warnings: Slash (one boy is 16), slave!fic AU, language
Disclaimer: Heroes belongs to Tim Kring, NBC et al.
A/N: Written as a pinch-hit for takhallus for the Summer 2010 Heroes Fic Exchange. Thanks to a_cook1 for betaing!
Summary: A slave named Lyle is bought for a college student named Luke, who didn’t want him in the first place. And if he can’t be what his master wants, how can he get what he needs?
Lyle tried to wait quietly as the two buyers came closer to his room. He had a good feeling about them, even if they looked a little intimidating. The taller of the two, dark-haired and with aggressive features, walked with easy confidence, assessing each slave they passed with an expert eye. His clothes were rich and well-tailored, showing he had wealth as well as taste. This was the kind of buyer Lyle had been hoping to attract.
As they drew closer, Lyle squared his shoulders and stood straight, eyes downcast respectfully as the buyer paused in front of him. He’d watched the man pass by the females of the Training House with almost no second glance, despite the longing glances of his younger companion, so Lyle was praying the man was looking for a male slave.
The dark-haired man turned Lyle’s neck to the side to get a closer look at his tattoos. All slaves had them, on the neck, chest, and on the non-dominant hand, marks that showed their name, ID number, birth date, and any significant training or warnings. The microchip at the back of his neck held the information in more detail, but the tattoos were easier to examine for a casual viewer.
Lyle had worked his ass off to get the merit marks that he had, and he prayed all the hard work had been worth it. Getting a paid contract to a single owner could shorten his debt to society by two thirds or even more, meaning he stood a chance of being able to see his family again.
The man ran his thumb over each mark, the book that showed Lyle had completed his secondary education already, the stylized circuitry that meant he was computer-literate, the dollar sign that meant he was gifted with numbers and money. Finance wasn’t exactly the most exciting thing in the world, but Lyle knew from letters that his dad worked as an account manager for a paper company. The same gift of math must have been passed down to Lyle, because he found that kind of thing easy. It made him more marketable, so Lyle had managed to fit the necessary classes into his day.
The last two marks were a bit unusual, but in Lyle’s mind, absolutely necessary. One had the crossed fists that showed he was trained in self-defense. Some Specials without combative powers liked a slave that could defend them, and those who had combative powers sometimes liked a slave that they didn’t have to worry about rescuing. The bruises and pain from tae kwan do training had raised his value another notch. The final one was the crimson red hollow outline of a heart, showing he’d been well-trained in the sexual arts. If the heart had been solid, it would mean he had experience, but Lyle hadn’t been ready to take that step. Just knowing he’d been trained would be enough for him to command a higher price, if he could entice the right buyer.
The man raised his eyebrow at Lyle’s unusual collection of marks, and pushed his collar down a bit, hunting for any warning marks. He wouldn’t find any; no scourge that showed he had needed physical discipline, no handcuffs that mean he needed to be restrained to keep from running off, no outline of a brain showing he’d been mentally modified.
The thought of the last made Lyle shiver. Slaves entered training at six, and if they put their heads down and learned, they could make themselves very marketable, get their contracts bought, and be out by the time they were in their late twenties. If they didn’t apply themselves, or if they fought, worse could happen. Ron hated school so much he’d been put to work at fifteen as a laborer: he’d be at that job thirty years or more, and might well die before his term of service was up. Diane had rebelled so often eventually they’d brought in a telepath to break her. Now anyone that knew the right passwords could turn her into a living doll, a slave in mind as well as by society.
But if you worked the system, you could end up very well off. One of his teachers, Nathan, was Lyle’s example. He’d worked hard to become a lawyer, an excellent one, and still had the scales of justice as one of his marks. There were telepathic courts, of course, but the wait for those was so long that people still preferred to hire a lawyer when they could. Nathan had combined those skills with marketing his sexual prowess (“cross-marketing,” he called it), and had bought himself free at twenty-six.
Now the heart on his neck was crossed out, and instead he bore a horse. Not the horsehead that showed he knew how to ride, but the full horse outline that meant he was a stud. No longer did he perform any allowed act for money, but instead was very well-paid for his genetics. He had a recessive gene for abilities, and had already successfully bred three Special children. Nathan lived as well as a Special, and had more money than any human Lyle had ever known.
Lyle only hoped he could do half as well. If he didn’t get his contract bought, he’d be doing piecemeal jobs for twenty years or more, a public servant at any number of institutions.
The man finally finished his inspection and took his hand away, pointing a scanner at Lyle to read the detailed version of his sixteen years of life. His younger companion, close to Lyle’s age and far less dramatic in looks, with a round face and red-brown hair, seemed very bored with the whole affair. His clothes were fashionable, but were worn with a careless air that made him look disheveled.
“Seriously, bro, you don’t have to do this.”
“Luke, you’re going to Georgetown in the fall. You’re selected for Research and Development. You can’t not have a slave along; you’d be the only one without,” the older man said in a tone that booked no opposition.
“I don’t need someone to carry my books and wipe my ass for me, Sylar,” Luke said testily.
“You’re going to be learning more in the next five years than you have in the rest of your life. It’s going to be brutal. You aren’t going to have time to breathe, let alone wipe your ass,” Sylar shot back. “You have to study, and you can’t fall behind. Let…” he double-checked Lyle’s name, “Lyle take care of the incidentals for you. That’s what he’d be there for.”
“You expect me to fuck him too?” Luke asked, glancing up at Lyle briefly, flushing a bit, and then nailing his eyes back on the floor.
“If it’ll keep your mind on work, yes. Don’t take a chance with someone on campus. You could end up with your dick frozen off or your mind turned to mush,” Sylar said, looking especially dour. Luke winced visibly, and Lyle winced inside in sympathy.
Humans worked for their place in the world through years of service before buying themselves free. Specials had far more privileges, but they never left service. If they didn’t manage to succeed at their chosen job, bad things could happen, which mean they were under a lot of stress to get things right the first time. And of course they had their abilities to consider too. If a Special got drunk and tried to get fresh, he or she was liable to have an ability used on them. The results could be anywhere from humiliating to fatal. That was why Lyle had gone through sexual training: it made him a safe alternative that didn’t get to say no. And it raised his price.
