My place is of the sun and this place is of the dark
I do not feel the romance I do not catch the spark
I don't know when I noticed life was life at my expense
The words of my heart lined up like prisoners on a fence
The dreams came in like needy children tugging at my sleeve
I said I have no way of feeding you, so leave


Bought (Age 5)

Joe stares out of the car window as they pass the huge houses set back from the road. All of them that he can see are bigger than the house he only vaguely remembers, and much bigger than the place that was way too small for the ten of them that they'd moved to after his mother started looking tired and pale all the time.

He clears his throat, and both of the Neals (it's his second-oldest brother's name, so it's easy for him to remember) look at him.

"Um...excuse me, ma'am," he says to Mrs.--Mistress Neal, the Commerce people had told him--"I was just wondering, does...Dylan have any brothers or sisters?"

The blonde woman looks at him, surprised. "No, he's an only child," she says.

Master Neal leans over and adds, "It's just your mistress and myself, and Dylan, and the staff of course--which includes you now."

Joe may only be five, but he isn't stupid, and he doesn't miss the not-so-subtle reminder that he's not part of the family, and he isn't going to be. It still doesn't make a lot of sense, that you can buy a person like you'd buy toys or books or furniture, but it seems like you can, and that's what the Neals had done. With him.

He tries not to think about his mom and dad and sisters and brothers. The Commerce people said that would be the best thing, since he's never going to see them again, but he can't help wishing that someone had told him what he'd done that was so awful that his own parents would sell him.

When he'd asked Mistress and Master Neal if they were going to be his new mom and dad, they'd said, "No" like they meant it. They'd explained that they wanted him to be friends with their son who was about his age. What they didn't explain is what happens if he doesn't get along with this Dylan kid--but they didn't really have to.

He swallows hard. He's not going to cry in front of these people, not when Master Neal has barely looked at him and Mistress Neal doesn't seem like the hugging type. She must have heard something, though, because she reaches out and gives him a pat on the head, almost like she thinks he'll bite or something.

"We'll need to do something about this--I should ask Kim to see about getting you to a barber."

Even when he was at home, his parents told him he wasn't supposed to argue with grown-ups, so he doesn't tell the Mistress that the shorter you cut his hair, the more it sticks up, and the only thing to do is let it go and just trim his bangs when they get in his eyes.

As they pull into a big round driveway, Master Neal leans over again and looks at Joe, his expression serious.

"Don't forget what we said back at Commerce," he tells him. "Right now, you just need to be Dylan's friend. If you or anyone else tells him that you're a slave, he'll just get confused."

Joe's pretty confused, but he's already figured out that no one's going to tell him any more than they already has, so he just nods.

When they go inside, Joe immediately sticks his hands in his pockets so he won't accidentally touch anything. Mistress Neal leaves him in the living room with her husband coming back after a few minutes holding the hand of a small blond-haired boy. He regards Joe solemnly, blue eyes huge in his pale, thin face.

"Hi," Joe finally says. "I'm Joe."

"I'm Dylan. I just got home from the hospital yesterday," he tells Joe.

Hospitals are bad places, that much he does know. And it explains why Dylan's so pale, and why his lips are almost blue, like Joe's mother's. "My mom goes to the hospital a lot," he offers.

Mistress Neal bends down and smiles at her son. "Dylan, this is Joe. He's going to be staying with us for a while, to keep you company."

"Okay." Dylan looks at Joe and gives him a hesitant smile. "I got a new Nintendo--wanna play?"

Joe'd only ever seen a video game console in the store windows or on TV. His brother Keith had wanted one, but their father had said it was much too expensive. "Sure."

Dylan really smiles at that. "Come on--it's in my room."

Joe glances back at Dylan's parents, his new master and mistress. Neither of them looks very happy, but they'd told him that he should do whatever Dylan wants him to, so he turns and follows him out.


Punished (Age 8)

Joe doesn't like to cry like a big baby, but he can't help it. Master Neal's never hit him that hard before, and it wasn't even his fault. He buries his head in Andy's chest as he's carried into the back, past the kitchens to where Sherri and Andy and the maids sleep.

"What happened?" he hears Kim say, and knowing she's there, he tries to stop crying. Theo's okay, but he always treats Joe like a kid; he likes Kim better because she talks to him like a grown-up.

"Master punished him in front of Dylan to teach him--Dylan, that is--a lesson." Andy sounds mad, which is scary all by itself.

