return to Chapter Two

Dylan finished up his sentence and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had more to write, but he was tired, hungry and depressed, and if he tried to work on this report now, he'd just screw it up. He sighed again, hit save and started shutting down his computer.

The real problem was that he didn't really feel like going home. Home meant questions and explanations and...really, Dylan wasn't up for it.

What the hell had he been thinking, buying Kyle like that?

He'd been thinking of how damn young Kyle had looked when Dylan first saw him, hooked up to the monitors, and how cynical he'd sounded once the drugs had kicked in. It hadn't helped that Dylan had come into the room already annoyed at the stupidity of it all. The law said slaves could only testify under truth drugs, and Dylan hated that as yet another reminder of how slaves were considered less than human.

And there Kyle had been, in one of the few situations that allowed a slave to be themselves, and he'd been so angry and full of contempt for his owners and the system. In spite of the fact that a slave's testimony was not to be held against him, Dylan had seen the raised eyebrows on pretty much everyone in the room. He could well imagine that the woman from Commerce, who was ostensibly here to make sure the slaves giving testimony were treated properly, was taking note and mentally revising Kyle's file.

If anyone asked, Dylan thought as he finally left the office, that would be why he'd bought Kyle, the feeling that, because of his attitude during testimony, Kyle wouldn't get sold into a good situation and, anyway, since Dylan he needed a new body-slave, why not? In reality, well, he had to agree with Kyle's assessment that the system was fucked up. How else could you explain someone like Kyle, someone who'd run away from home and spent a year on the streets rather than wait to be turned over to Commerce to cover his parents' debts? It was more than fucked, it was inhumane, and it destroyed every life it touched. If Dylan could get one more person out of the worst of it and into a good home, well, that was something.

He was covering old ground and worrying about things he couldn't do anything about, at least right now, and so he made a conscious effort to put it out of his mind and relax on the drive home. It wasn't easy, his shoulders were stiff with tension and for a moment he wished he were just like everyone else, that he could go home, have a drink, get a massage and a blowjob, and hit the sack.

Kyle's file said he was good with his hands and that he'd been trained to give several different kinds of massage, and of course, it went without saying that he'd give an excellent blowjob. What made it even worse was that Kyle expected to serve Dylan; Dylan had seen Kyle's rather pretty frown when Dylan had refused his help last night. While the staff would have already told Kyle that Dylan didn't sleep with his slaves, they'd said the same thing to Seth and he hadn't believed it at first.

I'm good to my slaves; no one ever has to worry about being punished or sold, a little voice said in the back of his head. What harm would it do? He knew better, knew that the voice was a hold-over from a time when he'd had--when he'd expected--sex and companionship at his beck and call 24/7 and someone else had had to pay the price.

As he pulled into the driveway and stared at the house, he was tempted to turn the car around. He could go to a bar or club and pick up some guy, some free guy, and get laid and it'd be nice and easy. And God, but he deserved a little fun after this bitch of a trial... .

But no, not tonight. He needed to check on Kyle, see that he was settling in. They had to talk, and while Dylan was no more fond of the idea than the average guy, Kyle needed to understand that Dylan had no intention of selling him and that there was no need for him to try and cement his position by attempting to seduce his master.

"I'll have dinner in my office," he said when Craig met him at the door. "And please ask Kyle to join me."

Dylan poured himself a scotch and settled on the sofa instead of at his desk. He leaned back and took a slow sip, enjoying the way the smokey taste lingered on his tongue. Good scotch, real scotch from Scotland, was both expensive and insanely hard to come by and Dylan rarely indulged.

"Sir? Ah...Dylan?"

"Come on in," Dylan called out. He watched as Kyle carried a tray into the room and set it carefully on one end the low table in front of Dylan before taking all the dishes off of it and setting them out. Once he was done, the tray was quickly stowed under the table, and Kyle knelt within reach of Dylan, but not in between Dylan and the food. It was smoothly and gracefully done, and Dylan looked down at Kyle for a long moment, trying to figure an approach.

Kyle had obviously taken advantage of Dylan's credit card, he was wearing a loose blue linen shirt and a pair of black jeans and he looked much more comfortable than he had in the plain shirt and pants he'd been wearing the night before. The shirt was open down to about mid-chest which called Dylan's attention to something he should have dealt with last night; Kyle still wore the plain, temporary Commerce collar.

"Go ahead and get comfortable," he said to Kyle, getting up and rummaging in his desk. He usually had a few extra collars on hand--most owners did in case a slave ended up in a medical situation where their collar needed to be cut off--and when he found one, he moved behind Kyle.

Kyle didin't turn around to see what Dylan was doing, he just reached up and slid his fingers into his hair, arching his neck as he pulled his hair up and out of the way. Dylan froze, staring at the smooth pale expanse of skin for a moment before undoing the clasp on the Commerce collar. Fighting down his usual distaste for this part of it, Dylan locked the thin stainless steel chain around Kyle's neck.

"There," he said, stepping away. "That's taken care of. It's not too uncomfortable is it?"

Kyle let his hair fall back down and finally turned to look at Dylan with a slight smile. "It's fine," he said and although Dylan was pretty sure it wasn't fine, what could he say?

"Are you hungry?" he asked, settling back down on the couch. "Sherri still thinks I'm six and just out of the hospital and of course she'll decide that you need fattening up."

"She did say something about wondering if I'd been fed in the last couple of months." Kyle smiled at Dylan as he ran his fingers over the collar. "I certainly don't think I'm too thin." As if to demonstrate, he moved off his knees to sit cross-legged, leaning back on his hands and looking up at Dylan.

"Don't," Dylan said quietly, almost relieved to get this out in the open now. "You're wasting your time. It's not that I don't think you're attractive; I do have eyes, after all. It's that I consider it rape and I won't...I can't do it."

"And if I said I wanted it? Wanted you?" Kyle's eyes were blue and bright, and he smiled when he looked Dylan over. "I do have eyes, after all."

Dylan couldn't help laughing. "Thanks," he said. "I'm flattered. But it always comes back to the fact that you can't say no."

Kyle was silent for a long moment and then he moved back onto his knees. He stayed there for a beat, looking at Dylan and then bowed his head. "Master does, of course, know what's best for me."

"Kyle...." Dylan had no idea what to say, such a rare occurrence that his voice trailed off as he stared at the top of Kyle's head.

"May I be excused?"

"Yes," Dylan said. "Sure."

The door closed almost soundlessly behind Kyle and Dylan stared at it, confused, for a long time before turning back to his scotch. But I'm right....

-tbc-

Notes: As usual, thanks go out to poisontaster and Darkrose for their worlds and additional thanks to Darkrose for looking this over. 

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