Elijah Kamski (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
biocomposer) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
wondrousplace2021-08-14 04:20 pm
biocomposer) wrote in wondrousplace2021-08-14 04:20 pm
For Tommy
People tend not to call them slaves, of course. That feels like it's in poor taste. A host of other words are used - 'indentured' and 'obligate' are popular euphemisms, as is the odd term voluntarily bound. By a certain definition of 'voluntary'. Most are in the system because of debt, or to avoid incarceration, during which they'd likely be put to work anyway. Some people sell short contracts to save money for college or suchlike, only to then need most of the proceeds to pay for therapy to recover from the experience.
The staff at the niche boutique Elijah visits in London wouldn't tell him how they come by their wares, but he can guess. Their slaves tend to be unusually talented, or educated, or beautiful - and Elijah would guess at gambling debts or addiction or the sort of crimes that the entitled often expect to get away with.
He picks over profile photos on a tablet, frowning more and more deeply with every profile. Eventually, tiredly, he has to concede:
"I don't think you have what I'm looking for."
The saleswoman bites her lip and looks at her own tablet. She knows that she's in the company of one of the world's richest men. If she doesn't make this sale she's probably losing her job.
"We, ah - we do have a couple of recent returns who haven't been processed back into the system," she says, cautiously. Elijah lifts an eyebrow but doesn't object, so she goes on: "I can show you the paper files?"
"Please."
This is how he first learns of 'Thomas'.
The staff at the niche boutique Elijah visits in London wouldn't tell him how they come by their wares, but he can guess. Their slaves tend to be unusually talented, or educated, or beautiful - and Elijah would guess at gambling debts or addiction or the sort of crimes that the entitled often expect to get away with.
He picks over profile photos on a tablet, frowning more and more deeply with every profile. Eventually, tiredly, he has to concede:
"I don't think you have what I'm looking for."
The saleswoman bites her lip and looks at her own tablet. She knows that she's in the company of one of the world's richest men. If she doesn't make this sale she's probably losing her job.
"We, ah - we do have a couple of recent returns who haven't been processed back into the system," she says, cautiously. Elijah lifts an eyebrow but doesn't object, so she goes on: "I can show you the paper files?"
"Please."
This is how he first learns of 'Thomas'.
no subject
In his photograph, he is perfectly unblemished. The photo hasn't been doctored, he's naturally good-looking, fair skin, bright eyes, dark hair. It shows him first from the shoulders up, and a second photograph full-body. He's strong, though his file says he's a little shorter than average. Naturally dominant, like Elijah has asked for. Dressed neutrally, in the boutique's expensive but bland uniform, but that doesn't hide his broad shoulders, his trim waist, the strength in his arms.
The file doesn't specify why he's here. Only that he's been sold and returned, and that this isn't the first boutique which took him on. That could be a bad sign, but he's clearly talented and wanted enough to have been taken back by this one.
The man himself is in one of the apartments upstairs, a pretty little shock collar around his neck, awaiting a sale that he's pretty sure won't be happening anytime soon.
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The door of the suite gets a little tap a few moments later. They're not cells, like some cheaper places have, but they're not exactly homely either. Something of a mid-range hotel feel.
Some patrons do pay extra to try before they buy, after all, and it has to be comfortable for them.
The woman's voice comes through the intercom.
"Thomas? Can you get freshened up, please? A client would like to see you."
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He presses the buzzer twice for yes, and goes. 'Freshened up', in this case, means putting a light layer of make-up over his bruised cheekbone. He can't hide the split lip, but he can look appealing other than that.
He puts on a fresh dark blue uniform, then waits for the door to be opened, standing at the foot of his bed, hands clasped behind his back. He's not fully here by choice, but he can at least try not to fuck his life up even more.
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She opens the door a moment later, smiles her approval, and ushers him down to a comfortable lounge where Elijah is sitting and nursing an espresso. He looks at Tommy, gaze penetrating, but says nothing until he clears his throat quietly and says:
"May we have some time alone?"
Usually the answer to this would be a polite but unequivocal no, but in this case she just nods and steps out. Elijah listens to her retreating footsteps.
"Thomas, isn't it? Take a seat."
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He meets his eyes, neutral but not demure. He wouldn't be - and shouldn't be, considering what he's being marketed under.
"Yes," he says, answering the question before sitting down. Back straight, legs slightly apart, not relaxed but at least sitting down.
Where does he know him from? He's sure he knows him from somewhere.
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"Call me Elijah," he says. He's maybe not looking as recognisable as usual today; he's wearing his glasses, not his contacts, and his hair is down. His build - muscled shoulders and narrow waist - is more or less hidden under his sweater.
"Would you tell me how you were injured?"
He's probably not supposed to, but that doesn't feel very relevant.
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He clears his throat, trying to hide his surprise. No, he isn't supposed to - but he got the saleswoman out of the room with just one question, so he's going to assume this man gets a little more leeway.
"My previous contract," a nice way to avoid the word owner, "beat me. I apologize - I don't think they were expecting to show me so soon after."
He's not really going to give a lot of detail, unless Elijah presses.
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"It's not for you to apologize," Elijah says, waving it away with a gesture of his cup - though his gaze doesn't falter. "Were you not taken on in your capacity as a dominant, or did your owner simply lack self-control?"