"So he punished Joe?" Sherri also sounds mad, and that's even scarier than Andy. "Good Lord, he's bleeding. Let's take him in the bathroom and get him cleaned up."

Someone starts the water running. Kim gets him out of his shirt and with Andy's help settles him in the big tub. There's bubble bath, and even though it smells really girly, Joe doesn't mind too much. He reaches up and rubs at his eyes before Kim gently pulls his arm away. "You'll get soap in there," she warns.

It would all be fine if he didn't know why he's in there, and why his butt hurts so much. "I hate him," Joe hisses. "He's a stupid liar and I hate him."

"Dylan?" Sherri asks. Joe nods.

"Yeah--I told him we weren't supposed to play in his dad's office, and that I was gonna get in trouble, but he said he wanted to and I'm supposed to do what he says, and then he lied and said it was my idea when his mom and dad asked whose fault it was, and so I got switched. It's not fair and I hate him!"

"Shh....Joe, look at me." Kim's bending down by the tub while Sherri scrubs his hair. "What Dylan did was wrong, and you have every right to be angry. And in here, when it's just us, you can be angry--although I don't think you really hate him."

"Do too."

"Well...it doesn't matter, because the important thing is that you can say anything you want when it's just us, but when you're around the Master and Mistress and Dylan, you can't let them know you're mad."

"So I have to stop being mad at him?"

"No, sweetheart," Sherri says, "you just can't show it where they can see. You have to pretend."

"Because I'm a slave," Joe says flatly.

Andy bends down next to Kim. "Afraid so, little man."

It's not fair, but Joe figured out the part where nothing was fair back when he was five and the Commerce people came and took him away. "Why? Why do they get to make the rules?"

Andy chuckles, but it doesn't sound like he thinks it's funny. "It's the Golden Rule--them what has the gold, make the rules."

Joe's scrunches up his face like he always does when he's confused. "So....Master and Mistress could buy us because they have lots of money?"

"Pretty much," Kim tells him. "It's just how things are."

They get him out of the tub and wrap him in what must be Andy's bathrobe--it's huge on him, but it's nice and warm. In the kitchen, Sherri dishes up a bowl of ice cream for him like she always does when Master's punished him for something. He knows he's pretty lucky; Sherri and Andy and Kim are awesome and they're all really nice to him.

Joe's about halfway through his ice cream when he hears Dylan cough behind him. He doesn't turn around until he hears a thump, a soft gasp, and the Master saying, "No, Sarah--let him."

The Master and Mistress are both there; Sherri, Andy and Kim are still standing by the counter, their expressions totally blank. Dylan's kneeling on the kitchen floor, looking up at Joe. His eyes are red, which is stupid, because what did he have to cry about? His butt isn't the one that got beaten.

"Joe...I know you're probably really mad at me, and it's okay because it's totally all my fault," Dylan says, the words coming out in a rush. "I'm sorry I told you that you had to go into Dad's office with me, and I'm really, really sorry for lying and getting you in trouble. I didn't know it was like that, I swear....I'm so sorry."

Joe knows he's supposed to say that it's okay, but it's not. He can't say what he wants to, either, which is that Dylan's a little jerk. Dylan looks like he's about to start crying again, and suddenly, Joe just wants to forget about the whole thing.

"Want some ice cream?" he asks.

Dylan's face lights up, and he climbs up on the counter stool next to Joe's. He thanks Sherri when she brings out another spoon, and she smiles, but she's looking at Joe. Kim gives him an approving nod as she leaves with the Mistress. Andy winks at Joe on his way out. He's not really sure why, but apparently, he'd said exactly the right thing.

Dylan being Dylan, of course, he can't let it go, and later, after they've gone to bed and turned out the lights, he whispers "I meant what I said before--I'm really sorry, and I promise I'll never do anything like that again."

Yeah you will. "Don't worry about it."


Claimed (Age 14)

Dylan's off with his mom, visiting some relative or other, leaving Kim and Joe with the afternoon off. It's warm but not hot out, perfect for a run. Joe's about to head out the back door when Master Neal's body-slave calls his name.

"Master wants you," Blair says, glaring at Joe, who leans against the wall and grins just because he knows it'll piss Blair off.

"He said now, so maybe you'd like to move your skinny ass?" Blair doesn't quite snarl, but it's a near thing.

