This has been up for months over on my Livejournal...realized abruptly it never got posted over here. *sighs* So, yeah. Still a WIP, but there's 3 chapters all together. I also have more Puppy Cargo over my LJ. Really, I'm more active over there than I am here most of the time. For the newest fics, head over and check it out. There's also a super-hot NC-17 Wincest kink story over there. *bribes* XD Anywhere, here ya go guys:
"Sir?"
Dean Winchester, multi-millionaire, and heir to a fortune more, folded down the corner of his paper to better look at his right-hand man, assessing with a glance before putting the paper aside, resting it on the heirloom, solid rose-wood desk, worn to a deep mahogany with years of handling. Robert's voice held that note; there was something that he wanted Dean's full attention on, and the Master would oblige.
"Yeah?"
The bodyguard rolled his shoulders, stalled for a split second before spilling. "Rumor is, Blake has a new slave he found, special for you. Seems legit."
Shit. Dean leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers, pressed the tips against his mouth as he thought. He'd been tossing the notion around, contemplating if it was worth the work to get a new slave already, since Stephan had made noises about it, or just hang it out a little longer. But his knee-jerk reaction to having one already picked was to deny it, to refuse on principle alone.
Trouble was, Blake was a regular, and Dean knew if he said no, not only would he lose the slave, but he probably wouldn't like where the kid would end up, and he'd have compounded the problem by upsetting the slave dealer. He held his breath, let it out in a steady rush, tapped his fingers against his mouth in thought. "He say the price?"
Robert shook his head, rocking his weight back and forth from balls of feet to heels casually. "No. Just that he got the merchandise, wanted to let you have first dibs, if you wanted him."
The man had been the right-hand man to his father for years, and Dean saw no difference in the way he treated the heir than the previous. He had been bought by Dean's grandfather, released as soon as his Dad had taken the reins over, and had liked the man enough to stay on. And Dean liked him for more than the experience he brought to the table… he also didn't hesitate to lay it all out if that's what Dean wanted.
He thought it some more, finally sighed in resignation and sat forward, crooking a grin as he shrugged. "Can't hurt to check it out, right?"
Robert just inclined his head, stepping out to ready the car.
/\/\/\/\
Dean mused on the drive, watching the scenery shift from isolated woods and random fields ready to harvest to the crowded stench of the city, that he had influence over the majority of this. His entire family was filthy rich… enough that he held power over the government, could sway things the way he wanted with enough words. He had made enough of his own investments that had panned out a considerable profit that he no longer felt guilty for using the wealth the way he did now. Robert cast a glance over to his Master, and Dean shrugged, letting his thoughts drift as they want. It had taken awhile, but Blake was a decent flesh-dealer. He knew, now at least, to keep his trap shut, and offer Dean the choicest bits, the delectable morsels of his trade. But for him to take this sort of initiative rubs at Dean, makes him contemplate finding another to indulge him. He spent the rest of the drive contemplating it, finally decided he'd table the idea for awhile… see what sort of present the worm had found.
The dealer's den always amused Dean, to an extent, and he passed under the teary visage of the Virgin Mother as he knocked on the heavy oak door. Through the stained glass he saw movement, and a moment later, the door opened, the dealer bowing low as he stepped back. Robert took a deep breath, spreading ribs and shoulders wide, making his frame rather intimidating, and the dealer flinched, led them without a word. Ever since Robert had taken a special offense to Blake's tone on Dean's behalf, well… the slaver was rather twitchy near the bodyguard. Robert rolled his eyes, showing his blatant disgust at the attempt at flattery. It wasn't as if they didn't know where they were going.
Once they get into the lower levels of the church, the temp drops, as if God frowns here, and Dean tugs his jacket closer, tries to remain impassive to the slaves they pass. It's apparent there's a new shipment; some have eyes still glittering in fear and anger, wrists and throats bruised badly under the thick and heavy shackles. Milled among them are the older ones, the ones that Blake liked personally, and they're easy to spot. Their eyes have long since gone blank, reduced to mere machines at this point. They kneel as he passes, yank the chains of the newer ones, teaching them the skills to 'survive', and he internally flinches that they can recognize him so easily.
It's definitely time to find a new dealer.
He follows Blake to the furthest room, careful to keep his eyes on the bare toes that curl and grip the cold flagstones. It's degrading enough for them to be slaves, no need to add insult to injury by stepping on their toes. Literally.
The flesh-dealer opens the door, and the low, menacing growl that rumbles out is more felt than heard, and Dean raises a brow, not surprised as Robert slides a hand under his jacket. Dean figures Blake isn't stupid enough to try to off him, but that's what Robert gets paid to assume. The worm actually frowns, flips on a light that instantly cuts the growl and sends the youth flinching. The room is cold, dark without the flood lights, and it's no doubt a shock to the slave's eyes. He only flinches for a moment though before raising heated hazel eyes that are snapping in outrage and anger. "See, my good sir? My men found him, and I couldn't help but think he'd be perfect for you. I had them handle him extra careful for you. He's thoroughly unused." Blake twists his heavy gold ring, obviously nervous but excited at the chance to seal a deal, and Dean pulls up his mask, lets himself slide into the act of a bored, insanely-wealthy pervert.
