Fic: Being Jen
Dec. 31st, 2013 12:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hemrageThis has been written for the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spn_j2_xmas fic exchange and is a gift for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
liliaeth.
Title: Being Jen
Rating: NC17
Word count: 4000 words approx
Pairing: Jensen/JDM (hints at past romantic Jensen/Daneel)
Warnings: slavery, dub con, total sci-fi au
Prompt chosen: Teenage Jensen is sold/gifted to Jared or JDM, and though Jensen's new owner isn't cruel, he still has no intention to free Jensen or treat him as anything other than his property.
Author's Note: This was not how I envisioned this prompt going - but after a couple of false starts this is what I have. I hope you like what I have come up with. This, to me, feels like the introduction to something much bigger - so it may lead to something more in the fullness of time.
The Royal Court was oppressive, despair permeating the very fabric of the palace, robbing every individual of the desire to smile, the will to seek joy. Oh there had been celebrations when it happened, when disaster had been averted and their existence had continued beyond that final dawn - but that had been before. Before the delegation from Zanathme had arrived and requested what their custom said was their due.
Honorable and noble Monarchs, according to the history books the Lady Elta had been forced to read as a child, are well versed in making sacrifices for their people, but no one expected this. No one expected the Empress to agree, to not seek another way to satisfy their saviors.
As she took her seat along the aisle, close enough to the Royal plinth that she would be seen as they sat, Elta adjusted the formal garb that was deemed appropriate whenever she was called upon to attend at Court. The ostentatious crimson and gray was cut for show and not the practicalities of living. She found it restricting but never before had she been so desperate to be lost amongst its folds and pleats.
Though considered young by anyone's standards bar her own, she had risen to her place in Court after her sister's marriage had taken her far away from the Capital. Elta had welcomed the unexpected promotion, the honor that had once been her grandmother's finally passing to her, but she'd never before felt so reluctant to take her position in the Hall. Never before wished the honor had not been bestowed.
She, like every other Courtier, would attend to show their support - to offer their strength - but none would deny that they would rather be elsewhere.
Anywhere.
Her heart was breaking, but she was determined not to let her tears fall where he might see.
She wondered how he was. Remembered his smile when he’d told her not to worry, had known, even then, that it was hollow. That he was forcing it for her sake, for the sake of the woman who had stood behind him and had worn her own facsimile of a joyful face.
The Hall filled slowly. The opulent fabrics that draped the full lengths of the stone walls, that tumbled gracefully from the high ceilings as they bathed in the golden light from the high windows, seemed as lifeless and dull as funeral shrouds.
"How are you faring my Lady?"
Elta turned to the man that sat next to her but couldn't remember his name even though the face was more than familiar. Was she alright? She couldn't dwell on the question. On the certainty that she would never be alright again.
"Have you spoken to the Empress, My Lord?"
The familiar stranger shook his head, frowning as he leant towards her so that the people taking the seats nearby couldn't hear. "My Lord Joshun wouldn't let anyone have an audience with her at this time. She has been in seclusion these last two days. It is believed she was hoping for a reprieve, but the Zanathme would not be swayed."
Elta nodded. She’d heard the very same rumor of last minute negotiations that had come to naught.
All stood as the Royal family entered the Hall, the Empress leading the way. She still embodied grace and beauty, still commanded respect and admiration. Those things, at least, had not diminished. There was a constancy in that, a comfort.
There had never been any doubt about the Empress' ability to reign when she ascended to the throne as a young woman – much younger than Elta had been when the Court had beckoned. Nor was their doubt after her husband's death, when he'd taken her eldest children with him. She did not look diminished as she entered the main Hall but Elta could see as only the blind could not. For the first time the Empress looked like a widow who had lost too much already and who was about to lose so much more.
The Empress sat, her one remaining child standing next to her, his hands clasped behind his back. Elta stared, studying the face she’d known since childhood. His golden hair – like his mother’s – framed a face that she had often dreamed of. She hoped that green eyes would look towards her, meet hers. They didn't.
Without fanfare the Zanathme delegation entered. Five men, not of Zanathme, but working on their behalf: as messengers, as ambassadors, as couriers and traders. Traders in the vilest of trades, but one the Zanathme hierarchy still patronised. With them was one who had been instrumental in the negotiations. Vocal and insistent, the mouthpiece of his Lord. She suspected that even if he wasn't full-blood Zanathme they existed somewhere in his lineage. His height - exceeding seven feet and towering over both her own species and those he travelled with - was enough to arouse the suspicion.