Lyle dared a glance at his potential new owner, assessing him more carefully. He had had a much softer life than Lyle, but anyone going into Research and Development had to know exactly what he wanted. The scientists in that division were responsible for a lot of important discoveries. Luke could end up pretty famous, if he got involved in the right experiments. That could end up being really good for Lyle, if he could capture Luke’s attention…
“We’ve been looking at slaves all day, though. What makes him special?” Luke asked, a whine audible in his voice.
“He’s close to your age, he’s ready for college, and he can handle money, which you certainly can’t do. He can defend himself and provide an outlet for you too,” Sylar said, ticking off all of Lyle’s good points.
“Why can’t we get a girl?” Luke pleaded. “A girl could do all that, too.”
“Because you’d forget a condom or forget to allow her to get her birth-control shots and then she’d end up pregnant, and you’d lose her service,” Sylar said scathingly. “Girls take more responsibility than you have. Luke, he’s pretty, he’s trained, and he has everything else we were looking for.”
“Yeah, sure, except for a pussy.”
Sylar glared down at Luke and raised his hand to signal the House manager.
“We’ll take this one.”
Lyle felt his heart leap into this throat even as Luke glared at him with hatred.
----
“And sign here please, Mr. Gray.” Sylar signed where Simone, the House manager, indicated, and passed over his account card to pay. Luke had flung himself into one of the chairs farthest from the desk and was scowling at the floor. Lyle swallowed uncertainly and tried to look politely interested as his life was sold away.
“Luke, you have to sign,” Sylar said, turning to glare at his younger brother. “I’m paying for him, but you’ll be listed as his owner.”
“I don’t fucking want him!” Luke groused.
“Stop being a damn brat and sign. I told you I’d get you something special for your eighteenth birthday-.”
“I didn’t want a slave of my own in the first place, and I didn’t want a maid, and I didn’t want a piece of convenient ass, and I didn’t want a guy, and look what the hell you’re buying!” Luke said loudly.
Lyle felt his gut twist and tried to keep his face neutral. He’d hoped that his buyer would want him, that all the training he’d gone through would have attracted someone who appreciated all the hard work Lyle had done to get his body and mind prepared for service. He hadn’t ever thought that he’d be foisted off on a reluctant owner as an unwanted gift.
“Luke, take it out on me if you want, but Lyle is standing here ready to do your bidding, so you could be a little more polite to him, at least,” Sylar said, teeth gritted.
Luke didn’t look very mollified, but his expression softened just a bit when he looked at Lyle, which gave him a shred of hope.
“And how is Lyle going to enter service with you?” Simone asked, politely ignoring the byplay in favor of finishing the sale.
Lyle held his breath as Luke turned to consider him. How he was designated determined his duties and his price, and therefore his term of service. A Domestic did cooking and cleaning, a Companion entertained intellectually, socially, or romantically depending on what the owner wanted, True Slaves, or Trues, entered into deep sexual submission to their owners, while Partners worked alongside their owners in their place of business. There were other designations, but one of those four, alone or in combination, would probably be Lyle’s lot.
“Domestic,” Luke said dismissively, and Lyle tried to quell the surge of disappointment. Fifteen years, at that rate, if Luke decided to keep him that long. All that work almost for nothing.
“Lyle is very well trained in many different fields. He can handle Companion duties with ease. Perhaps Domestic Companion would get your money’s worth?” Simone suggested delicately. Lyle silently blessed her for fighting for him. She’d known him since he’d come to the training center when he was six years old. Domestic Companion could cut his term down to ten years. Well-worth the hard work…
“He’ll enter in as Variable,” Sylar interrupted, as Luke shot him a glare. Simone stifled a gasp and Lyle felt faint. A Variable was just that, someone who could be called upon to render any service for their master. A designation like that was incredibly expensive. As a Variable, Lyle could finish his term in five years. He could be finished at twenty-one! If, of course, he could survive those years. Variables earned every penny twice over, was how the saying went. It was the closest that service came to old-style slavery.
“Variable? You’re shitting me,” Luke said, eyes widening in the first show of genuine interest Lyle had seen from him.
“If that’s what it takes. You take Lyle, I’ll pay for him as a Variable.”
“Fucking A!” Luke said, jumping up to sign Lyle’s papers.
----
Simone showed up to help Lyle pack his few belongings, handing him a slim folder for him to peruse before he joined his new owner. She gave him a compassionate glance and let him sit down to read it in peace. He was going to need every scrap of information he could get. If he’d gone into defined service, as a Companion or Partner or even a True, there were strict limits and rules that would have defined his duties and rights. Now he was entering uncharted territory, and he had no idea what to expect next. Hands shaking slightly, his eyes burned as he desperately tried to memorize what was on the page.
Because for the next five years, Luke was going to be the center of Lyle’s world.
---
His new owner hadn’t said a word to him the entire ride home, instead spending the time exchanging barbed comments with his brother. Lyle had just quietly endured, keeping his attention on Luke the whole time. But when they arrived, Lyle felt his eyes widening when he saw the size of the house they pulled up to… and the elaborate security measures that protected it: high walls, razor wire, security cameras, retinal and thumbprint scanners on the gates, the works.
Sylar seemed to sense Lyle’s unease, and turned in his seat to smile slightly wolfishly at his brother’s new slave.
“My father and I work as Reapers for DOSC. You’ll be safe in here,” he said, flashing gleaming white teeth at Lyle before driving through the open gates.
Lyle could feel blood draining from his face. The file on Luke hadn’t mentioned that crucial detail. The people who worked for the Department of Special Corrections were feared by everyone, human and Special alike. Reapers were feared above all. “Power-thieves,” some called them, or “soul stealers.” When one of the elite broke the rules, Reapers made certain their powers didn’t go to waste. The loss of one’s ability was the harshest punishment imaginable, over and above death. Reaped ex-Specials immediately entered service as slaves, and the humiliation of that was enough to keep most Specials on the straight and narrow.
