daredevilkink | Daredevil Prompt Post #8

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Daredevil Prompt Post #8

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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!

oh, it is. Just hopefully with more ups than downs!^^°

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?

aw, thanks for the lovely comment! :D I always think anger, fury and pride are such important parts of Matt that you have to have them, and it's interesting to work out ways how to work them into a slavery AU where he'd technically not be allowed these emotions. And yeah, Matt is still a loooooong way from trusting Foggy, so that'll take time. In this AU Matt is likely wavering between a furious 'they have NO RIGHT to treat me this way, I am a human being and deserve the same rights as anyone else!' as well as a resigned viewpoint that he likely deserves this on some level anyway, and it'll only take time until even Foggy will see him as worthless as he is and begin to treat him like it. Lots to unlearn in any case...

I followed you here from the sequel and intend to follow both fills for a while to come. Great work :)

yay! :D Sequel mostly starts to branch off of this prompt when they start their internship, but we're not there yet. Glad you're enjoying both :p

Looking forward to more!!!

here you go! :D

YES! Comments! they do make me ever so happy :D

xxx

The shopping goes…not great.

Employees either coo over Matt or disdainfully inform Foggy that pets in a store need to be kept on a leash or else they will be denied entry. (“He is not a pet,” Foggy scathes, “He is a fully functional human adult, and he sure as hell would behave better than those teenagers running amok in your store back there!” The shopping assistant’s eyes boggle at Foggy’s outburst, but before the guy can turn around and see the kids goofing around that Foggy had indicated, Foggy has already nudged Matt, gently pressing his elbow to his side. “C’mon, Matt. We’ll take our business somewhere else.”)

In the end, they manage to get a collection of halfway decent shirts and jeans, and two pairs of shoes from the sale rack for the rest of the money Foggy had in his bank account for the holidays. It’s late in the day, and the shopping assistants are too tired to bother them for the most part - although if they do, they keep talking to Foggy the entire time, and one of them even almost yanks the curtain of the dressing room open, telling Foggy “I’m sorry sir, the changing rooms are for clients, not their pets.” (“What the – hey! Stop it!” Foggy interrupts them just in time, moving to block the woman from opening the curtain. “That’s my friend changing in there, what do you think you’re doing?!”

“Sir, we have a strict policy that the dressing rooms may only be used by people-“

“Matt is people!” Foggy snaps. “Matt is probably more people than you are!” he adds, somewhat nonsensically, but he is angry now.

“Um, Foggy? It’s okay, I’m done,” Matt’s voice says, quietly, as he draws the curtain aside himself, stepping out. “We can leave, if you want.”

“Yeah. We will,” Foggy says, still glaring daggers at the sales assistant, who has started to look uncomfortable with the situation. “Did you like the shirt you just tried on, Matt?”

“I…yeah. It was soft. Nice,” Matt clarifies. “It felt like it fit well, too.”

“Great,” Foggy says. “I’ll have a look at the brand and the size, and then, we will buy it off the internet,” Foggy grates at the assistant’s face, and they make another accelerated store exit.)

xxx

“I…Foggy, thank you,” Matt says, later, when they’re sitting on a bench in front of the mall, bags by their feet, and both working on a sort of wrap from a fast food place. “I realize you didn’t have to do any of those things.”

Foggy snorts. “What, feed you and clothe you? Those are some pretty basic things that everybody has the right to, I think.”

“Slaves don’t. At least, not like this,” Matt says quietly. “My last owner…” he starts, then makes a grimace, when everything inside him screams at him not to say anything, not to open up, not to trust, but in the end goes ahead with it anyway. “My last owner wouldn’t have let me sit on the bench like this with him. I’d have been kneeling at his feet. Being hand-fed.”

Matt has turned his head slightly away from him, so Foggy can’t see his face, but he can see Matt’s hands. They’re clutching the wrap hard enough to almost smush it.

