Chapter Text
John stood back and surveyed the scene. It wasn't his first time at a slave market, but it was the first time he was there to buy. After years of slogging through school, college and university, he'd finally landed on his feet with a job he enjoyed, an apartment in the city and credit to spend. He'd put off expanding his household only to ensure he could viably support doing so when the time came. He glanced about, most people arriving weren't alone, some owner s with slaves accompanying them as they browsed to buy more. His eyes landed on a family group, a mother and father with a daughter a few years younger than himself. Quite possibly helping her pick out her first slave.
He ignored the pang of regret and envy that threatened to wash over him as he thought on that. It was a common enough routine, like a ritual the free population entertained as part of family traditions and values, helping their child pick out their first slave. John didn't know much about those kinds of traditions, his parents had died too early for him to be indulged with them. He was a little nervous, parents could offer advice on buying a slave, he was going into this a little blind. No sage advice directly on hand as he looked about. But he'd always relied on his instincts and he'd do so now - like the instinct to go with his gut and not what teachers and proffessors had advised him to do for his schooling.
John had always had to fight to prove people wrong. That he could control his own future and not be what people merely expected him to be because of his personal circumstances, he'd succeeded so far. In ways they felt he'd failed in his potential, but he'd never strived for greatness, for popularity or huge successes. One thing he'd always known was he wanted to help people, in particular young teenagers who, like himself, had been handed a raw deal early in their lives. Social work wasn't for everyone, it certainly didn't pay as much credit as many of the private companies who'd tried to hire him for their slave trade corportations. But it satisfied him, made him feel he made a difference, even if it were only in small ways that seemed insignificant to people outside of the circumstances.
Taking in a deep breath and setting himself determinedly on his task, brushing aside any sign of nerves, he made his way into the market. He knew the layouts well enough and he had a small idea of what he wanted. A slave with a little experience, of similar age to himself. That already made a small window of choice. He had a limit of credit he was willing to pay, he'd trawled through all the available information he could find on prices of slaves, what he should aim for, what was too cheap or too expensive unless the slave were of special interest and training, like Incubators, nannies, basic labour if you were building or adding to the structure of your home. It was also good to look at the History of owner ship, the reason why they were being sold on and the Household's they came from.
He decided to take a turn around the complex before he paused and browsed, get a look at what slaves were on display. A colleague at his office had given him a few holders names to look out for, the kind that sold at decent prices and handled good slaves. They may not all be at this particular market today, but he'd wanted to check out potential places of interest. Slave markets were well run machines, holders sold in various ways, some were loud and obnoxious and tried to sell based on fast talk and spiel. Others simply reeled you in by letting you browse, peaking your interest with a particular slave, knocking credit off the price to make you feel you were getting a bargain. Some sold slaves as an auction with buyers bidding, a style John found distasteful and was keen to avoid.
Slaves stood on their idividual podiums to be viewed, eyes down in respect. Some stalls had the information at varied points to scroll through to look at the information of each slave before you took a closer look. At some stalls each slave had a screen set up in front of them with all their relevant information so you could get a closeer look while making decisions. John mentally took note of two holders stalls, names that had been provided for him. One of the holders was one of the louder types, trying to pull interest by yelling about his wares.
John stood back and eyed the man, deciding to check out the other holder first. He had an array of slaves to sell, varied ages and experience, none new out of training camps. Seeing John eyeing the slaves on display the holder stepped up, handing him a hand held tablet to scroll through information easily while he wandered along the line.
"Are you looking for anything particular in a slave or are we just browsing today?" The holder asked.
"Browsing," John replied non commitedly. "Looking to buy if something catches my eye. I am after a house slave, with some experience."
"I don't handle new slaves," the holder replied, holding a hand out to John with a friendly smile. "But I don't handle old slaves either, ones that have outlived their usefulness or simply don't come up to sctratch for owner s. Not that they can't do the work, but every owner has particular needs and wants and certain slaves simply don't fit the criteria, no matter how much information we can provide for them before they buy. So I handle the ones who need - re-locating. Good slaves, hard workers, no trouble makers. You'll find every one one of them listed has a good history, no pounders on my stall."
