daredevilkink | Daredevil Prompt Post #8

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Daredevil Prompt Post #8

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Marvel Comics | Jessica Jones

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oh, uh, hey *waves nervously* I'm the other filler from that prompt and yeeeeah, I haven't posted in...a while?^^° And you just reminded me that maybe I should. I do have that fic largely worked out now. It does incorporate some of your fill bits, though, nonnie, so if it's okay with you (and if it's okay with the mods) I could start posting the new and the old stuff, in a proper, chronological, easy-to-read order here...? If anyone needs more slavery AU at this point, that is XD

Yaaaaassssssssss!

Yes please resume posting, we miss this fic soooo much!

Hah, alright then, here goes nothing - and that in the right order this time, hopefully :P At least I'm assuming one of you is the other anon who was filling it at the original prompt and therefore doesn't mind this repost...?

xxx

PROLOGUE: Please Tell Me You Kept the Receipt

Franklin 'Foggy' Nelson, in the hope of a present and reward for his undergrad degree, has been petitioning his parents for a Starkpad for months now.

He’s actually pretty sure he’s worn them down, too - ‘I’m moving out now, mom’, he’d wheedled, ‘I’m gonna need a mobile tablet pc to carry around campus with me and stuff’.

Not just moving out, oh no. Going to *Columbia* for a law degree, yessir. And finally living, by himself, in a dorm, and showing his parents what a responsible adult he could be.

It turns out, not much later, that his parents apparently neither think he needs a Starkpad, nor that he could keep himself alive if he tried.

Xxx

Chapter 1: Bought Without Warranty

“…Mom.”

“Look, darling-“

“*Mom*.”

“If you’ll just let me *explain*-“

“MOM! WHY!”

“Look, I know he’s blind but he can cook and clean and he’ll even help you study. He’s got a bachelor’s from his last owner, they had him as a study aid as well as a house slave. He’ll make sure you have clean clothes and are well fed, living on your own.” Anna Nelson gives Foggy a hopeful look that gives her son an immediate toothache. Something she said caught his attention, though, because -

Foggy looks up from the ownership papers with a frown. “His old owner paid for a degree but sold him?”

That was unusual. Not the degree itself - there were slaves out there with PhDs, why not train them for six figure jobs when you didn’t have to give them a cent of it? Companies saved millions training slaves these days. But even though slave tuition was marginally cheaper, it wasn’t *cheap* and it was odd to have one just as a study partner and not keep them for the eventual income they’d provide.

His mother smiled. “Their loss is your gain, darling.”

“I’m not taking him!” Foggy snapped, angry again. “Mom, did it escape you that I *hate* the slavery system? That I'm becoming a lawyer specifically to *help* people in that situation?"

“The papers are in your name already,” his mother says stubbornly, unmoved by his outburst. “And I’m not going back to the market, so you either take him or sell him yourself.”

Foggy’s hand clenches around the stupid documents and his mother gives him a victorious smile. They both know he loathes the slave markets. And his mother has probably guessed, correctly so, that between owning or selling, he would choose keeping a slave as the lesser of the two evils.

Foggy wonders how many slave owners started like that.

He sighs.

“What’s his name?”

His mother’s smile is infuriatingly triumphant. “Name him whatever you want, darling. He’s *yours* now.”

xxx

The most-decidedly-not-a-StarkPad is still standing in the living room where he’d been left after Foggy had dragged his mother into the hall to find out why exactly he'd been presented with a goddamn freaking *person* as a graduation present.

“So... do you have a name?”

“You can call me whatever you wish, sir,” he replies immediately, with a small bow of his head, the padlocked collar around his neck clinking softly.

“Okay... what if I wish to call you what you want to be called?”

The slave’s mouth twitches slightly at that and for a second Foggy thinks he is going to smile but it’s gone just as quickly.

“My previous owner called me Dean.”

Foggy almost rolls his eyes but stops because he thinks it might be a little rude. Then he internally rolls them again at that thought because *blind*.

“Do you want me to call you Dean?”

He expects another evasive non-answer (he might make a good lawyer too) but is pleasantly surprised when the slave tilts his head slightly and says, “Matt.”

“Matt it is, then,” Foggy announces- “I’m smiling by the way.'

The slave looks surprised and for a second Foggy thinks he'll get an *actual* smile, but after a moment he simply bows his head again.

“As you wish, sir.”

Xxx

He remembers the day they locked the heavy metal collar around his neck. The day Matthew Michael Murdock ceased to be and slave number 10-4-1964 had been registered.

He became Rory shortly after. The small daughter of his first family had named him. She had been nice, her father less so. They’d sold him after four months, when the wife got too jealous.

Then Dean. For four years, during his time as a study aid, when he was owned by Mark - who was actually a sort of decent owner. He treated 'Dean' like any of the other things he owned, he gave him orders, locked his collar to the wall when he left him alone, lent him to his friends if they need a helping hand and occasionally fucked him or used him for a quick blowjob.

