Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4554240.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Captain_America_(Movies), The_Avengers_(Marvel_Movies)
  Relationship:
      James_"Bucky"_Barnes/Steve_Rogers
  Character:
      Steve_Rogers, James_"Bucky"_Barnes, Clint_Barton, Sam_Wilson_(Marvel),
      Natasha_Romanov, Tony_Stark, Alexander_Pierce, Johann_Schmidt, Thor_
      (Marvel), Loki_(Marvel), Pietro_Maximoff, Bruce_Banner, Phil_Coulson,
      Brock_Rumlow, Timothy_"Dum_Dum"_Dugan, Peggy_Carter
  Additional Tags:
      Child_Abuse, Sexual_Slavery, Prostitution, child_prostitution, 17th
      Century, Alternate_Universe, Harm_to_Children, Whipping, Enemas,
      Fondling, Collars, Chains, Bathing/Washing, Blow_Jobs, Bondage, Master/
      Slave, Obedience, Rape, Anal_Sex, Rimming, Minor_Bruce_Banner/Tony_Stark,
      Minor_Clint_Barton/Phil_Coulson, Minor_Clint_Barton/Natasha_Romanov,
      Minor_Steve_Rogers/Tony_Stark, Minor_Loki/Thor_(Marvel), Minor_Steve
      Rogers/Bruce_Banner, Minor_Character_Death
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-08-12 Completed: 2015-09-10 Chapters: 7/7 Words: 28443
****** Palazzo Paradiso ******
by spoffyumi
Summary
     At the palazzo, Stefan lived a life of wealth and privilege that had
     seemed impossible before, and the longer he lived there, the less his
     other life seemed real. This was reality now.
     The only price for this life was obedience, above all else. He, like
     all the other boys, had learned this lesson well.
Notes
     Please, read all the tags and warnings before continuing. This is
     very different from the other fics I've posted. I've been hesitating
     about even posting it... whether or not I post more will depend on
     what kind of reception this gets.
     That being said, it's very much inspired by Armand & Marius's
     relationship in Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicles (no vampires here,
     however). It's sort of historical with a twist (boys sold into
     prostitution at a place that is by all appearances a 17th-18th
     century Italian palazzo, with a few modern conveniences).
     I_have_also_created_a_playlist to help you get into the mood...
***** The New Boy *****
Before the new boys arrived at the Palazzo Paradisio, he believed he had always
lived there.
His memory of "before" had faded with the years.  The marble hallways arching
over his head had replaced the alleyways and dumpsters and cracked ceilings. 
The soft feather beds and silk sheets had erased memories of nights spent on
cold concrete, curled up in doorways.  Elaborate, balanced meals served at
precisely eight, one, and seven pushed away all the times he had gone hungry.
At the palazzo, he lived a life of wealth and privilege that had seemed
impossible before, and the longer he lived there, the less his other life
seemed real.  This was reality now. Between his classes and other duties, he
rarely had time to think of anything outside the palazzo walls. 
The only price for this life was obedience, above all else.  He, like all the
other boys, had learned this lesson well.
Master brought in new batches of boys twice a year.  Stefan had watched it
happening as if from afar, standing in his satin and brocade uniform in a line
with the other boys.  The new boys Master had to choose from were always the
same.  Dirty, rail-thin, dressed in simple sheets with their necks and wrists
in chains, stumbling and angry and crying and occasionally even trying to run
away.  Once, Stefan must been one of these boys, though he did not remember it.
The man who sold the boys stank of tobacco and sniffed a lot, and seemed
uncomfortable in his clothes.  Stefan hated looking at him, but he knew how to
look and not see.  The man was rough with the new boys in a way that Master
frowned upon. 
Without being told, Stefan and the other boys formed their line on one side of
the main hallway.  They had been told of the morning's events at breakfast, and
they knew what to expect.  They stood like sentinels as the new boys were led
in.  There were eight boys, and Stefan knew Master would not take them all. 
Perhaps it was because this time, Stefan would be in charge of the care of one
of the new boys that he was watching more closely.  Or perhaps it was the
little dark-haired boy's calm demeanor amidst the chaos of the other boys, most
of whom had been whipped as they were told to stand, and shut up, and stop
moving, each command punctuated by the filthy man's blows.  Even when the man's
whip hit the dark-haired boy by accident, the boy never flinched. 
Or perhaps, it was because under the dirt, the little boy was beautiful.
As the Master walked down the line, examining each child, he asked questions
and made comments.  "Open your mouth," he said to one boy, grasping the boy's
chin in his hand. 
When the boy refused, the dirty man struck him on the backs of his bare legs. 
"Do as you're told!" he barked. 
Finally the boy obeyed, but the Master made a face and looked away.  "This
one's teeth are rotted."
Most of the boys the Master simply passed by.  He stopped before the little
dark-haired boy.  "Step forward," he said.
The boy did not respond.  Something about the hollow look, the watchful eyes,
made Stefan suddenly remember his life beyond the palazzo walls, although he
was too-well trained to let that affect the small smile on his face.
The boy was prodded with the whip until he stumbled one step forward.  The
nasty man lurked behind him.  "You'll like this one, sir," he said.  "Real
quiet, like your other boys."
"I train them to be that way," the Master said sharply.  "Open your mouth,
boy."
The boy did as he was told without further prodding. 
"Lovely," said the Master.  "What is your name?"
The boy did not answer.
"Can he speak?" the Master asked. 
"Yeah, he's just real quiet, like I said."  He jabbed the whip into the boy's
side.  "Tell 'em yer name."
"James," the boy whispered.  "My mum called me Bucky."
The Master nodded.  "How much?" he asked of the man.
"Ten thousand.  He's real obedient."
The Master made a face.  "Or drugged.  I do not need them to be obedient, I
need them to be pretty.  Five thousand."
"Eight."  The man was practically dancing.
"I'll give you six and no more."
"Yes, fine, fine."
"You may go stand with Stefan," said the Master gently, holding out his arm to
show the way.  Stefan stepped forward and bowed, and waited for the little boy
to shuffle over.  His chains jangled, and for just a moment the boy looked at
Stefan with cobalt blue eyes, and Stefan remembered.
His name had once been Steve.
He had no memories of this particular boy, and he was not sure why the boy
should have reminded him of anything.  Except that the boy had mentioned his
mother, and now Steve remembered such a woman, who had called herself his
mother.  The same woman who had often locked him out of their trailer on cold
nights when her boyfriend came over. 
Stefan smiled his pleasant smile at the little boy, and guided him to stand
beside him in line.  Stefan was one of the smallest boys at the Palazzo, even
though he was older; this made him more desirable and one of the Master's
favorites.  The boy's head came up to Stefan's shoulders.
Stefan found himself wanting to pat the little boy’s mop of hair. 
Bartholomew, the tow-headed boy in the violet and black silks beside him, was
assigned the care of the only other boy bought by the Master, a thin dark-
skinned boy with bushy black hair.  Samuel was his name.  And Stefan’s charge
would be called James.
The Master dismissed the unchosen boys and their keepers, and sent the other
boys off to their other duties and lessons, but Stefan and Bartholomew had new
duties now.  “The new boys must be cleaned,” the Master instructed, and so they
took up the chains and led the new boys to the baths.
***
Bucky kept his head down, letting his thick dark hair fall in his face.  He did
not complain when the boy named Stefan removed the sheet that covered him, nor
did he hide his private parts or shiver on the cold tiles of the large, echoing
room filled with clawfoot bathtubs. 
Across the way, he could see the other boy doing those things as steaming water
filled the bath.  The other boy, Samuel, kept looking over at him.  Bucky did
not make eye contact.
Stefan removed his blue brocade jacket.  Bucky watched, mostly because the
boy’s clothing interested him.  The color was so bright and beautiful, and
underneath, Stefan wore a satin vest that buttoned high on his chest, with a
white shirt that ruffled at the neck and wrists.  Bucky had never seen anything
like it in all his seven years of life.  He wondered if he would be given new
clothes like those Stefan wore. 
Rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, Stefan plunged his hand into the hot bath
to test the waters.  Bartholomew had done the same.  Now Stefan held out that
same hand.  “Into the bath you go,” he said softly. 
As Bucky dipped his feet into water that was just a little too hot, he heard
Samuel balk.  “No, please.  Don’t make me take a hot bath,” he pleaded.
“You need to be cleaned,” Bartholomew explained.  “The water is hot so you will
be clean.”
“No.”  Samuel’s voice quavered.
Bucky sat down.  He made no notice of how the water burned his skin.  His
chains clanked against the side of the bathtub.  Stefan knelt beside the bath
and poured soap into the water.  Bubbles swirled up under his hands. 
“You will need to get into the water, else you will be punished.”
“No!”
Samuel’s voice echoed in the bathing room.
“I would suggest you keep quiet,” said Bartholomew.  “You will not like to be
punished.”
Behind him, he heard Samuel’s sniffling and a little splash as he tested the
water.  “No, it’s too hot!”
Stefan gave Bucky a large sponge.  “Do you know how to clean yourself?” he
asked quietly.
Bucky nodded, and Stefan stood and went to help with Samuel.
Even when he heard the sharp cracks of a whip against bare skin, Bucky washed
away the dirt on his arms and legs and did not flinch or turn to look.  Bucky
did not know who bore the whip or who held the boy down.  He heard four cracks
before Samuel cried out, “I’ll get in, I’ll get in!”
Sniffles, and water splashing, and then quiet sobs.
“You’ve been doing a very good job,” said Stefan, returning to his side.  “I
will need to wash your hair.” 
It had been a rare thing for Bucky’s hair to be washed, but he knew how to tilt
his head back so soap did not run into his eyes.  The water scalded his scalp. 
When Stefan massaged the shampoo, Bucky closed his eyes and let himself enjoy
the pleasant moment.
“Now, hands and knees,” Stefan instructed.  Bucky did so.  The manacles on his
skinny wrists scraped the bottom of the tub.  He knew what was coming.
Across the way, he could tell Samuel did not.
“Look at James,” Bartholomew chided.  “See?  It will feel nice.”
“Don’t touch me!” Samuel screeched.
The sponge slid down to Bucky’s private parts and scrubbed there gently.  It
did feel nice.  He’d never had such small and tender fingers touch him there. 
He closed his eyes as Stefan spread his cheeks apart to clean deeper.  And when
Stefan brought out a tube and bucket, he made no sound, even as Samuel cried
and pleaded and Stefan had to leave Bucky alone to help Bartholomew. 
Bucky knew it was best to keep quiet.  He knew what happened to disobedient
little boys.
***
Stefan wrapped Bucky in a towel and patted him dry.  The boy’s pale skin shone
a raw red, and yet Bucky had not cried out once.  At least Bartholomew did not
need help with this part – Samuel was all too happy to get out of the bathtub
and away from the enema tube. 
Now Stefan put cream on the boy’s skin, all over.  Perhaps the Master had been
right, and Bucky was drugged.  He was so silent and accepting of everything, it
was unnatural.  Samuel did not struggle against Bartholomew anymore, but he
sobbed and shivered as Bartholomew applied the cream.  Bucky did nothing.  His
eyes were empty. 
The only reaction had been when Stefan had to lubricate so he could insert the
enema tube.  Then there was slight resistance.  Slight.  He made sure to take
his time in the way most of the guests at the Palazzo did not.  “You must be
gentle with the new boys,” Master had told Stefan and Bartholomew.  “Gentle,
but firm.  If you must punish them, you must care for their wounds after.”
Stefan took a fresh white tunic from the linen shelves and buttoned it over
Bucky’s shoulders.  It looked little different from the ragged sheet he had
entered wearing, but made of a finer fabric, nearly transparent, and fitted
better. 
Once Bartholomew had finished with Samuel, whose cries had died down to a
whimper now, they led the new boys through the halls to Master’s chambers and
reported to Antonio, one of the older boys who was a personal servant to the
Master now that his age made him less desirable to the guests.
“You need not be afraid now,” Bartholomew murmured to Samuel, rubbing the top
of the smaller boy’s head.  “If you behave, it will soon be time for dinner.”
“You may enter,” Antonio said, holding the door for them. 
Stefan led the way with Bucky.  Master was seated on a chaise by the fire, and
he watched them approach with interest.  He gestured to Bucky a limp hand. 
“Come to me, James.”
The small boy approached and stood quietly while the Master sniffed his hair,
examined a bruise on the boy’s arm, and lifted up the tunic to have a look. 
Then he took the boy’s face in his hands and looked into Bucky’s eyes.  “Hmm. 
You are quite obedient, aren’t you?” he said.
Bucky said nothing.
"Did he give you any trouble, Stefan?"
"No, Master," Stefan answered quickly.
“Antonio, if you will.”
The new chains Antonio delivered to the Master jingled in a pleasing way. 
Master stood, and with a key he removed from his pocket, he unlocked the metal
collar around Bucky’s neck.
***
Bucky knew better than to try to run just because the chains were removed. 
This “Master” and the three older boys would be sure to stop him before he got
too far.  Then it would be punishment and pain and he wanted no part of that. 
No, it was best to stand quietly as the Master slipped a leather collar around
his throat and buckled it so snugly Bucky could feel it pressing against his
windpipe when he swallowed.  He allowed cuffs to be buckled around his wrists
as well. 
“There, that is more comfortable, is it not?” the Master said.
He nodded.
“I prefer you to answer me when I ask a question.  I accept three answers: Yes,
Master.  No, Master.  And please, Master.  How will you answer me?”
“Yes, Master,” said Bucky quietly.
“Very good.”
He felt Stefan beside him.  Stefan took the leash from the Master and led Bucky
to the side.  Now Bartholomew and Samuel stepped forward for inspection. 
While the Master examined Samuel, Bucky held his head still and allowed his
eyes to rove about the room.  He watched the older boy, Antonio, with his dark
head of curls and his crimson and gold silks.  None of the older boys looked
cruel.  The Master did not appear cruel either, not with his long blond hair
pulled back with a black ribbon, and his lacy shirt.  His face had a light
coating of powder with bright spots of blush on his cheeks.
“You have been crying,” Master said to the black boy.  “Why?”
“I want to go home,” Samuel said, his voice cracking.  When Master raised a
delicate eyebrow, Samuel added, “Master.”
“And what is there at home that you would not have here?”
“I miss my momma,” Samuel cried.
Bucky thought about his own mother.  She had died two years ago, when he was
five.  He had found her lying on the kitchen floor in a puddle of piss and
vomit, the needle still in her arm. 
“I am sorry to hear that,” Master said.  “But it does seem that your mother
does not miss you.  In fact, she sold you to me, via our friend Mr. Schmidt. 
Do you understand what that means, Samuel?”
Samuel only sobbed. 
“She did not want you any longer.  And she was not very kind to you, was she?” 
Master reached out and traced a finger along Samuel’s cheek.  He did not pull
away.  “I do want you.  I paid several thousand dollars because I wanted you so
much.  Do you know why?”
“No.  Master,” Samuel said, remembering the honorific after a beat.
“Because you are a beautiful boy.  I can see you are very smart.  Here, boys
such as yourself will have many opportunities.  You will attend classes, learn
languages, the arts, science and mathematics.  You will learn manners and
skills you would not have the opportunity to learn anywhere else.  Would you
like that?”
Bucky looked around the room.  It was not the Master’s bedroom.  There were
couches, and sculptures, and books and paintings and thick tapestry curtains
with tassels.  Everywhere he looked it was beautiful, and clean, and full of
interesting objects.  It reminded him of a king's castle.
“This collar you will only need to wear until we can trust that you will not
try to run away.  And once you have earned my trust, we will have the tailor
make you a fine suit in your favorite colors, and you will have many
privileges.” 
With more words of comfort, the Master traded Samuel’s heavy metal chains for
the lighter bonds Bucky now wore. 
“Now, new boys at the Palazzo must learn to obey the rules,” Master said,
addressing both Samuel and Bucky.  “You will not speak unless spoken to.  When
you speak, you will address me as Master, and you will address the other boys
by their name or sir, if you do not know it.  You will listen to the commands
of your keepers.  They will teach you any other rules you need to know.
“One more thing: should you disobey, and need to be punished, know that I will
be displeased.  If the trouble continues, I may also have to punish your keeper
for your behavior.  So,” the Master rose, “Bartolomew, please step forward and
assume position.”
Without a word of protest, Bartolomew handed Antonio Samuel’s leash and
unbuttoned his breeches, pulling them down just enough for the white of his
undergarments to show.  Then he bent over the chaise.
Master withdrew a long riding whip from the fireplace mantel. 
“Samuel, you were disobedient.  Bartolomew is your keeper.  He will receive two
strokes.”
Swiftly the whip cracked down twice.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw
Samuel flinch.
“Only two strokes, because you were not yet aware of the rules when you were
disobedient.”  Master approached Samuel with the whip.  The whites of his eyes
showed.  Master once again traced a finger along his cheek.  “You know the
immediate consequences of disobedience now.  You would not like to see
Bartolomew hurt again, would you?”
“No, Master.”
“Very good.”  Bartolomew redressed and took the leash back from Antonio.  His
face was perfectly blank. 
"They will both need haircuts," the Master said.  "Please, I am sure you boys
are hungry.  Go and have dinner.  Know that you will always be well-fed here,
if you follow the rules.”
It took both of the new boys a moment before they understood what was
expected.  "Yes, Master," they said, nearly in unison.  After that they were
led away.
***
"Looks like you got lucky," said Bartholomew to Stefan as they sat as bookends
to their boys at the table in the kitchen.  The plain wooden table was meant
for servants, but was used for any boys who needed to eat outside of the
required times.  The official supper would begin at seven.  The new boys were
not ready to attend the meal.  Until they learned proper table manners, the new
boys would be eating in the kitchen.
Stefan and Bartolomew placed their napkins in their laps and instructed the new
boys to do the same.
"Master thinks he might be drugged," Stefan said quietly. 
"Still, you escaped without a single stroke."
"Most boys get more than two strokes, when they first take on a charge." 