"Not that cheap either," John said, shaking the mans hand before he took a quick glance through the list.
"You pay for quality," the holder shrugged. "What's your price range?"
John looked at him a little skeptical, like he was weighing the man up. The guy gave a grin and held up his hands innocently enough. "Hey kid, ask around, I'm an honest holder and you don't get many of us about these days. Like I say, I handle good quality slaves, that comes with a price. But I give a good guaruntee and I've got good references."
John had to admit, the holder had been reccommended by a friend and his slaves did come with good records.
"Four hundred credits," John admitted quickly. "And that's the highest I'll go."
The holder gave him a pat on the arm. "We can work with that, good price for a good slave. You can see for yourself I don't hold many over that price. So, let's see what we've got to go with."
He took the tablet off John and tapped a few details in, bringing up the list of slaves in the three hundred to four hundred price bracket that were experienced house slaves. The holder spied another browser and gave John an apologetic smile.
"Have a look through, take a closer look at them," the holder waved at the slaves. "See if anything peaks your interest."
John stood to one side to scroll through the list. He figured he could make the list even smaller by specifying age range and gender, which made it considerably shorter again. With a smile of satisfaction he looked at the list of six he was left with. Three of them were from well known households, the reasons for selling them on were all listed as 'incompatible'. To be fair, knowing the names of a few of the households they were from, John thought it would take a hell of a lot to live up to their expectations.
He wandered along the line, taking in each one as he came to them in closer inspection. None of them jumped out to him as what he wanted. Not that he was sure what to expect, but instinct didn't tell him to go ahead and buy. He took pause and stood back again as a couple halted nearby and discussed the next slave along. The holder came back to him, smile on his face.
"Something caught your eye?" he asked hopefully.
John eyed the slave he stood before and gave a shrug, handing the table back to the holder. "I'll think about it."
"I sell slaves fast," the holder warned him, pushing to sell, he was after all there to make a sale and earn credit. "He may not be here you take too long thinking."
"I lose out, I lose out," John shrugged, resisting rolling his eyes at the hard sell. "Plenty of other slaves to buy around here. Thanks for your help, I may be back."
Before the holder could stop and try and hard sell any slave to him, John walked off, thankful the couple beside him were interested in buying and stopping the holder before he could give chase. John walked back through various stalls again, past the loud mouthed holder who's name had been passed onto him. John had never liked the hard, in your face selling the guy was doing, but he looked over the slaves as he walked past any way. He came to a halting pause as one caught his attention.
Spend long enough in a slave market and they all start looking the same. Because they all stand in their usual respectful poses, heads bowed, barely any movement, it was hard to judge from looking alone. Yet John was drawn to this particular one and he should have been less obvious about it because the loud mouthed holder pounced on him.
"Something catch your eye young Sir?" The holder asked, sidling up to his side and giving his arm a pull. "Take a closer look, his information is there to see though not much on it. Fresh out of training that one, only had him a few weeks. But he's given me no trouble here and his rap sheet from training says he wasn't one in there neither."
John pulled himself free from the mans grip, giving a shake of his head. "No thanks, I'm not,-."
He paused as he was pulled nearer the podium the young man stood on. Looking up for a decent view John caught sight of a handsome face hidden behind the somewhat long, black thick hair that hung down from the bowed angle.
"You were saying Sir?" the holder said with a knowing smile, seeing when a potential customers interest had been peaked.
John didn't understand it, this slave wasn't anything like what he was interested in buying. He had meant to say he wasn't interested in a new slave fresh from the training camps. But looking at him, John wanted him. It was like a strong force urging him on, a voice he hadn't heard before telling him he needed to own this slave. John wanted to touch him, just to feel what his skin felt like. The young man was elegant in his pose, slender body, strong shoulders, lithe long legs and that mass of dark hair that tendrilled down freely around his face. John noted a small tremble in his body, nerves no doubt at the prospect of his future.