“Well, he shouldn’t have,” is all Foggy can offer in return. Even he feels it’s a weak answer. But Matt is sharing something with him, starting to offer something of himself, and Foggy can’t help but hope that this is a kind of step forward. Next to him, Matt takes a breath.

“At the last shop, you…said I was your friend.”

“Oh. Yeah. I’d like to be yours,” Foggy says. “If you want me to.”

At this, Matt honestly seems to be surprised. “Really? Why?”

Foggy shakes his head. “Why wouldn’t I? I like having friends. And you, I mean, you’re smart – your grades are better than mine, honestly - you’re funny, you’re easy to talk to and…you even laugh at my dumb jokes, and I at least think you’re being honest when you do.” Foggy rubs the back of his neck, suddenly sounding a bit self-conscious. “Um. Are you?”

Matt stares in his direction for a moment, seeming slightly floored by the compliments. “I…yes. I like them,” he admits, and fidgets with the fabric of his pants. “But you can get all of that just by being my owner. You don’t have to…be anything else.”

“Really,” Foggy says dryly. “And just how often did you make that asshole who didn’t want you to sit beside him laugh? Or laugh at one of his jokes?”

At that, Matt at least gives him a hint of a wry smile. “I…didn’t, actually. I don’t think he had a very well-developed sense of humour.”

“And there you go,” Foggy nods. “Friends laugh at other friends’ jokes,” and then adds, before he can stop himself, “And I, um. Would really like to have a friend again, actually.”

“…oh,” Matt says, sounding slightly taken aback and Foggy already feels as awkward as possible. Who would even say that. And say it to someone who is completely dependent on you, great going, Nelson. Foggy groans quietly. He doesn’t know quite what it is, but there’s something about Matt that apparently makes him feel like he can just talk about anything.

“Oh god, no, forget I said that. Please. Anyway, what I meant was that it would be cool if we could be buddies. Right?” he asks desperately. “Like, buddies that can help each other come up with revenge plans for rude shopping assistants.”

“Hm.” Matt tilts his head, thankfully looking like he’s taking the cue of a topic change. But it doesn’t seem entirely like an act to please his owner when he asks, “We could…release live bees from the pet store in the shop?”

“Ooh, yes. And then yell ‘how many pets are now in your friggin dressing rooms? Huh? Huh?!’ That’ll teach her,” Foggy says vindictively, and he thinks he actually managed a genuine, almost startled giggle out of Matt this time, like he’s surprised his owner is trying to make him laugh. Wants him to laugh. Foggy can’t help but grin back.

“Alright. Let’s get home and see how we can ruin the local retail trade via amazon.”

xxx

“The shopping trip upset you,” Matt remarks, much later at night when they’ve quieted down for a while, and Foggy doesn’t bother denying it. Matt was good at reading people, Foggy had understood that quite quickly, and only sometimes wondered whether that was a Matt thing, or simply a skill most slaves had to learn to survive.

“Well…yeah.” Foggy sighs. “I already knew I didn’t like the slavery system, but I don’t think I realized until now how incredibly dickish people can be about it. There’s a bit of metal around your neck, and suddenly they don’t view you as human any more, what the hell.”

“…tell me about it,” comes Matt’s flat voice from the futon in the darkness, and Foggy once again wants to reach out and squeeze Matt’s hand, but he doesn’t want to intrude upon his space when he’s on his bed. The slave owner’s manual says that it’s psychologically useful if a slave has a ‘safe space’ that they can think of as a sanctuary, like a cage, or a kennel or, if nothing else is there, a mattress. The slave owner’s manual then also went on how deprivation of that space can be a valuable discipline measure, but what Foggy has taken away from that passage is that a) he isn’t gonna be touching Matt or make demands of him while the guy is lying on his bed, and b) the author of that goddamn book really needs to be lined up against a wall and shot.