Joe shrugs and goes back inside. Sherri's working on dinner; her expression is worried when she looks up as they pass through the kitchen. Joe's stomach clenches.

"Speaking of skinny asses," he says to Blair, taking refuge in the familiar, "maybe you should go for a run. Looks like you've put on some weight since Christmas."

"You little--"

"Blair," Sherri calls after them, "I need the big roasting pan off the top shelf."

"Master Neal isn't your precious Dylan," Blair hisses. "He's not going to put up with your bullshit. I hope he fucks you so hard you can't sit for a week."

"Blair!" He turns and goes, which proves he's not as stupid as Joe's always thought. Only a complete moron ignores Sherri when she gets that tone in her voice.

The door to Master Neal's office is closed. Suddenly very conscious of the fact that he's in nothing but running shorts and a t-shirt, Joe takes a deep breath and tries to smooth down his hair before he knocks.

"Come in, Joe." The Master is at his desk; he gestures Joe toward the big leather chair opposite him. After a few seconds, he takes his glasses off and looks directly at Joe.

"I've received Dylan's academic report for the year," he says, "and also, your performance assessment." Glasses back on, he reads from a paper, "'Although Dylan seems reluctant to issue orders to Joe, usually phrasing his instructions as a request, Joe has proven to be extremely attentive to Dylan. He is conscientious about performing his daily duties....However, faculty and staff members have observed that Joe is not similarly responsive when given orders by anyone other than Dylan. This is especially noticeable when Joe is asked to perform tasks by other students whose own slaves may be otherwise occupied.'"

Joe is very good at pretending to pay attention, so he just sits and waits, because obviously, the other shoe's on its way down.

"In the 'Recommendations for Future Improvement' section," Master Neal continues, "they say that 'it is important for Dylan to become comfortable in his station and for Joe to develop a more comprehensive understanding of his role. Encouraging Dylan to take a firmer hand in disciplining Joe will benefit both master and slave over the long-term.'" The glasses come off again, and Master Neal looks at Joe, clearly expecting some sort of response."

"I'm sorry, sir," Joe tells him. The whole thing seems pretty silly to him; he and Dylan have something that works, and as long as it doesn't affect anyone else, who cares? Master Neal, obviously.

The Master comes around to the other side of the desk and leans against it, facing Joe. "You know," he says, "I wasn't sure it was a good idea, to get Dylan his own body-slave when you were both so young. Sarah talked me into it, and I admit that Dylan's very happy having you around. However, you need to remember that you are not Dylan's friend, and you're not his brother. You're his property." He smiles slightly. "Technically speaking, you're my property, since my name is on your contract."

Joe doesn't think he's the one who needs reminding that he's Dylan's property, but as with so many other things over the years, he's learned better than to say what he actually thinks.

"Your behavior reflects not just on you--not primarily on you--but on Dylan, and our family. If people see that Dylan can't control you, then they won't respect him. It was one thing for you two to be so familiar when you were children, but you're not kids any more, and you both need to start acting accordingly. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir--I'm very sorry, sir," Joe says, slipping on his "contrite" face.

"You know....I've noticed that things seem to stick more with you when I...emphasize them," the Master says, going behind his desk again and retrieving a slim cane. Joe stands, takes off his shorts and bends over the desk like he has so many times before.

Joe's used to this and he doesn't cry any more, but around the fifth stroke of the cane he realizes his cock is hard and pressing against the edge of the desk in a rather uncomfortable way. They've talked about this stuff in the Saturday sessions--sexual masochism, endorphins, paraphilias--so the fact that he's aroused isn't too surprising. The problem is that he's getting hard from getting caned by his master's dad, and that's just fucking disturbing.

He knows that it's futile to hope that the Master won't notice, and sure enough, after twelve strokes, Master Neal sets the cane aside and wraps his hand around Joe's dick.

"Your report did show you've done quite well in the specialized training," he says, "'enthusiastic and very responsive to a variety of sexual stimuli,' I believe is how they put it--which sounds to me like a polite way of saying you're a natural whore."

Joe bites his lip until he tastes blood and prays that Master Neal isn't expecting a response. Anything that he'd say right now would get him beaten in a way he wouldn't be able to get off on--or sold. He stares down at the desk as Master Neal pushes two slick fingers into his ass. At least he's giving me get lube...that's something, I suppose.