Stefan and Bartolomew had both heard the tales, both from their own keepers and
other boys.  Apparently Stefan had put up such a fuss when he first arrived
that his keeper had given him a bruise, and that had meant five strokes.  He'd
watched the Master look at the bruise on Bucky's arm, afraid to take a breath. 
The bruise had been old, though, greenish-yellow. 
"I thank you, Stefan, for helping."  Bartolomew pushed his hand into Samuel's
thick hair.  "Without you, I might have had more difficulty."
Stefan nodded.  He knew Bartolomew was not the gentlest of the boys, nor the
most gifted with words, but it was all chance that he had been assigned to a
boy such as Bucky. 
Bartolomew's eyes lit up as a young girl with her red hair pushed up into her
cap brought them bowls of stew.  The liquid slopped over the rims, and beside
the earthenware bowls she placed big chunks of freshly-made bread, and left
only to return with a large ewer, from which she filled their glasses with
thick, frothy milk.  Samuel immediately grabbed for his spoon and began
eating.  Bartolomew and the serving girl were making eyes at one another, and
so he did not correct Samuel.  Samuel was not Stefan's boy, so Stefan said
nothing.
His own boy did not move a muscle.
Stefan picked up his spoon and looked down at Bucky.  The boy was so thin, he
must have been starving, and yet he did not move, even when Stefan took a
bite.  Even as Samuel slurped up his soup beside him, and Bartolomew dug in,
still ignoring his boy in favor of watching Natalia as she continued about her
duties.
There were few women at the palazzo.  Only Natalia and another kitchen girl,
who were never seen elsewhere in the palace but the lesson rooms.  Two of the
professors were women as well.  One taught ballet and one taught Russian. 
Stefan nudged Bucky gently in the side.  "You may eat now," he said.
Immediately Bucky grasped his spoon in his fist and began shoveling the stew
into his mouth.  He barely swallowed before eating more. 
Instead of telling the boy to stop, Stefan put down his own spoon and reached
around to grasp Bucky's hand.  The boy froze, cheeks full.  "Hold your spoon
like this," Stefan instructed, rearranging the boy's fingers.  When he let go,
the boy slowly finished chewing and swallowed, but he only stared at the spoon
in his hand and did not eat more.
"Go on," Stefan encouraged.
"What is this stuff?" Samuel asked through a full mouth, which finally drew
Bartolomew's attention away from Natalia. 
"Do not ask questions with a full mouth," Bartolomew snapped.  "Hold your spoon
correctly.  Don't spill."
"Liver and bean stew," Stefan answered gently.
Samuel spat his mouthful back into the bowl.  Bucky flinched, still frozen with
spoon in hand.  "Liver!  Yuck!"
"You seemed to be enjoying it," Stefan said blithely.  "Go on, eat," he
whispered to Bucky.
"Liver is full of protein and vitamins," Bartolomew scolded.  "You must finish
your bowl or I shall have to whip you again."
"No!" Samuel squealed. 
"Then eat your soup.  Use your manners.  See?  This is the correct way to hold
your spoon.  You tip it away from you, then put it in your mouth without
slurping.  Sit up straight."
Samuel sniffed and struggled to hold the spoon the way he'd been shown. 
"Tomorrow you'll begin your lessons.  You think these are a lot of rules, just
wait until you meet Master Sitwell."
"Bartolomew," Stefan warned.  He could sense his friend's own bad manners
creeping back in, as often happened when he wasn't required to be on his best
behavior.
Bartolomew sighed.
Seeing that Bucky was not eating, Stefan bent close to the boy's ear.  "Why do
you not eat?  Are you not hungry?"
The boy nodded.  His eyes had filled with tears.
"Then eat!  You are allowed to eat.  I only ask that you try to use your
manners."
Bucky nodded again, looking into his bowl.  Cautiously, his hand shaking
slightly, he dipped in, tilted the spoon away, and scooped up a bit of meat and
vegetable.  With utmost concentration, he brought it to his mouth and chewed. 
Slowly.
The boy was afraid, that was it.  He did not wish to be yelled at the way
Bartolomew had scolded Samuel.  Stefan reached up and stroked the boy's wild
hair.  "Very good," he said softly.
***
Dinner had taken Bucky a long time to eat.  He hadn't wanted to do anything
wrong, and somehow even that had seemed wrong.  Stefan had been kind to him,
though.  He was glad that it was Stefan leading him by the leash instead of
Bartolomew.  He wished Samuel would behave so Bartolomew wouldn't yell so
much. 
They were brought into a room and told to sit while a man bustled in wielding
scissors.  Bucky's stomach turned and threatened to spill all that he had just
eaten - more food than he'd eaten in a good long time.  His stomach felt full
and round.  Instead of making him feel sleepy, however, he felt like he might
throw up, and he knew he'd be punished for that.  He always had before.  Or
he'd be told to "lick it up!"  Which would only cause him to make more of a
mess.
So he swallowed, and gritted his teeth, and kept swallowing so he could keep
everything down, and it wasn't until the man with the scissors finished and
blew the little hairs from his face that he could relax and let his stomach
settle.  Stefan was right beside him then, stroking his new, shorter hair that
wasn't a long, matted mess.  It flopped into his face and Stefan brushed it
away.  
Samuel, naturally, did not care to have his head shaved.  He cried as the tufts
and curls were snipped away.  Bartolomew told him to quiet down, but since
Samuel sat still for the haircut, no one was punished, and Bucky heaved a sigh
of relief when it was all over and Stefan led him out. 
He had no idea where he was being taken.  He stared at the rich carpeted floor
beneath his bare feet the entire time.  When Stefan opened a door and led Bucky
inside, he was surprised to find himself in a little bedroom. 
Little, that was, for this grand place.  The bedroom itself was much larger
than the closet-sized space he had slept in.  Instead of a tiny mattress on the
floor, this room had a large four-poster bed, each post thick and ornately
carved in dark mahogany.  The mattress looked soft, and so high up a stool
stood beside the bed in order to climb in.  Blankets woven like tapestry in
dark blue and white covered it.
The room had been readied for them.  A fire blazed in the hearth, and the
bedside lamp lit.  An armchair sat by the fireplace, upholstered in fabric that
matched Stefan's brocade coat. 
Oddly, in the corner, was a wash basin with a mirror, and beside it a pot. 
Closing the door, Stefan led Bucky deeper into the small room.  The fire warmed
his face. 
"We will share this room, until you are trained," Stefan said.  He threaded the
leash through an iron ring mounted to the wall, then peeled off his jacket. 
"You will sleep on the cushion here, by the fire."  Bucky looked down and only
then saw the large pillow at his feet, again upholstered in blue and gold.  It
was near to the fire, and a large, thick pillow, and Bucky imagined he would be
quite warm here.  "If you please me, I will allow you to share my bed."
At this, Bucky looked up in surprise.  He'd been excited about the cushion on
the floor.  To sleep in that great big bed would be luxurious. 
Stefan had opened up a small wooden wardrobe across from the wash basin and
pot, and hung his jacket neatly on a hanger.  Now he unbuttoned his breeches
and removed those as well, again placing them on a hanger.
"If you need to relieve yourself during the night, you will use the chamber
pot.  Not in the case you might have the runs, though.  I would prefer if you
woke me then, and I will take you to the bathrooms."
Bucky had not quite understood when was meant by "relieving" himself or "the
runs" until Stefan said the word "bathroom."  Now he knew.  He could pee in the
pot, but not number two.  He nodded eagerly to show he understood.  He wanted
to please Stefan so he might sleep in the big bed with him.
Stefan untucked his shirt and unbuttoned that too.  Underneath he was pale and
thin, and had some small red marks on his skin near his neck.  He pulled a long
white nightgown from the drawer and put it on over the strange underclothes
that looked none-too-comfortable.  They were certainly not like the stretchy
cotton underpants Bucky had always worn.  These had buttons and were made of a
stiffer white fabric. 
Underneath the white tunic, Bucky had on no underpants.  He didn't much mind.
Stefan's white stockings were buttoned on and Stefan removed these as well. 
The nightgown covered most of his legs. 
"Come, we will wash up for bed," said Stefan, turning to him.  Bucky only had
to turn around; the placement of the iron ring seemed meant to allow him to use
the pot and reach the basin without the leash needing to be untied.
Together they washed their faces, and brushed their teeth.  Bucky imitated
Stefan exactly, only spitting when Stefan spit.  Then Stefan cupped Bucky's
face in his hand.  "I am quite lucky to have a good boy like you," Stefan said,
and touched his lips to Bucky's lightly.  "You have pleased me today." 
He reached to untie the leash, then stopped.  "Do you need to relieve
yourself?" he asked.
Bucky nodded.
Stefan turned his back to give him some privacy, and Bucky very carefully
squatted by the pot so he would not make a mess.  When he was finished, Stefan
turned back around, untied the leash and helped Bucky climb up into the big
bed.
***
Stefan wished he did not have to thread the leash through the iron ring beside
the bed, but it was a rule.  He tucked the smaller boy in and curled up beside
him after he put out the lamp.  "I know I am required to call you James,"
Stefan whispered in the flickering firelight.  "But may I call you Bucky in the
privacy of this room?"
Eyes half-closed, Bucky nodded, the ghost of a smile on his face. 
"And in this room only, you may call me by my true name," Stefan whispered,
tracing a finger around those full little lips.  "Steve."
The thick black lashes framing the blue eyes blinked once.  Steve brushed a
dark curl from the boy's brow and kissed the smooth skin there softly. 
"Stevie," Bucky whispered.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Within two weeks, Master allowed Bucky to be without a leash, though the collar
would stay on for much longer.  Stefan recalled when he had to wear the collar,
and he was impressed that Bucky never scratched at it or complained of it being
too tight, as he himself had on occasion.  In retrospect, the collar had served
to prepare him for the ruffled lace collars worn by the gilded boys.  They were
only slightly less constricting, and many of the guests at the palazzo liked
for the boys to wear collars in their company, so whether Bucky complained or
not, he would have to become accustomed to the feel of something tight about
his neck.  The only time Stefan was allowed to remove the collar, using a
little key he wore on a chain, was during the baths.
The first bath at the palazzo had made the boys clean, and now Stefan and
Bartolomew were expected to bathe with their young charges.  Stefan came to
love this time of day best, even more than art class.  The claw-footed bathtubs
were quite large, and they could fill it near to the brim with hot water – not
scalding – and bubbles, so that Bucky was submerged near to his neck and Stefan
to mid-chest, and they could play a little and Stefan could rub the sponge all
over Bucky's body.  Sometimes he gave the sponge to Bucky and turned around so
Bucky could wash Stefan.  Then they would play with toy boats until the water
became too cold.
Unlike Samuel, Bucky never cried about the lack of something called television,
which Stefan only vaguely remembered.  Other boys, younger boys, often spoke of
"movies," and sometimes in quiet corners he would hear boys telling each other
the stories from these movies, but then Stefan or another boy might say, "Oh! 
That sounds like Pinocchio," or perhaps it would be Arabian Nights, or Robinson
Crusoe.  Eventually memories of the television became the reading of books. 
Reading hour was enjoyed by most of the boys.  Master loved to walk through the
quiet library, where the boys would lounge on chairs and pillows and chaises
and read about far-off places and adventures. 
And in their classes, they learned many of the same skills as the adventurers
in the stories.  Fencing, and horseback riding, and archery – Bartolomew
excelled in archery, and he performed many tricks when they put on their shows
for the guests.  Stefan had once stood like a statue with an apple on his head
and his eyes squeezed shut, and Bartolomew had sent an arrow flying through the
apple without harming a hair on Stefan's head.
Of course, they also learned ballet, which many of the boys disliked, unless
they were being taught to partner Natalia.  And there were music classes and
Stefan's favorite, art class, and they learned physics and algebra and
philosophy as well.
Then there were other lessons, and soon Master would think Bucky was ready for
those. 
Stefan worried about this.  He still remembered his first lesson with the
Master.  He had been only seven – Bucky’s age, probably.  And though Master had
been gentle, it had still hurt, and for a long time after that he hadn’t wanted
his keeper, Bruno, to touch him. 
Bruno had been quiet and gentle most of the time, but if he were displeased by
Stefan, or by anything, really, Bruno would lash out.  Sometimes he would beat
Stefan until he bled, even though he knew later he would be punished for it. 
Bruno often displeased the Master.  Though he had a place as one of the gilded
boys, in his green overcoat and wine-colored breeches, he spent much of his
time back in the tunics of the new boys, collared and chained, performing the
lowliest tasks.  All of the boys knew to avoid Bruno when he was in a bad
mood. 
In caring for Bucky, Stefan had tried to not be like Bruno.  It helped that he
did not have a temper.  The boy was also so obedient that Stefan had yet to
strike him. 
Today would be one of the first times Master would see the results of Bucky’s
training.  He had been assigned to serve dinner to the boys.  There were no
guests at the Palazzo this evening, which happened only a few times per month. 
This was when Master would test the new boys and see how obedient they would
be.  Stefan had brought Bucky to the kitchen, and waited while Bartolomew
unclipped the leash from Samuel’s collar.  “Remember the rules,” Bartolomew
warned.  “Should you displease Master, we shall both be punished.”
Samuel nodded.  Bucky looked pale and serious.  The boys had been training for
this each night for the past week.  Learning to carry the heavy trays of food,
how to pour wine for the Master and water for the boys.  Memorizing the
placement of silverware and how to smile in the way Master liked.  The smile
had been the hardest for Bucky to learn.  The boy rarely smiled. 
“Do your best,” Stefan whispered to Bucky, and kissed him lightly on the
cheek.  Bucky’s eyes shone.  As Stefan and Bartolomew made their way to the
dining room to stand behind their appointed chairs, Stefan hoped Bucky would
not cry.  He had done so well thus far, but generally it was only a matter of
time before the new boys broke down.  One never knew when it would happen.
With Stefan, it had been after three weeks of classes.  He had not attended
school regularly for that length of time.  He had been sick a lot, and he'd had
a lot of broken bones and trips to the emergency room.  He had never learned
what it was to sit at a desk, and read and write and memorize information, with
the penalty of a whip hanging over his head.  It had been during reading time
that Stefan's headache made him put the book aside. 
"Stefan, your mind will not become sharp by daydreaming," remanded Master
Sitwell, who was the professor tasked with supervising the library.
"I'm tired of reading!" he had said.  He had known then by the way the other
boys looked at him, then looked at Master Sitwell, already rising from his
chair, that he had done something wrong.
He'd not had a second warning.  "Bruno, bring Stefan to me."  Master Sitwell
picked up a wooden cane.
"No," Stefan said, but Bruno was already dragging him along by the leash. 
"Take your punishment quietly," Bruno snapped.  He'd already been in a foul
mood, and this only served to make him angrier.   Once they reached the wooden
desk, Bruno pushed down on the back of Stefan's head until the desk's smooth
surface pressed into his face.  He wondered if Bruno might be able to push his
skull through the desk, then he felt air on his backside as Bruno lifted up the
white tunic.
He had screamed after the first crack, and the second, barely hearing Master
Sitwell adding more strokes for each scream.  "Keep quiet, or he'll whip you
until you pass out," Bruno hissed in his ear.  The intense pain made that
nearly impossible, but after the fourth stroke, fearing no end to the pain, he
sucked his lips between his teeth and bit down, tasting blood, making only a
terrible moan.  Tears were dripping from his eyes onto the desktop, and with
the fifth and sixth stroke, he felt liquid dripping down his legs.  By then his
throat was raw and he only squeaked a little.
Bruno kept his head pressed there until another boy had gone to fetch a pail
and cloth, and right there the boy washed down his legs, although Master
instructed Stefan to scrub the floor.  It was a puddle of piss, right there at
his feet.  His backside burning and exposed to all the other boys, he cleaned
up, tears dripping down his nose, and then Bruno led him out with the bucket
and took him to the infirmary, where he tended to Stefan's wounds, putting on a
salve and bandages.  
It had been a long time before Stefan misbehaved again.
Now Stefan stood by his assigned place at the big table, waiting with the other
boys for Master to arrive.  They all stood the same, hands clasped behind their
backs, their jewel-toned silks clean and lace collars white.  The table was
laid out with a black tablecloth and silver cutlery that winked in the
candlelight of the grand chandelier which hung over it.  Crystal goblets, and
white china with gold trim, and each chair was made of fine wood with cushions
covered in black velvet. 
They waited for Master to arrive, holding their positions with nary a head
turned or eye cast about, or even the shifting of a foot.  They had all been
trained to accept the discomfort of their shoes, and to know that any minor
disobedience might draw the Master's attentions and require a heavy punishment.
Precisely at seven o'clock, Master entered the dining room, preceded by Antonio
to hold the door for him and push in his chair when he sat.  When Master sat
down, he gestured with his hand, and all the boys then took their seats at the
table. 
Stefan sat to the Master’s right, while Antonio sat to the left.  Down the
table, in order of the Master’s favorites.  “Boys, let us welcome Pietro back
to the table,” Master said, and the boys looked to see Pietro, with his shock
of white-blond hair and silver and black brocades seated across from Bruno at
the end of the table.  Pietro smiled and bowed his head, and the boys gave him
a light round of applause.
For months Pietro had been banished to the ranks of the white tunics.  The
slaves.  It was not a kind term and Master frowned upon it, but that was what
it was when one was not a new boy.  No one knew precisely what Pietro had
done.  It had involved an unhappy guest, that was all anyone would say.  And so
Pietro had been chained again, and given the least desirable of tasks: the
cleaning of the chamber pots, scrubbing of the floors of the guest rooms,
laundry, mucking the stalls of the horses. 
Generally punishment for the gilded boys did not last months.  That was how
everyone knew what Pietro had done was terrible.  Bruno was often returned to
the chains and tunic for his temper, but these punishments lasted a handful of
days, perhaps a week or two.  Never the length of Pietro’s banishment. 
The slave boys brought out the food, and Stefan watched Bucky with an
expressionless face.  He felt relief when the boy set down the heavy tray of
meat without incident. 
“Please, tell me about your favorite class, Stefan,” Master said, placing his
lace-trimmed napkin on his lap.  All the gilded boys did the same, as the slave
boys served the food from their trays. 