(Later on, that rule was probably the first that went out the window. Foggy has probably lost count of the number of times he was prodded with a cane for snoring during their college days - and then threw a cushion at Matt in retaliation – and the number of times they’ve stumbled back into their dorm, completely shit-faced, and just fell into the first of their beds they happened to bump into, neither of them willing to get up after that.)

“Can you even sleep comfortably in that thing?” Foggy wonders, aloud. On his futon, Matt huffs. Foggy wonders whether it’s the darkness in the room that makes Matt slightly more…open again, like he had been at the end of their shopping trip. When they had gotten back, Matt had mostly retreated to his former, outwardly servile and submissive self while in the company of Foggy’s parents, even trying to kneel first at Foggy’s side when it was time to sit down to dinner. It had taken a firm command from Foggy and a warning glance at his parents not to say anything to get Matt to sit down at the table properly and eat the share of food Foggy put on his plate (which, thankfully, was pizza. Foggy only realized afterwards that he had no idea what he would have done if it had been something that wasn’t finger food – what kind of instructions did someone who was blind and had maybe never eaten with cutlery even need? He’d have to ask Matt when his parents weren’t there) Afterwards, Matt had looked almost pathetically grateful when Foggy had asked him to help him clean the table and showed him how to work the dishwasher. (Foggy tried not to think too hard about what it might have meant for a slave to not be able to be useful.) Now, after Foggy has changed his bandages and gotten them ready for the night, though, Matt seems to be a bit more talkative again.

“Not really. But you get used to it,” he says, and Foggy swallows as he hears the low clink of the metal collar against one of the buttons on the pillow case.

“I’m sorry,” he winces. “I’ll try to think of something, I promise.”

“I’m fine. But…thank you,” Matt says, and even though it doesn’t seem like he believes what Foggy said, Foggy thinks it did not sound entirely like a lie.

Xxx

Awesome update. Poor Matt. Why doesn't Foggy have any friends?

Thanks! What did you like in particular about it? :) Foggy might have been a little lonely, yeah - maybe also because of not quite seeing eye to eye on some social and political issues with some of his peers. Hope you like the update!

Ahhhhh I love how FURIOUS Foggy is at how Matt's treated. And how baffled Matt is by said fury.

Oh, there is going to be a lot more fury (and bafflement XD) on both sides before this is over, no worries :p Hope you like!

Foggy seems to be not as confident like in canon. He showed some insecurities here when asking Matt to be his friend.

Yup, he does. Though that is also because he really, really wants Matt to be his friend, but doesn't know how he can ask that without actually forcing Matt to be his friend (because of course, most slaves would say whatever you wanted to hear, regardless of their feelings on the issue) and really, he can't be sure whether Matt is lying or not. Thus, massive insecurities. They'll have to work on that...

The collar, it turns out, also brings with it some more problems than just making other people behave like dicks.

“Okay. So these are my underpants, and these are your underpants…” a week has passed and Foggy is trying to sort both of their (meagre) belongings as he’s packing them for college, and Matt is in his room (as always) and not able to be much help.

“Can you get me the shampoo sitting on the table?” Foggy asks, more because he wants Matt to feel useful than because he is too lazy to do it himself. “It’s sitting at the front, in the middle.”

“On it,” Matt says, raising himself from where he has been sitting on the bed, and walking over to grab it from the desk. As he moves, something that Foggy has been noticing for a while catches his eye again.

“Is something wrong with your neck?”

“Hm? No, I’m fine,” Matt replies, because that seems to be an automatic reaction from him, and Foggy gives him an unimpressed look, that (sadly) is of course totally wasted on him.

“Uh-huh. That’s why you’re keeping your neck straight as a board and avoid turning your head when you move your body. Let me see,” he says, already moving over. Matt has frozen, looking like a deer in the headlights as Foggy nears him, but he doesn’t resist when Foggy puts a hand on his shoulder, leaning in to have a closer look at Matt’s bare throat and neck.

And then almost rears backwards.