"I could have had you before, of course," the Master says, sounding weirdly conversational for someone who's fucking his son's slave. "But I felt that I should wait until Dylan'd had you first--and you were old enough to want it. And you do want it--I can tell." He's pumping Joe's dick as he shoves into him. His rhythm is a little off, but on the whole, he's pretty good at it.

Joe's not quite sure what to do after Master Neal finally comes. Technically, he's supposed to wait for permission, but the first time he asked Dylan if he could come (well after they'd started fucking), Dylan had just stared at him and started to laugh. Fortunately, the Master makes his wishes clear so Joe doesn't have to guess.

"Come on...show me how much of a slut you really are," he whispers in Joe's ear. Joe almost wishes he could make himself not come, but he's fourteen and he's getting fucked and jerked off, so the best he can do is try not to be too loud as he spurts over the polished hardwood.

He takes a half-second to catch his breath, and then reaches for the box of tissues so he can clean off the Master's hand (and the front of the desk). Then he stands awkwardly while the Master settles behind his computer again as if nothing at all out of the ordinary just happened.

"One thing before you leave," Master Neal finally says, not looking at him. "I would very much prefer that Dylan not know about this, and I definitely don't want it to be a topic of household gossip, understand?"

Neal's deluded if he thinks the gossip hadn't started before Joe went into his office, and as far as Dylan goes....He's probably the only one who doesn't know--and he's the one person who should. It certainly won't be the first time Joe's lied to Dylan by omission, but that doesn't make him like the idea any more.

Joe nods. "Of course, sir."

Blair's not actually listening at the door, but he's in the hall, close enough that Joe suspects he was able to hear a fair amount. Joe gives him a big smile, and stretches like a languid cat.

"Wasn't too bad," he tells Blair, careful to keep his voice down, "but you know...Dylan's definitely bigger."

He waves at Sherri as he jogs through the kitchen on his way to resume his interrupted run. Maybe she'll have ice cream for me when I get back.


Borrowed (Age 15)

It's late and it's cold and the last thing Joe wants to do when he's sore, damp and filthy is walk across the Quad to get back to South Hall. Fortunately, he doesn't have to.

He'll never understand the body-slaves who act like they're above the rest of the staff. A couple of the guys gave him shit when he offered to help out in the kitchen that week everyone was down with the flu. But the kitchen slaves had appreciated it, and Max had even given Joe a key to the side doors so he could let himself in without having to walk all the way around.

Quid pro quo, baby, he thinks, feeling a little smug as he goes through the kitchens. It's deserted, which is just as well since he doesn't want to have to explain his condition. He stops long enough to grab some ice for his face and side and a bottle of water before opening the connecting door and heading up to the attic.

Some previous generation of students' body-slaves had received permission to turn a section of the South Hall attic into a kind of lounge, where they could go hang out and take a break from their masters. The furniture's old and crappy, and even in the summer it's cold, but the rule is strict: no masters allowed inside--and the administration will back them up on that. Frank's on door duty tonight; he waves Joe in without comment.

"Jesus, what the hell happened to you?" Kevin says, grimacing as he gets close enough to smell Joe.

"Lee's dickhead master is what," Joe tells him. "And by the way," he adds, jerking his chin in Lee's general direction, "he wanted me to tell you to get back to the room, stat. Consider yourself told."

Lee gets up, sneering at Joe as he passes. "It's your own fault, you know. If you knew your place--or your master wasn't too much of a pussy to discipline you properly--"

Joe reaches out and shoves Lee into the wall. "I know you're a little slow, Goatfucker, so I'll use small words: your master's a fucking moron with a tiny dick who compensates by having a shitty personality; he's not worth ten of Dylan on a bad day. Now, run along like a good little asskissing shit, and don't let me hear you say another word about Dylan, understand?" He steps back, letting Lee get right up to the door before he adds, "Oh, and if you were thinking about taking your time getting back and blaming it on me, I wouldn't. Not unless you want all of Mark's laundry to come back pink for a week." Everyone else laughs; Lee spends too much time sucking up to the faculty and his master to be popular with the other slaves, and they know Joe has the means to carry out his threat.

After Lee scurries out, Joe turns to Kevin, who's watching him, his expression thoughtful. "What?"

Kevin shrugs. "Nothing, man--I sure as hell don't like the Goatfucker any more than you do. I was just going to say that Nate's in the back room, but he's been in there a while, if you need some time."