Stefan spoke of his oil painting in his art class and the difficulties of
painting light on glass, keeping his voice loud and clear enough for everyone
in the room to hear.  Speech was a class most of the boys disliked, but Master
insisted they practice those principles in everyday conversation. 
“And you, Philippe?” asked Master.  On down the table it went, each boy
speaking of his favorite classes. 
Conversation was a skill, Master told them, as was listening and asking
appropriate questions.  One had to watch to see who was holding their breath,
waiting to speak, and who had lost interest in the topic at hand, requiring a
change of subject.  Once each boy had taken a turn speaking, Master asked them
questions of philosophy, and this occupied the conversation throughout most of
dinner.  Stefan watched Bucky the entire time.  As he served the Master, the
Master's hand touched Bucky's back, low on his spine, then slid down.  He was
pleased to see that Bucky did not flinch or even bat an eyelash.  He finished
serving and waited until Master had removed his hand and dismissed him.
As Bucky turned away, Stefan gave him a small smile.
"I would like the company of Stefan, Bartolomew, and Tomas tonight," Master
announced at the end of the meal.  Across the table, Stefan saw Tomas' face
relax into a pleased smile.  Stefan was pleased as well, though he preferred
being alone with the Master.  "Antonio, of course, will join us, as usual."
Antonio gave a small nod and smile.
***
Bucky stood as straight and tall as he could outside the door of Master’s
bedchamber.  Beside him were Samuel and Lorenzo.  Lorenzo was an older boy with
long black locks who had been given to Tomas for retraining.  Behind the closed
door of the room, Bucky could hear slaps and cracks and laughter and cries.  He
kept his hands tightly clasped before him, trying not to flinch when he heard
those sharp sounds.  He didn’t like imagining what was happening to his Stevie.
“I wish they would hurry up already,” Lorenzo said.  “My feet hurt.”
The carpet in the anteroom to the Master’s chambers had a thick pile, but it
was late fall, and Bucky’s feet were cold.  He stared straight ahead while
Samuel bobbed his head.  “Mine, too.”
He would not let Lorenzo lull him into misbehaving.  The other boys had told
him that was Lorenzo’s specialty.  “He is trouble, that one,” they said.  “But
he is charming, and the Master thinks him pretty.”
“You might never know he and Tomas were brothers,” Nicolas had told him.  “They
are so different in appearance.”
Tomas had a muscular build and sun-kissed blond hair.  He was quickly getting
too tall.  At fourteen, he was nearing the age when Master would send him
away.  “But he has a patron who requests him every time he visits, and he
visits nearly every month,” the whispers said.  “So long as he earns his keep,
Master will keep him.”
“The least they could do,” Lorenzo said, “is to allow us to sit.  They might be
at this for hours, you know.”
“Hours?” Samuel asked, his voice a little squeak.
“Hours and hours.”  Lorenzo turned slightly so he could lean an elbow on a
bookshelf.  “This is what we do most evenings, if your keeper is chosen to
entertain the guests.  You are both new, yes?”
Samuel nodded.  Bucky fixed his gaze on the grandfather clock across the room. 
They had been standing outside the room for over an hour.
“This one here, so serious.”  Lorenzo pushed off the bookshelf and took a few
steps around Samuel.  “You there, you’re one of the new boys?  What is your
name?”
Bucky ignored him.
"That is James," Samuel said.  "He follows the rules so well he has never been
whipped yet."
“Oh, the Master must love you,” Lorenzo purred, and reached up touch Bucky’s
cheek.  Bucky stood like stone.  “Yes, he will love you.”
Behind them, they heard footsteps approach the door, and before it opened,
Lorenzo was back in line, looking like he had never moved from position.
“Boy, Master has need of water,” Tomas said.  He appeared, wearing only his
breeches.  No stockings, no shirt. 
Immediately Bucky moved for the pitcher of water on the sideboard.  Samuel took
a step forward as well, before Tomas said, “There is only need for one boy to
bring the water.” 
Bucky carried the tray with the heavy ewer of cold water and crystal goblets
through the door Tomas held open.  He hesitated, searching for a flat surface
on which to place the tray, and thus had a glimpse of what was happening on
Master’s bed.
The bed was of similar style of Stefan’s – four poster, high, covered in
sumptuous silk sheets and pillows.  Bucky had never seen a bed this large
before.  All the boys but Tomas fit comfortably on its expanse.  Master lay
there in his breeches, with his white undershirt unbuttoned.  His hand rested
on a bare buttock, and it took Bucky a moment to realize the bare skin belonged
to Stefan, who had his face buried between the knees of Antonio. 
Immediately Bucky looked down at his tray.  He understood what Stefan was
doing.  He had been forced to do such things before, but he had never gone at
it with such enthusiasm, without a hand keeping his head in place. 
Tomas pushed aside the lamp on the bedside table, and gestured for Bucky to
place the tray there. 
“Ah, James, my little obedient one,” said the Master. 
Bucky did not look up from his task.  He poured four glasses of water,
carefully, without spilling a drop, then stepped back and waited to be
dismissed. 
“Come to me, my James.”
There was no stool by the bed to help him climb up.  He stepped forward, and
then Master said, “Tomas, help the boy up.”
Hands scooped under his armpits and lifted him to the bed, and now Bucky could
see even more clearly the activities here.  Antonio had his head thrown back. 
His hands were tied with some knotted silk fabric to the bedpost.  He wore
nothing.   Stefan still wore his shirt.  Bartolomew also wore nothing.  He
knelt by the Master's side, braiding the man's long blond hair.
“You have been such a good boy, James.”  Master stroked his face, and he stayed
very, very still.  “I should like to reward you for being so good.”
Master pulled him down to lay beside him. 
“Tomas, if you will.”  That was all the instruction needed for Tomas to take up
the chain between Bucky’s wrists and lift it over Bucky’s head.  Bucky did not
need to look to see that Tomas was securing the chain in some fashion.  He
gazed at the painting over the fireplace mantel, straight across the room.  It
depicted a courtly scene of boys lounging among pillows, cherubic, with halos
and wings and limbs entwined.  Bucky kept his eyes on that painting as Master’s
hand pushed its way up under his tunic.
Master moved with such confidence.  No creeping, no shushing, no whispers of
“This will be our little secret” or rough and grabbing with a slap or two and
“shut the fuck up.”  No, Master’s warm hand slid up and took hold of him and
squeezed without any of these other things.  Bucky stared at that painting and
struggled to keep his legs from clamping together.
“Very good,” Master whispered, and kissed him on his cheek.  “Does this feel
good?”
Bucky knew the answer Master wanted, and he gave it.  “Yes, Master.”
“Look at me, please.”
As the Master’s hand kneaded him, he tore his eyes from the painting and did as
he was told.  And then Master removed his hand, and placed it on his cheek.  To
keep him from turning away, Bucky thought, but then Master touched his lips to
Bucky’s. 
On the other side of the bed, Antonio gasped, then gave a deep groan.
“Stefan, when you are finished,” Master said.  “Tomas, I would like you to
massage James’s feet.”
Tomas knelt at the end of the bed and picked up one of Bucky’s feet and dug his
fingers into the sole.  Bucky felt his arms tug at the bindings on his wrists,
involuntarily.  “Tch, tch, this will feel nice,” Master whispered.
That was what they always said.
***
Stefan had barely registered the name James until he sat up, wiped his mouth,
and turned around to find Bucky in Master’s arms.  “Yes, Master?” he asked.
“Our James must learn how to relax,” Master told him.  “He trusts you, yes?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Do what you can to relax him.  We shall all help him, won’t we?”
This time both Stefan and Tomas answered.  “Yes, Master.”
Bucky’s eyes darted anxiously toward him.  He had not seen the boy look this
nervous before, and it touched a place deep within that wanted to protect him. 
Bucky was not ready for the Master’s lessons.  He lay down on the other side of
the boy, and the Master released the boy’s face so that Stefan might kiss it. 
He wished he could tell Bucky to imagine it was just the two of them in
Stefan’s bed.  Bucky had never seemed nervous any of those times, and they had
often kissed gently, and held one another, and one time Stefan had taken
Bucky’s hand and pressed it against the front of his undergarments.  Bucky had
squeezed, and smiled at Stefan’s reaction.
Stefan looked into those big blue eyes and stroked Bucky’s wavy hair.  He could
not speak any words of comfort to him now, in front of the Master.  He had only
his touch.  He kept his hands near Bucky’s face, stroking those baby-soft
cheeks and kissing him all over. 
Soon, he noticed how Bucky did not take his eyes from Stefan, even when Master
took Stefan’s hand and placed it lower, or when Tomas began massaging higher on
the boy’s legs.  No, Bucky stared at Stefan, and sighed a little every now and
again, until Master murmured, “Very good, James.”
***
The clock struck one as Stefan led Bucky back to their room.  Both boys were
quite tired, and as they neared the door, Stefan felt Bucky press up against
him, leaning as they walked.  Stefan stroked Bucky’s hair and once they entered
the room, Stefan took care of washing Bucky’s face and helped Bucky climb up
into the bed. 
When he collapsed onto the mattress, Bucky immediately curled into him.  His
little hand rested around Stefan’s waist as he drifted into sleep.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
     Once again, please heed the tags and warnings before reading...
In the end it was Stefan who ruined Bucky's good behavior, all with one
careless word.
On this particular evening, there were many guests at the palazzo.  Stefan had
a place at the table between two of them, which meant he had to display his
conversation skills.  Sometimes he wished could shoot arrows or throw knives
like Bartolomew, or play the piano like Antonio.  Then again, he was not sure
he would enjoy performing the way some of the boys did.  Conversation with the
guests was not difficult.  They were always quite curious about him and the
other boys and asked many questions.  Regular guests of the palazzo often wore
their own costumes, but most of the new guests seemed uncomfortable in their
clothes, though most wore only basic tan breeches, shirts with open collars,
and either vests or frock coats. 
The slave boys came out with the trays of food, and proceeded to go about the
table to serve.  Stefan was finding that the guest to his left, who insisted
his name was John Smith, had terrible manners and bad breath to boot.  He hoped
Master Smith would not select Stefan as his companion for the evening.  Already
the man had reached over and put his hand between Stefan's legs under the
tablecloth.  He was well-trained enough to not allow Master to see any
reaction.  It would have been rude to push a guest's hand away, and so Stefan
had to continue to eat his meal and make conversation as though nothing were
happening. 
The entire time, Steve kept an eye on Bucky as he made his way around the
table.  It made him smile, which Master Smith believed he was causing with his
callous groping.  Bucky had been exemplary and was quickly becoming a favorite
of Master's.  Master had even hinted that Bucky might be soon ready to be
measured for a frock coat and breeches, and had ordered undergarments for the
boy already.  The undergarments took some getting used to, with all the buttons
and stiffness.  Stefan was certain Bucky would take to them without issue,
although Stefan had cried himself to sleep the first time he'd worn them.  They
were so restrictive after wearing nothing for so long.
When Bucky stepped between Master Smith and Stefan to serve the russet potatoes
on his tray, Master Smith reluctantly removed his hand from Stefan's lap to
make room.  Only a moment later, as Bucky started to back up, did Stefan
realize where Master Smith's hand had gone.
Bucky did as he should, stopping and standing still while the hand moved under
his tunic.  Stefan wanted to reach out, to help Bucky relax.  Instead he
nervously cut up his food and scrambled to think of a conversational topic. 
"The weather is quite cold for this time of year, isn't it?" he said to no one
in particular.  The weather.  Master Sitwell would have whipped him had he
heard.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw the silver tray in Bucky's hands moving,
and turned his head.  Bucky was struggling to hold it up as Master Smith had
wrapped an arm around Bucky's waist to pull him down onto his lap.  "This one
is quite lovely," Master Smith said, reaching up to touch Bucky's face.  Bucky
steadied the tray now that he was seated on the man's knee.   To most people,
Bucky might look perfectly composed, but Stefan could see how wide Bucky's eyes
were, how they focused on the candles burning on the table.  "I think you shall
be my companion tonight, yes?"
"Oh, Bucky is not ready to be a companion," Stefan said lightly, with a little
smile.  "He does not know how to do the things I can do."
Master Smith looked at him.  "You think I need him to know how to do anything?"
Stefan froze, and that was when he realized that the room had grown silent.  He
answered haltingly, "But it is not better to have a companion who knows how to
please you?"
"I'll be pleased to--"
"Excuse me, Master Smith."  The purring, smooth voice of the Master.  He had
one gloved hand on the man's shoulder.  "My young Stefan is correct, this boy
is not available this evening.  Please, James, come with me." 
Master took the tray from Bucky and handed it off to Antonio, then lifted the
boy up into his arms.  Bucky hugged the Master, grateful.  As the Master walked
away, he called over his shoulder, "Stefan, please come with me."
That was when Stefan knew he had made some kind of mistake.  He excused
himself, ignoring the slap of Master Smith’s palm on his ass as he hurried
after the Master.  Master did not normally call boys away from dinner unless
they had committed a grievous error.
He followed Master into the drawing room across the hall from the dining hall,
mind racing with what mistakes he might have made.  Perhaps he should have
stopped Master Smith himself when he grabbed at Bucky?  Over Master's shoulder,
Bucky watched him with wide eyes.  If they could read one another's minds,
Stefan was sure that Bucky would be asking if he had done something wrong. 
No, Bucky, Stefan thought.  If anyone has made a mistake here, it was me.
Master set Bucky down as Stefan closed the door behind them.  Master's face was
white with anger when he turned around.  "Stefan, assume the position."
Hands trembling slightly, Stefan unbuttoned his breeches and pulled them down. 
Before he could bend over the chaise, Master snapped, "Full position, Stefan." 
Fumbling, he undid the buttons of his undergarments and slid those down as
well.  He could feel Bucky watching him, and he arranged his face into
blankness.  He did not wish to frighten the boy. 
"What is the name of your boy, Stefan?" Master asked, laying the cool wood of
the cane against his bare buttocks. 
"James, Master," Stefan replied, his stomach twisting.  So that was the reason
for Master's anger.  He closed his eyes as the cane whistled down and cracked
across his skin.
"What is the name of your boy?" Master asked again, and Stefan repeated his
answer.  Three times asked and answered and struck.
James, James, James, Stefan would remember this now.  He could not even allow
the other name into his thoughts.
***
Bucky watched Stefan take his punishment silently, but for calling out Bucky's
name.  "James," each time a little more strangled.  Bucky wanted to throw up. 
Master looked so angry, his face an ugly white mask, and Bucky feared that
Master would soon turn his anger upon Bucky.  After all, it had surely been his
fault.  That man had grabbed him.  This meant he had somehow given the man
cause to do so. 
Master asked the question a fourth time: "What is the name of your boy?"
"Master, please stop!" Bucky cried out.  "I have asked him to call me by the
other name.  Please, Master, it is my fault!"
Both the Master and Stefan turned their heads to look at him.  Inside he was
quaking with fear.  He dropped to his knees and clasped his hands together. 
"Please, Master," he whispered.  "Do not hurt him anymore."
"Get up," Master snarled, and by the chains that bound Bucky's wrists to his
neck, Master yanked him to his feet and pushed him down on the chaise beside
Stefan.  Roughly his tunic was pushed up.  Bucky closed his eyes and waited.
The pain came long moments after he heard the sound.  It roared in his ears and
sent blood rushing to his face.  He refused to scream nor even utter a sound. 
Three cracks and then Master threw down the tunic. 
"Three strokes for each of you, then, since you have both been breaking my
rules."  Master's shoes clacked away on the parquet floor.  "You may stand and
redress yourselves."  Bucky had a much easier time of this than Stefan.  He
watched the complicated procedure until Master called his attention.  "James. 
Face forward."
"Yes, Master.” 
Master rubbed the length of the cane with his handkerchief before resetting it
on the mantle.  “The keeper and his charge often have a special relationship,”
the Master mused.  “I like to encourage friendships between my boys.  And I
understand if some boys develop even more... special... friendships.  It is
only natural.
“But you must obey all of my rules.  I should hate to separate you, since you
have grown so close.”  Master approached, and put his hand to Stefan’s cheek. 
“You are one of my favorites, Stefan.  I expect better from you, even if it was
our guest’s rudeness which flustered you.”
Master now took hold of Bucky’s hand.  “Come now, let us rejoin the meal. 
James, you will sit with me while we have dessert, yes?”
“Yes, Master,” said Bucky.
He had at first wondered why Master should give him this favor immediately
after being punished.  Sitting on that tender spot, however, was far more
uncomfortable than if he had been allowed to continue serving.  Master kept him
firmly held to his lap, so he could not even shift to make himself more
comfortable.  Now he understood. 
***
Down the table, seated beside Master Smith again, Stefan endured his own
torture.  It was clear that the guest to Stefan’s right had a clear interest in
Pietro’s company, and that left Stefan to charm Master Smith, or else not be
selected for company at all, and that would most certainly displease the
Master. 
The whipping had not been as bad as Stefan had feared.  He wondered, almost
giddily, if he was reaching that point in his training the older boys spoke of,
where they began to enjoy the Master’s punishments almost as much as the
pleasure he gave them.  He still had not felt the stirrings that would mean the
beginning of a new kind of training, although sometimes, with Bucky –James, he
corrected – he felt something like what he thought stirrings might be. 
Despite the return of Master Smith’s hand to his lap, Stefan smiled and made
conversation and by the end of the meal, after the boys had left the guests to
talk with the Master about price and selection, Stefan was certain Master Smith
would choose him as a companion for the night. 
The boys all waited in the drawing room.  The moment they were alone,
Bartolomew poked him.  “Did you get in trouble?”
Stefan frowned.  “Yes.”
“You are too attached to your boy,” Bartolomew said.  “We all heard you call
him by that other name.”
“I hope that beast of a man does not choose me for this evening,” Bruno said. 
“While Stefan was gone with the Master, he had his hand between my legs.  Then
he asked me how old I was.”  Leaning in, Bruno whispered, “He likes the young
boys.”