Mark was also never cruel. 'Dean' was only beaten if he disobeyed or made a mistake, and when he was sick Mark took him to the doctor and let him recover; sometimes he even bought food his slave likes for their room.

(And after that, for three weeks before he was sold to Mrs Nelson, there was Lester. Three weeks that ended with Matt's knuckles raw and bloody and the sirens and - the less said about Lester, the better.)

(Lester had called him 'bitch', and that wasn't a name at all.)

No, by now he was almost used to 'Dean', no matter how much he despised it simply because it wasn’t his.

He straightens as he remembers his training. It’s your owner's decision on what to call you. A slave owns nothing. Not their clothes, their body, their name.

His new owner is Franklin Philip Nelson.

His name is Mr. Nelson’s decision. But Mr. Nelson had asked him to choose and...

A slave owns *nothing*.

Matt has his name back. That is something.

xxx

“Um. How about a shower first?” Foggy tries, attempting very hard not to let the words ‘You stink like you died in a car last month’ leave his mouth at the same time. He knows it’s probably not the slave’s fault which condition he’s in. Currently he’s wearing the slightly smelly, grey clothes most slaves are sold in, and, probably due to his condition, he’s also equipped with a pair of taped-together rickety sunglasses. Foggy thinks there was something about a cane that’s supposed to be shipped to him at some point, but currently Matt is standing in his living room cane-less, although his hands look like he’d like to have something to fiddle with.

“If you would like me to,” Matt says, ducking his head and again using that bland, servile tone that kind of creeps Foggy out a little bit. “Will you be joining me, or…?”

“No. NO! No, you can do that on your own, right?!” Foggy panics a little, and kind of throws himself into the bathroom door in an attempt to open it. “Here. Here is the bathroom. The shower is in the right corner when you get in. Left is cold, warm is right, have fun!”

Matt slowly makes his way toward his voice, hand trailing along the corridor wall. “Okay,” he says. “Do you want me to put my clothes back on afterwards?”

Foggy decides that Matt is going to be the death of him, and he blames his mother.

“Oh. Um. Yeah, I suppose they could do with a wash, right?” He gives a miserable laugh. “Just leave them on the floor, I’ll get them and get you a pair of sweatpants to wear when you get out.”

When Foggy enters the bathroom later to exchange the clothes, when Matt is in the shower and not even seems to react to his presence invading, he very purposefully does not look at the naked slave in the cubicle.

Foggy is so glad Matt can’t hear the pace of his heartbeat or anything.

xxx

Theeeeere we go. Hopefully more coherent this time, hope you liked! It's been a little bit edited since last time, too :)

eeeeee! it lives! :D

That it does. Just...took a while.^^°

LESTER! HOLY SHIT! YOU MANAGED TO PUT FUCKING BULLSEYE IN THIS! YOU ARE AMAZING!!!

*takes a bow* Glad you like :P (Though I have a feeling *Matt* didn't...XD)

“Er. Right. Let’s go to my room, then,” Foggy says (unsuccessfully) trying to not stare at Matt’s bare chest after he’s emerged from the bathroom, hair damp and skin flushed (he is ogling his slave here, and if that wasn’t enough to make him majorly uncomfortable, his mother is in the next room-) “It’s upstairs, and the, uh, stair case is like two steps in front of you, and maybe…thirty? degrees to the right-“

“Most people just grab me by the arm if they want me anywhere,” Matt interrupts him, softly, but then immediately stiffens, as if realizing what he just did. “I’m sorry. Sir. Please punish me as you see fit,” he says, but the words sound grating and stiff, as if someone had made him repeat them so often until they were a hated, but natural response.

“I, uh. I’m not going to punish you just for speaking,” Foggy manages, adding in his head, or ever, if I can help it. “And please. Call me ‘Foggy’, everything else is just…weird.”

Again, Matt gives him what would probably be a curious look if he could see, but then just nods. “Understood.” Then he holds out his left arm, slightly, as if it were an offering to appease an angry god. “If you still want me in your room…”

“Um.” Foggy eloquently says again, and now he can feel himself blushing. “Can’t imagine it being that comfortable to be yanked around by your arm,” he forces out. “Do you want to hold on to mine?” He has seen someone leading a blind person like that in a movie, once, and begs that the almighty university of Hollywood won’t let him down on this. He gently extends his own elbow to bump into Matt’s bare forearm, so he knows where it is and can grab on if he wants to.

The startled look on the other man’s face doesn’t seem to have anything to do with the sudden touch.

