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He chooses a field of daffodils. The air is warm and fresh like the air that had filtered in from that door earlier. The sun is setting. The grass is soft on his skin as he lays in it.
It works, until it doesn’t.
Until Carter gets jostled, and his eyes skitter away from Todd, and he sees the slave between sir’s legs. Then he’s snapped back into the present, every pain sharp and urgent, the worst of it emanating in his chest.
Sir is being gentle with the slave, letting him rest his head on sir’s thigh while petting his hair idly like he does with Carter. The slave is good, too. He isn’t clumsy or hesitant. He knew exactly what sir wanted him to do. He stays still instead of fidgeting. He never chokes or makes a sound. He remembers to keep his eyes down, and he speaks to sir with nothing but subdued respect. There’s no fear in him. No emotion at all. He’s perfect for sir. Far better than Carter will probably ever be.
A hole is a hole.That’s what sir had said.
Had Carter really believed he was special somehow? That perhaps sir liked him?
How pathetic of him. Howsilly. Carter is nothing but a hole to the man. Granted, Carter’s hole has added benefits, symbolizing power, giving sir something to taunt Maison with, but that’s his worth. That’s all he is. And sir doesn’t have to like him to wield Carter in those ways. Sir doesn’t even have to use him.
A hole is a hole.
It hurts so badly, Carter’s not sure he’s managing to breathe around the pain. He starts crying at some point. Or maybe he’s been crying the whole time and is just now noticing it.
Todd says the tears are pretty.
Sir chuckles and agrees.
By the time Carter has been pulled to his feet, steady tears falling down his cheeks, a drink tossed in his face, Carter has realized exactly how insignificant he is to sir. Sirlied. Sir doesn’t care about him. He’s clearly enjoying the night just fine. He had said those things and made those promises earlier to trick Carter into behaving for their guest. He hadn’t meant them.
Carter wishes he had the energy to throw a fit and show Todd Henley exactly how misbehaved he can be, but just the thought of it is draining. It takes everything for Carter to even walk as a slave leads him away from the dinner guests who are still laughing at him. He has nothing left for rebellion.
The slave brings him to a drink cart near the kitchen where the other slaves who were ordered to get refills are standing.
“Is it your first time with someone other than the master of the house?” the slave who rescued him asks quietly as they wait in line.
Since Carter assumes that his sir is the master of the house, he nods. “Yeah…”
“I thought so. We were all wondering. None of us have seen him share you at all.”
“Is that… bad?” Carter asks, looking around to make sure no one is listening to them.
“That Master Roarke doesn’t like to share you?” the slave in front of Carter asks, turning halfway to look at Carter. His eyes narrow as he takes in Carter’s appearance. “Don’t be an idiot. You’re fucking lucky.”
It takes a moment for Carter to place the slave. Then he realizes he’s the one sir is using tonight. Carter’s replacement. He hates himself for the angry burst of jealousy he feels towards the young man. It’s not like he wants to be here. He’s in the same boat as Carter.
The slave beside Carter continues the conversation. “I’d give anything to be Master Roarke’s. Is he nice in private? I bet he is. He’s so fucking gentle, even with the others around.”
“Maybe he’s really fucking nasty in private,” the only female slave mutters, eyeing up her glass as she considers how much vodka to pour into it.
Another slave scoffs. “So fucking true. That’s how Master Mica is. He acts all relaxed and indifferent in front of the other men, almost like he doesn’t know what to do with us, but in private…” the slave trails off, shaking his head with a sigh.
The slave sir is using tonight finishes the thought. “He’s a sadistic fuck.”
“That’s an understatement,” the slave beside Carter jokes.
“What do you expect?” the female asks. “He’s their interrogator. Dude is fucking vicious. I heard he once disemboweled someone and then used their own intestines to strangle them to death.”
The slave who had first brought up Mica rolls his eyes. “That’s not even possible.”
“How would you know?” the slave beside Carter asks.
“Because I was a year away from graduating medical school, assholes. I’m not saying the dude isn’t a sick fuck, because he totally is, but that one is a stretch.”
The female arches an eyebrow. “You haven’t had anything done to your body that you previously thought was impossible? Because I fucking have. This world doesn’t follow the rules of physics.”