“…Matt! You’re bleeding.”

“Yes.”

“’Yes’? ‘Yes’?! ‘Yes’ isn’t the answer to that question, Matt,” Foggy wants to wail, because why is any of this happening to him, and Matt is just looking into his general direction, his expression a slight frown.

“What you said…wasn’t a question,” he points out, a bit consternated, and Foggy only groans, because of course he would say that.

“Matt. Take that collar off, now.”

“I can’t,” Matt replies, swallowing. “It’s locked. The key is with my ownership papers.”

Which prompts a wild hunt through all of the documents Foggy had painstakingly assembled for transport to college, until he has found the damn contract his mother had given him last week, and which had been crumpled all the way underneath everything else. But it does have a metal key taped to it, looking just as scratched and busted as the old collar around Matt’s neck, which Foggy carefully extracts.

“Okay,” he says, voice, for his credit, almost calm again now. “Lift your head and let me take that…thing off you.”

Again, Matt obeys, and Foggy tries to be as careful as possible as he inserts the key, twists it, and then gingerly removes the collar. Underneath Matt’s skin is angry, red and irritated, exhibiting a rash-like look and small open, oozing sores at irregular intervals. Foggy winces and hopes none of them are infected yet.

“Fuck,” he says, quietly.

“Not looking great?” Matt ventures (and at least that’s progress, a slightly hysterical voice in Foggy’s head reminds him, that Matt doesn’t straight jump to the conclusion that he’s somehow defective, when Foggy voices how badly cut-up he is).

“No. No, Matt, it doesn’t. Why didn’t you say anything?” Foggy moans. “I swear, I have aged twenty years during the last seven days,” he sighs, as he gets out – again – the first aid kit, the salves and the bandages. “Sit down, hold your head up, and hold still. What kind of sicko even made you wear that thing?”

“It’s a standard government collar,” Matt says, once again eerily not flinching even when Foggy does his best to disinfect and clean the irritated ring of red skin around Matt’s throat. “They’re made to be durable, not comfortable.”

“Yeah, well, I’m now drawing on three months experience from when I was trying to flirt with this girl into anarchist bands back in tenth grade, and I’m saying ‘Fuck the government’,” Foggy says with conviction. “You’re not wearing that thing again.”

Matt huffs out a small laugh of amusement. “I’m legally required to, Foggy. You can’t take me out of the house without a collar.”

“Says who,” Foggy argues back. “I mean, what if you simply went out without one, who would even know you’re a slave?”

Matt begins to shrug, but Foggy slaps his shoulders back down. “Uh-uh. Hold still.”

Matt freezes for a moment, and Foggy realizes with a slight jolt that this is technically the first time he’s ‘hit’ Matt because he’s done something wrong. Fortunately, Matt seems to realize that Foggy meant it as a friendly reminder, not as a punishment, and he relaxes again. “Sorry,” he says, clearing his throat, sounding slightly awkward.

“It’s fine,” Foggy replies, trying to let his voice sound calm and non-chalant. “So you were saying, about going out without a collar…?”

“Ah. Yeah, no, people wouldn’t be able to see right away, that’s true. But the moment anyone asked to see my ID for something, and I wouldn’t have either a citizen ID card, or a collar with an ID chip, I’d be taken in by the police. And uncollared pets are pretty much taken in and…auctioned off.”

“Oh. Right,” Foggy says, lips thinning as he works. He is now wrapping the bandage around Matt’s throat, giving him a soft, white collar instead of the grey, cruel metal one. The metal one still holds the ID chip Matt has spoken of, a small thumbnail thing that would display his registration number, name of his owner, and county of holding if held in front of a police chip reader. “Can we get you a different collar? One that doesn’t hurt?”

“Sure. I think pretty much anything that isn’t metal or too tight will be fine,” Matt says. “Most of them will have a holding space for the chip, too. That’s the one thing that separates them from dog collars,” he adds wryly, and Foggy nods.