“...yes. Thank you, sir,” Matt says, lifting his hand a little, brushing fingers across Foggy’s forearm until his grip, feather-light and tentative, as if he doesn’t know whether he’s even allowed that much contact, settles in the crook of his elbow. And then there’s a slight intake of breath when he seems to realize what he just said. “Oh. I’m sorry for using the wrong address again, please punish me as-“

“No. No, that’s fine, there’s gonna be no punishing whatsoever, really, I just wanna get upstairs before my mother comes to check on us,” Foggy pleads, trying to slowly get moving toward the stairs, breathing a relieved sigh when Matt on his arm seems to follow along easily enough. “And really, I want you to call me Foggy, but if it takes you a while to remember and get there, that’s okay, too.“

At this, Matt actually seems to give him a little frown. “I can obey orders,” he says, and there seems to be a hint of offended pride in his voice, as if Foggy had called him stupid. It’s a brief flash of personality behind the meek and servile demeanour, and Foggy can’t help but be intrigued despite himself.

“Never said you couldn’t, buddy. Just that you don’t need to, right now,” he tries, going for a soothing tone. “Stairs start here, by the way.”

Again, that little surprised expression (that thankfully seems to wipe the small downturn of his lips away – god, Foggy doesn’t know whether that’s a blind thing, but this slave – Matt, Foggy reminds himself, he is called Matt, he has a name he wants to be called by – Matt’s face seems to be showing any single little emotion he feels so openly, Foggy doesn’t know what to do with it) and then Matt nods, and starts to climb the first step.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. I have no idea what I’m doing. Am I doing this guiding thing right?”

“Well, I haven’t walked into any walls yet,” Matt replies, and then almost freezes next to Foggy. “I’m sorry-“

“It’s alright,” Foggy cuts him off, his tone weary but his heart actually pounding a bit faster than usual. “I, um. Actually thought that was kinda funny.”

“Oh,” Matt replies, but then also doesn’t seem to know what else to say, so they awkwardly shuffle up to Foggy’s room in silence.

“Here,” Foggy says as he opens the door to his little kingdom, kind of wishing that the first time he brought a hot, half-naked person in here it wouldn’t be someone who legally belonged to him, “Bed is three steps in front of you, if you sit down on it, I’ll get you some more clothes.”

Matt nods, releasing his arm and walking forward surprisingly steady, even without guidance or cane. Foggy briefly wonders whether that is because he is just a very fearless person, or whether he still thinks that Foggy would punish him if he didn’t obey instantly.

Then all thoughts fly from Foggy’s head the instant he sees Matt from behind.

“Holy – what happened to your back?!”

Matt stops in his movement, coming to a standstill in front of Foggy’s bed. His right hand closes into a fist for a moment, but then he seems to consciously relax himself again.

“A punishment,” he says, head turned over his shoulder. “I received it just before I was sold. It should heal soon.”

“Yeah. Yeah, no, doesn’t look like it,” Foggy says, tonelessly, still staring at the absolute mess of thin, scabby wounds, some of them obviously slightly oozing again after the water of the shower must have aggravated them, and the older scars beneath. He isn’t quite sure how Matt is moving as gracefully as he does instead of being stiff as board with pain. The thin, bloody stripes (Whip? Cane? Foggy has absolutely no reference which instrument could have inflicted this damage and hopes he never has to develop one) extend all the way down Matt’s back and disappear beneath the waist band of his oversized sweat pants. Foggy realizes he has no idea how far the damage goes.

“Your mother did get me out of the bargain bin,” Matt points out.

And then, because the entire situation is so surreal it couldn’t become weirder if either of them turned into a melting clock, Foggy can’t help but blurt out “Oh god, that is so her,” and then he suddenly can’t help but give a (slightly hysterical) giggle, because everything else would probably mean crying. Matt has half-turned into his direction again, and he seems a trifle alarmed at Foggy’s reaction – even if the edges of his own mouth are, interestingly, twitching again – but then he appears to clamp down on that, sharply, and ducks his head.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply – they’ll stop bleeding soon. If you don’t want me staining your clothes-“

“What – no! This isn’t what this is about, Jesus.” Foggy runs a hand over his face. “Okay. Lie down on the bed. On your front.”

Matt nods, as if he had expected that order. “Of course. Do you want me to take my clothes off myself or-“

Foggy starts at the question for a second, until it dawns on him what Matt has likely to be thinking. He shakes his head wildly (for all the good that does when talking to a blind person, Nelson, great going). “Wha – no!” he blurts. “I mean.” He clears his throat. “That isn’t…I want to clean up your wounds, Matt, not, not have sex with you.”

(Sex, a voice at the back of his head scoffs. Even if the law says something different, that would be *rape*, and you know it.)

No, he is not denying that Matt is extremely attractive, and that the sight of him barely clothed in his bed room does things to him. But then, there is also the sight of his collar, and the sight of his tense, wary body language, and the sight of his wounds, and that takes Foggy more quickly out of any aroused mind set than a bucket of cold water.