The existence of the Zanathme Autocracy had been no more than a schoolroom topic when she'd been a child. Historical accounts of power struggles and warfare. Of atrocities carried out in one name or another.
But that had been the past and Elta had no knowledge of them ever having carried out such heinous acts within living memory. She wanted to despise them for what they were doing but nothing she knew, no one she cared about, would still exist if it hadn't been for them. That was why this was happening, after all.
Their rescue.
Salvation.
The tall member of the delegation bowed in front of the Empress, paying her the respect she was due even as the others stood back, at attention. Revealing a military - a mercenary - background.
The Empress acknowledged the greeting but no words were said, nothing needed to be. The negotiations had ended, agreements drawn and contracts signed. Everyone was just here to bear witness, to watch their Sovereign repay a debt that could not be paid.
The Prince moved in front of his mother, knelt before her and kissed her hand. If words were exchanged they did not carry to where Elta sat.
Elta heard the sniffles, even as her own eyes misted over. She grabbed hold of the hand of the man beside her, he held hers just as tightly. She couldn't bear this. Her friend, her ... her ... Oh Goddess. He had been hers and she his. Even if the promises had not been made before witnesses they had been made to each other. How should she survive this?
The Empress moved, kissing her son's head even as he stood. Stepped back, stepped away. She was still, made herself return to her seat as her son turned away from her and walked towards the delegation. Head held high, shoulders back.
As he reached the Zanathme party they turned and walked with him. The mercenaries flanking him.
Leaving with him.
Once they'd left the building the Empress rose and walked out of the Hall the way she had entered it.
Elta didn't think she could move. Not while her tears fell so freely and her heart splintered.
Sen attempted to keep his focus on the starfield ahead. It was a far more acceptable view than the one visible from the rear of the shuttle – his world receding as they left the system of the sun he’d been born beneath.
As the constellations shifted, unfamiliar from this new vantage point, his brain bombarded him with questions he didn’t want the answers for, scenarios he didn’t want to come true. One fleeting thought was chased from his head by another, and another. His mind hadn’t stopped throwing possibilities at him for days. Even as others had attempted to instruct him, prepare him, he’d allowed his mind to shy away, to hide in places he wasn’t too afraid to look into.
Ignoring the existence of his travelling companions wasn't all that difficult as they left him to his introspection. As far as they were concerned this was merely a transport vessel and he merely cargo. They would deliver him to his ... his ...
He couldn't even think the word. Oh dear Goddess. If he couldn't even think it how was he supposed to live it?
He worked damned hard to maintain the calm exterior he'd been displaying since he'd been summoned at dawn. A final day with his family. There had been friends he'd wanted to see, things he had wanted to do, but family had monopolised his final hours. He was his mother's youngest, her miracle child, born after his father's death. He’d been her solace and her legacy. He’d always believed he knew what his future would be. He knew the life he would lead.
The day had been a blur and even now, mere hours later, he could remember little about it. Little except that before he'd even registered the passing of time they’d been making their way to the assembly hall.
He'd played his part, been the Prince he’d been raised to be, as he stood, calm exterior belying the inner turmoil. Very few words were said. He could be strong for them, for her. His life... He had to believe that his life - his freedom - was a small price to pay. A small sacrifice for what had been given.
Elta had been there. His Elta. He'd caught her tears and he should've taken the opportunity to look fully. To see her one last time. But he'd been aware of other eyes, of scrutiny.
Last time. There'd been too many lasts since his mother had finally given in and signed the agreement. Her lack of choice - his own part in making her see there were no other options available to her - didn't make the futile sense of betrayal any easier.
Just because he was a Prince didn’t mean life had to be fair.
He didn't acknowledge the man who stood beside him until he sat down. He looked across at the head of the delegation who'd come to his world. So typically Zanathme in appearance - tall, broad, lean. Their similarities spoke of a common ancestor, but the identity of said ancestor was lost in time. There were enough differences between them now that one being in the presence of the other could feasibly result in death just by virtue of proximity and the microbial life that considered each species a viable host.
When he spoke the voice was dispassionate, simply relaying information. "There are clothes you will need to change into before we arrive. Your current clothing denotes rank, position. They are no longer yours. You will also be referred to as Jensen. The Jen prefix indicates your new status."