Phillippe added, “Master should not let him stay for the evening. He has
clearly broken the rules already; he will be worse once there is no one to
monitor him.”
Stefan tried not to think about it, as Antonio entered and called out boys, one
by one.  He was nearly alone but for Tomas, who had come to expect not being
chosen unless his patron was present, when Antonio called him.  Stefan bade
Tomas a good evening and entered the dining hall to find Master Smith waiting
with a disgusting grin on his face.
“Master Smith has reserved the gold room for tonight,” Master informed Stefan,
and Stefan stepped forward and took Master Smith by the hand and led him up the
stairs and down the hall to the last room on the left.  The hallway was filled
with the sounds of one of the slave boys practicing the piano, a pretty tune to
muffle the sounds already coming from the other rooms. 
All of the rooms were called by their color and often had special features. 
The blue room, for example, had a small heated pool under a large window.  The
silver room had mirrors covering the walls and ceilings.  The green room
featured a great number of plants, and all the boys had been taught which of
the plants could be eaten as aphrodisiacs.  The gold room had little by way of
these things.  Large paintings in gilt framed covered the walls, and candles
glowing from every corner.  It was a pretty room, but plain, in a sense, and
Stefan knew it had been assigned to Master Smith, rather than chosen – assigned
in the sense that Master had given Smith last choice, and all other rooms had
been taken. 
“I was hoping for the red room,” Master Smith said once they were inside the
gold room and Stefan had closed the door.  The man immediately kicked off his
shoes and started peeling off his stockings.  “But your Master Pierce there
said you weren’t ready for the red room.”
“Master Smith, would you like for me to undress you?” Stefan asked before the
man could fully get his stocking off. 
Balancing on one leg and leaning against the bed for support. Master Smith
looked at him.  An ugly leer spread across his face.  “Oh, yeah, I keep
forgettin’ what I’m payin’ for.”
“Please, sir, if you will lie on the bed.”  Stefan held out a hand to help the
man up.
“Well, don’t you have nice manners,” Master Smith said, taking Stefan’s hand
and using it to pull him close enough to mash his wet lips against Stefan’s. 
The man tasted like wine.  Perhaps, Stefan thought, enduring the kiss, if
Master Smith had a touch more wine, he would fall asleep quickly. 
Pulling away, the man looked at him like he couldn’t believe the smile on
Stefan’s face.  He licked his lips and climbed onto the bed, and once he had
gotten himself comfortable on his back with his hands behind his head, Master
Smith waggled his eyebrows and his toes. 
Stefan crawled across the bed and worked one stocking off, then took the man’s
foot and placed it on his lap, the heel pressed right into his groin, and he
gave Master Smith a little smile as he massaged the ball of his foot.  Master
Smith groaned loudly.  “Oh, fuck, that’s good, kid.  Goddamn, when I heard
about this place I thought it was gonna be a fucking scam, but shit.”
Master Smith loudly showed his appreciation as Stefan repeated the massage with
the other foot, then crawled up to nestle at Master Smith’s side.  “Perhaps you
would like more wine before we continue, Master?” Stefan asked, running his
hand along the man’s face.
Instead of an answer, Master Smith grabbed Stefan by the ponytail and smashed
their faces together.  Stefan parted his lips, hoping this would somehow
transform Master Smith into a better kisser, then found himself having to
endure a floppy tongue in his mouth.  He kept his eyes closed and breathed and
continued caressing the man’s face. 
Finally it was over.  “Yeah, more wine,” Master Smith said, looking at Stefan
with satisfaction.  “Then you can suck my dick.”
“Certainly, Master,” Stefan said, and lifted his hand to the bell pull that
hung from the canopy of the bed.  As soon as he did so, he had a sudden fervent
hope that James had not finished with his tasks in the kitchen yet.  The slave
boys waited outside the rooms to attend to the needs of those within, and if
James had not arrived, one of the others would do his duty.  Unfortunately, it
was James who entered the room and waited for instruction.
“James, Master Smith would like more wine,” Stefan told him quickly.
“Ah, this little one,” Master Smith said, as James disappeared.  He began to
sit up, and Stefan moved with him, clinging to his side. 
James reappeared with a bottle of wine and one wine glass on a tray.  He paid
attention to the task at hand despite Master Smith staring at him, Stefan
practically forgotten.
“Looks like I got myself a freebie,” Master Smith said, and then, as James
bowed and turned to leave, he was sitting up and taking hold of Bucky’s arm.
Bucky stopped and stood.
“Now, this is what I paid for.”  Master Smith hopped down from the bed.  He
thrust his hips forward. “Unbutton my pants.”
“Yes, sir,” Bucky said, and did as he was told.
Stefan once again did not know what to do.  “Would you like me to pleasure you
now, sir?” he asked, crawling forward on his knees.
“No,” Master Smith said, shooing him back with a flapping hand.  Stefan moved
back, and watched as the man shoved Bucky up against the bed, bending him over
the mattress.  Master Smith hiked up Bucky’s tunic and reached down, then
looked around.  “You got any lube, kid?”
Stefan was horrified even as he answered, “Yes, Master,” and retrieved the jar
and offered it up to the man.  He had never had a guest do this.  It was
forbidden.  The Master did not allow it.  Should he ring the bell again, and
hope that would serve as warning?  He did not have time before Master Smith
inserted himself with a loud moan of, “Fuuuuuck.
For his part, Bucky had not changed expression.  He stared at the embroidery on
the bedspread.  Master had not even come close to preparing Bucky for this.  It
was a disaster.
“Kid – what’s your name?  Stefan?  Get up here.  I want to watch him suck you
off.”
Stefan did not know what to do.  He removed his shoes and began to remove his
pants, only to have Master Smith grab him roughly by the arm and push him up
onto the bed.  “I gave you an order, didn’t I?  I thought you were supposed to
be obedient.”
“Yes, Master,” Stefan managed to say.
***
Bucky had gone to another place in his mind.  A place like the painting before
him, a pleasant countryside where boys rode horses through beautiful fields of
tall grass and cherry trees that threw their blossoms to the wind.  He had not
yet had his first riding lesson, that would come when he became a gilded boy,
like Stefan.  But he had visited the stables, and Stefan had given him a carrot
to feed the Stefan called his own.
Then Stefan moved into his view, and he was momentarily returned to the present
moment.  He looked up at Stefan, who appeared pained.  The other boy was
unbuttoning his pants.  He could see in Stefan’s face that he did not wish to
do what the man thrusting into Bucky wanted.  But this Bucky could do.  He
could please Stefan, and give him pleasure that might take the sad look from
his face. 
He could look up at Stefan, and watch Stefan’s face turn from sadness to that
lovely smile, and that would be even better than looking at the painting.  And
Stefan cupped his face so gently while Bucky did this, and stroked his hair,
and for a time Bucky could forget about what was happening behind him.
***
Stefan realized, in these terrible moments, exactly how much he loved Bucky. 
It had nothing to do with the way he swelled inside Bucky’s mouth.  Perhaps
nothing.  He had never felt anything like this before, and Master often had the
boys do this to one another.  The older boys, they became hard like the guests
did.  Stefan had never, not until now.  He gasped a little, but kept his eyes
on Bucky, who looked up at him through those thick dark lashes.  Master
preferred if they threw their heads back and made loud sounds of pleasure.  But
he did not wish to do those things, to perform for anyone but Bucky.  Bucky
needed him.
“Yeah, good, good, yeah, you like that, don’t you, little slut.” 
Both of the boys ignored Master Smith’s words, until Master Smith suddenly
pulled out and Bucky’s legs collapsed and he slid away from Stefan’s lap. 
Stefan quickly held him by the wrists to keep him from falling to the floor in
a heap. 
“Up on the bed.  Looky here, what I found.”
What Master Smith had found, as he dumped Bucky unceremoniously onto the bed,
was the iron ring embedded into the wall.  “You there, tie him up,” Master
Smith said to Stefan.  Stefan helped Bucky up to the headboard and took up the
chains.
While Master Smith snatched up the forgotten wine glass and drained it, Stefan
pressed a kiss to Bucky’s cheek.  “You are a very good boy, Bucky,” Stefan
whispered as quietly as he could, before securing the chains connecting Bucky’s
wrists to the iron ring.  He stroked Bucky’s hair while he waited for Master
Smith’s next instructions. 
It was more of the same, only this time Stefan was instructed to do the
sucking.  He buried his face between Bucky’s legs and could do little more than
keep his mouth open and soft while Master Smith’s clumsy thrusting did much of
the work.  And when Master Smith came with a loud exclamation and flopped back
on the bed, Stefan reached up to release Bucky and help him down from the bed
before Master Smith could have any more ideas. 
“You have done well,” Stefan whispered.  “Please, should the bell ring again,
send someone else in your stead.”
“Yes, Stefan,” Bucky said, and kept his head down as he left the room. 
Stefan turned.  “Master Smith, might I do anything further before you retire
for the evening?” he asked.
“Retire for the evening?  I’m just getting started.  Get back up here.”
***
Most of the other boys had gone from their rooms before Master arrived with
Antonio.  “James, is Stefan still entertaining our guest?”
“Yes, Master,” Bucky replied faintly.  The man's loud cries had died down, and
for an hour now he had listened to a painful silence.
“Why, you look pale.”  Master cupped his chin and lifted his face.  “Please,
Antonio, escort James to his room and tuck him into bed.  One of the other boys
can take care of things here.  Let us hope it is mere sleep needed, and not
illness.”  Master kissed his forehead and Bucky took only a few steps forward
before Master called out for him to stop.  He did, and Master lifted the back
of his tunic.  “James, what has happened here?”
Bucky did not know how to answer this with yes or no, so he simply said,
“Please, Master.”
“So obedient, even now.”  Master turned him round and asked, “Did Master Smith
do this to you?”
Relieved, Bucky answered, “Yes, Master.”
Calling to the other slave boy still in the hallway, Master commanded, "Rouse
Tomas and Bruno and Bartolomew and their boys and bring them here, quickly.”
Master held him while they waited, stroking his hair and murmuring to him. 
"Fetch the chains, Antonio," Master instructed.  The boys arrived. 
"Bartolomew, take James to Stefan's chamber and care for him please.  Samuel
may assist you."
"Yes, Master."
Before Bartolomew could follow orders, Master had opened the door to the gold
room, and through that opening, Bucky saw Stefan in a crumpled heap on the
chaise near the window.  His beautiful blue frock coat was cast aside, with his
torn white shirt and satin breeches on top of it.  There was blood, and other
markings on Stefan’s back and throat, and Bucky began to cry when he saw
Stefan’s ribs move as he took a breath.  Bartolomew kept him from collapsing
and pulled him away.
In the room, Bartolomew removed Bucky's soiled tunic and instructed him to
support himself on the bed.  Bucky stared at the blue and gold threads on the
coverlet.  When Bartolomew touched him to apply the salve, Bucky flinched away,
his body trembling.
"I apologize, James," Bartolomew said softly.  "Here, I will warm it."  He
rubbed the salve between his palms, and gently broached the hurt area.  This
time Bucky kept himself from jerking away.
Bartolomew found a fresh tunic and undergarments and dressed him.  The
undergarments, being Stefan's, fit loosely.  "Come, I shall help you into bed,"
he said.
Bucky pushed himself away, and edged backwards.  "No thank you, Bartolomew."  
The older boy watched as Bucky carefully lowered himself down to the large
pillow beside the fire.  "I am certain Master would prefer you sleep in the bed
tonight," Bartolomew said.
"No thank you, Bartolomew," Bucky repeated.
"As you wish."  Quietly, Bartolomew and Samuel left him alone, and he curled
his knees to his chest and held them there to stop the trembling.
Shortly thereafter, he began to hear screams.  He clamped his hands over his
ears.  It sounded like Master Smith who was screaming.  He focused on the fire,
the flames hypnotizing him until he could pretend nothing else existed, until
the door to his room opened.
He froze, afraid to draw attention to himself. 
Bruno carried Stefan in his arms, and placed him in the bed, arranging the
covers about the boy.  "Why wouldn't Bartolomew put the boy in bed?" Antonio
whispered in disgust.
"Shall we move him?"
A moment of silence, then Antonio said, "Let him rest.  He has endured enough
this evening."
"Master should not have allowed that man to--"
Antonio cut him off. "Enough, Bruno."
The door closed behind them.  The silence closed in, interrupted only by the
crackling of the fire and Stefan's wheezing breaths. 
"Bucky?" Stefan called out suddenly.
"Yes, Stefan?" Bucky croaked.
"Where are you?  Why do you not share the bed with me?"  He sounded panicked.
"I have displeased you this night," Bucky answered hoarsely.
"No, Bucky, please."  A sob from up on the big bed.  "Please, come share the
bed with me."
"I have displeased you," Bucky repeated.
Those quiet sobs felt worse than the whipping he had received from the Master. 
Very nearly worse than the other pains he felt now.  "Please, Bucky.  You
please me very much."
Something hitched in Bucky's chest and he had to take a sharp breath.  Slowly,
he made his way to his feet, using the stone hearth for support.  He climbed
onto the stool and stood there, unsure of how to climb up without causing
himself pain.  Then he saw Stefan's pale face in the firelight and he lifted
his leg despite the sharp hurt. 
He fit himself into Stefan's arms.  "That man hurt you," Bucky whispered, tears
blurring his vision.  He kissed the tears from Stefan's face.
"He is being punished."  Stefan's arms could only hold Bucky weakly.  "The
Master will protect us." 
Bucky had his doubts, but as Stefan's eyes slipped closed, Bucky vowed that he
would do his best to protect Stefan.
***** Chapter 4 *****
For long days afterward, Stefan and Bucky were given preferential treatment by
the Master.  They were excused from classes, and spent hours together in bed,
reading to one another, and visiting with the boys who served meals to them and
came to dress their wounds. 
Naturally the boys were curious about the events that had transpired, but
Stefan said little and Bucky often said nothing.  He followed Master's rules,
breaking them only when he was alone with Stefan.  Lorenzo had told the other
boys all that he knew anyhow, about a violent guest who Master had severely
punished.  The man would not be allowed to return to the palazzo. 
Once their wounds had healed, Master called for Bucky to be measured for a
suit.  Though it was difficult to tell on Bucky's serious face, Stefan could
see the way the boy's eyes sparkled as the tailor, an older man who was allowed
to stay at the palazzo for free as compensation for his services, held up
swatches of fabric for Master's approval.
"This shade of blue matches his eyes, but I prefer the winter shades on him. 
The black and silver and red bring out the color in his cheeks," Master said. 
"Which pattern pleases you, James?"
Bucky ran his fingers over the various brocades while Stefan sat at Master's
feet.  It was strange to see Bucky without his collar and chains and already
wearing the undergarments of a gilded boy.  Wordlessly, Bucky selected a black
brocade with silver embroidery. 
"Lovely," Master said.  "And he shall have black breeches and a red velvet
frock coat."
With Bucky dressed in his new clothing, Master took Stefan and Bucky on long
walks in the palazzo gardens and listened to the boys recite poetry.  Bucky sat
on Master's lap for Stefan while he painted a new portrait. 
Bucky's new lessons with the Master often occurred during these long
afternoons, while Stefan worked out colors and worried.
"Did it hurt?" Stefan asked after the first time.
"No, Master Stefan," Bucky replied.  He had taken to calling Stefan by this
title on occasion, and it always made Stefan blush.  He still missed when Bucky
called him Steve, but he knew he should not call Bucky by his pet name.  He
refrained from it now, as it had begun to make Bucky uncomfortable.
"Would you like me to minister to you?" Stefan asked.  "There is a cream that
helps with the pain."
"Yes, Master Stefan."
***
On the night before James would have a place at the table and entertain his
first guest, he stole out of the bedchamber he had been given as his very own,
making his way across the quiet hall on bare feet to slip through Stefan's door
and climb into bed with him.
"Bucky..." Stefan said, still half-asleep, when James wrapped his arms about
his neck and kissed him.  "James," he corrected when he opened his eyes. 
"My new bed is too big," James whispered.  "And cold."  James rubbed his feet
against Stefan's warm legs. 
"If Master finds out..."
James had already considered this.  He knew, from silently watching, that often
Philippe and Bartolomew sneaked into each other's rooms, and Tomas and Lorenzo,
even when Lorenzo had earned his place back.  Antonio, too, slept with Bruno on
the nights when Master wished for other boys to share his bed.  This minor
disobedience might result in punishment, but James was willing to endure a few
strokes of the cane for Stefan's comfort.
"You are shaking."  Stefan's breath in his hair tickled in that way he liked. 
"Are you afraid for tomorrow?"
"Yes," James admitted.  He buried his face in Stefan's neck so he would not see
the tears.
Stefan's stroked his hair, trailing his fingers down his neck.  "Do not worry. 
Most guests are not like Master Smith.  Most guests are content to have you
feed them, or massage them, or wash them in a bath.  They like when you read to
them, or sing.  They prefer for you to offer the things Master has taught us."
"But they might... do what Master Smith did?"
"I've not had it happen that way ever.  Not quite so badly."  Stefan smoothed
the hair back from James's face and tilted his chin up.  "Master would not put
you in a place when you are not ready."
"I wish that one guest might want both our company," James said.
James could tell that Stefan wished the same, from the hardness he felt now
pressed against his hip.  Though his body was ready, Stefan never pushed for
James to perform the acts the Master taught them.  No, James could feel safe in
Stefan's arms, sharing comfort and soft kisses and nothing more.
***
Stefan watched as James was requested night after night by the palazzo guests. 
In the beginning, when James would sit at the table and make conversation, he
often suggested to a guest that two boys might be better than him alone, and
guests began to request both James and Stefan together.  Money seemed not to
matter to them.  Before these small audiences, Stefan and James pleasured each
other.  James quickly learned what Stefan enjoyed, though he had to be careful
to save his release for the guests. 
In all things, James learned quickly.  He took to the violin as though he had
been born with the instrument in his hands, and excelled in his lessons, nearly
fluent in Russian by the end of his first year and adept in French as well. 