And when Reapers weren’t performing that rare duty, DOSC found other things for them to do, none of which made for pleasant dreams.
Lyle followed Luke out of the car in a numb daze, trailing him into the house and up to his room without really registering the layout, or exits, or even if there were other people there. The most he could do was focus on his master; that was safest. He had to learn how to anticipate Luke’s needs, to give him whatever he wanted, and to look grateful for it all. And he expected to be put through all his paces.
Once the door to his room was shut, Luke shoved Lyle back against the wall and looked at him from arm’s length. Lyle stood at attention, eyes downcast, as Luke looked him up and down, as if hoping something had changed. Lyle felt his stomach churn as he tried to hold his stomach flat and shoulders even; if he couldn’t be the girl Luke had wanted him to be, at least he could look as good as he could.
“So, you’ll do anything?” Luke asked thoughtfully.
“Yes, master,” Lyle said softly, eyes on the ground.
“Ok, one, can that ‘master’ shit. You can call me Luke.”
Lyle looked up, surprised. Luke might have been enthusiastic about having a Variable slave of his own, but Lyle hadn’t been his choice at all.
“Ok…Luke,” Lyle managed, smiling a little.
“We have Domestics and Companions around the house, and I’m fucking tired of hearing ‘master’ every third word. Dad thinks it’s fucking respectful or something.” Luke’s eyes narrowed as if he’d suddenly had a thought. “Hey, do you play Road Carnage?”
Lyle blinked, glanced over at the video game console, and nodded enthusiastically. He had never had a lot of time for video games, but the few times he had played, it was a blast.
“Let’s play. I’ve beaten the computer on every challenge rating and I want to try to two-player mode.”
Ten minutes later, Lyle was getting thrashed at Road Carnage, and thought Luke was actually warming up to the idea of having him around.
Two hours later, just when they were about to hit the final level, Sylar banged on Luke’s door and pulled him out for a heated, whispered conference in the hall. Lyle didn’t dare move closer, but once they started to get more passionate, he had no trouble eavesdropping.
“I buy you the most expensive slave contract available and you’re having him play video games with you?” Sylar was saying.
“Why the hell do you care? I can do anything with him. If I want him to play Road Carnage with me, he’ll fucking play Road Carnage. No one else will, so what the hell is wrong with him doing it?” Luke asked, sounding pissed.
“You can do anything to him,” Sylar said, stressing the word so hard it nearly broke.
“What, you expect me to just throw him on the bed and tell him to turn over and bite the pillow? Just because you do that to all the stiffs you’ve reaped-.”
There was a loud crack as Sylar struck Luke across the face. Lyle’s mouth dropped open in shock. He knew that Specials didn’t always get along, but to hear Luke getting reprimanded like a disrespectful slave shook him.
“What I do in my house with my slaves is my business,” Sylar said, his voice murderously soft.
“Yeah, and what I do with my slave is mine,” Luke said, voice a bit choked. “He’s not a damn True.”
“He can be. He’s trained for it, that’s what that heart means. Give him the word and he’ll do anything you want and love you for it. Use him, Luke. That’s what I bought him for. Use him and maybe you’ll stop mooning over Claire. She’s never going to sleep with you, never going to go out with you, never even going to give you the time of day, and just because you’re going to the same college doesn’t mean anything’s going to change.”
Lyle’s stomach jumped when he heard the name of Luke’s crush. He’d be competing against an unobtainable dream girl, something that didn’t tend to go well. Nathan had given out that warning, amongst many others, in the first day of the sexual training course. Five people had backed out from that lecture alone.
“But it might change,” Luke said, his voice small.
“It won’t. She’s on the fast track to high office, and she has Monroe as her patron. You’re going to be R&D; you don’t mix. Don’t try.” Sylar abruptly walked away, his footsteps echoing on the marble floors outside.
Lyle quickly turned back to the screen as Luke came back in, sniffling and rubbing surreptitiously at his eyes. Lyle instinctively hunched his shoulders, bracing for a blow that never fell, and pretended he hadn’t heard. Luke just sat down next to him and picked up his controller, though he didn’t press the start button.
“I’m not going to fuck you,” Luke said, after staring at the buttons for a long minute. Lyle dared a sideways glance, and saw a bruise darkening on Luke’s cheek. “I don’t fucking care what he says, I’m not fucking you.”
Lyle focused his gaze on the red heart outline on his hand and felt obscurely disappointed. Everything that Luke had him do would be recorded, at least in the general sense, and his competence evaluated. Being on contract to one person meant there would only be one record, and if that record showed gaps or absences in the duties he was asked to perform, people might wonder if there was something wrong with him.
“I-,” Lyle stopped, uncertain if he should venture an opinion, and got bolder as Luke waved him on. “I’ll do anything you want me to. I can get better at Road Carnage, if I practice, I swear.” He didn’t dare voice his full opinion openly, but he could hint.
Luke barked out a laugh that was more than half sob at Lyle’s words, and bit his lip. He turned to Lyle and grabbed Lyle’s left hand, running his thumb over the small tattoos inked on the flesh between Lyle’s thumb and index finger.
“You want a scroll to add to these?” he asked. Lyle nodded slowly. A scroll tattoo was indicative of a college education, vital for finding a job if Lyle got out as early as he hoped he would. “They run slave classes concurrently at Georgetown. Sign up for what you want, as long as you’re free when I am.”
“Thank you!” Lyle said, surprised. He hadn’t thought Luke would be willing to give him anything, after his initial reaction this afternoon.
“Always tell me the truth,” Luke added, with a glance at his closed door. “Even if you think it’s something that I don’t want to hear. Got it?” His grip on Lyle got a little bit warm, and Lyle nodded quickly.
“Got it,” he said fervently.
Luke released his hand and hit the start button.
“Let’s game.”
---
“What’re you gonna take?” Luke asked, as Lyle finished arranging Luke’s new textbooks on the bookshelf. Though Luke had said he didn’t want anyone to “wipe his ass” at college, there were things that Specials just didn’t do unless they were very poor (which was rare), eccentric, or practicing with their ability. And there were some things to which certain slaves were just more suited; plus they gave their masters an extra set of hands. Luke could arrange his things in his dorm room while Lyle took care of getting textbooks and syllabi, getting’s Luke’s schedule, mapping out his classes, and paying all his beginning-of-semester fees.