Sen didn't respond. He was already familiar with that part of the custom. Though he was not fully aware of what his new role would be there had been a fair amount of speculation. He was to be the chosen of the Zanathme Lord - his Jen, the Lord's whore - however that was to work. No. Not a whore. They had a choice. They got paid for their service. He was to be less than a whore. Less than someone who rented out their body for increments of the day.
He wouldn't dwell. Couldn't. Survival demanded he ignore and acquiesce. At least his mother had worked in to the contract his right to have children. To provide her with an heir even though he would never take her seat - attain the title of Emperor for himself. Though how parenthood would work in his new reality he couldn't even begin to fathom. Would he even get to meet any child he sired?
There’d been plentiful fantasies of Elta bearing …
"Our Lord wanted to be the one to take receipt of you. Wanted to be the one who led you away from your old life, but for obvious reasons that was not possible.” The delegate stood, ”We will rendezvous with his ship shortly, however. Once we disembark you will be delivered to the med centre where you will be treated so that you can take both your place in our society and also fulfill your newly designated role."
Words continued to be aimed towards him, but Sen wasn’t listening. His new life would begin soon enough, he didn't need to lose his last few minutes as a free man to hear the words and instruction he would no doubt be regaled with again.
He wondered how long, in a future filled with escaping into the recesses of his mind, it would take him to part company with his sanity. If the Goddess was being charitable it wouldn’t take long.
All too soon the vessel he was on docked with a much larger one. His - owner - would be on board and his new life would begin.
He took a deep breath and rose to his feet, tried to find the inner serenity that always seemed to come so easily to his mother.
It eluded him. How fitting it was that he was suddenly lacking the composure that came with his title. He wanted to be the Prince he was born to be just a little while longer, even if it was just for himself.
He ached. From the very core of him right to the end of each extremity. He half expected to find a swathe of bruises when he opened his eyes, but his skin - his naked body - was blemish free save for a circular patch of red high on his hip.
Every muscle, every joint, protested movement. His skin felt like it was burning and his eyes felt too big for their sockets. Taking a deep breath he fought the coughing fit that threatened to overwhelm him as his chest tried to prevent the enforced rise.
"I suspect you have questions?"
Sen wasn't expecting the company, had been so uncomfortable he hadn't noticed that he wasn't alone.
The man looked down at him. Bleary eyesight didn't allow him to see the face clearly but the voice alone indicated both age and condescension. "Don't ask them. I will give you the information our Lord wants you to have, no more. You are no longer a Prince. You are nothing but what our Lord desires."
"Where is... Where is our Lord?" Sen attempted to keep the uncertainty out of his voice - he was unsuccessful - he was also ignored. He raised himself up onto his elbows, waited until his head adapted to the very slight elevation, breathed slowly, deeply.
"Our two species are, as you know, biologically incompatible. I have removed the pathogens from your body that would harm us and inoculated you against any pathogens you may encounter here that could harm you. Your body is adapting to the treatment you've been given. You were anaesthetized because the procedure is profoundly uncomfortable and our Lord, in his mercy, didn't want you to experience either the pain or the discomfort."
Sen swung his legs round, placed his feet on the cold floor and attempted to stand. His legs weren't quite able to bear his weight and he let the edge of the bed take it. The pressure against the small of his back was grounding, distracting.
"You have nothing except what our Lord grants you. He is allowing you to keep a semblance of your name, but your title and rank no longer exist. You are used to being the child of an Empress, remember you are no longer that."
"I know what... what I... am."
"Our Lord will be gladdened to hear it. You will be joining him once you are physically able to perform the duties our Lord requires of you."
"And those duties are?"
There was a glint in the doctor's eye. He wanted to tell, cause embarrassment or distress, Sen wasn’t sure which would have caused the old man the most satisfaction. Instead he said nothing - obviously hadn't been given permission to divulge anything. It wasn't as if Sen was unaware of the answer to his question anyway...
Jensen...
Jensen.
He had to get used to the new name. It was his now. It was who and what he was.
It was two days before he was collected from the med centre. At least by Jensen's reckoning. The lights never dimmed where he was being kept, but there were shift changes and meal times. He was fed and medicated and the pains he'd experienced on waking that first time had returned sporadically. The medical staff had not been bothered by the symptoms he'd exhibited, no doubt expecting them. He'd not been warned, though, about how severe they could be. How it felt like his insides were being ripped apart, how he was being deconstructed and rebuilt one cell at a time.