Ballet class became less grueling with James to watch.  With dance he seemed to
express something they all hid deep inside, something none of them could
communicate with words. 
With the arrival of his stirrings, Stefan wished to loosen the stiff lace
collars and run through the gardens, to leave the confines of the palazzo and
the grounds.  Books could not free his mind from these desires.  He spent as
much time as he could outside, taking James with him, for sitting with Master
only made him feel more stifled, especially with the Master's new training.  In
the red room, a release was allowed only under tight restrictions and often
left him exhausted and sore.  He chafed against the new discipline, but feared
Master's anger too much to openly resist. 
But James quelled these itches.  The long nights spent in each other's arms
kept Stefan from rebellion.
"He has hurt you again," James murmured, tracing the red marks on Stefan's
wrists. 
"It does not hurt so much," Stefan said.
James touched his lips to the soft skin on the inside of Stefan's arm.  "I do
not like that he hurts you."
"You will see, it is not so terrible."  He did not wish to speak of it
further.  In truth, he did not even like to think about the red room.  Instead,
he gazed at the face before him.
In the firelight James's face was pure beauty.  Stefan knew all its contours
and yet found it fascinating.  James appeared in Stefan's sketches over and
over, to the Master's delight, and Stefan had to conceal bits of paper in his
frock coat after art class in order to keep his drawings for himself, so that
he might look upon them when James did not come to his bed at night.
Whenever possible, Stefan and James kept by each other's sides.  During reading
hour, they might share the same couch, James's stockinged feet crossed on
Stefan's lap while Stefan massaged his toes, or Stefan on the floor, resting
his head on James's knee while James combed through his hair.  At dinner, James
had a place near the head of the table, at Stefan's side, or more often, in
Master's lap, as James had quickly become his pet favorite. 
Master enjoyed to have Stefan and James together.  While Antonio fed him
grapes, he would ask James to tie Stefan to the bedpost and pleasure him. 
James always tied the scarves loosely, with a little kiss.  These kisses and
touches were what Stefan thought of in the red room.  This was the only time
that Stefan was allowed to fully enjoy what James did for him.
There was some jealousy from the other boys.  Brutus, a dark-haired boy with
olive skin who had arrived at the palazzo alongside Stefan, took a singular
disliking to Stefan and James.  If ever Brutus was seated beside Stefan at the
table, Stefan came to expect the other boy to pinch him and try to make him cry
out.  Master did not tolerate tattling, and so Stefan would have to lie.  The
bruises on his leg from Brutus were large enough to draw notice from both James
and the Master.  Stefan refused to say who had done it.
One night, while James and Stefan shared a bath, Brutus entered with his new
boy.  James glowered at him.
"Perhaps your boy should be returned to the leash," Brutus snarled when he
noticed.  "He does not seem to know his place."
"James, please," Stefan said, not looking at Brutus.  James gave him a serious
look, and ran a finger over the large bruise on Stefan's thigh.  Brutus had a
knack for finding the same spot to pinch, over and over.
There was a sharp crack as Brutus whipped his boy.  "Get in the bath, maggot."
James glared again.  “Please," Stefan begged quietly.  "Do not draw his
attention.”
At that moment, James listened to Stefan and ignored the rough way Brutus
treated his boy.  That night, James came to Stefan's room later than usual.  In
the morning, when Stefan stood by his chair awaiting the Master's arrival, he
noted Brutus's absence.
Master arrived several minutes late.  "Please sit," Master said sharply upon
entering.  Behind him, Antonio led Brutus in on a leash.  The boy, wearing the
white tunic and chains, glared in the direction of Stefan and James. 
Master held up a pair of black breeches that were ruined, ripped in numerous
places.  "Brutus, do you know how your pants came to be torn beyond repair?"
"No, Master," Brutus said.  The boy could not stop himself from glaring at
Stefan and James, and Master caught the look with narrowed eyes. 
"Assume the full position, Brutus."  Master tossed the ruined pants aside and
took up his cane.  "Boys, it is imperative to care for your clothing.  Is it
not, Brutus?"
Bent over, braced on the Master's chair, Brutus replied, "Yes, Master." 
Five strokes he received.  The entire time, Brutus glared at Stefan and James,
who watched with a measured smile of satisfaction.  Under the table, Stefan
reached out, and the two boys hooked pinky fingers tightly together. 
Stefan knew, as Brutus was led back into the kitchens, that James had meant
this to be a punishment for how Brutus had treated Stefan, but he also knew
that Brutus was a hard boy with a long memory.
***
Over the long winter months, Brutus made no move, and Stefan relaxed his
guard.  Life at the palazzo was idyllic.  Christmas came and went; the boys
received extravagant gifts from the Master.  A violin of his own for James, and
new art supplies for Stefan.  A new bow for Bartolomew.  Leather riding boots,
silk underthings, jewel-studded collars and rings.  Even the slave boys were
given gifts on this day.
The only sour part of the day was after the dessert, when Bartolomew was found
kissing Natalia in the kitchens.  Master beat him soundly and he did not emerge
from his bedchamber for several days.  Samuel tended to him.  When the other
boys asked after Bartolomew's well-being, Samuel reported that all Bartolomew
asked was, "Will Master send Natalia away?"
"Master has forbidden Bartolomew to speak with her," Samuel whispered to James
during his fencing lesson.  With his keeper bedridden, Samuel had been asked to
serve for Stefan and James, and both boys embraced his company, along with
Timotheus, Brutus’s new boy.  "He has written notes for her, but I fear
delivering them."
"I will take them," James said.  He imagined Bartolomew felt for Natalia what
he felt for Stefan, and could not imagine if he had been forbidden from
Stefan's bed.  With a glance at Master Strucker, the fencing instructor, Samuel
removed a little slip of paper from the inside of his wrist cuff.  James tucked
it into his sleeve of the white quilted fencing jacket.
It was not difficult to pass the note along to Natalia.  Gilded boys had quite
a bit of freedom.  The russet-haired girl pushed aside her curls and smiled
sweetly at James as he pressed the note into her palm.  Then, blushing, she
gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and hurried off to read it. 
James turned around to see Brutus watching him.  The older boy’s fists were
tempered only by the chains that connected them.  It had been months, and yet
Master had not shown favor upon him.  Brutus could not hide his surly
demeanor. 
With a long look, James walked past Brutus, as if daring him to say a word. 
Brutus knew as well as James that if he told the Master what he had seen,
Brutus would be the one punished. 
***
The winter months had always been difficult for Stefan.  The cold crept into
his clothing, no matter how many layers he wore, no matter how many blankets
were heaped on his bed at night.  He took ill often, coughing so hard his
stomach hurt.  The boys took turns attending him, even Brutus, who finally
relented.  “I am sorry I have been unpleasant,” Brutus said one night, when
Master sent him with hot tea.  “We cannot help who Master favors.”
“Sometimes I think...” Stefan interrupted himself with a fit of coughing.  “I
think it would be better to serve than to entertain.  Sometimes... I tire of
Master’s attentions.” 
He shocked himself by saying this, and he might not have told such a truth had
he been well.  And he mostly certainly would not have said it had he known how,
during his illness, Master had taken an exclusive interest in James.  On those
dark winter nights, Master wished for James alone to join him, even after James
had entertained a guest. 
Stefan had been one of Master’s favorites for as long as he had lived at the
palazzo, though never been as favored as James was now.  Months passed, and
Master's attentions did not waver.  "Your boy has replaced you," said Bruno one
evening in the baths.  Stefan had been watching his former keeper shaving with
some fascination, and now he looked away.  "I do not say it to be cruel.  Once
we are older, we lose favor.  I am only surprised it happened before you needed
a razor."  Bruno reached down and stroked Stefan's still-soft cheek. 
Stefan was still nearly as small as he had been when James arrived.  Samuel was
even taller than Stefan now.  James had grown some, but still only reached
Stefan’s chin.
"I fear I shall never grow," Stefan said, looking at his small, hairless body. 
"All the better."  Bruno returned to the mirror.  "Shaving annoys me.  With
luck you may never have to have your chest hair waxed.  You're so fair."
"Where do the boys go, when they become too old?" Stefan asked, sinking into
the bubbles.  He wished James was here to keep his mind from such thoughts, but
Master often enjoyed bathing James himself.
"You are far too young to worry about that."
"Do you worry about it?"
Bruno scraped the razor along his cheek and flicked the shaving cream into the
sink.  Finally he said, "I have heard that Master asks us what we would like to
study, and then finds us a place at a university."
"Do any of the boys who go to university come back?"  Stefan could not remember
such a thing happening in his years at the palazzo.  He imagined the returning
boy would be celebrated and welcomed as a guest, as a long-lost friend. 
"Perhaps one of them might have written a letter?"
Bruno said nothing for a time.  "Master might forbid a boy from returning.  I
am not sure."
Stefan cupped bubbles in his hand.  He had grown bored of playing with the toy
boats months ago.  He could not quite say what disturbed him about the older
boys going away.  Was it that he feared leaving himself and missing James, or
did he fear that he might never grow, and therefore never leave?  The ceiling
and walls seemed to move closer, and he gasped a little, finding it suddenly
hard to breathe.
Slowly he became aware of a hand moving along his back, and he breathed more
easily.  "Thank you, Bruno."
"You have not had an asthma attack in some time," Bruno observed, returning to
the mirror.
Stefan kept silent.  He did not think it was his breathing troubles.  More
likely, it was fear.  He clenched his fists under the water.
***
"Hold your arm steady.  Calm your eyes, soft gaze.  Now, as you exhale,
release." 
James loosed the arrow, which fell far short of the target.  He sighed and
watched Bartolomew hit a bulls-eye three times in the span of as many seconds. 
James, it seemed, had no talent for archery.
He fiddled with the leather gauntlet strapped over his shirt sleeve.  The warm
spring day had his forehead damp with sweat, and he wished this particular
lesson was over with so he might go to the barn.  It would be cool and dark
there, and he could visit with the dapple gray gelding Master had bought for
him.  Riding was his favorite sport.  He wished they might ride every day, he
on Prince, and Stefan on his horse, a bay called Gallant.
"Master von Strucker is coming," Samuel hissed, nudging James with his bow, and
James pulled another arrow from the quiver and settled it to aim.
This arrow also landed far short of the target.  Beside him, Samuel's arrow hit
one of the red rings.
Once Master von Strucker had given his criticism and moved on, James once
against played with the buckles on his gauntlet.
"At least there is one thing you do not excel in," Samuel said, not unkindly. 
"I wish I had as many talents as you do."
"You are very gifted at gymnastics.  And art," James said.
"Ah, but your Stefan is the best artist, and you are equally gifted in
gymnastics."
James did not know what to say.  "I am sorry."
"No need to apologize for your many talents," Samuel said.  "I only wish I had
more favor with the Master."
Favor had its advantages and disadvantages.  Some evenings he would prefer to
work in the kitchens rather than attend to the Master's desires.  More and
more, it seemed, Master wanted James alone, when before he enjoyed James and
Stefan together.  Many seasons had passed since James had arrived at the
palazzo, but it was difficult to tell the passage of time. 
"How old are you?" James asked Stefan one night, the first night in a month
that he'd had the freedom to visit Stefan's bedchamber. 
Stefan's relaxed expression shuttered.  "Why do you ask?"
"I am sorry," James said, stroking Stefan's smooth cheek.  "I do not mean to
upset you."
Under his hand Stefan relaxed slightly.  "Curiosity for its own sake will only
earn you trouble."
James kissed Stefan's pouting lips.  "I feel that I have been here for a very
long time.  We learn of dates and history and the passage of time in our
lessons, but I do not know what era we live in.  I have a memory... a far off
memory, of my birthday."
Birthdays were not celebrated at the palazzo.  It had not occurred to him
before then that there were no calendars.  Only the clocks chiming out the
hours told the time, and the seasons.  When he first came to the palazzo, it
had been fall.  The winter had been long and cold, with a celebration in the
middle – Christmas, when he had received gifts from the Master.  He had not
received presents such as these before, until this past Christmas, when he had
discovered Prince waiting for him in the barn, his halter adorned with a large
red bow.
"This is my second spring here," James said.  "Before I arrived, I was seven
years old.  Now I would be nine years old."
"Do you recall the exact date?" Stefan asked.
"No.  Have you memories such as these?"
"My birthday was on the fourth of July."  Stefan gazed into the dark.  "It
seems there was always a celebration on that day.  Not for me."
"Yes," James said, excited.  "The Fourth of July.  It was a special day.  A
holiday.  But I do not know what for."
"I am nearly thirteen years old now," Stefan said. 
His voice had the lilt of a question to it.  James replied with his body rather
than his words.  Older boys were sent away.   But Stefan was the same size as
James, who was four years younger.  Stefan might be able to stay at the palazzo
forever.
James wanted this more than anything.  He held Stefan tightly and wished that
he would never grow.
***** Chapter 5 *****
And Stefan did not grow, not by much.  James, on the other hand, grew so
quickly the tailor had to let out his clothes several times and then make new
garments.  He had the long legs of a dancer.  Soon Master lost interest in
favor of the younger new boys, and had a renewed interest in Stefan.
"My little one," Master came to call him. 
Master had slowly encroached upon the time they spent together.  No longer did
they sit beside one another at meals or lessons.  The week before, Master had
ushered James away from Stefan during reading time, and had taken his place on
the divan, while James slunk to an unoccupied chair and watched with dark eyes.
“Does it hurt, what Master teaches you in the red room?” James asked one night,
tracing his finger along a mark on Stefan’s neck.
Stefan sighed and turned away.  “I do not wish to speak of it.”  More and more,
Master requested Stefan’s company in the evenings, even when guests wished for
his companionship.  He was fifteen now, well beyond when other boys of his age
had grown tall and been sent away.  Antonio had departed at the end of summer –
a wordless departure; no one saw him leave, or knew that he would go, but one
day he was not at the table - and if Stefan had not been so requested, Master
might have asked Stefan to take his place.  Instead it was Tomas. 
“Please, Stevie,” James whispered.
That name, reminding him of when James had first arrived.  How Stefan had
called him Bucky, of those pleasant nights curled against one another, when
they were not both exhausted from entertaining guests.  Of late, Stefan had
often turned his back on James while in the bed, so tired was he from all he
was made to do, to endure.
Stefan turned his head slightly.
“You have changed much since I first knew you,” James said.  He did not crowd
Stefan; he seemed to understand that Stefan wanted space.  “I fear that it is
this red room that has done it to you.”
“Perhaps,” Stefan said.  He let his head fall back to the side. 
“I know Master begins his lessons there when boys have their stirrings,” James
said. 
Now Stefan rolled over and saw the worry in James’s eyes.  He knew James had
matured of late.  Often he awoke to find James hard against him.  Or, if James
had awoken first, he was at the washbasin, cleaning himself. 
As James shared the bed with Stefan, none of the slave boys had noticed nor
reported anything.  They assumed it was Stefan. 
“Have you become aroused while with a guest?” Stefan asked, his voice low.
James touched Stefan’s face.  “You know it cannot be helped, sometimes.”
“I know.”  Stefan put his hand over James’s, holding it to his cheek.  “So long
as you do not show the Master, he may not know.”
James did not speak. 
The worry hung heavy over James, and it did not surprise Stefan when, several
weeks later, after Master had James’s company for the evening, Master took
James into the red room.
On this night, there were but two guests at the palazzo, and Stefan was glad to
have this duty to occupy his mind.  After, while Stefan washed himself and
readied for bed, he hoped that Master would not keep James all night.  It was
already late.  He found himself pacing before the fireplace, clutching his
stomach and jumping at each footfall in the hallway. 
James did not come to his bed that night.  Stefan thought, at first, that
Master might have kept him for the entire night, but then, when he emerged from
his chamber the following morning, he saw James leaving his bedroom at the same
time.  James looked at him but briefly before walking slowly toward the dining
hall, stooped like an old man. 
“Are you feeling ill?” Stefan asked quietly, rushing to his friend’s aid.  When
he drew closer, he saw that James had redness at the corners of his mouth, and
dark circles under his eyes.  Then James drew away from him. 
“Leave me be, Stefan,” James said hoarsely. 
Stefan recalled the feeling after his own first time in the red room.  He had
not wanted to be touched, either, though he had allowed James to minister to
him.  His touch might have the same effect for James, but when Stefan touched
James’s elbow to help him, James pulled away again.
“Leave me be,” James repeated. 
That night, James did not come to Stefan’s bedroom.  Stefan comforted himself
with the knowledge that Master had not taken James to the red room again.  But
the next night he did, and the night after that. 
Stefan wished he could help James, but James turned away whenever he saw
Stefan.  Even during reading time, James selected a narrow armchair, and when
Stefan approached him, James curled his knees up to his chest and turned his
back.  Stefan stood there for a moment, uncertain of how to comfort his
friend.  He brushed his hand over James's hair, then went to a window seat and
stretched his legs so that no other boys would try to share with him.  Philippe
passed by with a lingering look, but moved on to a large floor pillow with
Bartolomew. 
Stefan spent much of his time not looking at the page.  Instead, he gazed out
the window at the rain which battered against the side of the palazzo.  The
weather suited his mood.  On a clear day he might glimpse the mountains in the
distance, but now it seemed the gardens and grounds stretched to the ends of
the earth.  In truth this was his whole world; he could not remember what lay
beyond the tall hedges, and the many miles of forest trails beyond that. 
A quick look over at James showed the boy sitting in the chair, his legs
dangling, the book open in his lap.  But James stared emptily at the pages.  He
looked hollow.  Stefan remembered how quiet James had been when he had first
arrived, and he could not bear to see James return to that state of silent
fear.  He returned his gaze to the window.
The guests, and Master Schmidt, somehow they arrived at the palazzo.  Boys had
little reason to traverse the long entryway.  The east side entrance led to the
barn; the back doors led to the balcony and the stairs down to the gardens; the
west entrance led to the vegetable gardens.  The windows that overlooked the
front were largely the guest rooms.  The front lawns were quite as well-tended
and picturesque as the back, and the road that led to the palazzo's front steps
from the front gate was nearly three miles long, and woven through flowering
trees and shrubbery sculpted into the shapes of animals. 