“Finance and accounting classes,” Lyle responded, quickly shelving his own books in the tiny slave quarters right off of Luke’s room.
“You actually like that stuff? What, you gonna be an accountant?” Luke asked.
“Maybe. There’s lots of places I can go with that degree…” Lyle said, and trailed off, thinking.
He was luckier by far than some of the other slaves here. Luke didn’t mind if he talked to him like he was a normal person. Other students preferred their slaves completely silent. Some liked them gagged. Lyle could walk openly, a few paces behind his master, in normal clothes. He didn’t have to wear a distinctive uniform; it was even possible for someone to mistake him for a regular student here, at least until they got close enough to see his slave tattoos. That gave him the confidence to talk to Luke almost as if he were another slave. Not that he’d ever tell him that. And while on one hand it was rather nice, it left Lyle a little off-balance sometimes, waiting for more specific orders.
“You could come work for me,” Luke offered.
“What?” That was the last offer Lyle had expected. Luke didn’t seem to mind having him around, but the most he’d been for the past few months could have been easily classified under Domestic Companion. Getting a job offer out of the blue, when Luke had barely seen what Lyle could do, threw him for a loop.
“They put me in Research and Development, you know that, right?” When Lyle nodded, Luke went on. “I’m going to be testing materials and stuff to see how tough they are. Blow shit up all day. But I got to know exactly what I’m doing with my ability and exactly how the experiment’s set up, plus there’s all this paperwork with funding and grants…”
“I can learn that, if you want me to,” Lyle offered obediently. Lyle’s “expertise” on finance mostly amounted to being good with numbers, knowing how to make a budget, and being able to balance a checkbook, but if Luke was the one letting him get his college degree, he’d go the full nine yards with it.
“Fuck, I’m gonna need everything I can just to pass these damn classes,” Luke said, looking over his list of classes for his major with a frown. He ran a hand through his hair and pulled his head down so his chin was at his chest. Lyle could see his shoulders heaving, as if breathing heavily. Like to hold back sobs.
The few months of being a full-fledged slave had awakened Lyle to the fact that no matter how hard he had to work, no matter what he might be asked to do, in many ways his lot was better than that of a Special. Slaves got a little choice in what kinds of things they were to learn, Specials didn’t. They were assigned their jobs based on their potential and their ability. And if they didn’t manage to make it… Then people like Sylar and Sampson Gray awaited them. There was no such thing as a “rogue Special.” Luke had to pass his classes.
“I’m here for anything you need,” Lyle said automatically. Luke looked up sharply and speared him with a glance of irritation, mixed with a hint of speculation.
Very few Specials actually failed at their jobs, not with the consequences for failure being so high. And according to some stories that circulated in the Training House, some of the marginal Specials succeeded in their education or jobs by burning through a succession of slaves to tend to every need and frustration. Faced with the possibility of meeting his brother in a professional capacity, Luke’s use of Lyle as a maid, bookkeeper, and games partner might suddenly turn into something very different.
---
The second week after school started, on a Friday night, Luke came home drunk, flushed, and smelling like a brewery. He was also mad as hell.
“Fucking bitch,” he announced when Lyle opened the door for him. Luke stumbled for the bed, kicking his shoes off into opposite corners and sprawling face-up on the mattress. “Fucking Claire. Thinks she’s so much fucking better than me.”
Lyle quickly straightened up the chaos Luke was leaving in his wake, putting his shoes in the closet and kneeling to grab Luke’s socks, all the while keeping an attentive ear open. Tonight Luke had gone to a popular sorority party with the hopes of meeting the girl of his dreams, Claire Bennet. But she apparently had shut him down. That didn’t bode well.
He hadn’t seen Luke this mad since the last time he’d talked to his brother, before coming to college. Living in the shadow of someone like Sylar had given Luke a huge chip on his shoulder. If he even talked to anyone else other than Lyle about, well, anything, Lyle would have been shocked. Living up, or down, to the Gray family legacy wasn’t something that made Luke very popular.
“Fucking tease,” Luke muttered, and slipped one hand down his pants. “Can’t even get drunk, fucking regenerator. Got fucking blue balls.” His hand moved inside, apparently cradling a swollen cock from an evening of lusting for a girl who wouldn’t let him touch her. Lyle swallowed in fear, but kept to his duties. Luke grew oddly silent as Lyle put things away, and Lyle looked up to see Luke staring at him like he was seeing him for the first time. Like he’d suddenly remembered he had a Variable at his beck and call, and promises made to a slave didn’t have to mean anything.
“Come ‘ere,” Luke said, waving a hand towards him. Taking a shaking breath, stomach turning to ice, Lyle went to stand at the end of the bed as Luke propped himself up. “You learn how to kiss?”
Lyle nodded again. Most of his sexual training had revolved around learning how to give or receive so neither partner got hurt, but Nathan, his teacher, had included a short segment on kissing. The first time, he’d used Lyle as an example. Lyle remembered his knees giving out on him in front of class when Nathan had reduced him to a pile of quivering need with just his lips on Lyle’s. He was nowhere near Nathan’s league, but he’d learned and learned well.
“She says I kiss like a leech. ‘s it true?” Luke slurred, and reached up to pull Lyle down. Their mouths met with a crash of teeth, Luke being too uncoordinated to slow them down. He latched onto Lyle’s lips like they were the source of life, sucking on them, nibbling, pulling with his teeth, clutching to Lyle’s neck so hard he was certain he was going to have bruises. He pulled away before Lyle would have had to gasp for air, and stared at him with dark eyes.
“Is it true?” Luke demanded, sounding slightly more sober. “And don’t fucking lie!”
Lyle worked his mouth to make certain his lips could still function. His mouth felt numb, his neck was sore, and the sour taste of beer was thick in his mouth from Luke’s tongue. Shivering all over, Lyle nodded.