He was led along corridors that occasionally seemed to double back on themselves. Neither the dour man who led him, nor the myriad of people they passed, acknowledged his presence. It was such an unusual experience. His past existence had meant he had always attracted attention, now it seemed he had to get used to being invisible.
Slavery had never existed in all his world's history, but he'd studied the social structures of other worlds enough to be familiar with the theory of what being a slave entailed. He knew that his life would be a balance between obedience and punishment. He didn't doubt he would fail at the former until the latter became too much to bear.
The room he entered was large, surprisingly so given that he was on a vessel rather than on solid ground. One curved wall was an expanse of star field while the other was practically sterile. A few panels, screens, doors to places he couldn't see.
Dominating the room was his new Master. The Exalted Lord Jeffre of the clan Mor. His line had ruled his world for ten generations, defeating by diplomacy, coercion and a show of might, any opposition to the status quo.
Jensen stood still, looking for as long as he dared before lowering his eyes. He was still aching enough not to invite punishment if it could be avoided.
What he had seen had already done enough to unnerve him. Reputation alone had suggested that The Lord was tall, even by the standards of the people he ruled, but to his newly acquired slave he was nothing less than a giant. Jensen had never felt more like a child.
"Does the doctor want to see him again?" The voice was deep, resonant.
"Not for a few days. Not unless you need him to my Lord."
Before Jensen was ready he was alone with his Master. His owner.
"My Jensen. You are beautiful indeed."
He couldn't speak, unsure of whether a response was expected, but unable to illicit one if it was. He attempted to force his mind elsewhere as the man his future depended on walked around him, viewed him from every angle. Jensen wasn't naked right now but he felt as if he may as well be. When hands descended on him he didn't flinch, even as his breath halted briefly.
He suppressed every instinct to resist as his scant clothing was stripped from his body, as large hands caressed his skin, ran down his back, tilted up his head.
Though his gaze was directed at his Master's face he didn't see him. His eyes focused beyond the man whose thumbs were stroking his cheeks, his jawline.
The Lord of Zanathme smiled as he spoke, as he led his Jen to his bed, but Jensen didn't notice it. It had to be enough that there was no resistance. "I have never had a Jen before, never felt the desire. I needed no encouragement once my advisors showed me your visage, though." He licked up Jensen's throat even as he lowered him onto the bed. "I would have saved your world anyway, but I have a position and a reputation that cannot be ignored. To not have you as payment, as my Jen, would've been perceived as weakness."
He put a hand on Jensen's neck, put pressure on it, not enough to stop him breathing but enough to make him fight for each breath. Once Jensen's attention was riveted on his Master's face the pressure lessened. "I am not weak, Jensen. You are mine. And for as long as you are I will not share my bed with another so don't ever think I will accept anything less than your complete and undivided attention. Now I am going to claim your body and you are not going to escape inside that head of yours."
Jensen's legs were forced apart as his Master settled between them.
Focusing on the face that hovered above him, on the dark eyes that bored into his, he knew better than to close his eyes even as he cried out at the first moment of penetration. Large hands moved behind his knees, folded his legs up towards his chest, opening him up to be impaled deeply. Impossibly deep.
Jensen hadn’t seen what the Lord carried between his legs but it was too big to be going where his Lord was putting it.
He was vaguely aware of the tears that slid from the corner of each eye and down his cheeks. His back arched off the bed and his eyes fluttered closed. "Keep looking at me. Don't you dare close your eyes."
"Hurts."
His Master held still, briefly, before continuing to push himself into his Jen's body. "I am not damaging you. You have been made right for me."
He had no choice but to believe, even as his Master started moving in earnest, as the pain, already a firestorm within, grew into an inferno.
"You. Are. Mine. Mine. Look. At. Me."
Each breath was punched out of him as Jeffre punctuated every thrust with a word. Words Jensen had no choice but to acknowledge through the pain.
Darkness crept up on him, crept round the edges of his vision, obscured the face of the man above him. He tried to fight it, knew he'd pay for his disobedience, but it was stronger than he was. He gave in to unconsciousness even as his Master's voice echoed inside his head ordering him to stay.
When he woke it was to the unmistakeable feeling of his Master still fully embedded within him. A large hand was resting on his back, holding him still, while his head was pillowed on the chest of the man beneath him. The gentle rise and fall, the steady heart beating beneath his head, did nothing to relax his own which was threatening to explode within his ribcage.
This was his life now.
This was his future.