The "back room" is really just a storage closet. The doorknob on the front had been removed at some point so that it only opens from the inside; it's a safe retreat when something's gone really bad and you need to be alone for a bit. Joe shakes his head.

"Nah, don't bother him. I just want to get back, take a shower and try to get some sleep. Later, guys."

Thankfully, Dylan's room is only one floor down. The lights are off and Joe can hear Dylan's steady breathing. His hope that Dylan will stay asleep is dashed, however, when he stumbles into the desk, knocking the lamp over.

"Joe? You're back! I meant to stay up and wait for you but--here, let me get the light--"

"Don't," Joe says softly.

"What? I don't....I can't see you, just give me a second." Dylan's fumbling with the light, and Joe can't deal with that right now.

"Please don't. I'm fine, really. I'm--with your permission, I'd like to take a shower."

"Of course, what, you have to ask? Joe, what's wrong?" Dylan sounds seriously worried, but Joe doesn't have it in him to reassure his master right now. He goes into the bathroom and closes the door firmly.

The first thing he does is strip out of his reeking clothes. After a few minutes, he thinks he can stand it, so he turns on the light and looks in the mirror. Both cheeks are red from where he'd been slapped; his mouth his swollen and he can already tell he's going to have a lovely shiner on his left eye by the morning. There's some bruising on his right side but he doesn't think any real damage was done there.

He rinses his clothes out in the sink, grateful that he hadn't been wearing his sweater since the assholes had waited until he'd gotten dressed again before deciding to piss on him. I'll take the laundry down tomorrow; if I bat my eyelashes at Angie enough she'll let me run a load through the washer even though it's only Wednesday.

Joe lets the shower run for a minute before stepping under the scalding spray. Much as he doesn't want to think about it, he can't help going over what happened in his mind, and wondering if he'd been a little more submissive, a little pliable, if they'd have gone easier on him. He doubts it, especially since he played up the whole liking it rough thing to the hilt. But as soon as he'd gone in to find not just Mark, but Vincent and Chris waiting for him, he'd realized how screwed he was.

The thing is...Goatfucker was right in a way: it was his fault. He should have encouraged Dylan to loan him out, and to stop being so goddamned nice to him all the time. But...he can't help liking it, in a way; that Dylan wants him so much that he won't share him--and if he stopped being nice, then he wouldn't be Dylan anymore.

How fucked up is it that everyone thinks Dylan's a freak because he actually treats me like a person?

Hopefully, though, he'd given them enough so that they'd think they'd broken him, and they'll leave him--and Dylan--alone.

Joe gets out of the shower, his skin bright red, and starts to climb into bed.

"You can--if you want, I mean--" Dylan begins. Joe sighs.

"I'm sorry; I'm really tired and...if you want to, of course...."

"No, that's not what I meant." Dylan sounds a little hurt, and it takes Joe a second to figure out why.

"Oh. Sorry, I thought...sorry." Dylan's already pulled back the covers; he spoons up against Joe as soon as Joe lies down.

"I'm sorry, he says softly. "I should have said no."

"It's okay. I'll be fine, really," Joe tells him.

He's almost asleep when he hears Dylan whisper, "You shouldn't have to do this. It's not right." He tightens his arms around Joe and kisses the back of his neck.

No, Joe thinks. It's not right. But for the moment, he can let himself feel safe, and it's enough.


Sold (Age 17)

When they get back to the car, Joe goes straight for the front seat next to Minh. The ride back to the estate passes in frosty silence and the chill only deepens when they make it back. Sarah sweeps past Joe as if he weren't there; God forbid she should have to acknowledge her son's body-slave and her husband's fucktoy.

Joe's about to head back to Dylan's room when Master Neal stops him. "My office. Now." He has a feeling he knows what this is about; the only surprise is that it's happening so soon.

To his relief, Master Neal gets right to the point. "Now that Dylan is at school, and living on campus, he won't be needing a body-slave until next year at the earliest. Your mistress and I have decided that there's no point in your hanging about here with nothing to do in the meantime, and so--"

"You're selling me," Joe says flatly. The Master sighs, annoyed with the interruption.

"Yes, we are. If Dylan decides to get an apartment next year, we will find him another body-slave."

Joe finds the idea of someone else attending to Dylan, someone else in his bed and writing his papers for him, to be more upsetting than he would have thought. "So you're not even going to let me--to let him say goodbye? Just....he comes back and I'm gone?"