And yet, now that Stefan thought about it, he did not remember ever seeing
anyone tending those extensive gardens, aside from the vegetable gardens, which
the boys tended.  He did not remember ever seeing anyone arrive, except after
they walked through the front entrance, and there was a vestibule before that. 
What manner of vehicles did the guests arrive in, he wondered.  Carriages, he
supposed, drawn by horses.  But why would the boys not be required to help
guests from the carriages, or care for the horses?  Were there perhaps other
servants at the palazzo whom Stefan had never even seen?
A tap on the page of his book made him jump.  "Enough of daydreaming now," said
Master.  Dutifully, Stefan bowed his head over the page.  Master remained at
his side, stroking his hair, for longer than Stefan wished.  It necessitated
that he turn the pages as though he had actually absorbed the information. 
Meanwhile, he flicked glances toward James, who sat still and hollow in his
chair.  On the floor nearby, Philippe and Bartolomew shared a book.  They
silently pointed at exciting passages and smiled at one another, and soon
Master left Stefan to dote on them.  Stefan found that he missed the hand
sifting through his hair when it was gone.  Moreover, he wished that it had
been James at his side.
Stefan's questions helped to relieve his mind from worry about James.  He found
himself watching his surroundings more closely, looking for any clues.  He had
not been returned to the collar and chains since he had first become a gilded
boy, and his memories of those times were hazy.  Everything had been so new
then.  Surely, if he were to spend more time in the kitchens, he might see when
food was delivered, because food had to be delivered.  There was no question. 
There were no live animals at the palazzo other than the horses and a few cats
kept mostly as mousers, though some of the boys took to particular felines and
sometimes were allowed by the Master to have them in their rooms at night. 
Food, especially meats, must be delivered.  Eggs, too, and milk, and grains. 
The more Stefan thought of it, the more he could not believe he had not
realized earlier.  Of course, the palazzo was not a farm; food might come from
some place a short distance away. 
The Master's demands on his time meant Stefan could not while away the hours in
the kitchen.  He had to find another source of information.
A few nights of lying alone in his bed, worrying after James and unable to
sleep, and Stefan did something he had never done: he slipped out of his room
in the dead of night, and found his way into Bruno's room. 
He rapped lightly upon the door, waiting, listening for the sounds of
approaching footsteps that would chastise him for leaving his room.  He rapped
again, louder, and Bruno opened the door.  "Stefan?" he asked in confusion.
"Might I share your bed this night?" Stefan asked, shifting from one foot to
the other.  His bare feet had already turned cold.
Perhaps Bruno had expected some command from the Master, but at Stefan's
question, a little smile tugged at Bruno's lips, and he reached out to ruffle
Stefan's hair.  "Certainly."
Bruno's bed, with its coverlet of emerald green, was still warm from his body. 
"I have been so lonely since Antonio left," Bruno admitted, his breath stirring
the little hairs by Stefan's ear.  Stefan had fitted into the curve of Bruno's
body as though mere months had passed since Stefan had been Bruno's boy.  They
were many years older, and Bruno had grown much.  He was near to the size of
Tomas now. 
Stefan felt his body tense as Bruno reached down between his legs.  Then,
naturally, his body responded to the touch.  Stefan had not come to Bruno's bed
for this, but if he wished to speak plainly with Bruno, he felt he must let
Bruno do what he needed.  After all, Bruno had taken Antonio's departure hard. 
He had been angry and sullen for weeks afterward. 
"You have always been so good, Stefan," Bruno murmured.  "I wish I could be as
good as you.  As pretty."
Bruno's ministrations through the fabric of his undergarments were gentle. 
Stefan reached down and unbuttoned the garments for better access.  He closed
his eyes and realized how much he had missed James's touch.  James was always
gentle.  Stefan had forgotten how gentle Bruno could be.  Keeping his back to
him, Stefan could imagine James's hands, though it did not disturb him to have
Bruno touch him as it did some of the guests.  Or when Master requested for
other boys to touch him.
Bruno's mouth was hot on his neck, and his bulk wrapped around Stefan's small
body.  Stefan had a moment of panic when Bruno's weight pressed him into the
mattress, but then Bruno shifted, apologizing, and held himself up as he
applied the oils.  Bruno's size filled Stefan up in a way that was slightly
uncomfortable, and he gasped a little.  Bruno kissed him and worked gently, and
took care of Stefan's needs as well, until both were lost in the brief pleasure
and bittersweet release.  In those moments afterward, Stefan understood that
Bruno had used Stefan for comfort in the same way Stefan had used him. 
Now, in the dying light of the fire, Stefan asked, "Have you ever been outside
of the palazzo?"
"Of course," Bruno said, an answer that startled Stefan, until the older boy
continued.  "Before I came here."
"But not since?"
"No."
"Do you ever wonder what lies beyond the walls?"
After a few moments, Bruno said quietly, "Of course."
"Soon you will go away, too.  You will see what lies beyond?"
"Perhaps."
"Do you believe Antonio has gone to university?"
Bruno's breath caught, and his arms tightened around Stefan's.  "Please, let us
not speak of him," Bruno choked out.
Not willing to incur Bruno's wrath, Stefan attempted a different line of
questioning.  "When you work in the kitchens, do you see who delivers our
food?"
"Stefan..."  Bruno shifted so that his elbow held him up, and he looked down at
Stefan.  "I cannot say I have never asked these questions, but you must not
pursue this line of inquiry."
"Why not?"
Bruno touched Stefan's face, stroking the still downy cheek.  "It is
dangerous.  And that is all I will say."  With a light kiss, Bruno sank back
down in the mattress and pulled Stefan tight to him. 
Stefan thought, with the arms constricting his breath, he might have difficulty
sleeping, but instead he shut his eyes and fell quickly into a deep slumber.
***
Two nights later, two long days of James's tired eyes and avoidance, Stefan was
awoken shortly after he had retired to bed.  Tomas opened his door after two
short knocks.  "Get up and dressed.  Master wishes for your company."
Stefan rose, and while Tomas waited, he changed out of his night dress and
donned his stockings, breeches, shirt, vest, and frock coat.  He glanced in the
little mirror over the washbasin, smoothing his hair back and looking to be
certain he had buttoned everything correctly.  "Master is waiting," Tomas
reminded him.
"Yes, Tomas."  Stefan stepped into his shoes and hurried after the older boy. 
He'd not had a summons like this ever.  Master usually chose the boys he wanted
for companions at dinner, and that was that.  Stefan had already entertained a
guest, one who thankfully chose the blue room and wanted to spend all of his
time in the bath.  Master had chosen James's company for the evening, and given
that the other two guests, regulars, had selected the green room and the violet
room, Stefan could only assume Master had taken James to the red room for more
lessons.
This fear was confirmed when Tomas stopped at the door.  He opened it for
Stefan but did not enter himself.
Stefan was confronted with the sight of James tethered face-down on the bed,
and had to look down at the floor. 
The bed was covered in red satin sheets and leather straps.  Two straps held
James's wrists.  Two more held his feet and legs, buckled in such a way that
James's legs were bent up under him.  Stefan knew the position: he, too, had
been strapped down in such a manner himself.  It was still a shock to see it,
as an outsider. 
"Ah, Stefan.  My little one."  Master had been standing by the fire, his whip
in one hand.  Now he detached himself from the mantle and came to Stefan's
side.
"How may I please you, Master?" Stefan asked quietly.  He noticed how James
wore a leather collar, and a blindfold.  How a gag had been placed between his
teeth and strapped tightly behind his neck.  Master had never used a gag on
Stefan.  It was a rule of the red room that he should remain silent through the
pain, and he had never disobeyed to discover the punishment.  Now Stefan
understood the marks at the corners of James' mouth.
"Join me on the bed."  Stefan removed his shoes and did so, careful not to
touch James, who flinched at the movement anyway.  Master rested his arm on
James's raised buttocks, caressing one white cheek as he spoke.  "Do you recall
when James first came to us?"
Stefan swallowed, watching the muscles twitch beneath Master's hands.  "Yes,
Master."
"You remember how frightened he was when I touched him?"
"Yes, Master."
"And how he trusted you?  How he allowed you to touch him?"
"Yes, Master."
A knot formed in Stefan's stomach. He knew what Master wished for him to do.
"James has been having a difficult time with his new training," Master said. 
"Perhaps he might do well under your tutelage."
Stefan did not know how to answer that.  The Master did not seem to expect him
to, and eased off the bed.  "You may begin to prepare him."
At this Stefan saw that James lacked any arousal whatsoever.  Did Master not
see that James did not wish for anyone to touch him?  Not even Stefan?  Stefan
lifted onto his knees, and balancing himself on James's lifted hips.  James
flinched and made a little sound, barely audible.  James's ribs moved in and
out quickly. 
"You may begin, Stefan," Master snapped, causing James's body to lock up.  "Or
perhaps I might call upon Brutus?"
"No, Master," Stefan said desperately.  "I am only unsure where to begin. 
Please, instruct me."
"All these years of training, and you do not know where to begin?  The answer
is staring you in the face."
"Yes, Master," Stefan said.
***
In the darkness, James braced himself for what was coming.  His heart beat so
fast he feared it might explode.  Stefan, he told himself.  It is not the
Master with his whip.  It is gentle Stefan. 
Stefan's tongue lapped at him, warming that place that was least in need of
warming.  James had pulled at his restraints until they had cut off his
circulation, and now his feet and hands were numb, his legs aching from their
position and his muscles clenching and cramping.  Master began every training
session this way as well, but often used his hand and the oils rather than his
tongue.  Stefan, in addition to his mouth, caressed James's cheeks, moving
around and along his thighs, using pressure there to massage him.  Back up
along the hamstrings.  Stefan also had the advantage of a softer face.  He
nuzzled it in between James's cheeks, and when his mouth became tired, Stefan
simply spread him open and kissed him softly there.
James released a long breath, though he was far from relaxed. 
***
It took hours. 
James flinched any time Stefan moved between his legs, and Stefan wished to ask
Master if they could move into another position, but he knew Master would not
take kindly to the suggestion.  Eventually Stefan pushed himself up against
James, leaning over so that his front covered James's back.  He kissed James's
spine, and though James shuddered, Stefan took hold of him and stroked him into
hardness, despite how James tugged at the restraints. 
"Please, James," Stefan whispered, his voice thin as a breath, so that Master
might not hear.  More kisses.  He ran his hands over James's back, rubbing out
the muscles. 
"Now, you shall spank him," Master said from his seat by the fire.
"But Master, he has not misbehaved," Stefan protested.
Master stood quickly and strode over to the bed.  He took Stefan's face in a
hard grip.  "That is not the purpose of the punishment, Stefan.  You know
that.  Hit him, or I will."
"Yes, Master."
Stefan kept one hand between James's legs, stroking, and raised the other.  He
wished he could apologize.  He wished he had been less selfish and had ignored
his own feelings so that he might have warned James.  Perhaps then James might
not be so frightened. 
The slap, when he delivered it, sounded pitifully small.  James barely
flinched.
"Harder, Stefan," Master snapped.
He did it again, as instructed.  This time James did flinch a little.  But he
was still hard in Stefan's hand. 
"Do you like what Stefan is doing to you, James?" Master asked.  "I believe,
even gagged, you might make your appreciation known."
James did not.  Stefan heard the other boy's throat click as he swallowed.  How
long had he been tied here like this?   Master could not keep him all night,
without water, could he?
"Again, Stefan."
The spanking continued.  Stefan began to caress the red mark rising on James's
cheek, desperately stroking with the other.  Please, he willed James.  Just
some small moan and Master will think you have learned your lesson.
Finally, he was rewarded.  A low moan at the crack of his palm against James's
skin, and then James spilled over his fist. 
"Very good," crooned the Master.  "Now, Stefan, you must care for James, yes?"
"Yes, Master."
Master departed the room, and Stefan was left alone to loose the buckles
strapping James to the bed.  He did the ankles and legs first, and gently
pulled the limbs straight so that James lay fully on his stomach.  His friend
was limp, and too exhausted to flinch.  Then the arms.  Here he paused to rub
James's ice-cold hands and wrists before placing them on the bed. 
As his fingers untied the blindfold, he whispered, “Close your eyes,” then
removed the cloth.  James had not listened, and he squinted even in the meager
light from the fire and the two lamps.  Now Stefan worked at the tiny buckle on
the gag.  James made some noise that might have been an attempt to speak, but
Stefan could not understand him.  “I’m sorry,” he said, and repeated that until
the strap slid through the buckle and he could remove it.  He had to pull it
from James’s mouth, and then return to massage his jaw until it could relax
enough to close. 
Though Stefan wished to give James some water, he instead straddled James’s
back and massaged him, focusing on his shoulders.  When he was able to pull one
arm down, he rolled James onto his back and tugged him until his head was in
Stefan’s lap.  Then Stefan held the glass of water to his lips.
For a long while they sat like this.  Stefan combing through James’s hair,
massaging his scalp, his neck and jaw and shoulders and his hands, until
James’s body moved of its own accord.  James’s hand spasmed and clasped
Stefan’s, gripping like he might never let go.
“I am sorry, James,” Stefan said.
James cleared his throat and croaked, “Please, I would like you to call me
Bucky.”
Stefan closed his eyes so he would not cry.  “Bucky,” he said finally.  “Let us
get you to bed.”
***** Chapter 6 *****
“Why does Master punish me,” Bucky said in the morning, his voice still
creaking, as they both washed and dressed for breakfast, “when I’ve done
nothing wrong?”
Stefan splashed water on his face and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.  “That
is not the point of the punishment.”
“Yes, that is what he said last night, when you asked.  What is the point,
then?”
In the bright morning light streaming through the window, Bucky looked
haggard.  It was no wonder, for they’d only had a few hours sleep before the
morning bells rang to wake them.  Stefan hoped Master might take pity on them,
having stayed up later than all the other boys, and allow them a day of rest. 
Otherwise both he and Bucky would be falling during lessons, and that would
only mean punishment.  Stefan wasn’t sure Bucky could handle more punishment.
“Do you recall our lessons about Pavlov, and his conditioning experiments?”
Bucky searched his mind.  They had learned this last year.  “Yes.”
“Master wants to condition us, like one of Pavlov’s dogs.”  Stefan sat in the
armchair by the fire and pulled on his silk stockings.  “He wants us to
associate pain with pleasure, so that we might experience pleasure when we are
subjected to pain.”
Sinking down to the pillow on the floor, Bucky pulled on his own stockings.  He
did not say anything.  Stefan stood, and knelt at Bucky’s feet.  The other’s
boy’s fingers had fumbled to button the stockings to his undergarments, and
Stefan brushed Bucky’s hands away.  “Allow me.”
Once the stockings were attached, Stefan helped Bucky to his feet and dressed
him.  When Bucky needed to lift a foot, Stefan’s shoulder serviced as a way for
him to balance while Stefan drew the silky black breeches over his legs.  Even
after Stefan had fully buttoned the garment, Bucky’s hand rested on Stefan’s
shoulder, his fingers lightly touched Stefan’s loose hair. 
“I do not know if I can do it,” Bucky said finally, his eyes hollow.
Stefan buttoned the lace ruffle around the marks on Bucky’s throat.  Fastened
the vest snugly against Bucky’s chest.  Drew the frockcoat over Bucky’s
shoulders and buttoned that as well.  “Sit, that I might brush your hair.”
Bucky’s eyes closed while Stefan combed the soft brown hair into a low ponytail
and tied it with a black ribbon.  Then he kissed the top of Bucky’s head, his
lips lingering there.  “We could run away,” he whispered.
For long moments Stefan thought he might not have spoken loudly enough.  That
Bucky had not heard him.  Then Bucky’s voice rasped, “Where will we go?”
Stefan did not have an answer for that.  “We will think of some place.  So long
as we stay together.”
“Yes,” Bucky said fervently, taking Stefan’s hand and kissing the palm. 
“Together.”
He still had not worked out a means to find out what lay beyond the walls.  He
did not know of any boys who had run away. 
Turning, he took up his own breeches to put them on, only to be stopped by
Bucky’s hand on his arm.  “Please, let me.”
He closed his eyes while Bucky dressed him.  The soft movement of Bucky’s hands
on his body aroused him, and while he assumed Bucky had noticed – silk
undergarments and satin breeches did little to restrain or hide such things –
Bucky did not touch him intimately.  This only served to frustrate him and
arouse him all the more, to notice the small places where he might feel Bucky’s
breath, where his fingers touched Stefan’s bare skin.  He wished that they
might do the things guests requested of them, but in the privacy of this room,
without eyes watching.  He saw himself tethered to the bed in the red room,
with Bucky behind him.  Restrained, and able only to respond to whatever Bucky
might do to him. 
He knew Bucky would never choose to punish him.  For them, it would be only
pleasure.
***
Master did not excuse them.  Lessons were a torture all their own, and Bucky
received several raps to his knuckles and Stefan suffered three full strokes of
Master Sitwell’s cane before lunch, and then, finally, in ballet class, Madame
Romanov saw their sad state and sent them to rest.  “No use exhausting
yourselves further,” she said.  Natalia tucked one of her red curls back into
her bun and watched them go with worried eyes.
They returned to Stefan’s bed and slept like corpses through the long afternoon
hours, the sun warm on their faces through the window.  A few hours later,
Bucky woke to Stefan’s hand stroking his head.  He sighed before opening his
eyes. 
“Perhaps we could go for a long walk in the gardens before dinner,” Stefan
murmured.
Though Bucky nodded, they remained in bed for nearly half an hour more, drowsy
and enjoying the rare gift of nothing to do.  Then, without speaking, they both
rose at the same time and donned their full attire, including scarves wound
about their necks and silk gloves, for it was late October and the fall chill
permeated the air. 
The gardens stretched out over several acres.  A larger path led from the
stable to the riding ring and then further beyond, to open fields and even
farther, to wooded trails that crossed the countryside for miles and miles. 