This was what being Jen meant.
spn_j2_xmas fic exchange and is a gift for liliaeth.Title: Being Jen
Rating: NC17
Word count: 4000 words approx
Pairing: Jensen/JDM (hints at past romantic Jensen/Daneel)
Warnings: slavery, dub con, total sci-fi au
Prompt chosen: Teenage Jensen is sold/gifted to Jared or JDM, and though Jensen's new owner isn't cruel, he still has no intention to free Jensen or treat him as anything other than his property.
Author's Note: This was not how I envisioned this prompt going - but after a couple of false starts this is what I have. I hope you like what I have come up with. This, to me, feels like the introduction to something much bigger - so it may lead to something more in the fullness of time.
Being Jen
The Royal Court was oppressive, despair permeating the very fabric of the palace, robbing every individual of the desire to smile, the will to seek joy. Oh there had been celebrations when it happened, when disaster had been averted and their existence had continued beyond that final dawn - but that had been before. Before the delegation from Zanathme had arrived and requested what their custom said was their due.
Honorable and noble Monarchs, according to the history books the Lady Elta had been forced to read as a child, are well versed in making sacrifices for their people, but no one expected this. No one expected the Empress to agree, to not seek another way to satisfy their saviors.
As she took her seat along the aisle, close enough to the Royal plinth that she would be seen as they sat, Elta adjusted the formal garb that was deemed appropriate whenever she was called upon to attend at Court. The ostentatious crimson and gray was cut for show and not the practicalities of living. She found it restricting but never before had she been so desperate to be lost amongst its folds and pleats.
Though considered young by anyone's standards bar her own, she had risen to her place in Court after her sister's marriage had taken her far away from the Capital. Elta had welcomed the unexpected promotion, the honor that had once been her grandmother's finally passing to her, but she'd never before felt so reluctant to take her position in the Hall. Never before wished the honor had not been bestowed.
She, like every other Courtier, would attend to show their support - to offer their strength - but none would deny that they would rather be elsewhere.
Anywhere.
Her heart was breaking, but she was determined not to let her tears fall where he might see.
She wondered how he was. Remembered his smile when he’d told her not to worry, had known, even then, that it was hollow. That he was forcing it for her sake, for the sake of the woman who had stood behind him and had worn her own facsimile of a joyful face.
The Hall filled slowly. The opulent fabrics that draped the full lengths of the stone walls, that tumbled gracefully from the high ceilings as they bathed in the golden light from the high windows, seemed as lifeless and dull as funeral shrouds.
"How are you faring my Lady?"
Elta turned to the man that sat next to her but couldn't remember his name even though the face was more than familiar. Was she alright? She couldn't dwell on the question. On the certainty that she would never be alright again.
"Have you spoken to the Empress, My Lord?"
The familiar stranger shook his head, frowning as he leant towards her so that the people taking the seats nearby couldn't hear. "My Lord Joshun wouldn't let anyone have an audience with her at this time. She has been in seclusion these last two days. It is believed she was hoping for a reprieve, but the Zanathme would not be swayed."
Elta nodded. She’d heard the very same rumor of last minute negotiations that had come to naught.
All stood as the Royal family entered the Hall, the Empress leading the way. She still embodied grace and beauty, still commanded respect and admiration. Those things, at least, had not diminished. There was a constancy in that, a comfort.
There had never been any doubt about the Empress' ability to reign when she ascended to the throne as a young woman – much younger than Elta had been when the Court had beckoned. Nor was their doubt after her husband's death, when he'd taken her eldest children with him. She did not look diminished as she entered the main Hall but Elta could see as only the blind could not. For the first time the Empress looked like a widow who had lost too much already and who was about to lose so much more.
The Empress sat, her one remaining child standing next to her, his hands clasped behind his back. Elta stared, studying the face she’d known since childhood. His golden hair – like his mother’s – framed a face that she had often dreamed of. She hoped that green eyes would look towards her, meet hers. They didn't.
Without fanfare the Zanathme delegation entered. Five men, not of Zanathme, but working on their behalf: as messengers, as ambassadors, as couriers and traders. Traders in the vilest of trades, but one the Zanathme hierarchy still patronised. With them was one who had been instrumental in the negotiations. Vocal and insistent, the mouthpiece of his Lord. She suspected that even if he wasn't full-blood Zanathme they existed somewhere in his lineage. His height - exceeding seven feet and towering over both her own species and those he travelled with - was enough to arouse the suspicion.