Matt tilts his head again at his flustered denial, seems to study him for a minute as if listening to something, but then again simply turns back to the bed, climbs atop it with more graceful movements than he should be able to perform, and lies down flat on his front. He still doesn’t look relaxed, exactly, but less like he is expecting Foggy to hit him any moment now, so Foggy will take what little victories he can get.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, basically fleeing his room to look for disinfection spray, salves and bandages in the bath room, and hoping he doesn’t run into his mother on the way there, because he has a lot of feelings to sort out right now.

“Okay.” Foggy has been standing in front of the door to his own room for what feels like ten minutes now, clutching the first aid kit and several creams and ointments, and trying to work up the courage to go in there again. What finally pushes him is the thought that Matt is still in there, still waiting, still in pain, and that as his owner is his responsibility now and fuck.

Foggy goes in.

Matt is still lying on the bed, curiously not startled in the least from Foggy’s sudden entrance, and doesn’t seem to have moved at all. He has his cheek pillowed on his hands, head turned sideways so the metal collar isn’t digging into the skin of his neck. Foggy makes an absent-minded note to replace that thing at some point, but now there are more pressing concerns.

“I’m going to disinfect your wounds first,” he warns Matt as he sits down next to him. “That might sting.”

“I’ll be fine,” Matt replies, and, worryingly, he actually seems to be. He startles when Foggy’s hand gently settles on an uninjured patch of skin on his hip to steady him, but when the part that’s actually hurting him, i.e., the disinfection happens, he almost seems to relax into the pain.

Foggy tries not to think about what it implies when someone is startled by gentle touches, not painful ones.

There is silence in the room while Foggy wipes off the disinfectant around the wounds and then dresses them as best as he can. As he works, the pattern keeps repeating, Matt’s muscles flinching and tensing under Foggy’s hands every time he touches him, and then relaxing into his ministrations, almost like soothing a spooked animal. Matt has taken off his glasses after he’s been ordered to lie down on the bed, and, even if for him it has to make little difference on whether his eyes are open or not, Foggy wonders whether him closing them might be the first, minute sign of trust.

“Okay,” Foggy says, breaking the silence after he’s done all he thinks he can. “Are there….” He forces himself to take another breath. “Are there more wounds beneath your pants?”

Matt has opened his eyes again after Foggy spoke, but still does not seem as ill-at-ease as he previously was. “Yes,” he says, cautiously. “Do you want to dress them, too?”

“Only….” Foggy swallows. “Only if you want me to. This is your body. You should decide what happens to it.”

Matt gives his left ear an incredulous stare.

“You own me,” he points out.

“And I don’t want anything happening to you that you don’t want happening to you,” Foggy replies calmly, because this is an easy turnabout by now. “So. Do you want me to have a look at the rest of you, or do you want the first aid kit and I’ll leave the room so you can try to sort yourself out…?”

Again, it takes a moment while Matt apparently computes the question. This time, though, it seems less like he has trouble believing what Foggy says and more like he’s fighting an internal battle, brow furrowed and shoulders tense. But then there is a noticeable slump to his body’s tension, as if he’s giving up a fight he has no chance of winning.

“Stay. Please,” he says, voice small. “I’ll…you can use me, if you want to, I don’t mind-“

“Yeah, not happening,” Foggy says, curtly. “But if you want me to take a look at those wounds, take off your pants and I’ll see what I can do.”

You might be my favourite, anon.

Aw, thanks! :D

oh god, poor matt. and poor foggy suddenly getting this mess of a situation dumped on him and trying desperately to cope.

Yes, Foggy's situation is...sub-optimal. XD But he's doing his best, I think - I also think he has a sligtly easier job than the Foggys in the other slavery fills I love reading, because this Matt is a little older and (so far) a bit better better at keeping himself together, at least...

Good Foggy. I'm really interested in how this continues. :)

Yay, more comments than last time! :D So yup, definitely continuing!^^

Xxx

Matt fully naked, as it turns out, looks more than twice as attractive than Matt half-naked (Foggy thinks the math is somehow not checking out here) but, again, any attraction he could have felt during the moment is dampened into non-existence by the damage that is obvious to see. On instinct, Foggy had even turned around while Matt was taking off the sweat pants, waiting until he could hear him lying down on the bed again. (He had felt stupid, of course, it wasn’t like Matt could actually see the gesture, but it had still felt right – slaves were hardly ever allowed to keep any modesty, and Foggy would have felt dirty if he had treated Matt like this from the start).

Now, though, the back of Matt’s lower body is on full display and it’s just as bad as the upper half. Worse, even.

Foggy sees blood crusting from a place it really shouldn’t be coming from.

“Fuck,” he whispers under his breath, and maybe Matt’s hearing is sharper than other people’s, because he flinches as if Foggy had yelled it.