Stefan led Bucky along one of the narrow footpaths, which in the garden was
paved with flagstones and then dissolved into a more naturally worn foot
trail.  In the maze of tall bushes and large shrubs, Stefan did not seem to
have trouble finding whatever path he sought.  Bucky had always been
accompanied in the gardens by either Stefan or the Master.  He clung to
Stefan’s elbow, not wishing to become lost. 
“The border hedges are tallest,” Stefan said, his voice low.  He pointed up. 
“See?  They are perhaps half a foot taller than the hedges inside.  I think, if
we were to find an opening large enough, we might be able to push through to
the other side.”
Bucky peered through the thick branches.  “These have thorns.”
“Yes.”  Stefan frowned.  “It will be difficult.”
“Perhaps we could take the horses,” Bucky suggested.  “If we rode out into the
forest, we might find another way out.  And the horses could carry food and
water for us, and other supplies, should we become lost.”
“Horses would be too easy to track,” Stefan said.  “And no path I’ve seen in
the forest leads anywhere but back round to the palazzo.”
Bucky stared into the hedge.  It did not seem possible to push through, at
least not without leaving a trace behind, a torn shirtsleeve or a hole of
snapped branches.  “We do not even have a place to go,” he said finally.  “We
do not know where we are, what is beyond the hedge.  I try to remember,
sometimes, things from before.  But all I remember is sadness and fear. 
Perhaps we are safest here.”
Stefan’s cool silk glove touched his face.  “I do not want to see you hurt.  I
would prefer to chance what lies beyond than to see fear in your eyes.”
His gaze was intense on Bucky’s face, and Bucky stepped forward into Stefan’s
arms, and pushed their lips together.  Stefan’s cold nose pressed into his
face.  Together they opened to taste each other.  Bucky’s hands found purchase
in the folds of Stefan’s frock coat and pulled him closer.
Then Bucky was crying into Stefan’s shoulder, great gaping sobs that he would
surely be punished for if Master heard, but he could not quiet. 
“We will find a way,” Stefan whispered in his ear.  “We will survive, so long
as we are together.”
***
They made a plan to leave on the next night they each had guests.  They would
do their duties and return to their rooms and then steal away.  “We must wear
plain garments,” Bucky said.  Their riding habits would have to do – tan
breeches and dark woolen vests.  They each had thick pea coats for the winter
months.  Stefan’s was dark blue, and Bucky’s was black.  They would wear their
riding boots as well, for the heeled shoes they wore around the palazzo were
highly uncomfortable for any length of walking. 
Unfortunately, Master wished to keep Stefan and Bucky for himself, that he
might train Bucky all the faster. 
At dinner, when Master made the announcement, Stefan felt sick to his stomach,
and had to force himself to finish his meal.  Bucky had eaten his meal in the
kitchen, and had not heard.  By the way he played his violin for the guests,
Stefan knew Bucky played in hopes of attracting a guest's attentions.  He
smiled, and skipped, and his bow skated across the strings with such precision
and skill that he received a wide round of applause at the finish.  That was
when he met Stefan's eyes, and understood what had happened.
They waited at Master's side, flanking him, while the other boys were called
forth, and then they each took Master's hands and walked with him to the red
room.
There, Stefan was instructed to remove Bucky's clothing, then fit a thick
collar around Bucky's neck, and cuffs on his wrists.  "Now kneel on the bed,"
Master said.  They had already seen the thick leather band strapped across the
width of the mattress, with the attached cuffs. 
Expressionless, Bucky knelt over the band and allowed Stefan to shackle his
ankles.  Stefan knew what to do next.  He stood to lift Bucky's wrists up over
his head and secure them to the iron loop above.  The height was such that
Bucky could not sit on his heels.  He might hang from his wrists, or kneel to
hold his weight.  After Bucky was secure, Stefan ran his hand down Bucky's
spine to soothe him.  He could feel how quickly the other's boy's breaths came
already.
"Now this."  Master held out a complicated bit of black leather buckles. 
Stefan took it from him.  He turned to face Bucky, whose face looked pale even
in the warm orange glow of the candles.
Rather than fasten on the device from behind, as Master had always done when he
was in such a position, Stefan chose rather to face Bucky.  He kissed Bucky
light on his parted lips.  "This will not hurt," he murmured as he threaded the
straps between Bucky's trembling thighs and buckled them at his hips.  Before
tightening them, he had to thread Bucky's member through the opening, then
cinch the buckle there.  Not too much, it was only meant to slightly
constrict.  Then the other straps could be adjusted to insure that nothing
would slip or slide off.  While doing so, Stefan kept his body close to Bucky's
torso, affording him some warmth, a few small caresses and kisses. 
He returned to Bucky's face and finished with another kiss there, and he felt
Bucky kiss him back, thrusting his tongue into Stefan's mouth, as though he
wished to keep Stefan there by this gesture.  But Master called for Stefan. 
"Now it is your turn."
Master removed Stefan's clothing.  Stefan could not imagine Bucky's gentle
fingers on him, not in the way Master stripped off the garments, piece by piece
exposing Stefan's body.  "Spread your legs," Master said, and he had a second
device in his hand, which he buckled about Stefan with little care.  There was
one slight difference between what he wore and what Bucky wore, Stefan
discovered, when Master took the time to prepare Stefan's entrance.  This
device inserted some sort of plug, which would remain there when the device was
securely strapped in place.  The shape of the plug pressed into what Master
called his “sweet place,” and already tingles worked up his shaft.
As Master tightened the collar about his neck, Stefan felt his body responding,
as his own training had conditioned him to do.  "Get on the bed," Master said. 
Stefan climbed to the spot Master indicated, the same spot as before.  He knelt
before Bucky, and watched Bucky's face as Master placed cuffs on his wrists.
Instead of tying Stefan's arms overhead, Master instead pulled Stefan's arms
behind his back, buckling his cuffed wrists together, and then added a chain
which ran from his wrists to the back of the collar.
For a few moments, Master left them.  Stefan leaned forward, kissed Bucky
again.  His bare chest met Bucky's, and he felt Bucky's torso support him. 
Their tongues met again, then Stefan heard Master's heels returning. 
“Now, now, boys.”  Master had a smile in his voice.  He enjoyed seeing his boys
enjoy each other.
Stefan drew back, tried to communicate with Bucky through his eyes.  This will
hurt, but I will make you feel the pleasure in it.
Bucky clenched his jaw, and his eyes slid to watch the Master's approach.
Master took hold of the chain and forced Stefan's head down to Bucky's navel. 
He saw that, with his help, Bucky was partly aroused already, and Stefan
strained to look up, wondering if Bucky enjoyed seeing Stefan's body this
way.  
"Kiss it," Master said, and Stefan obeyed.  "Suckle it."
He had only just worked his lips around the tip before a pressure on his
windpipe pulled him back.
"That feels nice, does it not, James?"
Bucky's voice sounded breathless.  "Yes, Master."
"I should like to remind you of the rules here, James.  I do not like to hear
cries of pain, screams, or the like.  I only wish to hear sounds of pleasure. 
Any other, and you will need to wear the gag.  The only words I wish to hear
are Yes, Master and Please, Master.  Do you understand?"
"Yes, Master."
Stefan's face was once again forced downward, and he opened his mouth to take
in Bucky's member.  Bucky released a little sigh, and Stefan pleasured him for
a mere minute before Master jerked him away as before.  He waited, mouth open
and panting a little.
"Would you like more, James?"
"Please, Master."
The cane cracked against Bucky's buttocks at nearly the same moment that Master
pushed at Stefan's neck.  His throat had relaxed from his years of training,
and Master pushed until Stefan could take no more.  Bucky trembled and he let
out a thin cry.
Master hauled Stefan up.  Another crack, and back down again, and again, and
again, and Stefan could do little but keep his jaw soft and try to anticipate
the push and pull on his collar, and ignore the chafing of his skin and the
pressure on his windpipe that was quickly becoming unbearable and making it
difficult to breathe, even as his own member throbbed between his thighs and
the plug kept him open. 
Stefan, for his part, felt himself respond to just the sound of the cracking
against skin.  His swollen tip just touched the satin sheets, a soft touch that
made his breath come faster and his whole body feel warm.  Bucky was making
many sounds now, all pleasure, craving each stroke of the cane for the feel of
Stefan's mouth on him in the next instant.  In truth Stefan could not tell how
close Bucky was to completion until Master forced his head down and kept it
down, Stefan's lips touching the buckle, and he waited, his hips rocking
slightly to find some relief for himself.
As Bucky spilled a liquid warmth that ran down Stefan's throat, Master cracked
the cane down again and again.
It might have been all right if Master had ended things there.  Bucky dropped
against his restraints, dangling from his wrists, face flushed. 
But Master did not stop there.
Later, Stefan woke in his room with Bucky sobbing over him.  "I am sorry,
Stevie," Bucky cried.  Stefan was not able to speak.  In truth he could scarce
move without a sharp reminder of what he had endured.  Master had fed him some
drug, Stefan was certain.  He recalled the glint of a chalice pressed to his
lips.  He had begged for everything Master had done to him.  He had worked
himself up to release not once, but three times, and the biting pain of the
studded object sliding into him had only made him moan and ask for more.  After
all, it had been Bucky forced to deliver this pain, and he had not wanted Bucky
to hesitate, for that would have meant punishment for his friend.
It took all his effort to lift a hand to touch Bucky, to rest his hand on
Bucky's waist.  He hoped that might serve to say he did not blame Bucky for any
of this.
"We will leave on the morrow," he rasped, before falling unconscious again.
***
Master granted them a day of rest.  Tomas and Lorenzo came in to care for them,
feeding them a light breakfast and tending their wounds.  For perhaps an hour
after their departure, Stefan remained in bed, gathering his strength, while
Bucky moved about the room, ignoring the slight pain on his backside.  Such a
small pain compared to what Stefan had endured. 
Bucky gathered what they might need.  Yesterday, in the kitchens, he had
slipped a note to Natalia, who had done what he had asked.  Two parcels wrapped
in the large white dinner napkins, held bread and cheese and fruit.  Bucky
packed these each into two saddle bags. 
He had to help Stefan get up, and dressed him in the plain clothes they had
chosen.  Winding the scarf round Stefan’s neck, Bucky wondered if Stefan had
understood what he had said last night.  Stefan seemed in no condition to
flee.  He remained drowsy and pliant and moved slowly, as if the act caused him
pain.  When he strapped the saddlebag across Stefan’s chest, Stefan did not
complain.  He kissed Bucky’s hand at his shoulder.
All the other boys were in lessons, and Master generally did not patrol the
halls between breakfast and the midday meal.  No one saw Bucky helping Stefan
down to the barn, where they planned to lie about wishing to spend time with
their horses should a stablehand see them.  Again, none did. 
Stefan pointed the way.  They each wore the leather gloves for riding as they
pushed their way through the bushes. 
The thick foliage was rough, but the branches moved even as they bit down
through their clothing.  Bucky made a passage for Stefan.  It seemed to take a
long while, as if the bush had a thickness of several yards.  There was a
moment, halfway in, that Bucky nearly panicked.  Might they become trapped
inside of this bush, unable to turn back, and somehow turned so that they
tunneled through the length of the hedge rather than the width. 
Then he saw trees, and with a final push, the two boys fell from the bush and
into a forest.
They were free.
***** Chapter 7 *****
Bucky might have imagined that the world beyond the hedge would have
appeared... more different.  Instead, he found himself in a forest much like
the forests he had seen on horseback.  The rolling hills covered in trees made
it impossible to see how far they might have to go before they reached
civilization.
"I suppose we must walk, then," Stefan said hoarsely beside him. 
"Yes," said Bucky. 
They started off.  Bucky took one last look back at the hedge, and startled
when he saw a rectangular yellow sign affixed to some wires at the top of the
hedge.  It read, "NO TRESPASSING: Violators will be shot."  The foliage made it
difficult to see, but there were coils of barbed wire threaded through the
topmost branches of the bushes, and little orange flags tied at regular
intervals.  Another bright yellow sign, perhaps 50 feet away, read, "WARNING:
ELECTRIC FENCE."  Bucky did not know what was meant by "electric," though the
small images of lightning bolts told him what he might expect.  He supposed the
"fence" referred to the barbed wire.  Master had not expected anyone to go
through the bush, only over it.
Bucky turned away and with Stefan's arm slung across his shoulders, they
walked.  "I do not know what way to go," Bucky said.  "If we should walk that
way, toward the front entrance, we might find a road, but if Master notices our
absence, he might find us before long."
"Through the woods," Stefan agreed.
Their boots crunched through the fallen leaves and pine needles that blanketed
the ground in gold and brown.  For a time they walked in silence.  Questions
piled up in Bucky's mind until they flooded from his lips.
"Do you suppose we are in Italy?" Bucky asked.  "Or do you think France?" 
"I should think we are in Great Britain," Stefan said.  "Our guests, for the
most part, speak English." 
"I wonder if we will find ourselves near a city." 
"Perhaps," Stefan wheezed.
Not much time passed before Bucky felt Stefan's legs buckle under his weight. 
Bucky stopped and lifted Stefan to his feet.  "I could carry you," he said.
"I can walk a little further." 
Finally Bucky stopped.  "Stevie, please, allow me to carry you."
"I can walk."  Stefan's voice was little more than a whisper.
Bucky ignored Stefan's words.  He stepped in front of his friend, and crouched
down, and pulled Stefan onto his back.  Stefan did not protest.  Instead he
draped his arms around Bucky's neck, and let Bucky lift him up.  His breath
blew soft on Bucky's nape. 
"How long, do you think, before Master realizes we are gone?" Bucky asked,
setting off.
"Tomas... and Lorenzo... they will notice... at lunch."  Stefan's words came
out haltingly, between breaths.  "Perhaps... they will not... seek us out
immediately."
Bucky chose to allow Stefan to rest, although he had many more questions.  Soon
he heard Stefan's breathing relax, and his arms grow limp, so that he had to
lean forward to keep the boy on his back.
When the first streaks of pink appeared in the sky, Bucky began to look about
for a place to rest for the night.  It was nearing full dark before he reached
a large outcropping of stone, with enough space between to serve as shelter. 
It was not a cave, but it would serve just as well.  With Stefan resting
between Bucky's legs and his back up against Bucky's chest, Bucky gave Stefan
water first, and then some of the bread and cheese.  Only after Stefan had
eaten, and muttered some drowsy words that Bucky could not make out, did Bucky
allow himself to eat, and to nod off into sleep.
***
In the night he woke to the sounds of voices. 
Hugging Stefan to him, he listened, trying to judge distance and language. 
They were not close, but they also were not very quiet.  Male voices, speaking
in Spanish.  It was rough language, not the court Spanish the boys had
learned.  But he understood it well enough. 
How does he expect us to search in darkness? 
I don't know.
How did they even get out?
I don't know.
I stole a bottle of wine from the basement.
You did?  I want some.
We're not going to find them anyway.
As the voices died down into softer conversation, and remained stationary
somewhere off to the east, Bucky relaxed back against the rock.  He couldn't
loose his grip on Stefan, though.  He needed to be able to feel Stefan's chest
move when he breathed. 
***
Bucky awoke before Stefan, and Stefan roused only barely as Bucky shifted him
so he could stand and walk a short distance away to relieve himself.  He
scanned the forest for the source of the voices last night, but saw and heard
nothing, even when he walked in a wider radius from the rocks. 
He did find an empty wine bottle, half-buried under the leaves. 
"Look what I found," Bucky announced when he returned.  He gently shook
Stefan's shoulders when Stefan didn't wake.  "An empty bottle.  If we should
find a stream, we can fill it with water."
Both boys were thirsty.  They ate some grapes and cheese and wished for water. 
"I am certain we will find some civilization today," Bucky stated.
Stefan just looked at him with tired eyes. 
"Shall I carry you again?"  Bucky asked, brushing the hair from Stefan's face,
then kissing him, just a little.
"No," Stefan said.  "I will walk, for a time at least."
Even though they had worn boots for comfort, all the walking yesterday had worn
blisters around Bucky's ankles.  The strap of his saddlebag chafed against his
shoulder.  Yet he gave not a word of complaint. 
"Do you remember anything of outside, from before?" Bucky asked.
Stefan shook his head.
The sun had not yet reached its apex when Bucky and Stefan both heard running
water.  They headed toward the sound, and found a meager stream, barely a
hands-width across.  Muddy water, but they drank it gratefully, and Bucky
filled the wine bottle as best he could.
More walking. 
The trees began to thin out, and they saw a large open field, high with corn. 
On the ridge of the forest, they could see over the stalks and that a small
group of buildings stood in the distance.  Bucky grinned over at Stefan, who
gave him a smile of relief before collapsing against Bucky's side. 
He managed to hoist Stefan onto his back, then began walking toward the
building. 
There was a white two-story house that looked like nothing Bucky had seen in
all the illustrated books in the Master's library.  Beside it, a large red
structure, and a tall cylinder like a tower, also in red.  Bucky had traversed
half the distance around the edge of the cornfield when he heard the barks of a
dog.  He stopped.
A brown furry creature that came up to his thigh bounded over.  Bucky froze as
the beast sniffed him, and sniffed at Stefan's foot.  The dog seemed friendly
enough, with his tongue lolling, and Bucky took another step toward the
buildings in hopes that it would remain friendly. 
"Hello, there!" a voice called out, and Bucky froze again. 
The owner of the voice, and likely the dog, was a man with a shock of white
hair wearing strange garments.  The pants, long enough to reach the tops of the
man's boots, were made of a stiff material like canvas, but blue, and they came
up past his waist and had straps over his shoulders.  Underneath, the man wore
a shirt of blue and white plaid, something possibly Scottish.
“Hello, sir,” Bucky said once the man was closer.  He nodded toward the cluster
of buildings, as his arms were preoccupied with carrying Stefan.  “Are you the
master of this house?”
“The master!”  The man laughed.  “Well, I suppose I am, at that.  Look at you
boys.”  He seemed to be staring at their clothes.  “What’s wrong with this
little one, eh?  Is he sleepy, or...?”
“My friend is ill, sir,” Bucky said.  “Might we impose upon your hospitality? 