The existence of the Zanathme Autocracy had been no more than a schoolroom topic when she'd been a child. Historical accounts of power struggles and warfare. Of atrocities carried out in one name or another.
But that had been the past and Elta had no knowledge of them ever having carried out such heinous acts within living memory. She wanted to despise them for what they were doing but nothing she knew, no one she cared about, would still exist if it hadn't been for them. That was why this was happening, after all.
Their rescue.
Salvation.
The tall member of the delegation bowed in front of the Empress, paying her the respect she was due even as the others stood back, at attention. Revealing a military - a mercenary - background.
The Empress acknowledged the greeting but no words were said, nothing needed to be. The negotiations had ended, agreements drawn and contracts signed. Everyone was just here to bear witness, to watch their Sovereign repay a debt that could not be paid.
The Prince moved in front of his mother, knelt before her and kissed her hand. If words were exchanged they did not carry to where Elta sat.
Elta heard the sniffles, even as her own eyes misted over. She grabbed hold of the hand of the man beside her, he held hers just as tightly. She couldn't bear this. Her friend, her ... her ... Oh Goddess. He had been hers and she his. Even if the promises had not been made before witnesses they had been made to each other. How should she survive this?
The Empress moved, kissing her son's head even as he stood. Stepped back, stepped away. She was still, made herself return to her seat as her son turned away from her and walked towards the delegation. Head held high, shoulders back.
As he reached the Zanathme party they turned and walked with him. The mercenaries flanking him.
Leaving with him.
Once they'd left the building the Empress rose and walked out of the Hall the way she had entered it.
Elta didn't think she could move. Not while her tears fell so freely and her heart splintered.
Sen attempted to keep his focus on the starfield ahead. It was a far more acceptable view than the one visible from the rear of the shuttle – his world receding as they left the system of the sun he’d been born beneath.
As the constellations shifted, unfamiliar from this new vantage point, his brain bombarded him with questions he didn’t want the answers for, scenarios he didn’t want to come true. One fleeting thought was chased from his head by another, and another. His mind hadn’t stopped throwing possibilities at him for days. Even as others had attempted to instruct him, prepare him, he’d allowed his mind to shy away, to hide in places he wasn’t too afraid to look into.
Ignoring the existence of his travelling companions wasn't all that difficult as they left him to his introspection. As far as they were concerned this was merely a transport vessel and he merely cargo. They would deliver him to his ... his ...
He couldn't even think the word. Oh dear Goddess. If he couldn't even think it how was he supposed to live it?
He worked damned hard to maintain the calm exterior he'd been displaying since he'd been summoned at dawn. A final day with his family. There had been friends he'd wanted to see, things he had wanted to do, but family had monopolised his final hours. He was his mother's youngest, her miracle child, born after his father's death. He’d been her solace and her legacy. He’d always believed he knew what his future would be. He knew the life he would lead.
The day had been a blur and even now, mere hours later, he could remember little about it. Little except that before he'd even registered the passing of time they’d been making their way to the assembly hall.
He'd played his part, been the Prince he’d been raised to be, as he stood, calm exterior belying the inner turmoil. Very few words were said. He could be strong for them, for her. His life... He had to believe that his life - his freedom - was a small price to pay. A small sacrifice for what had been given.
Elta had been there. His Elta. He'd caught her tears and he should've taken the opportunity to look fully. To see her one last time. But he'd been aware of other eyes, of scrutiny.
Last time. There'd been too many lasts since his mother had finally given in and signed the agreement. Her lack of choice - his own part in making her see there were no other options available to her - didn't make the futile sense of betrayal any easier.
Just because he was a Prince didn’t mean life had to be fair.
He didn't acknowledge the man who stood beside him until he sat down. He looked across at the head of the delegation who'd come to his world. So typically Zanathme in appearance - tall, broad, lean. Their similarities spoke of a common ancestor, but the identity of said ancestor was lost in time. There were enough differences between them now that one being in the presence of the other could feasibly result in death just by virtue of proximity and the microbial life that considered each species a viable host.
When he spoke the voice was dispassionate, simply relaying information. "There are clothes you will need to change into before we arrive. Your current clothing denotes rank, position. They are no longer yours. You will also be referred to as Jensen. The Jen prefix indicates your new status."