“It’s – it’s okay, I’ll heal –“

No, no, NOTHING about this is okay!, the voice in Foggy’s head keeps yelling, and of course he knows what slaves are used for, everyone is aware of what’s going on in a lot of slave owners’ houses, it’s legal, but – but suddenly coming face to face with it is something different entirely.

“No,” Foggy chokes out, suddenly having difficulty to get air. “No, this isn’t okay, Matt.”

At his words, Matt goes rigid again, even the last fragments of relaxation gone. When he speaks, his voice is clipped and controlled.

“I am sorry this slave isn’t up to your standards, sir,” he says. “I will do my best to appeal to the desired aesthetic more in the future.”

Foggy stares. He now knows that a) whatever undergrad degree his last owner made Matt get apparently either had something to do with English or with interpreting everything anyone ever said in the worst way possible and b) for next Christmas, he is getting his mother something horrible.

For the moment, though, he forces himself to remain calm. “No, Matt, this – this isn’t what I meant. I meant it’s not okay anyone did that to you. Did anything that you didn’t want them to.”

Matt blinks at this. It occurs to Foggy that he isn’t actually doing much to escape a stereotype of a typical slave owner here – it’s Matt’s first night with him, and he has him lying naked and collared next to him on the bed while he himself is fully clothed, and inspecting him like damaged goods – but dammit, he’s trying here! It’s not his fault the universe seems to hate him.

“That is…a kind notion,” Matt says, and he sounds just as polite and distant as when he first spoke to him in the living room. “But it’s fine. Pity is not required.”

And oh, thinks Foggy, oh.

“It’s not pity, Matt,” he says quietly. “It’s anger. I’m angry. Because even if doing this to you is legal, it certainly isn’t justice.”

Beneath his hands, he swears he can feel Matt’s heart beat skip a beat.

“You…think so?” Matt manages, for the first time his voice actually sounding unsteady.

“Mh-hmm. I’m actually planning to become a lawyer for stuff like this. Maybe even specialize in slavery law.” He pauses when he sees Matt’s expression. “What, didn’t mom tell you she wants you to be my study aid?”

“…no. She didn’t,” Matt says, but he still sounds a bit bowled over. “That’s…actually…” he seems to want to say something more, but then blinks again, and whatever he meant to say is apparently swallowed back down. “Alright. I can do that.”

“Great,” Foggy says, and is actually surprised at how the enthusiasm in his voice somehow doesn’t seem to be entirely faked. “So. Are you okay with me taking care of the rest of your cuts?”

“Yes.” Matt nods, then swallows and adds quietly, “Please.”

“Okay,” Foggy says, and there is a repeat performance of him sterilizing and patching up cut skin, only he imagines that this time, it might take Matt not quite as long to relax into his touches. Foggy thinks he still tenses when he gets close to any sensitive areas, but he carefully avoids those and then, later, when Matt is awkwardly shuffling back into the oversized sweatpants and shirt Foggy has extracted from the chaos in his drawers, he takes his hand to press two of the salves into it. “And here, uh. This is a disinfectant, and this one is supposed to numb and, er, heal. If you want to. Apply. Some of it yourself, in the bathroom.” He stumbles through his offer. “If you want to, we can also go to the hospital tomorrow?“

Matt, now fully clothed and wearing his sunglasses again, tilts his head. “I…would rather not go to any hospitals, if you don’t mind.”

“Alright,” Foggy nods, because this is what he’s trying to do, right? Give Matt some autonomy over himself back. “Just tell me if it doesn’t heal or gets worse, right? Because, you know, I’m so not qualified to deal with any of this.”

Again, Matt seems to weigh his answer before he speaks (Foggy wonders whether, perhaps, impulsiveness might have been what has him gotten those stripes on his back), but when he does reply, it almost looks like he’s smiling.

“It’s probably not my place to say,” he says, “but I think you’re a lot more qualified than anyone I ever met.”

xxx

Later on, Matt can’t believe how he could have been so reckless. Telling his owner what he thought of him? He could have been whipped for less.

Only Foggy doesn’t seem to be interested in whipping him. Instead, he is busy setting up a sort of futon on the floor next to his bed. Matt had tried to help, at first, but was quickly shooed back onto a chair. ‘You’re still injured, buddy. Let me do the heavy lifting for the next few days, okay?’ Foggy had asked. “Also, I’ll have you know that this futon has pink flower print on it, because it belonged to my older sister, but they are very manly flowers, okay?” he asks, and Matt actually has to (not very successfully) suppress a surprised giggle at the ridiculous statement. He’s never belonged to an owner who made jokes.

(Well. Not any jokes that were meant for him to laugh about, anyway.)

“Okay, futon’s all set up,” Foggy says. “Feel free to crawl in and knock yourself out. I put out some washing stuff and a toothbrush on the right side of the sink, three feet behind you. Sorry for not having an actual bed for you, but there’ll be one when we move into our dorm room.”