“Kiss me. Show me,” Luke said, grabbing at Lyle’s shirt to haul him down into range again. For the first time, Lyle pushed back, slowing their collision so they met softly. Lyle tried to remember everything he’d learned; one hand cradled Luke’s head to guide him, while the other propped himself up on the bed. The kiss started out soft, easy, and Luke remained mostly passive, just breathing into Lyle’s mouth. Then Lyle turned up the heat, slipping his tongue along the seam of Luke’s lips, and then dipping inside when he gained entrance. Gentle sucking on Luke’s tongue elicited a muffled noise of surprise as Lyle finally pulled away.
Luke’s hand was moving fast within his jeans, and he was looking up at Lyle was slightly glazed eyes.
“What wouldja do fer me?” Luke asked, tongue still slow and tripping over the words.
“Anything,” Lyle responded, honestly.
“Would you suck me?”
Lyle swallowed and licked his lips, making them look shiny and obscene. “Yes, I would. I want to.”
Luke smiled lazily and kept up his stroking, eyes fixed on his slave. “Bet you’re good at it. Bet you can take it all. Bet you swallow and beg for more.”
“Yes-,” Lyle whispered, one hand fisting the fabric of his jeans in a fierce reminder to not rub himself, no matter how much he wanted to.
“Would you let me fuck you? Get on your knees and put your ass in the air for me? Spread yourself out and call my name when I let you come?” Luke asked more forcefully, sounding more sober by the minute.
Lyle could feel his hips starting to jerk in time to Luke’s words and bit the inside of his cheek for control. “Yes. Luke, yes, yes I would.”
Luke’s hand didn’t pause in its stroking as he glared up at Lyle in challenge. “Would you fuck me, if I told you to? Would you open me up and set me down on your dick? Would you let me ride you? Would you? Lyle, would you? Fuck, Lyle, would you?”
“Yes, please!” Lyle cried.
Luke suddenly froze as Lyle watched a spreading damp stain cover the front of his pants. Lyle swallowed hard, feeling his own cock throbbing in response, but kept himself still, holding onto control by the thinnest of margins. Training dictated that he came when his master allowed. And if Luke never gave him permission, he would just have to endure.
“Oh fuck, fuck that was good,” Luke mumbled, closing his eyes.
“Do you… want more?” Lyle asked hesitantly, desperately hinting at his own frustrated arousal.
Luke blinked a few times, seeming to come back to himself, and realized Lyle was staring at him, his hand still down his pants. Flushing, Luke pulled his hand out and tried desperately to look casual.
“No, no, fuck,” Luke muttered, kicking off his sticky pants and underwear, and then shucking the rest of his clothes as he grabbed his robe. “Uh… just put those in the laundry.”
Grabbing his toiletries, Luke turned to leave for the bathroom, and hesitated.
“Why couldn’t you be a girl?” he muttered, and finally left, leaving Lyle behind with an aching cock and a mess to clean up.
---
In the morning, Luke was nursing a hangover and apparently a case of temporary amnesia regarding jerking off in front of Lyle the night before. Which actually suited Lyle just fine, because if Luke was going to do this regularly, getting Lyle so hot and bothered and then denying him permission to release, then the next five years were going to be a living hell. Not that Lyle thought Luke had been deliberately cruel, but it had taken Lyle almost two hours to get to sleep.
By mid-morning, however, the mail had arrived, which contained a message that temporarily swept aside any lingering awkwardness.
Claire had sent Luke a note.
“She wants to meet me. She fucking wants to meet me!” Luke crowed, his hangover all but forgotten in the euphoria of receiving the tiny slip of paper in the mail.
Lyle had to dig out some of Luke’s best clothes for him, stomach in knots the entire time. If Claire was meeting Luke, what would that mean for him? What did she want? Why meet him now, when he’d been desperately trying to get her alone for weeks? Especially after she’d apparently humiliated him at the party last night.
But he couldn’t ask, and didn’t, just trailed after Luke to the student lounge at noon, where Claire was waiting in one of the best chairs, enthroned like a queen, her slave kneeling next to her in a graceful show of obedience. Unlike Luke, who’d demanded one of his brightly-colored clubbing shirts and brand-name baggy jeans, Claire was in a conservative business suit, with modest jewelry. She looked sophisticated, elegant, and completely out of Luke’s league.
Luke seemed to get it immediately, and almost stumbled in the doorway, nearly making Lyle crash into him.
“Uh… hi. Claire. Hi,” he managed, and seemed to be struggling to decide between a casual wave and a more formal handshake. Claire decided for him with a cool, impersonal nod, and waved at a chair opposite hers. Luke numbly sat down, leaving Lyle standing next to him. In absence of other orders, Lyle would stand to be able to defend his master, not that Luke had ever seemed to give it a second thought.
“Luke, I wanted to apologize for the scene at Lambda Kappa Phi last night. I thought you knew I was a regenerator,” she said pleasantly. Luke flushed red and Lyle strived to keep his eyes away from his master, remembering the incident last night with unwanted clarity.
To keep from looking at Luke, Lyle flicked his gaze over to Claire’s slave, a young woman about her age, pretty and well-groomed. He saw her name on the side of her neck, Jackie, along with the usual book and circuitry tattoos. She also had the blue-shadowed eye tattoo of someone skilled with wardrobe and cosmetics: a modern lady’s maid necessary for someone who would be attending a constant stream of meetings, gatherings, conventions, and parties full of high-powered politicos. No heart tattoo though. Claire liked to keep the appearance of complete propriety.
“Uh, yeah, no prob. My fault for not asking,” Luke mumbled, barely able to meet Claire’s eyes.
“Why don’t you ask Food Service to bring us up some refreshments? You look a little pale, and I’d like to talk to you about something when you get back,” Claire suggested with a tiny hint of a smile.
Lyle smothered a grin as Luke all but leapt up to do Claire’s bidding, not even considering delegating the task to his slave in an effort to gain Claire’s favor. He was out of the room in a trice, and Claire signaled her slave to stand.
“Jackie, keep watch for us,” Claire said, and her slave quickly went to the doorway to watch for Luke’s return.