Sen didn't respond. He was already familiar with that part of the custom. Though he was not fully aware of what his new role would be there had been a fair amount of speculation. He was to be the chosen of the Zanathme Lord - his Jen, the Lord's whore - however that was to work. No. Not a whore. They had a choice. They got paid for their service. He was to be less than a whore. Less than someone who rented out their body for increments of the day.
He wouldn't dwell. Couldn't. Survival demanded he ignore and acquiesce. At least his mother had worked in to the contract his right to have children. To provide her with an heir even though he would never take her seat - attain the title of Emperor for himself. Though how parenthood would work in his new reality he couldn't even begin to fathom. Would he even get to meet any child he sired?
There’d been plentiful fantasies of Elta bearing …
"Our Lord wanted to be the one to take receipt of you. Wanted to be the one who led you away from your old life, but for obvious reasons that was not possible.” The delegate stood, ”We will rendezvous with his ship shortly, however. Once we disembark you will be delivered to the med centre where you will be treated so that you can take both your place in our society and also fulfill your newly designated role."
Words continued to be aimed towards him, but Sen wasn’t listening. His new life would begin soon enough, he didn't need to lose his last few minutes as a free man to hear the words and instruction he would no doubt be regaled with again.
He wondered how long, in a future filled with escaping into the recesses of his mind, it would take him to part company with his sanity. If the Goddess was being charitable it wouldn’t take long.
All too soon the vessel he was on docked with a much larger one. His - owner - would be on board and his new life would begin.
He took a deep breath and rose to his feet, tried to find the inner serenity that always seemed to come so easily to his mother.
It eluded him. How fitting it was that he was suddenly lacking the composure that came with his title. He wanted to be the Prince he was born to be just a little while longer, even if it was just for himself.
He ached. From the very core of him right to the end of each extremity. He half expected to find a swathe of bruises when he opened his eyes, but his skin - his naked body - was blemish free save for a circular patch of red high on his hip.
Every muscle, every joint, protested movement. His skin felt like it was burning and his eyes felt too big for their sockets. Taking a deep breath he fought the coughing fit that threatened to overwhelm him as his chest tried to prevent the enforced rise.
"I suspect you have questions?"
Sen wasn't expecting the company, had been so uncomfortable he hadn't noticed that he wasn't alone.
The man looked down at him. Bleary eyesight didn't allow him to see the face clearly but the voice alone indicated both age and condescension. "Don't ask them. I will give you the information our Lord wants you to have, no more. You are no longer a Prince. You are nothing but what our Lord desires."
"Where is... Where is our Lord?" Sen attempted to keep the uncertainty out of his voice - he was unsuccessful - he was also ignored. He raised himself up onto his elbows, waited until his head adapted to the very slight elevation, breathed slowly, deeply.
"Our two species are, as you know, biologically incompatible. I have removed the pathogens from your body that would harm us and inoculated you against any pathogens you may encounter here that could harm you. Your body is adapting to the treatment you've been given. You were anaesthetized because the procedure is profoundly uncomfortable and our Lord, in his mercy, didn't want you to experience either the pain or the discomfort."
Sen swung his legs round, placed his feet on the cold floor and attempted to stand. His legs weren't quite able to bear his weight and he let the edge of the bed take it. The pressure against the small of his back was grounding, distracting.
"You have nothing except what our Lord grants you. He is allowing you to keep a semblance of your name, but your title and rank no longer exist. You are used to being the child of an Empress, remember you are no longer that."
"I know what... what I... am."
"Our Lord will be gladdened to hear it. You will be joining him once you are physically able to perform the duties our Lord requires of you."
"And those duties are?"
There was a glint in the doctor's eye. He wanted to tell, cause embarrassment or distress, Sen wasn’t sure which would have caused the old man the most satisfaction. Instead he said nothing - obviously hadn't been given permission to divulge anything. It wasn't as if Sen was unaware of the answer to his question anyway...
Jensen...
Jensen.
He had to get used to the new name. It was his now. It was who and what he was.
It was two days before he was collected from the med centre. At least by Jensen's reckoning. The lights never dimmed where he was being kept, but there were shift changes and meal times. He was fed and medicated and the pains he'd experienced on waking that first time had returned sporadically. The medical staff had not been bothered by the symptoms he'd exhibited, no doubt expecting them. He'd not been warned, though, about how severe they could be. How it felt like his insides were being ripped apart, how he was being deconstructed and rebuilt one cell at a time.