Huh. It actually does seem like being fucked is not on the agenda tonight – Matt tries to suppress a feeling of gratitude for what should be basic human decency when someone has a back that is torn to shreds, but he doesn’t quite succeed; there is a part of him that apparently saw Foggy, and then decided to like him, to hope for kindness from him when experience tells him that this is an absolutely ridiculous notion.

“Thank you,” he says instead, not quite managing his usual polite but distant tone, voice wavering just a little. He trails along the wall over to the sink, brushing his teeth with the first actual tooth paste in what must have been a million years, enjoying how the sharp peppermint flavour burns away any residue of the cheap slave kibble they’d been feeding him at the seller’s place. He is probably just going to get more of the stuff tomorrow, but maybe it will be one of the more expensive brands, he hopes.

“Alright. I’m going to turn out the light. Um, and you totally need to know that because, because…if I walk into you now, that’s probably why?” Foggy tries to salvage a point to his narration, and Matt can’t help but give an (unseen) grin.

“I’ll try to keep out of your way, sir.”

Foggy huffs out a laugh. “Yeah. And feel free to kick me if I start sleepwalking or anything,” he says as Matt crawls into his futon and tries to make himself as comfortable as he can with a flayed backside. But the mattress is softer than anything he’s used to and it’s a relief not to have to sleep on the floor.

“Matt?” Foggy’s voice already sounds sleepy, and Matt is surprised that he actually doesn’t automatically tense at his name this time. It does sound almost…nice when Foggy says it.

“Yes?”

“I hope…I really hope you have a good night. I mean, I know…I know this isn’t ideal. And I know you have no reason to trust anything I say,” he swallows. “But I just…I just want to tell you that I’ll try to do this right,” he says, and his tone has an unusual amount of conviction behind it, as if he really means what he says. “And by ‘right’ I don’t mean whatever left you looking like that. More like the opposite. Matt, if I could, I would – ” he stops himself there, like he’s not even sure himself what he wanted to say there. Matt is lying on his futon, tense like a whip, as if just by listening harder he might be able to catch the unspoken words. If his owner could, he’d do what?

But Foggy only sighs, and that seems to be it. “Sorry. You must be hella tired and I’m keeping you awake. We’ll talk more in the morning, alright?” Foggy is turned toward him, but Matt has no idea whether the residual light in the room is enough for Foggy to see him. But his voice sounds soft as if he could when he says, “Good night, Matt.”

“Good night…Foggy,” Matt manages, now halfway convinced that he is actually already dreaming.

xxx

First bit from Matt's POV! Hope you liked! :D

Love this chapter, great to see Matt's POV! And how he just can't believe that he is going to be safe.

Yeeeeeah, that's likely still gonna take a while!^^°

i love how careful foggy is trying to be around matt, while also not tiptoeing and making him feel like an object of pity rather than a person. i also really liked that he reflexively explained that he was going to turn the light out, because he's been narrating his actions to keep from surprising/startling matt, and then realized halfway through that duh, matt's blind and doesn't care.

Yes, that was what I thought really makes a difference for Matt's character, that you still keep his pride, stubbornness and striving to prove himself valuable somehow. And Foggy realizes that and tries to work with it as best as he can. But of course, neither really quite know yet what they're in for with each other...

This is really good. I really like all this people tking the slave fics. they are all so different and each oen is good.
Great job

Thx!

xxx

Matt wakes up to the sound of arguing. That…is not a good sign. People arguing always, always mean that the loser of the argument is going to take it out on the pet, take it out on him, and Matt really doesn’t feel in the condition to take another punishment so soon.

Bullshit. You’ve been in worse shape, and you know it, flashes through his mind, and as always, Matt jerks awake at the familiar, unkind voice and his brain and senses come crashing online, flooding him with a deluge of information and memory that he has to sort through as he tries to make sense of his surroundings.

Sold. Yeah, right, he had been sold yesterday and now he was in his new owner’s – Foggy, he’d wanted Matt to call him Foggy of all things – bed room, on a futon.

Only Foggy wasn’t in here with him…and huh, that was strange, Matt honestly would have expected him to kick – well, okay, maybe not kick, Foggy didn’t seem to be violent type – but at the very least prod him with a foot to wake him and maybe put him to work preparing breakfast or something.

Only…Matt sniffs, briefly – breakfast is already cooking downstairs, eggs, ham and buck wheat toast. And someone must have opened a glass of marmalade. He tries to forcibly suppress the growl of his stomach at the smell. Yeah, he hadn’t eaten for almost twenty-four hours now, but that still wasn’t the worst he’d ever been through. Worse is only ever getting slave kibble, when you could smell what everybody else was eating, three rooms and two storeys over.

He sits up, gritting his teeth against the urge to wince. His injuries do feel slightly better than they did last night; it’s been some time since he’s been properly patched up after a punishment. There’s a small spark of gratefulness he feels for that for Foggy, but tries to suppress instantly – after all, there is nothing worse than getting attached to an owner, he had learned that much.