He picks his way neatly around the cage, eyes shuttered and guarded, as he watches the young man inside. He'll admit, the boy is a pretty one. Tall as hell, even when he factored in the platform the cage sat on. Longer chocolate locks are limp, hanging into hazel eyes that are still snapping in anger, absolutely no fear in them. There's a darling cleft in his chin, pulling attention to his strong and clenched jaw. There's a generic collar on the youth, plain beaten metal, locked close with a tiny gold padlock, and a glance to wrists show the same treatment again, the chain between them gilded. He pictures his own buttery-soft restraints on the slim joints, encircling the slender throat, and cocks a smirk at the boy. Dean filters through words as he completes his circuit, noticing the eyes watching him express such hatred. His shoulders are broad under the white tee, and though it hangs off him a little, cheeks hollowed out a bit, there's no gauntness that indicates prolonged starvation, or abuse. "He is…very worthy. You did well."
The worm looks pleased, dark eyes greedy as he bobs his head like the quail Dean has in his yard. "Thank you, sir. I thought you'd appreciate him, sir." The youth in the cage hisses, and Dean smirks at him again, turns back to the dealer.
"The price?"
"6." Dean's eyes narrow; the youth is worthy, yes, but not exotic. The most he's paid here is not over four thousand, and that was for a very unique boy. He glances at his nails, buffs them lightly on his jacket as Robert shifts ominously behind them.
"I decline."
"But sir! He is perfect! Untouched!" Dean watches him blankly, and the man chews his finger, finally sighs. "Alright. I suppose I can do 5, but no lower, mind you."
"I decline." He turns to leave, makes it three steps before the dealer rushes at him, anxious.
"4!"
"You'll make it three, or there's no deal." The words are cold and bored, but the dealer nods, hands him keys eagerly. "Very well." He eyes the youth, who's gone still, alarm apparent in his hazel eyes, and smiles coldly. "Robert? Bring the boy to the car."
Blake knows him well enough to not argue over the lack of money at the moment. He'll receive his payment later the next day, in trade for a bill of sale, and the pedigree and linage will be a few days past that. The dealer knows better than to try anything with Dean.
Robert takes a step towards the cage, and the result is instantaneous, the fear now springing into those eyes as the boy backs against the far wall of the cage, shaking slightly. Dean rubs the back of his neck, hating the quivering in the child, and sighs hard. The guard glances at his Master, and Dean raises a brow, indicates its Robert's choice. "Shall I restrain or sedate, Sir?"
Dean weighs the choices… sedation would by far be easier, but he doesn't want to damage his newest acquirement. But the chance of the boy bolting… well. He runs his tongue across his teeth, tosses the keys to the collar to the bodyguard. "You may want to borrow some of Blake's slaves, to help hold him down until the drugs take effect."
It takes six of the burly guards, plus Robert, and the boy still manages to fight until the drug pulls him down deep. Perversely, Dean is a little pleased by that.
/\/\/\/\
He has Robert let him out at the Main House, lets the guard carry on to the stables to settle in the boy. It's cruel, he knows, but it's also easier to restrain the youth in the barn than in the house, safer for everyone involved. He's not stupid, knows that many a slave wouldn't hesitate to slit his throat in his sleep, and he also knows that he's pissed off enough people, they would merrily take a slave from him. The barn is more secure, with Stephan sleeping out with the horses every night, able to keep a keenly trained ear on everything.
He kicks his shoes off, settling them just inside the door as he sighs in relief, letting his feet sink into the thick plushy carpeting. It's a sinful indulgence, really, but one that he has yet to regret. His stomach mutters, and he slowly makes his way to the dining room, following the thick and heady scent of supper and the quiet giggles of the kitchen girls.
Allie, his cook, has his meal ready, plate set out at his spot and covered to stay warm, though he has no doubt she set it down minutes after Robert let him out. The roast is the venison he took down a few weeks back, still tender and succulent, and he nibbles it as he flips through the mail, sorting out what needs done tonight and what can hold off until the morning. He knows by now that they know of the new arrival, that she's packed a plate for the youth in case he's awake, and she settled the small portion in the bottom of a basket, tucks warmed towels around it, and covered the thing with apples and carrot chunks, pieces that aren't fit for her standards, but perfect for his stallion.
He isn't surprised when she refills his glass, cocks a hip imprudently, and raises a brow. Gossip travels fast, and even faster when the property is as small as his home one.
