Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/744253.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Original_Work
  Relationship:
      Original_Male_Character/Original_Male_Character
  Character:
      Original_Characters
  Additional Tags:
      Non_Consensual, Slavery, Underage_Sex, Historical, Drabble
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-01-26 Words: 758
****** A Right Fine Gentleman ******
by rubyofkukundu
Summary
     London, early 18th century. Joseph has a new master.
Notes
     Written in 56 minutes for the prompt: Slave.
     Originally posted here: http://petitte-soeur.livejournal.com/
     89831.html
When I arrive, they take me down to the kitchen and dress me in expensive
clothes: a clean shirt, breeches, a waistcoat. Even brightly shining shoes with
a red bow.

"Oh, he'll be a right fine gentleman when we're done," says one of them, as she
pulls stockings over my feet. "Look at him. Such a pretty little face. I fancy
he'll be as handsome a one as I ever saw when he's older."

The other one, wrapping lace around my neck, wrinkles her nose. "Hardly," she
says, "A negro boy could never be handsome."

Tying my shoes, the first one snorts. "I don't believe one word you say."

But the second just ignores her and sticks her nose in the air.

"Have it your way," says the first. "For my part, I think Sir Thomas has a fine
taste, despite his peculiarities." And they both of them titter like girls.

When they're done, and I'm placed in a fine silk coat, that likely cost more
money than myself, I'm shown upstairs.

"You'll behave if you know what's good for you," she says, opening the wooden
door, before pushing me through and closing it once I'm inside.

There he is.

I don't have much time to look at the room: oak paneling, a fire in one corner,
the smell of tobacco in the air, because Sir Thomas is already walking towards
me.

He looks the same as he did when he bought me. Tall. Rich. A dark brown periwig
on his head, the hair curling over his shoulders.

"Ah, Joseph!" he says, smiling. "Look at you! What a wonderful sight you are!"

I don't know if I'm supposed to reply or not. So I try my best at a bow
instead.

"You must be feeling quite lucky, young Joseph, to be dressed in such finery.
And you are!" A hand lands on my shoulder, rings clinking together. "From now
on, you may wear only the finest clothes and sleep in only the softest beds."
Fingers slide over the back of my neck. "I want you to know how happy I am to
keep you."

I bow again. "Thank you, sir."

He laughs, happily, and crouches down so that we are the same height. As he
leans close, studying me, I find that from this distance, I can see every
single hair in his moustache.

The hand on my neck comes up to rest on my cheek.

Sir Thomas doesn't blink for two whole minutes. Then his eyes crinkle in a
smile. "So pretty," he says. "How benevolent of Fortune to show you to me." He
sighs, thumb tracing my cheekbone, "I would that you were older, but we have
time for that I suppose." Then he stops, and stands up.

My eyes follow him upwards, until, looking down on me, he appears tall and
unforgiving.

His lips thin. "Joseph, if you tell anyone of this, I will see you hanged. Do
you understand?"

I don't understand.

I don't know what he doesn't want me to tell, but I do understand that he's
sincere. I can still remember the bodies hanging at Tyburn as we rode into
town, and I'm filled with fear at the thought of it.

"Yes, sir," I nod, and suddenly Sir Thomas is smiling at me again.

"Good," he says.

I watch as he removes his coat and his waistcoat, his hands falling to his
waist to unbutton his breeches. "Now," he says, "you will be a dutiful boy for
me, won't you?"

Nodding, but confused, I watch as he drops his breeches to the floor.

He's hard.

I stay still until he pulls my head toward him.

"Use your mouth," he says, breath heavy.

And so I do. Sir Thomas makes noises and breathes harder. His hands run over my
scalp, rings clinking some more.

It's uncomfortable, but not difficult.

"I would that you were older," says Sir Thomas again, with a sigh, "but this
will have to do for now."

After a while, when my jaw starts to ache, Sir Thomas gasps, and I have to pull
back to choke as he fills my mouth.

I don't know what to do, but the look on his face as he pulls up his breeches
reminds me of bodies swinging in the wind. So I swallow.

A hand is placed on my shoulder. "Well done." Sir Thomas smiles when I look up
at him. "Now," he says, putting on his waistcoat, "come on. Let's see if we can
find some dainties for you to eat."
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