Once she was busy, Claire dropped every vestige of aloofness and hugged Lyle hard.
“God, you look great,” she said, holding him at arm’s length to look at her brother. Despite the similarity to someone looking him over for flaws, Claire was just checking to see if he was all right. The happiness in her face made all the difference.
“You too,” Lyle said, grinning. He hadn’t seen Claire since he was six, but they had exchanged more letters and e-mails than he had with his parents. It was part of the reason that he’d pushed himself so hard in order to pay off his debt as early as possible. Claire was studying to be in high political office, and there would be no way Lyle could possibly see her ever again if he wasn’t able to get picked up by a wealthy or powerful owner.
“How is Luke treating you?” she asked.
“Fine! He’s great, I swear.”
“You sure? He’s been pretty weird at all the parties…”
“Probably just around you,” Lyle pointed out, and Claire grimaced.
“Not my type. I’m going to have to start bringing Alex around just so Luke knows that yes, I am taken. Seriously. I didn’t want to shut him down so hard, but he couldn’t take a hint,” Claire said.
“I-. I think it’s because of his family. His brother’s always gotten what he wanted, you know?” Lyle explained in Luke’s defense.
Claire got a worried expression on her face. “You need to be careful when you’re out with Luke. There’s more than one person here with family who’s been reaped by his brother, and they’re nursing a serious grudge against his whole family.”
Lyle hissed and nodded. Luke might not need the protection, but Lyle would. Thank God he’d decided to go for martial training.
“Do you like Luke?” Claire asked. “Really?”
Lyle hesitated and blushed, looking down at the floor. “Yeah.”
“Oh. Oh no,” Claire said softly, her eyes grazing over Lyle’s neck, and then she picked up Lyle’s left hand. The heart outlines there were still empty.
“He kind of treats me like a friend. We talk all the time, hang out… He doesn’t know a lot of other people.” Lyle shrugged and gestured at Claire, acknowledging that Luke’s family was a major stumbling block in getting to know the other students.
“He hasn’t-,” Claire stopped herself from asking the obvious question when the answer was there for her to see. “But you want him to.”
“Yes.” Lyle’s answer was almost on top of Claire’s question.
“Is this just training talking?” she persisted. Sexual training included some deep triggers to want to please one’s master. It wasn’t mental modification, but it was still powerful, and anyone that owned a slave with such training usually couldn’t wait to take advantage of it.
“Not all of it,” Lyle whispered. “He wants you badly. Really badly. One time, he was almost about to… do something, and then he looked at me… He wanted a girl!” The last came out in a blurt of frustration.
“Oh no,” Claire said, covering her mouth to keep from either gasping or laughing. “Oh Lyle, I’m so sorry. Look, I’m going to have Alex have a little friendly chat with him or something. He’ll get the message, I swear. Once he stops looking at me, he’ll open his eyes and see you.” Claire paused, a thoughtful expression on her face. “You know, I think the lad doth protest too much. I saw him checking out some of the guys at the party. Didn’t make any moves, but he was definitely looking.”
Lyle felt a huge wave of relief wash over him at that news. “I was afraid he didn’t…” he trailed off, not wanting to say it out loud.
“I get it,” Claire said, with a sympathetic smile. “I’ll do everything I can to help-.”
“Ma’am, he’s coming back,” Jackie warned.
Lyle stepped back into place as Jackie knelt beside Claire again.
“You have her call you ‘ma’am’?” Lyle asked, eyebrow quirked.
“Appearances,” Claire said, grimacing. “Jackie knows.”
Jackie smiled briefly, and then everyone adopted a very sober mien as Luke all but bounced back in the room, one of the college’s slaves trailing behind him with a tray of food and drink.
Claire ate and drank sparingly, deflecting every one of Luke’s tentative advances, before abruptly deciding to end the audience.
“Luke, my boyfriend Alex is coming up to see me from Florida State next week. Maybe you could show him around while I’m in class. I’d appreciate it,” she said sweetly.
Luke’s mouth worked a few times before he nodded almost reflexively.
“You should learn to appreciate what you have, instead of wanting what you can’t. That’s what my parents always say,” Claire said, rising to leave.
“Yeah? What do your parents do?” Luke asked.
“They’re slaves,” Claire said pointedly. “Freed slaves, but slaves. Appreciation is very important to them.”
With another cool nod, Claire swept out of the student lounge, leaving Luke alternately looking after her and looking back at Lyle. Lyle smiled back at his master, and felt his heart flip over as Luke’s gaze lingered on him before finally snapping back to watch the doorway.
“What the fuck was that?” Luke muttered under his breath. Now away from the mesmerizing presence of his crush, her tone of cool dismissal and the easy way she had manipulated him was suddenly penetrating Luke’s brain. “Fucking ordered me around like a damn Domestic!”
Lyle bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as Luke suddenly seemed to get that Claire didn’t care for him. At all.
--
Lyle waited outside his last classroom for Luke. Luke’s classes always got out after his did, leaving him enough time to get things for Luke or run any necessary errands. But today he was just waiting under the light by the door, looking out at the treed expanse of the commons, rendered almost indistinguishable by the dark.
Luke pushed open the door a few minutes later, hitching his backpack up on his back. He grinned a bit when he spotted Lyle, and started heading home, Lyle falling into step behind him almost instinctively. Ever since Claire had forcibly deprived Luke of his crush on her, Luke had been a lot less moody. He still didn’t talk to many of his classmates, but he hadn’t gotten drunk again, and had stopped complaining endlessly about Claire.
Luke was concentrating on his classes, finishing his assignments, doing his experimental protocols, slogging through a mountain of work with a fierce determination to impress someone. Lyle just didn’t know who. Maybe Luke was just trying to impress himself. More likely he was trying to impress his family, who hadn’t so much as phoned him the entire time he’d been at college. Or maybe he was just trying to find who he was outside of their sphere.
Luke’s family reputation pretty much precluded people talking to him, so focusing on work was the only thing he could do. Once he moved himself out of the Reapers’ orbit, people would probably start seeing him for himself. And Lyle was right there with him, aiding him every step of the way. He needed Luke to succeed as much or more than Luke did. The more successful his master was, the better off Lyle would be when his term of service was up. Besides, he wanted Luke to succeed!