"Got a new one, eh?" Her accent is thick, even if it's mixed from several countries, and he offers a smile.
"Yes. Blake found him 'special'." Dean leans back, chews his lip as he watches the sun paint the skies, lighting the forests in multicolored fires, the leaves all bright in their fall colors of reds and oranges and yellows. He chose this room specifically for the dining room because of the view out the full-length windows; it soothes him as much as it awes guests. Be it spring, summer, autumn or winter, the vista is a stunning one. Allie hums, a non-committal noise, and wipes down the table, cants green eyes at him shrewdly.
"Got an idea where you're workin him?"
He huffs a laugh, shakes his head. "I don't even know his name yet. Why? Are you needing more house helpers?" His servants know him well enough by now, know they can ask things they couldn't of his grandfather, and he's surprised when she tips her head.
"I wouldn't turn down another one, especially a strappin boy, but we're makin do with what we got. Especially if Stephan needs the help." He hadn't thought of that, and he thinks on it for a few moments, until Allie is eying his place. Pushes himself from the table, grabs the basket with a murmur of thanks as he ducks out through the kitchens, lets her descend upon the table. She's an excellent worker; takes any smudge or crumb as a personal affront, and while his Mama raised him to clean up after himself, she works herself into a frenzy if he doesn't at least leave something for her to tidy.
The walk to the stables is a bit of a hike, but the air has turned chill and brisk, typical of Autumn, and he loves the mosaic of colors, the scent of wood smoke, leaves dropping and rotting, the last traces of hay, and the warning of frost in the air. He chews his lip as he closes the last of the distance, gravel crunching under his boots, and decides that if the boy doesn't take too much time, he may take Kaz on a run, take the stallion down to the river via the deer trails. He heard the baying of the hounds a few days ago, thinks that the deer are moving around again. It wouldn't hurt to see where they're at, make notes for when the larder gets low again.
Robert is huffing outside the slave pen, eyes narrowed at his master. Dean laughs, teases. "What's the matter Bobby, the age sneakin up on you?" Robert isn't that old, bitches like an old man though, and Dean trusts the elder knows it's all in jest.
"Boy woke up, is what." He rubs his jaw lightly, and Dean can now see the swelling starting to settle in, the red imprints of knuckles beneath the stubble, and his joviality fades as he pauses.
"There's no way. The amount of sedative alone should have had him out all night." He's got a good eye for mass, calibrates doses to ensure the new slaves will be down if they have to be, down for several hours.
Robert snorts, rolls his shoulders in aggravation. "Well, he did. I was comin to get you… I think he tore up his shoulder with that little maneuver." He flushes at Dean's dark look, scuffs a worn boot in the faint dust of the stable walkways. "I already had him tethered when he started to come around. I don't think that he knew he was bound up."
Dean doesn't bother answering, just glances in through the thick green bars on the top of the stall doors. Sure enough, the left shoulder of the youth is deformed, arm curled around his waist loosely as he pants, eyes still glassy with the drugs in his system and pain. Dean has a sinking suspicion that this boy is going to be a bigger handful than he first assumed. "Damnit," he sighs, running his tongue over his molars. This was exactly what was NOT supposed to happen. This was the reason he sedated the more feisty ones that first night, so they can rest and not wind up hurt any more than necessary.
Nothing to be done for it though, aside from just getting in there and fixing it. He lingers a moment or two longer, dreading the idea of it, but knowing there just isn't any other option. "Alright, come on Bobby, help me out here." He unlatches the stall door, boots sliding a moment before biting into the concrete enough to use his body to push it along the tracks. The slave stall, and Kaz's door, were weighted down with iron inside the wooden frame, and each one weighed a small ton; insurances against his property getting away too easily.
The youth tenses as soon as they enter, scrambling backward until the chains around his wrists pull taut with a clang, yanking on his shoulder and pulling a pained hiss between clenched teeth. Bobby had at least secured him… the logging chains looped together around the latch points on the wrist cuffs before meeting again at the steel ring buried 4 foot into the concrete flooring. His ankles weren't much better, the chain much smaller, leading to another, separate ring. Dean had carefully contemplated each and every aspect of this room, allowed just enough chain for a new slave to be able to press his back against the cinderblock wall, not enough room to reach the side of the stall boarding Kaz's. And never enough chain to loop up and over a neck. Not after that one lesson.
The young man pressed his back against the stones, quivering hard from top to bottom, and Dean slowed, stopping and leaning against the same wall, trying to make his body language soft and unthreatening. "Heya." Hazel eyes flicked up to his throat before watching Robert keenly. "So, seems like your shoulder's pretty torn up there. Figured we'd fix it, okay?" The kid showed no inclination of responding, just remained tight-lipped and silent, and Dean sighed. "Okay, listen. I don't have all night. I'd rather do this with your acknowledgement, but I'll just yank it back into place, okay? It's gonna hurt either way."