Beatings - sorry, proportionate corrections - aren't illegal. Broken bones are frowned on but usually get glazed over as domestic accidents.
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Tommy is easily dominant, and he doesn't falter either - though he isn't seeing any of the expected submission in Elijah yet. Interesting. Maybe he's not buying him for himself?
"I wouldn't describe it that way, but there was an - altercation. It didn't happen in the context of a scene."
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"I'm sorry to see how it ended," he murmurs, and sips his coffee. "How long do you have left on your contract?"
He knows the answer, but he's curious as to how Thomas sees it - if he's counting the days or sketching out the years.
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"Four years, sir. Of six, total."
A long time, comparatively - most contracts end up under a year, if they're selling themselves to pay for something, and the kind of crimes people in these boutiques end up booked for doesn't really go over three years. Six years is a lot, and if he has four years to go he's got a lot to gain by ending up somewhere good. So far, the signs are good, so he shifts, to show Elijah his good side.
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Elijah notices that, and maybe there's a brief small smile, but it could have been a shift in the light.
He won't ask him why he's on such a long contract, but he'll find out anyway. Network security in places like this is a joke.
"That's quite the investment." For most people. Elijah could buy out his contract with the change in his couch cushions. "Talk me through your skills."
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"I was broadly trained before I was bound. Anything you might expect of any regular dominant. I took the required classes for safety, bondage, impact play. I further specialized on my own accord: shibari, suspension, play piercings, whips and canes, pressure points, CBT, wax play. I've got experience with breath play, acts of service, body massages, prostate massages, and humiliation and degradation."
It's a pretty well-rounded list, a lot longer than any of the men and women from the boutique's tablet.
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He has to admit he's feeling much better for it.
He's asleep when the power goes out. Normally the members of this particular household wouldn't even notice a domestic blackout, but the team quietly assembling outside have done their homework - and the sensor on the exterior of the building, which detects power supply and will indicate that the internal supply has to take over, is put out of commission.
The electronic security thus taken care of, the back door is taken off its hinges and four men in masks and dark clothes intrude on the quiet house.
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Tommy is on the floor underneath Elijah, of course, and is able to hear something just a little sooner. Not that he knows right away - he's somewhat asleep, dozing unhappily with the curtains closed and his door locked and barricaded, which is something he wouldn't admit to Elijah he sometimes does.
The downside is that it's cumbersome when he hears something suspicious. Is it worth it, to slip out of bed, remove the nightstand from in front of the door, and then to go and see if he's just being paranoid?
They're still downstairs, and they're very quiet. But Tommy's awake now, and listening.
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Elijah is all but dead to the world on a large glass of whiskey and two sleeping tablets, which is the kind of habit he wouldn't like to admit to either.
On the ground floor, the men split into two pairs, communicating mostly through hand gestures - and only to confirm a plan that's been long since agreed. Two move deeper into the ground floor, while two others take the stairs, which are solidly built and don't creak.
They're definitely heading towards the top of the house
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He doesn't know what it is. It isn't even a sound, it's just the house feels wrong. Chloe's gone, so it isn't her. Maybe it's just the wind, and Tommy may not be used to the house yet, and who the hell would come into a home this well-secured?
Fuck. His heart is beating fast as he listens, and hears a shuffle, and nothing more. He gets up, and moves the nightstand away with just enough noise that they might hear.
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They do. The two men in the hallway go still, and there's some whispered conversation - nothing loud enough to make out the words, but certainly two unfamiliar English-accented voices in conversation.
And then someone goes to open the door of Tommy's suite.
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He'd stopped moving the moment he heard whispers. There should be no one but Tommy and Elijah inside, and Chloe wouldn't go around whispering in the house if she was here without telling them. So they're being robbed - why not try your hand at robbing one of the country's wealthiest men?
He sets himself up behind the door. Whispers means at least two, even if he couldn't make out the words just yet, so he waits until the first guy is through, looking around, scanning the room for valuables. When the second one comes through, doing the same, Tommy steps up behind them. This is the moment: either he can make his way out through the door and go upstairs to warn Elijah, or he tries to knock out one of them with a precise hit to the back of his neck.
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Unfortunately, these are professionals, which means that the man bringing up the rear is quick to turn and check for anything they might have missed. Like the man who's positioned himself behind him.
"We're not here for you," he says, crisp and clear. "So you can make this easier on yourself by doing nothing."
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"You're here to rob the house, and I'm part of the house," he replies, calm, face stone cold. If they're not here to rob the house, but to take Elijah with them in some demented kidnapping scheme, then he'll at least get to find out.
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Both men are masked, but his frown is audible.
"You're a slave. Are you really going to risk your neck for that prick? Just go back to bed and it'll be the last you hear from us."
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He appears to falter. His shoulders drop, he looks a little doubtful. "Everything he has is in safes even he can't access without a day's notice."
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"We'll be the judges of that," he says. His partner has drawn a gun with a silencer screwed in, and looks unhappy. "Go back to bed. Now."
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"Jesus Christ," he says, like he's genuinely shocked, holding up his hands in reflex. "I'm going, I'm going - "
It's easy enough to step in and knock it right out of his hand with a well-aimed hit at the man's wrist. If he's lucky he might even be able to take it for himself. 'Leaving the slave alone' is never a guarantee for survival, and there are other things that could happen to him besides death, that he might want to avoid.
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