But, on a more selfish note for Lyle, Luke still wasn’t using him as much more than a Domestic Companion and Lyle was starting to get a little frantic. He had skills that were going to waste, and he couldn’t even keep them that sharp, as he was afraid he’d disgrace himself and come without permission. And when he’d hear Luke taking care of his morning wood by himself, he wanted to beg for that permission with all his heart.
He would have given anything to repeat the incident after the Lambda Kappa Phi party, but somehow change the script, and have Luke order him into his bed…
Particularly when he’d come in one morning after starting a load of laundry to hear Luke, muttering softly into his pillow, “Why couldn’t you be a girl?” And then he’d looked at him. Stared at Lyle with such heat in his eyes that Lyle had broken out in a sweat.
He’d broken protocol to stand in a cold shower for fifteen minutes after that. Luke’s laundry had been late, but at least Lyle hadn’t violated his training.
“Hey!”
Lyle was jerked out of his reverie by a sharp yell from above. Looking up, he saw another student, a couple years older than Lyle with brown hair and dark eyes, floating, flying, near the branches of one of the huge trees on the commons.
“You Luke?”
Luke glared up at the tall kid with annoyance. “What’s it to you?”
“I’m Rosen. West Rosen. Than name ring any bells?” the guy demanded.
“No,” Luke said shortly, and turned to head back home.
“Don’t you fucking walk away from me, you little shit!” West yelled.
Luke froze in his tracks and turned around.
“You really sure the name Rosen doesn’t sound familiar?” West asked again.
Luke scowled and shook his head.
“My dad’s been a slave in your house for the last five years, and you don’t even know his name?!” West asked incredulously, face darkening in anger.
“I didn’t pick who serves in the house! That’s all Sylar’s gig,” Luke said defensively, one hand curled into a fist. Lyle had taken a step forward and gotten himself centered, ready to defend himself and Luke, adrenaline singing in his ears.
“Sylar.” West spat the name like it was a curse. “And who the hell is that?” he asked, pointing at Lyle. “Another reaper victim?”
“No!” Luke said. “Sylar bought him for me as a birthday gift-.”
Lyle bit back a gasp as West’s eyes narrowed in speculation. Luke had just identified him as a favored possession.
“You ought to be more careful with your toys, Luke. All sorts of bad things can happen to them…” West moved fast, almost too fast to see, blurring in the dim light. Lyle reacted out of pure reflex, foot snapping out in a side kick that he’d drilled so relentlessly he didn’t have to think about it, cracking into West’s ribs as the flyer tried to grab him. West gasped and curled around his side, sliding two yards across the grass as he came to a tumbling excuse for a landing.
Luke shot Lyle an astonished glance and ran forward before West could recover, Lyle right on his heels. He grabbed West’s collar with one hand and the other grabbed between West’s legs, making Lyle wince and West gasp in pain.
“Hey, asshole,” Luke growled. “I’m not in Criminal Justice. I didn’t fucking reap your dad. I’m not fucking responsible for where the hell he ends up afterwards, and I sure as hell don’t bother to touch any of Sylar’s property. You got that?”
Luke waited until West had managed a nod before going on. “I’m not going to be a Reaper. I’m in R&D. You know what that means? That means I know exactly how to fry your balls while leaving your brain intact enough for you to scream about it. You got problems with Sylar? Take it up with him. Because I’m not going to be cleaning up his shit.”
Luke released West and took a few steps back, waiting until West had painfully lifted himself back into the sky and disappeared before turning on Lyle. Then Luke all but rammed Lyle back against a tree, one arm across his throat so he could glare in his face.
“What the fuck was that?” Luke demanded. “Fucking hell, he could have dragged you up into the sky and splattered your body across half of campus.”
Lyle could feel the heat of Luke’s body along the entire length of his, and repressed an entirely inappropriate moan. The rush from the fight along with Luke’s unexpectedly forceful behavior had every training trigger in him primed. And Luke’s concern about Lyle’s well-being had everything else in him sitting up and begging too.
“I’m supposed to protect you,” Lyle managed, biting back a gasp. Closing his eyes, he risked moving just enough so Luke could feel his arousal.
“What, don’t think I can?” Luke asked, voice just a little shaky.
“It’s my job-.” Lyle strangled himself to silence as Luke suddenly ground down against him. God, he was just as hard as Lyle.
“Should let you do your job more often,” Luke muttered, his arm against Lyle’s throat easing up.
“I want to,” Lyle whispered.
Luke leaned forward and pressed his lips and tongue against the empty heart on Lyle’s neck, drawing a groan out of him.
“I’m so fucking glad you aren’t a girl,” Luke said, drawing back. Lyle blinked at Luke stupidly, suddenly deprived of the heat and hardness.
“Yeah?” Lyle asked, not sure he believed his ears.
“Home. Now,” Luke managed.
They made the sprint across campus in record time.
--
Luke was struggling out of his clothes before the door was even closed. Lyle moved to help, only to find Luke was undressing him at the same time.
“Come on, come on,” Luke chanted to himself, writhing out of his clothes and yanking off Lyle’s as fast as he could. When they were down to jeans, Luke pulled away and pointed to the bed. Lyle didn’t even remember moving before he was face-up on the cover, propped up on his elbows to watch Luke crawl on the bed and lean over him.
“You remember what I asked you? After that party?”
Coherent thought left for a minute as Lyle threw his head back and groaned in an agony of arousal, hips involuntarily jerking upwards to press into Luke’s.
“Christ,” Luke whispered. He pressed his thumb hard into the hollow heart on Lyle’s chest, and that brought Lyle back to reality.
“I can’t stop remembering,” Lyle confessed.
“Fucking hot,” Luke said, and leaned down to kiss him. No longer sucking like a leech, Luke let Lyle lead them, but kept his hand on Lyle’s chest, tracing the outline of the heart over and over again until he pulled away.
“I can’t be a girl,” Lyle said, staring up at his master, slightly hesitant.