Not like that will be difficult, when Foggy undoubtedly will administer his first disciplinary measure (whatever it is) when he comes back upstairs again, angry from the fight he’s having with his mother downstairs. Not particularly caring, but still curious, Matt tilts his head slightly as he listens in, anyway – it’s also not like he has anything else to do.

“…you insane?! Did you see his back, mom, did you? They nearly took his skin off, it’s sick!”

Ah. Matt gives a wry grimace. Of course. Complaining about his state, what else.

“Franklin, I swear I didn’t know, they didn’t tell me, and he seemed fine-“

“Mom, I can’t – I had to patch him up, yesterday, and the way he looked at me, as if he was grateful for something that shouldn’t…shouldn’t….”

Franklin (Foggy, you’re supposed to call him Foggy), is taking deep breaths now, probably trying to calm himself down – yup, heart rate elevated, Matt nods to himself. He is a bit surprised that he can already track Foggy through the building, but then again, they had spent quite a bit of time together yesterday, and none of it had been overwhelming or seriously painful for Matt, so he’d been able to catalogue everything about Foggy quite well. That was…new. Matt carefully decides not to dwell on it.

“Franklin,” his mother says, “that is a normal way to discipline slaves. You’ve seen that he acts quite docile now, doesn’t he? That is probably what made him such a well-behaved boy.”

“Bullshit,” Foggy seethes downstairs. “That’s not…I wouldn’t ever-“ He takes another deep breath. “Fine. You wanna give me a slave, fine. So, as long as he is mine,” Foggy says, and Matt concentrates hard at this point, so he can hear the air part as Foggy jabs a finger into his mother’s face, “No one is ever going to touch him like that. Is that clear?”

There’s a sigh from his mother’s end. “Yes, dear, if that’s what you want. But you should read the owner’s manual I got you, anyway. If – or when you run into difficulties with him at Columbia, you’ll probably be glad to have it.”

“Yeah, so I can light it on fire when the heating is out,” Foggy grunts, and Matt can hear him stomp out of the kitchen and toward his room again. He panics for a moment – doesn’t know whether he should pretend to still be sleeping, or whether Foggy would want him to be up and dressed, or up and undressed, so when the door flies open and Foggy crashes into his room in a thunderous mood, he is presented with one slave, too-large sweatshirt half over his head, flat on his face in the room with his feet hopelessly still tangled in the futon.

“Uh…morning, sir?” Matt manages.

xxx

“Um. Morning,” Foggy says. There’s a bit of a tremble to his voice that suggests he is trying not to laugh at the ridiculous picture his blind, clumsy slave must present right now – and hey, usually laughing owners don’t hit you, so it’s not that hard for Matt to swallow his annoyance at this new loss of dignity. God knows he’s had worse.

And hey, a long, long-forgotten voice at the back of his mind suggests. You would have found this funny, once.

“Er, I’m sorry if I startled you. Do you…need help?” Foggy swallows, sounding more earnest now as Matt suspects he just saw his bare back and remembered the wounds he dressed last night.

“No sir,” Matt manages to pull his shirt off and scramble back into a kneeling position, unsure of whether he should proceed to get changed, or whether Foggy has changed his mind to take him for a morning test ride. His heartbeat did pick up when he saw Matt half-naked on the floor, so…

“Foggy. Please. You had it last night,” Foggy reminds him gently, and Matt flushes, nodding.

“Yes. Of course. Sorry.” It doesn’t happen often that he has to be reminded of an order, but it’s such an unusual one that it’s probably not that surprising that he keeps forgetting.

“I brought you some food,” Foggy says. “It’s just a sandwich and an apple, but, uh. I read that you might have to get used to food in…small amounts at first?” he winces. “Sorry, I mean, obviously I can get you more, you’d have to be hungry, I will get more, I’m an idiot, please eat this meanwhile. Oh god.” He sits down on the bed heavily. Matt, still kneeling at his side, is a bit unsure how to proceed. But still, there was an obvious order in there – eat this – and one, for once, that Matt wouldn’t mind at all complying with. He waits for one, two heart beats – Foggy is holding the food out to him, he can tell, but it would look a bit odd if just reached out to take it as if he could see it – wondering if Foggy is going to demand anything of him for it, maybe, but honestly, Matt would be fine giving a blowjob if it meant he could eat.

“…oh! Oh, dammit. Right,” Foggy says and Matt curiously gets the impression that it’s now him who’s flushing. “Here.” Matt’s fairly proud of himself that he manages not to flinch when Foggy’s free hand closes around his wrist and guides his fingers to the apple in his owner’s other hand. “Um,” Foggy starts again. “Do you want to sit on the bed? I’d take you down to the kitchen to eat, but I figured that might be a bit much, first thing in the morning?”