“Do you have a preference for anything? Favourite colour or something?”

Matt, however, doesn’t actually smile or snort at that like Foggy had hoped. Instead, he only replies quietly “It’s a collar, Foggy. I’m pretty much bound to hate it whatever it looks or feels like,” and Foggy, uncomfortable, drops the topic in favour of returning to packing for college.

Xxx

It was probably somewhere around the third or fourth night in the house that Matt has started slipping out of bed when Foggy’s asleep.

It’s not that he’s trying to escape – he’s not, he’s tried in the past, and he’s been recaptured each time, because escaping without a valid citizen ID is near impossible – but rather that he feels like he needs time to…think. Thinking around Foggy during the day is kind of hard, he’s found, since the man not only won’t shut up, but also expects Matt to contribute, earnestly asking for his opinion on half a dozen topics before breakfast, and still cracking the awful jokes that still make Matt laugh each time.

(The first time he made one back, Foggy was so pleased he smacked Matt on his back, which immediately of course resulted in a wince and a horrified avalanche of apologies from Foggy - which, to be honest, kind of made Matt laugh harder.)

No, concentrating around Foggy is hard. Especially since everything about his stay here is still so puzzling – Matt is kind of suspecting now that Foggy probably won’t start making use of him as a bed warmer until they’re at Columbia, which is either due to the fact that he wants to wait until Matt is fully healed, or that he’d feel weird having sex with his parents next door, or likely some combination of both. But while he isn’t looking forward to being fucked again, it’s become at least a less terrifying scenario in his head for the past few days – Foggy handles him gently, and Foggy likes hearing him laugh of all things; in bed, Matt thinks, Foggy might actually also take care that it wouldn’t be too painful, maybe even go slow and careful enough that Matt could still pretend to like it, if Foggy liked seeing him smile.

Now, during the second week he sneaks down the stairway soundlessly, less because he’s genuinely afraid to wake anyone up and more because he wants to see if he still can – and yup, seems like his muscles remember Stick’s training just fine – and relaxes when he’s in the familiar territory of the kitchen, the noise of the refrigerator and dishwasher, as well as the smells of three dozen foodstuffs painting a brightly burning picture of his surroundings for him. This is another weird feeling, too – the fact that he is close to food, real food, but has little to zero desire to eat anything, simply because he’s still feeling far too full from dinner. He can’t recall ever having met a slave who wouldn’t jump at the chance to stuff themselves if they were able to roam the house at night freely like he is.

But staying at the Nelsons hardly feels like being a slave at all. Oh, the collar around his neck (even if temporarily replaced by a bandage for now) won’t let him forget it, to be sure, but – no one in this place beats him, or even works him very hard; Mrs Nelson has him carry things occasionally, or makes him help her in the kitchen, or puts him to work folding clothes, but even that only when Foggy isn’t around. Matt hasn’t told Foggy about it, mostly because he knows that it hardly ever pays for a slave to go behind the back of one family member who owns you to go crying to another, but also because he honestly doesn’t mind – he likes being useful, it gives him something to do other than to feel completely at sea, and it’s not like the work is hard or uncomfortable. It’s usually when Foggy has gone to work himself, putting in the last few hours at the butchery he helps out in, before they’ll be heading to Columbia. Matt thinks he’s probably barely earning his keep here, especially because they feed him actual food instead of slave kibble. But despite that, neither of Foggy’s parents seem to treat him with hostility, like some working free people do when they come face to face with slaves who are basically pets, kept around without actually being very productive.

Matt had never wanted to be a pet, but somehow, being Foggy’s is so far less bad than expected.

xxx

Great chapter. Love it. I love how Matt answers about the collar.

FILL: Foggy gets Matt as college graduation present [3/?]

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

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FILL: Foggy gets Matt as college graduation present [5/?]

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FILL: Foggy gets Matt as college graduation present [6a/?]

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