He was led along corridors that occasionally seemed to double back on themselves. Neither the dour man who led him, nor the myriad of people they passed, acknowledged his presence. It was such an unusual experience. His past existence had meant he had always attracted attention, now it seemed he had to get used to being invisible.
Slavery had never existed in all his world's history, but he'd studied the social structures of other worlds enough to be familiar with the theory of what being a slave entailed. He knew that his life would be a balance between obedience and punishment. He didn't doubt he would fail at the former until the latter became too much to bear.
The room he entered was large, surprisingly so given that he was on a vessel rather than on solid ground. One curved wall was an expanse of star field while the other was practically sterile. A few panels, screens, doors to places he couldn't see.
Dominating the room was his new Master. The Exalted Lord Jeffre of the clan Mor. His line had ruled his world for ten generations, defeating by diplomacy, coercion and a show of might, any opposition to the status quo.
Jensen stood still, looking for as long as he dared before lowering his eyes. He was still aching enough not to invite punishment if it could be avoided.
What he had seen had already done enough to unnerve him. Reputation alone had suggested that The Lord was tall, even by the standards of the people he ruled, but to his newly acquired slave he was nothing less than a giant. Jensen had never felt more like a child.
"Does the doctor want to see him again?" The voice was deep, resonant.
"Not for a few days. Not unless you need him to my Lord."
Before Jensen was ready he was alone with his Master. His owner.
"My Jensen. You are beautiful indeed."
He couldn't speak, unsure of whether a response was expected, but unable to illicit one if it was. He attempted to force his mind elsewhere as the man his future depended on walked around him, viewed him from every angle. Jensen wasn't naked right now but he felt as if he may as well be. When hands descended on him he didn't flinch, even as his breath halted briefly.
He suppressed every instinct to resist as his scant clothing was stripped from his body, as large hands caressed his skin, ran down his back, tilted up his head.
Though his gaze was directed at his Master's face he didn't see him. His eyes focused beyond the man whose thumbs were stroking his cheeks, his jawline.
The Lord of Zanathme smiled as he spoke, as he led his Jen to his bed, but Jensen didn't notice it. It had to be enough that there was no resistance. "I have never had a Jen before, never felt the desire. I needed no encouragement once my advisors showed me your visage, though." He licked up Jensen's throat even as he lowered him onto the bed. "I would have saved your world anyway, but I have a position and a reputation that cannot be ignored. To not have you as payment, as my Jen, would've been perceived as weakness."
He put a hand on Jensen's neck, put pressure on it, not enough to stop him breathing but enough to make him fight for each breath. Once Jensen's attention was riveted on his Master's face the pressure lessened. "I am not weak, Jensen. You are mine. And for as long as you are I will not share my bed with another so don't ever think I will accept anything less than your complete and undivided attention. Now I am going to claim your body and you are not going to escape inside that head of yours."
Jensen's legs were forced apart as his Master settled between them.
Focusing on the face that hovered above him, on the dark eyes that bored into his, he knew better than to close his eyes even as he cried out at the first moment of penetration. Large hands moved behind his knees, folded his legs up towards his chest, opening him up to be impaled deeply. Impossibly deep.
Jensen hadn’t seen what the Lord carried between his legs but it was too big to be going where his Lord was putting it.
He was vaguely aware of the tears that slid from the corner of each eye and down his cheeks. His back arched off the bed and his eyes fluttered closed. "Keep looking at me. Don't you dare close your eyes."
"Hurts."
His Master held still, briefly, before continuing to push himself into his Jen's body. "I am not damaging you. You have been made right for me."
He had no choice but to believe, even as his Master started moving in earnest, as the pain, already a firestorm within, grew into an inferno.
"You. Are. Mine. Mine. Look. At. Me."
Each breath was punched out of him as Jeffre punctuated every thrust with a word. Words Jensen had no choice but to acknowledge through the pain.
Darkness crept up on him, crept round the edges of his vision, obscured the face of the man above him. He tried to fight it, knew he'd pay for his disobedience, but it was stronger than he was. He gave in to unconsciousness even as his Master's voice echoed inside his head ordering him to stay.
When he woke it was to the unmistakeable feeling of his Master still fully embedded within him. A large hand was resting on his back, holding him still, while his head was pillowed on the chest of the man beneath him. The gentle rise and fall, the steady heart beating beneath his head, did nothing to relax his own which was threatening to explode within his ribcage.
This was his life now.
This was his future.
This was what being Jen meant.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2013-12-31 05:56 am (UTC)