We are in dire need of food and water, and perhaps a bed for a night or two.” 
He smiled hopefully at the man.  In many of the epics they had studied,
hospitality was a sacred thing, and Bucky prayed this was still the case, where
they might rest and recuperate without needing money for a room at an inn, if
they should ever find one.
“Where did you boys come from?” the man asked, looking around. 
Bucky tried not to let the fear show on his face.  “We are just traveling
through.”
The man narrowed his eyes.  “Are you now.  You didn’t perhaps come from that
big old mansion thataway, didja?”
He knows, Bucky thought, his worst fears realized.  He will return us to the
Master and we will be punished however Master sees fit.  If Master believes
what we endured last night was pleasure, what would his most severe punishment
entail? 
“If you please, sir, we will press on,” Bucky said, backing up.
“Now, now, don’t run off so fast.”  The man’s face softened.  “My name’s Tim
Dugan.  What’s yer names?”
“I am called Bucky, and my friend is called Steve.  We are pleased to make your
acquaintance, sir.”
Master Dugan smiled.  “Why don’t you two come in and have a sit.  My wife Peg
is makin’ up a lunch, I’m sure she won’t mind fixin’ up a little somethin’ for
you two, if yer friend Steve is up to eating.”
“Yes, please, thank you, sir.”
Bucky gave a little hop to get Steve up on his back as he followed Master Dugan
to the house, with the dog following along at Bucky’s heels. 
“I say, I haven’t seen anyone atall who ever come from that big place,” Master
Dugan said as they walked.  “We’ve all been curious about who lives there.  You
got parents who live there?”
Parents. Bucky vaguely remembered parents.  “No, sir,” he said finally.
“No?  Who takes care of you up there?”
Bucky didn’t know what to say, but they had reached the house and Madame Dugan
had come out onto the porch to greet them.  “Tim, what have you got there?”
“Peg, this is Bucky, and the little one there is Steve.  He says they’re from
that big house down the road.”  This last was said in a hushed tone, and now
Bucky fretted that he had said somethng very wrong.
“You boys must be famished!” Madame Dugan said.  She had warm brown eyes and
her gray hair was pulled back softly from her face, much different from the
tight coifs and curls of Madame Romanoff.  “Come, come.”
Madame Dugan fussed over Steve, insisting that Bucky lay him down on the
couch.  Bucky carefully deposited him, his mind racing to take in the strange
decor and to be certain that he was not hurting his friend.  Steve did not wake
through all this.  “Dear me,” Madame Dugan said, touching Steve’s neck and
pushing his hair from his face.  She snapped a few orders at Master Dugan, who
returned with a wet cloth and something they called a “thermometer,” and some
pills and a glass of water.  Bucky wrung his hands while he watched them
minister to Steve.
“This one said he was ill,” Master Dugan said.
Madame Dugan looked at Bucky.
Bucky looked back at her.  “He was... injured,” he said finally.  “We have been
traveling for a day and a night, and he is quite exhausted.  Perhaps he only
needs sleep.”
“What sort of injury?” she asked, looking Steve over. 
When Bucky tried to explain to her, the woman’s eyes grew wide and both adults
withdrew into the hallway for a heated discussion.
“You don’t think that place up there... those boys... The way he described it,
like nothing was wrong with it... We need to call the police...”
That word Bucky felt he recognized, but did not know the exact meaning.  He had
only a vague sense that this word meant trouble.  “Please,” he said, standing
from Steve’s side.  “Please, do not call the police.  Let us stay, for tonight,
and then we will not further impose upon you.”
Master and his wife looked at one another. 
“One night can’t hurt,” Master Dugan said.  “You know once the police gets
involved this is gonna blow up.”
“One night.”
Madame Dugan turned to Bucky.  “Would you like something to eat, child?”
“Yes, madame.”
“What manners.  I’ve never seen a boy with such manners!”
Bucky was served a “sandwich,” which was bread with some meats and vegetables
on it, and devoured it, and drank down two glasses of milk. 
“It’s been a long time since we’ve had any young’uns around,” Master Dugan
remarked.
“We used to take in foster children, back when we were younger,” Madam Dugan
laughed.  “It was so nice having kids around... Bucky, can you tell us a little
more about that big house and this person you call Master?”
So Bucky told her about the Master and the palazzo and how he had been brought
there and trained.  “Master treats us well, if we are obedient,” he stressed.
“Oh, I’m sure he does,” Madame Dugan said.
After lunch, Bucky squeezed onto the couch with Steve and hugged him and let
himself sleep, though his ears kept him awake with listening to the strange
conversations between husband and wife. 
“It sounds like there are more of them.  Many more.”
“We can’t take them all in, Peg.  Once we call the police, they’ll take these
two and we’ll never see them again.”
“I know, Tim.”
“You’re already gettin’ attached. You know that’s why we had to stop fostering
kids.”
“I know, Tim.”
“We could take on maybe six of them.”
“Oh, Tim... They’re like boys out of time.  I look at them and I can’t even
imagine it...”
***
Steve woke to the smell of hot food cooking.  Bucky had his arms around him,
and Steve shifted slightly to give him more space and inadvertently woke him. 
“Where are we?” Steve asked.
“A kind man and his wife took us in.”  Bucky smiled and then kissed him. 
Though he was a bit too rough, Steve didn’t mind. 
A throat clearing startled him.  “Sir,” Bucky said, rolling from the couch.
“Steve is awake!”
“I see that.”  A man with a ruddy face and red beard bent over him.  “Hello,
Steve.  I’m Tim Dugan.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance.”  Steve reached out his hand to shake.
“Supper’s about ready, you think you can make it to the table, Steve?  Peggy
can bring a tray in here for you.”
“I’m not sure,” Steve said.  He tried to sit up.
“I can carry him to the table.” Bucky reached over to help him up.  Though
Steve wished he might stay on the comfortable cushions for a while longer, he
allowed himself to be carried to the table and seated on a hard wooden chair. 
Darkness fuzzed into his vision for a few moments after he sat and remembered
the pain.
Steve had three people fussing over him, making him drink plenty of water, and
eating soup.  Bucky refused to leave his side, even though Tim and Peggy
indicated a chair for Bucky to sit down, across the table.  He did not mind
Bucky helping him, for his hand shook the soup from the spoon, and Bucky was so
gentle with him.  He did not know these adults, who asked many questions, about
the palazzo and how many boys were there and how they had each come to live
there and many more questions about the Master. 
After the meal, Peggy said there was a room upstairs where Steve could sleep
undisturbed, and Bucky made to carry him.  Tim brushed him aside and lifted
Steve into his arms.  It was more comfortable to be carried this way.  Up the
stairs, which were quite narrow compared to the grand staircase of the palazzo,
and into a small room with a low ceiling and two narrow beds covered in dusty
quilts.  "This will do for now," Tim said, laying him down.  It was no feather
bed, but it was soft enough, and Steve's eyes were already slipping closed.  He
felt the dip of the mattress, heard the rusty springs, as Bucky tried to
squeeze in with him, but Tim stopped him with a hand round his arm.  "Now,
now.  There's a another bed for you here.  Are you tired, as well?  I got some
chores I could use some help on, that's a good boy, now."
He had just a trace of Bucky's fingers brushing up against his before he
slipped into sleep.
***
Without Steve in his sight, Bucky fretted.  The work Master Dugan spoke of was
not difficult: feeding the animals, which included a cow, some goats, and a
coop full of chickens.  "You ain't never seen a cow before?" Master Dugan
asked.  "Nor a goat, neither?"
"No, sir," Bucky told him.  He waited until the man had showed him how before
he would pet the creatures.  He had only seen paintings in books.
All afternoon long, Master Dugan asked his questions, until they were both
tired of talking, and somehow the hours passed until dinner, when Peggy called
them in again.
"Well, now this is a feast," Master Dugan said.  The scratched wooden table of
lunch had been covered by a white cloth, and there were four places set.  The
food made Bucky's stomach growl, though it did not resemble what they might eat
at the palazzo. 
"I will go fetch Steve," Bucky said.  Once again Master Dugan wrapped his big
hand around Bucky's upper arm to stop him.
"I checked on your friend a few minutes ago," Madame Dugan said, patting him on
the head.  "He is still sleeping.  We'll make up a plate for him and he can eat
when he wakes up."
After they had all began the meal, Madame Dugan said, "I might have some
clothes that will fit you and Steve, something that might be a bit more
comfortable than... what you're wearing."
At this Bucky looked down.  He would like to change out of the breeches and
boots he'd been wearing for the past two days.  "I would appreciate that very
much, madam," he said.
"All these sirs and madams," said Madame Dugan to her husband.  "I could get
used to this."  To Bucky, she said, "After dinner, you can take a bath."
A bath sounded heavenly.  He helped her with the dishes, as he saw she had no
kitchen staff nor slave boys, then she pulled out a towel and pointed him
toward the bathroom.
The interior was small and dark, and he looked about for a moment before
returning to the hallway.  "Madam?  Might you have a candle or a lamp?"
"A what?" said Master Dugan.
Madam Dugan came to him.  "Is the light out?"
"Yes, madam."
She leaned in through the doorway and flicked a switch on the wall.  Lights
blazed up over a mirror above the sink.  Bucky stared at the round bulbs.  "How
did you do that?" he asked.
"It's electricity," she explained.  "You've never had electricity?"
That word called to mind the signs on the hedge: electric fence.  "Electricity
is light?" Bucky asked.  Did the fence light up?  That would be a pretty
decoration on the hedges, though he'd never noticed such a thing.
"No... it's... electricity," she said, seeming confused.  "It's... power. 
Power to make things run, like lights."
It didn't explain much, but it seemed she did not know much more about it than
he did, so he thanked her and readied himself for the bath.  He heard the door
close behind him, and found himself alone. 
Though the bathtub was nothing like those at the palazzo, the mechanics were
the same, and soon Bucky had a hot bath with plenty of bubbles from the various
bottles lined up on the square rim of the bathtub.  He scrubbed the dirt away
and felt his muscles relax.  He had never bathed alone, not without Steve, and
found he missed it, even though they both would not have fit in this tub
together. 
After his bath, he donned the clothing Madame Dugan had left for him, rough
long pants and a shirt with buttons, both with a blue and white striped
pattern.  These were certainly strange, and he could not imagine a person
walking about in such things. 
In the bedroom, he found Madame Dugan sitting on Steve's bed with a tray, and
Steve was sitting up and eating.  Steve stopped when he saw Bucky.  "What are
you wearing?" he asked.
"Madame Dugan gave me these clothes."  Bucky ran his hands down the front to
smooth them out, and looked to her for some approval. 
"Please, call me Peggy," she said.  "They're just pajamas, no need to fuss."
Bucky wished to climb into Steve's bed, but he could not with Peggy sitting
there.  So he sat on the other bed, and then Tim entered.  "Time for bed,
kiddos," he said.  He reached down beside Bucky and pulled up the covers.  "In
you go."  He waited for Bucky to crawl between the sheets, then he tucked the
blankets in around him. 
"Good-night, boys.  Our room's right across the hall if you need anything in
the night.  You know where the bathroom is."
"Yes, madam," Bucky and Steve both said.
Tim shook his head as they left the room, flicking off a switch like that in
the bathroom and plunging the room into darkness.  There was not even firelight
to see by.
Bucky waited until they had gone, then he climbed out of his bed and into
Steve's.  The other boy made room, and pulled Bucky close to him, and they were
able to both fit on the little bed.  "Do you think we are safe here?" Steve
asked him in a whisper.
"It is a strange place, but Master Dugan and his wife seem like good people,"
Bucky said.
"Was Master Dugan rough with you?" Steve asked, brushing a hand over Bucky's
cheek.
"No."
"I saw him pull your arm."
"He was not rough."  Bucky tried to kiss away Steve's fear.  "Master punished
us much more roughly."
"Perhaps."
***
The following days were full of much confusion and worry for the two boys.  In
the morning, Bucky suggested they would continue traveling, but Tim told him
they would stay.  Only a short time later, a vehicle arrived.  Bucky and Steve
both peered out the window at the black and white metal machine with wheels. 
It looked both familiar and like nothing they could ever recall.  "Is it a sort
of carriage?" Steve asked, which sparked some memory for Bucky.
"It is a car," Bucky said.  "A police car."
The police officers asked them many of the same questions that the Dugans had,
but the officers wrote down their answers, and then they used a black box to
communicate with someone who was not in the room.
After that, things moved quickly.  Later, both Steve and Bucky would look back
and wonder at how naive they had been, how thoroughly hypnotized by the world
inside the palazzo, that they had forgotten all of the world outside those
walls. 
On the television, the boys rescued from the palazzo were often called the Lost
Boys.  Some of them had been reported as missing, and were found to have names
other than those given to them by the Master.  Some of the boys, however,
seemed not to have existed before the palazzo at all.  Bruno discovered that
his real name was Bruce Banner, and his father had sold him to the Master.  His
father now in prison, Bruce joined Steve and Bucky at the Dugans’ home.  The
couple had opened their home to all of the Lost Boys who could not find a
foster home.  Bartolomew, his name found to be Clint Barton, went to live with
Natalia and her mother, and there were rumors that they had joined a circus. 
Philippe – originally Philip Coulson – lived at the Dugans as well.  Sometimes,
at night, they all climbed into one bed together, and the Dugans might find
them in the morning as a tangle of limbs.
Master was arrested, of course.  Alexander Pierce, a man considered by the
townspeople to be an eccentric recluse, was charged with child slavery, child
prostitution, kidnapping, and several counts of murder.
When the bodies were found in the basement rooms of the grand building, the
boys had finally known what had happened to Antonio and all the other boys who
had “gone off to university” before him.  Bruce had been inconsolable for days,
and Bucky had relinquished his place in Steve’s bed so that Steve might comfort
him. 
With the boys’ education, and the publicity surrounding the case, the older
boys could pursue most anything they wished.  Bruce went off to study nuclear
physics, after he discovered how much science they had actually been taught.
 The professors at the palazzo had done well for the boys, teaching as much as
they could within the Master’s parameters, and most of them claimed no
knowledge of how the boys entertained the guests.  Likewise, Steve was too soon
set to go away to study art in New York City. 
For after all the guessing, the boys discovered that their Italian-style
palazzo was located in Ohio, in the United States.  “The New World?” Bucky had
said incredulously when Tim had explained this little fact.
Those three years while Steve returned only for summer and winter breaks were
the longest for Bucky.  Even when Steve was home, their unions had to be brief
and silent out of respect for Tim and Peggy.  While the older couple did not
seem to mind that the boys were close, and turned a blind eye to the sharing of
beds, they often saw Steve and Bucky’s relationship as unnatural and a product
of the abuse they endured.  Bucky could recite all the information about “good
touching” and “bad touching” and boundaries he learned from the therapist he
saw over the five years he lived with the Dugans, but none of it described how
he and Steve felt about one another.
Bucky was accepted to Juilliard for music, and instead of live in the dorms, he
and Steve decided to share an apartment.  Steve moved in first, at the end of
his spring semester, while Bucky was still finishing his senior year.  After
graduation, Bucky was all too eager to pack his things and move in, and he took
the train into the city rather than wait for the fall semester to begin. 
Five years of assimilating into modern society fell away when Bucky stepped
through the doorway into the studio apartment Steve had found.
The building was old, and in poor repair.  Steve had worked artistic magic on
the place.  An old chandelier had been painted in gold and strung with
Christmas tree lights.  The bricks were painted with fleur-de-lis, and swaths
of brocade fabric trimmed in gold fringe hung over the tall warehouse windows. 
The bed, which took up most of the space, was something Steve found on
Craigslist, in pieces, which he cobbled together and painted until it resembled
the enormous four-poster bed where Bucky and Steve had spent so many nights. 
More brocades, and silk, and almost immediately Bucky had dropped his bags on
the floor and tumbled into the frothy bedding, pulling Steve down with him. 
They tasted each other, hot and hungry, months of absence forgotten in these
moments.  They had never had this kind of freedom.  Just the idea of it filled
them with heat.  They pushed, ground hip against hip, teasing each other into a
frenzy, until the layers of clothing got in the way, and cotton t-shirts were
stripped off, stiff denim jeans shucked from legs, and then Bucky touched a
softly familiar fabric that immediately aroused him. 
“Your... your undergarments,” he exhaled, his hands still gripping Steve’s
buttocks.  Stefan’s buttocks.  The boxer shorts did not resemble the archaic
undergarments they had worn under breeches, but the blue silk fabric awoke
memories in Bucky’s fingers.  “Stefan...” His voice trembled.
“I have some for you, if you want them,” Steve said, his lashes lowering. 
“Yes, please, Stefan.”  Bucky kissed the blush on his cheek.  “I would like for
you to dress me.”  He stood, wearing only his stretchy knit boxer-briefs, and
cocked his hip, waiting for Steve to fetch a bag and pull out a pair similar to
those Steve wore, only in black. 
Fingers on his hips tugged down the elastic, slid the offending fabric down
Bucky’s thighs.  The caress of silk came soon after, as Steve lifted each of
Bucky’s feet reverently, then slowly slid the undergarments up and up, until it
brushed up against the more sensitive parts of Bucky’s anatomy, and by then
Steve was standing and their mouths met.  Over the years Steve had finally
grown to match Bucky’s height, and he had filled out as well.  Falling back on
the bed, they kissed and felt at each other through finely woven cloth until
Bucky felt himself near to release.  Bucky allowed Steve to leave him long
enough for some lubrication, and only then did Bucky allow Steve to remove his
new undergarments.
“I should like to hear your sounds of pleasure, James.”  Stefan’s dark eyes
hovered inches from Bucky’s face.  Bucky had not realized how he had stifled
himself from all their years of hidden trysts on the Dugans’ farm, and now he
lifted his arms overhead and gripped the headboard. 
“Yes, Stefan,” he said, and when Stefan entered him, he nearly could not obey,
because the pleasure overcame him.  He did not recall when Stefan had become
quite so big.
In the end, however, he found himself to be quite obedient.
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