"Mistress Neal and I discussed it, and we think this is best," the Master says tightly. "Dylan has grown far too attached to you, and if we wait until he comes home, there'll be an unpleasant scene." He pauses for a second, then adds, "I will want you to write him a letter--nothing specific, just something that we can send to him in the event that he writes to you this semester. I'd prefer to break the news to him myself, in person."

Before Joe can censor himself, the words slip out. "That's bullshit."

Master Neal reaches across the desk, knocking over papers and pens, and slaps Joe hard. Joe presses his lips into a thin, tight line to keep from getting himself in even more trouble.

"Listen to me very carefully, you ungrateful little shit," the Master says through clenched teeth, "for once, you're going to do exactly as I tell you, or I'll see to it that you get sold to someone who'll make your life a living hell. We paid to send you to that expensive school so you'd get an education and training; we taught Dylan that he has a responsibility to you and made sure he was never gratuitously cruel to you. I even waited until he'd had you first before I touched you, and you go and fuck him?"

Oh. Shit.

"He asked me to! What was I supposed to say--my job is to do whatever he wants, right?"

"Your job is to look out for Dylan's best interests," Master says, "which includes not doing things that you know will be detrimental to him."

This time Joe does manage to avoid saying what he's thinking, which is, Jesus Christ, you'd think I did something a lot more serious than fuck him up the ass. "But you want me to lie to him."

Master Neal gets up and comes around to the other side of the desk; Joe's afraid he's going to slap him again, but he's sure as hell not going to flinch. Instead, though, the Master leans against his desk, facing Joe.

"It's probably our fault," he says quietly. "We didn't explain things to Dylan early enough, and by the time we had to tell him, he'd already gotten it in his head that you were just his friend. He's young, though, and he'll get over it and discover that you can be replaced." He smiles, and Joe does flinch at that. "Just so we're clear: I'm going to pay to have Commerce seal your record. And if I find out that you've been in contact with Dylan in any way, I'll cut him off completely."

Given that Dylan is the Neals' only child, Joe's not sure whether to believe him or not, but it's not a chance that he wants to take. Maybe this is better, anyhow. He'll get someone else, and I'll get sold, and we'll forget about each other. "I understand, sir."

"Good." Master Neal moves to stand behind Joe; grabbing Joe's collar, he pulls him to his feet. Joe's glad the Master can't see his face, because he's smirking and he doesn't really feel like trying to hide it. By now, he knows how this part of the game works.

It hurts more than usual, just on the edge of being too much since Neal didn't beat him or give him any kind of warmup--or lube--first. He's twisting the collar and Joe has to fight back the instinctive panic, reminding himself that Neal's not going to kill him or damage him badly enough to reduce his sale value. For the first time, he actually feels a little sorry for Blair, because with Joe gone, he'll be the designated pain slut whether he wants to be or not. At least I can get off on it.

In the end, he doesn't this time, but he counts it as a small victory, because Master Neal is clearly annoyed. A lot harder to pretend you're not a fucking perv if I don't come, isn't it?

Joe does up his jeans while the Master sits at his desk again and spends a few minutes working at the computer. Finally he looks up at Joe.

"Someone from Commerce will be here in twenty-four hours, which should give you enough time to write the letter and to say whatever goodbyes you feel are necessary to the rest of the staff." He turns back to his computer, a clear dismissal.

Twenty-three hours and forty-five minutes later, Joe gives final pats to all of the horses, shakes hands with Andy and then hugs him tightly, kisses Kim's cheek, hugs and kisses Sherri and pretends not to notice that she's crying, and silently hands the unsealed envelope to Master Neal. The Mistress is nowhere to be seen; Joe wonders if Kim was right, and she really isn't happy about the way her husband is handling this. Doesn't matter now. The Commerce agent shows up exactly on time to escort him to the car. Joe closes his eyes as they drive off to make sure he doesn't look back.

-end-

Notes: I totally and completely blame poisontaster and her CWRPS series A Kept Boy, which made me want to write about the SGA actors in her universe. This is all her fault. Thanks also to telesilla for the beta and for writing Dylan in "Forever Under Lock and Key".

This is a companion piece to My Sight Grows Stronger, looking at the some of events Dylan relates from Joe's point of view. The title is another line from the Indigo Girls song, "Prince of Darkness". In case you couldn't tell, I love this song.

return to the Kept Verse Index

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