Clearing his throat John straightened himself up, tried to get his brain in gear and he busied himself looking through the slaves information on the screen set up in front of him. His name was Laka, fresh out of training and they had given him a good report on his behaviour and potential as a good house slave. A high price at three hundred and fifty credits but taking in all the information John knew he was worth it. The slave hadn't been touched or taken to a bed like some were before they were put out to sell. A stab of lust twisted in his gut at the idea of taking this slave to his bed. John chased it away, feeling guilty for thinking it. He wasn't looking for a slave to warm his bed, not particularly any way. But he knew he couldn't leave the market that day without him.
"I'll take him," he found himself saying, going against everything he'd told himself before he'd even arrived that day. An inexperienced slave, fresh out of training, four years younger than himself. What the hell was he thinking? But he reminded himself about his instinct, and something told him this was going to be credit well spent.
~
The drive home was awkward. John had been through so much of the eductation system, boarding at college and university, where slaves were provided by the state but weren't actually yours, that he had little experinece being a Master. Having gotten his job, his own apartment, gained independence he'd started getting used to being alone and now he was 'expanding his household', which sounded great in theory but really it was weird, strange, a little bizarre.
He'd have to set out rules, figure out what kind of household he wanted to run, what kind of Master he was going to be. Everyone was different, had a way of running their home, how they connected with their slaves. John wasn't callous, he expected the usual respect and obedience but he wasn't a hard person like some people he knew. Some of his friends treated slaves as mere objects, seen but not heard, silent bodies in households, like ghosts in the halls. John hated that, he knew he'd not be the kind of owner that would own but ignore the slaves he brought into his home.
He kept glancing in the rear-view mirror but Laka kept his head down, didn't look out of the window to see where they were going, didn't seem at all curious about the new life he was about to enter. John sensed he was nervous, this was as new to Laka as it was to him and maybe that could be used as a positive. They'd adapt together, a new owner and fresh out of training slave. John would set the basic rules and from there they'd learn as they grew to know one another.
He pulled into his private parking bay and got out of the car, opening the rear door for Laka and ushering him into the foyer of the apartment, giving the doorman a smile. He'd get organised later with the desk about giving Laka permission to come and go from the building, once he got his bearings and knew where he needed to go if John needed him to leave for anything like groceries. For now he'd be confined to the apartment until he settled in.
"We're on the sixth floor," John explained, hitting the button for the lift. Laka glanced at the elevator doors and to the stairwell nearby uncertainly. John gave him a smile and laid a hand on his wrist, to keep him stayed put until the elevator arrived.
They rode up in silence and John led the way to his apartment, motioning for Laka to enter first.
"Welcome home," John said a little nervously. What else was he supposed to say under the circumstances? He put a hand at the small of Laka's back and pushed him further into the apartment.
Laka tensed slightly at the touch but didn't shrink away, let himself be guided as John showed him around. He'd yet to say a word. The living space, kitchen and dining area were all open plan and easily seen. John took him down the hall, threw open a door.
"This is my room," John explained. It was neat, painted in warm, neutral colours. He nodded towards a door in the room. "I have an en suite attached."
He turned Laka back onto the hall, "That bathroom you can use," he motioned to the apartments large bathroom, door half ajar. "And your room is right beside mine."
He opened the door to the room he'd had done out only a week ago. It was basic, devoid of much colour and little to give it character. He frowned at the basicness and gave a shrug. "Once we get you settled we can change the colour, buy a few peices for it. You know, make it a little more homey. I'm boring, I go for neutral colours, but I dunno, maybe you might like something a little brighter?"
Laka looked a little overwhelmed, used to sharing a room with several other occupants, sleeping on uncomfortable skinny bunks.
"This is my room?" he asked in surprise before he seemed to remember himself and bit down on his lower lip a moment, regressing into his somewhat mute, obeying state. "Thank you Sir."