This time, Matt almost can’t stop himself from giving a blatant, wry smirk. ‘Sit on the bed’. As if the guy couldn’t be more obvious.

“Thank you,” he says demurely, raising himself and taking the apple and the bread roll to sit down on the soft bed. Any minute now, he suspects, there is going to be a hand on his thigh, maybe already fingers curling underneath the band of his pajama pants, another hand pressing his shoulder down until he is on his back, a knee nudging between his legs –

It is a bit anticlimactic when Foggy then simply stands up and says “Right! You eat that, I’ll get you some clothes!”

Xxx

“Um,” Foggy says, looking at him some fifteen minutes later. Matt is standing in the middle of his room, now wearing a baggy pair of Foggy’s jeans and an oversized hoodie, feeling self-conscious. “Yeah, no.”

Matt is also getting the impression he is somehow failing to please here.

“I can…take it off, if you want-“ he suggests, but Foggy only shakes his head.

“Yeah, no,” he repeats. “I don’t think anything I have is going to fit you any better, sadly.”

Matt almost regrets this. If Foggy doesn’t like how the clothes fit on his body, he likely won’t get to wear them again. They’re the softest clothes he’s been allowed to wear in years.

“Oh well,” Foggy says, sounding as resigned as Matt feels, right before the second half of the sentence leaves Foggy’s mouth - “Guess we’ll have to go shopping.”

Wait, what?

Xxx

Before they apparently really go shopping, though, Foggy gives him a tour of the house. He carefully guides Matt down stairs and around chairs, warning him of low telephone tables standing in hallways and tells him where each door leads to.

“And these are my mom and dad,” he also introduces Matt to the two adults he can sense sitting on the couch in the living room. They have their heads turned toward him, and Matt feels awkward under their gaze – this isn’t how he usually meets people, if he does at all, he would be kneeling at his owner’s feet – “Mom, dad, please call him Matt. I’m going to take him shopping to the mall later. He can’t keep wearing my clothes, he looks ridiculous. And, um-“ he swallows, “I’ve read up on it and I know Matt has to obey every order any free person gives him, so, well. I don’t want you to give him any.”

Matt could hear one of the parents – the mother – sighing. “Franklin…”

“Also, we’re going to the mall right now, actually. Bye!” Foggy’s hand closes around his arm and it’s one of the few times Matt is actually grateful to be dragged away from somewhere.

Xxx

“Um,” Matt starts, when they’re waiting at the bus stop to go the mall, feeling uncertain because it’s been a while since he’s spoken when not being spoken to.

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“You know…I am your slave. Your family and you can order me about, I can – I can follow orders. Even if I’m,” Matt swallows, “defective.”

“Defect - holy shit, they said that to you?!” Foggy gasps, voice somewhere between disbelief and anger.

“It’s the truth,” Matt lies. Foggy shakes his head emphatically.

“Like hell it is. Assholes. If anything, their worldview is defective. No, no way am I gonna order you about, buddy. I just…well, I mean, I didn’t ever want a slave, I’m completely against that system, and I can care for myself, thank you, but mom insisted, so I had hoped I could just get… just like…somebody I could hang out with? Uh.”

The heat radiating from Foggy’s face abruptly spikes so that Matt thinks he must be flushing bright red now, but at that point the bus thankfully arrives and they both board, Foggy’s words still echoing in his head.

xxx

Poor Matt, its a rollercoaster for sure. Great update!

Re: FILL: Foggy gets Matt as college graduation present [4/?]

(Anonymous) - 2015-12-11 00:00 (UTC) - Expand

Love how you've expanded this, from Matt waking up and expecting whoever loses the argument he can hear to take it out on him, to the gratitude he tries to repress - and that Foggy agrees he shouldn't be feeling.

The new bits were really nice too, with Matt suppressing his annoyance at Foggy's laughter, even remembering that once upon a time he'd have found the situation funny, and then the understated heartbreak of Matt constantly expecting Foggy to rape him. And the idea that Foggy would take him shopping for some decent clothes when the ones available didn't fit him seemed to be such a shock to Matt.

Then there was more pain, with Matt's quiet, almost desperate insistence that he can follow orders, even though he's 'defective' - and I know he tells himself he's lying when he reassures Foggy that it's the truth, but how much of that is Matt lying to himself? How much has he internalised the idea that he has to be useful, to earn even the most basic of his needs?

Re: Repost: Foggy gets Matt as college graduation present

Re: Repost: Foggy gets Matt as college graduation present

Re: Repost: Foggy gets Matt as college graduation present

FILL: Foggy gets Matt as college graduation present [1/?]

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FILL: Foggy gets Matt as college graduation present [4/?]

Re: FILL: Foggy gets Matt as college graduation present [4/?]

Re: FILL: Foggy gets Matt as college graduation present [4/?]