“Girl can’t do what I want,” Luke said, grinding down against Lyle, rendering his protests irrelevant.
“But, but-,” Lyle sputtered, unable to get any more eloquent to ask why Luke hadn’t taken his rights for all the months he’d owned him. Why he’d bemoaned Lyle’s sex where he could hear him…
“Had to get the guts,” Luke said obliquely. He bit back a gasp of his own as he felt Lyle’s cock leap in response, and bore down fiercely against him. “Know what I want now.”
“Yes…” Lyle breathed.
“Lyle,” Luke whispered, leaning down to speak right in his ear. “Fuck me.”
Lyle didn’t remember how he got the pants off of both of them without ripping the denim, but the next part was in shocking clarity. Luke, leaning over him, pressing the tube of lubricant in his hand, kissing Lyle with frantic heat as his body was breached. Lyle slowed down, soothing his master with one hand while the other worked him open, spreading Luke on his fingers, making him slick and ready.
“Oh fuck,” Luke said, breaking off the kiss to concentrate on the new sensations Lyle was awakening in him. “Yeah, that’s good, fucking good.” Luke rocked back on Lyle’s fingers for several long minutes, and then grabbed Lyle’s other hand and put it above his head on the bed.
“Keep it there,” Luke commanded, and pushed Lyle’s other hand to join it. He shuffled back on his knees until he could see Lyle’s cock, standing proud and tall away from his body. Luke’s own dick twitched at the sight, and Lyle moaned softly.
“I’m gonna ride you. I’m gonna take everything you have,” Luke said in a low voice. One hand, slick with more lube, ran down Lyle’s length just enough to get him glistening and ready.
“Please,” Lyle begged. “Master, please!”
“Jesus,” Luke breathed, and pushed himself up. He braced himself and then sank back slowly, squeezing Lyle’s cock in a brutal crushing heat from tip to base. Lyle gripped the headboard and prayed for strength, head arched back in the mattress and eyes screwed shut to keep control.
Luke let out a bright string of obscenities as he leaned back, bracing one hand on Lyle’s thigh. He lifted up and sank back again to a new string of curses, slowly devolving into wordless cries as his pace picked up. Lyle’s grip on the headboard increased until his knuckles were white and all the muscles of his arms and chest were tense with the effort, bracing himself again Luke’s brutal pace. His head came up and he watched with his mouth open as Luke impaled himself on Lyle’s dick over and over, body flushed and totally in control of the situation.
Luke looked down to see Lyle watching him and leaned forward, bracing his hands on Lyle’s chest and digging his fingers into his muscles. The side of his thumb hit the heart tattoo on Lyle’s skin, and both of them gasped as they felt Lyle’s body jerk in reaction.
“You close, Lyle? Gonna come?” Luke asked breathlessly.
“Let me, please!”
Luke leaned back again, his smile one of absolute confidence as he began to stroke himself. “Come on!”
Lyle felt the splatter of Luke’s come against his skin before his own long-delayed orgasm broke over him, spurting deep into Luke’s body. Everything he had poured into his master, and Lyle felt himself floating on the feelings of euphoria and completeness. Luke lifted himself off only after Lyle had completely relaxed under him, and turned towards him for another kiss. Lyle gave it everything he had, and Luke’s indistinct words of praise were the last thing Lyle heard before exhaustion claimed him.
It was only later, in his dreams, when he realized what Luke had said.
“You’re mine now. You’re really mine.”
--
It was early the next morning when Luke draggled Lyle to campustown. He didn’t offer a word of explanation, just had Lyle follow him past the indeterminate number of bars, exotic restaurants, coffee houses, printing and copying stores, and novelty shops. He dragged him up a staircase to a second-story shop, and Lyle only realized what it was after he’d entered. The myriad of colored artwork and photos along the walls, along with the chairs and sound of buzzing needle guns, was a familiar sight to Lyle.
The heavily tattooed woman at the front desk, Lydia, listened to Luke’s explanation, too low-voiced for Lyle to hear, with some interest. Smiling, she gestured Lyle deeper into the tattoo parlor and pointed to a chair.
“New marks for you. You know the drill, I expect,” Lydia said without preamble, assembling her inks. Lyle pulled his shirt over his head without a second thought, sparing a glance for Luke. The openly appreciative leer at Lyle’s musculature was refreshing, but the fact that he had no idea what mark was going on his skin was not.
“You’ll like it,” Luke insisted, taking a seat across from Lyle and picking up a magazine.
Turning his neck to the side obediently, Lyle put his worries from his mind as the artist put the buzzing needle to his skin. If he couldn’t trust Luke after last night, he never would.
The rising and fading burn was familiar to Lyle, and it took less than a half-hour to finish the marks on his neck, chest, and hand. As Lydia was about to put on the gauze pads, Luke stopped her and took the mirror off her tray.
“I want him to see.”
Lydia shrugged and stood back as Luke held the mirror so Lyle could see his new marks. He felt his pulse begin to pound as he saw the heart outline had been filled in. But not with the simple red that meant experience. No, it was with the black ink of exclusivity, with a cursive red letter “L” in the center. Luke was promising not to share him, not to rent him out, not to use him to pay a debt. To touch Lyle without Luke’s permission was to risk his wrath, and Lyle was permitted to use every talent at his disposal to keep himself solely for his master’s use. That kind of mark implied a rank of excellence, of dedicated service and unparalleled obedience. It showed Lyle was of the highest quality, and any future employer would know he’d gone above and beyond the norm to be the best he could be.
Lyle’s mouth moved soundlessly, mouthing the words “Thank you” without anything actually coming out.
Luke’s thumb skimmed lightly over the stinging skin on Lyle’s chest before he waved at him to cover the fresh tattoos and get dressed again.
“Gotta get my money’s worth,” Luke said, pulling Lyle into brief, intense kiss.
“Me too,” Lyle said, and felt the answering smile against his mouth as his new heart stung under his master’s hand.
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If you want some extra "cut scenes" from this story, go here: Slave AU Extras
This way to a sequel! Halfways Point To Everywhere