"Well, I guess it will do for now," John assured him, smiling a little at the small flash of openess Laka had shown. "Too late today but tomorrow first thing we'll go shopping. We need to get you some clothes and we can look in a few shops for some things you may like in here. Hows that sound?"
Laka looked at him a little wide eyed and was unsure how to reply. "If that is what you want Master."
John gave him a soft smile and lay a hand on his shoulder. "I want you to feel at home here Laka. We're going to have to get used to one another and learn a few things but I want you to be comfortable here. Part of my responsibility as your owner is to make sure your cared for."
"Yes Sir," Laka nodded. John guessed it would take a while for the obedient state to regress a little, allow some of Laka's personality to come through. He just needed to be patient.
"And rule number one," John said after a pause. "Call me John. Unless we have company over. But the Master's and Sir's will wear a bit thin after a while. Come on, you must be hungry, it's getting late. I'm sure we can whip up something from what I've got stored in the cupboards."
He led the way back to the kitchen where Laka gazed at him curiously, no doubt surprised at his new Masters behaviour. John shrugged again and gave a small laugh.
"I like to cook," John explained. "You?"
"I know how to of course Sir - John," Laka nodded vigorously like he needed to prove himself.
"Then we can prepare something together," John replied, turning to the sink to wash his hands. "We can get groceries in tomorrow for the rest of the week. Guess I'm a little under prepared for catering for more people than myself. You see what's left in the fridge, I'll raid the cupboards."
He found Laka had a knack for cooking, setting out some chicken that needed to be used up, a few tomoatoes, left over salad. Laka started to relax, helped himself to some other ingredients from the cupboards before John could suggest anything and mixed up a dressing. John found himself carving them large chunks of bread while Laka tossed the chicken in the dressing and set it to fry. It turned out to be a make shift chicken stir fry of sorts and John wished he had noodles in to accompany it. He leaned in by Laka as the chicken fried and drank in the aroma with a hum of appreciation.
"Smells good," he grinned, resting a hand for a moment on Laka's hip before he pulled away again.
Laka flushed a little, John didn't know if it were because of the close proximity or because of the compliment. John was finding it difficult not to be close to Laka, he was drawn to him, attracted. It wasn't frowned upon, plenty of owner s bought slaves to warm their beds as well as run their households. John hadn't really given it much thought, not until now. But there was something about Laka, that first initial instinct that had driven him to buy him.
He set the table to busy himself and try to take his mind off the thoughts he was having about his slave. The meal was ready and Laka set a plate down on the table, eyeing the extra table setting.
"Should I wait elsewhere until you're done Sir?" Laka asked before dropping his gaze a moment as he corrected himself in a low voice. "Sorry, I mean John."
"Course not, sit down with me," John told him shaking his head.
Laka looked uncertain but John pushed him down into the chair, set his plate in front of him.
"Why wouldn't you eat with me?" John asked, sliding into his own seat and grabbing his fork, suddenly ravenous.
Laka gave a small shrug before picking up his own fork. "We would prepare food for our trainers in the camp, but we'd not be allowed to partake or join them at meal times. I just thought, I mean I thought perhaps,-"
He trailed off and looked suddenly fearful, as if he'd spoken out of turn and was about to be reprimanded for it.
John stabbed some peices of chicken onto his fork and gave him a look.
"It's understandable, you're fresh out of training. But you're in a household now Laka, you've new rules to adapt to, new ways of doing things. Here you will eat meals with me, I wouldn't expect you to eat alone unless I'm not going to be here. There may be times I'm late at the office or going out for dinner and I'll let you know when stuff like that comes up. I'd just expect you to help yourself to a meal when you wanted to eat."
Laka took this in silently, giving a small incline of his head in understanding before he began eating. John took a mouthful himself, savouring the flavor as it exploded in his mouth.
"Oh thats good," he said with a small hum of enjoyment. "You're definitely making this again."