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Carter peeks over again, heart in his throat. It’s his best friend, Benny. He looks as pissed as sir –Nathan?- sounds, his own voice angry too, rising in volume as he seemingly chews Nathan –sir?- out. Words make their way to Carter, jagged and confusing, some from Benny, some from the man Carter can’t decide the name of.
“-fucking idiot, Nate. Why-
“-not like that-”
“You can’t just-”
“-tell me what-”
“-decide to fuck around?”
“He fucking earned-”
“-through your mind that he’s a sex slave, Nathan!”
And then, very quietly, almost to the point Carter isn’t sure he hears it correctly, Nathan/sir says, “He’s a goddamn human being, and you can go fuck off.”
Then the door slams.
A tense silence drapes itself over the room, wrapping around Carter’s throat like a noose. Every second that ticks by is torture. His muscles nearly jerk with panic, his mind racing as he tries to understand what all of that meant.
It isn’t until a hand touches Carter’s shoulder that Carter realizes sir has come around the bed to stand before him. He looks up at the man, heart pounding. He looks enraged. Carter prepares himself to be yelled at or hit. He prepares for the man to tell him the day is over and ruined.
Instead, he surprises Carter by saying, “I didn’t mean to lie to you.”
Carter just blinks at the man. He’s clearly misunderstanding.
When the man doesn’t say anything else, Carter manages to ask a shaky, “Sir?” He usessirinstead ofNathan, figuring it’s safest that way. Carter thinks it’s probably best to play it safe right now.
“I promised you things about today, and I already broke them.” Sir offers Carter his hand, helping him stand. “You need to be able to trust my word. That’s important for us. I’m sorry.”
Carter blinks some more. “You’re…sorry?”
“Yes.” Sir cups his cheek, his thumb stroking Carter’s skin ever so gently. Carter fights the desire to nuzzle into the man’s palm. Things are far too confusing right now. He needs to be on guard. “Shall we eat?”
Carter shifts, still not exactly sure how he should act. “If you want, sir.”
“If I want,” sir repeats softly to himself, his eyebrows pulling in. He drops his hand and sighs before waving towards the bed. “Get comfortable. I’ll bring you your tray.”
Carter obeys. A sick part of him is relieved to be given orders. It’s better than being confused and scared.
When sir places the wooden breakfast tray over Carter’s lap, he gives Carter a brilliant smile. It causes Carter’s breath to catch. He looks away quickly, trying to keep his head straight.
Everything about sir and his behavior is forgotten when sir takes the cover off Carter’s tray to reveal the fuckingbeautifulbuffet of food before him. Carter feels like his eyes might bulge out of his head as he takes it all in. A bowl of berries, a bowl of mixed fruit, a bowl of oatmeal, packets of brown sugar, a small plate of sausage and bacon, a plate of mini-pancakes with a little cup of syrup and a little cup of whipped cream to dip them in, and a plate of bite-sized omelet circles. There’s hot tea, a water bottle dripping with condensation from how cold it is, and a little orange juice box. There are napkins, but no silverware, which Carter supposes makes sense even though he’s not going to hurt sir with a damn fork if he hasn’t hurt him with the guns and knives he puts on the dresser every night.
When Carter looks over to where sir is lounging in the bed beside him, a tray of his own on his lap, he sees that he has a similar array of food, the only differences being that his pancakes and omelet are normal size. He seems to have coffee instead of tea as well, which Carter is slightly jealous of, not that he’d ever complain. And, of course, sir has silverware.
“Go ahead,” sir says quietly, his focus on Carter instead of his own tray. “Eat whatever you’d like. You’ll get plenty more today, so don’t worry about stuffing yourself either.”
With a nod, Carter tentatively grabs a strawberry. It’s not until he’s chewed and swallowed it that he feels sir’s gaze leave him. They eat in silence for a few minutes, Carter trying not to act like a complete pig. He gets tears in his eyes when he tastes the pancake dipped in syrup and whipped cream.
Carter pauses to take a sip of his orange juice, his guard dropped because of how fucking happy he is in the moment. That’s how sir catches him off guard when he says, “I’m confusing you with how hot and cold I am.”
It’s not a question, but Carter still meekly nods.
“I figured.” Sir huffs a laugh under his breath. “Want to know a secret, sweetheart?”
Carter looks up to meet sir’s eyes. He nods again.
