And at last there are only the two of them.
It had been a productive meeting. Getting city councils to agree to work without slaves was always a challenge; but Upchester was proud of its connections to Blackmoor, and most of the work had been done years ago. It had declared itself the first city without collars a mere two years after Lord Arkham had freed his own slaves. Now it was just a matter of getting them to agree to remove business from firms that relied on slave labour further down the line, in another part of the country. They had not done it yet, not completely. But tonight's meeting had promised progress; there was room somewhere for the satisfaction of both parties, and both parties had indicated that they were willing to move towards it. Prelimaries, all preliminaries -- but there was promise there for the talks to continue tomorrow.
So now Lord Nathaniel Arkham sat in his chair, reading over the notes has clerk had made; and David strolled by the walls, admiring portraits of Arkhams who had sat the seat of Blackmoor hundreds of years ago.
They had not been alone in a room for six years; since the night when Nathaniel had freed him, his courtesan, his slave, and in an overflow of gratitude later regretted, enjoyed his spoils for the last time -- so much the sweeter for being enjoyed freely. David had spoken of his master's goodness, his kindness, his sweetness, how he would never leave, but even collarless would stay and serve -- and in the cold light of morning, in the realisation of his freedom, of the injury done to him for so many years, his desperate, slave-like gratitude fading, he had slipped through the slave door and out with the first post, and for several years that was the last anyone heard of him. Realising he had but one skill, and realising also how sweet it was to have men pay for it, he had started a brothel in Upchester. In time, it had grown. Others, freed also, had flocked to him, and he had bought, and made free, skilled courtesans from the rest of the country wherever their masters could be convinced to sell -- and noble men, robbed of their customary comforts in the reforms that followed, had flocked likewise. It was then that David had discovered another skill -- one with coin -- and found that his ambition was none the lesser for his freedom. Now the brothel was one of the largest businesses in the city -- and one of the few owned by an ex-slave.
And so the fates had conspired to bring David back into the orbit of his erstwhile master. They had sat on several councils together in the last few months, and if some fear -- or confusion -- or lust -- had risen in David's throat to see the man whose collar he used to wear sat across the table, he had hidden it well. But tonight they sat in old Blackmoor, and David has lingered to remember the halls in which he had once lived, and slept, and worked -- and now they are alone. It was a fact that Nathaniel, at least, is painfully aware of.
"Your grandfather had your cheekbones."
Nathaniel all but hides behind his notes. "Did he?"
"Yes." David turns with a breath of laughter, and begins to saunter back towards Lord Arkham -- who keeps his eyes firmly fixed on his clerk's writings, and not on the boy's figure, his fine clothes, his easy confidence.
"It's been a while."
There's some softness in David's voice that leads him to put down his notes -- in truth he had not read a word in several minutes -- and answer frankly.
"It has." He swallows. "Are you -- I hope you are well."
David perches on the edge of the table with something like a smile. They are close now: an arm's reach apart. Nathaniel feels his pulse rise in his throat.
"I am." He looks through his eyelashes, eyes dark. "All the better for seeing you."
There's an intake of breath. Nathaniel fumbles with his notes.
"I never see you. You never come down to the city."
"I do -- I do come down to the city."
David smiles and blinks slowly. "You know what I mean."
Nathaniel opens his mouth to speak and closes it again. He does not look at him. "I -- have been busy."
David twists his mouth and sits back. "You were never too busy when I was just a bell away."
"I thought it would be improper." He pauses, slipping a page to the back. "I thought you would not have liked it."
David's eyes narrow. There's a fire dancing in them now, a challenge -- what Darius used to call his jousting eyes. "Perhaps I wouldn't have. At first. It would have smacked of desperation." He played his tongue on his teeth. "But now ... you know half your court comes down? It's not like I never fucked them when I wore a collar."
"It wasn't their collar."
"So I'm not good enough to pay for, is that it?"
For the first time, Nathaniel's eyes are on his. They are as dark and liquid as he remembers them; they wear dismay just as well.
"That's not what I mean to --"
"Rude, Nathaniel. Rude."
A few heartbeats pass between them. Then Nathaniel coughs, and turns back to his notes. David reaches out. Nathaniel's cheekbone is soft under his thumb, and for a moment, he thinks, the other man's heart stops.
His eyes are sweet -- pleading for certainty: how to act, how to speak, how to think.
"You were frightened I would have sent you away."
His tongue comes out to moisten his lip. David remembers that tongue -- not that he ever got much use out of it, as a slave, but a few nights come to him, the heady touch of Nathaniel's mouth, Nathaniel's eyes heavy with the weight of reward bestowed ...
"Amongst other things."
"Amongst other things." David scoffs. "I don't imagine you've been lonely. How does the House of Arkham pay its courtesans these days? Is it well?"
Something in Nathaniel's jaw sets. /That/ David remembers well: his petulance, his stubbornness, his utter refusal to accept when he is being unreasonable. He used to have reason to fear it; now it arouses the same desire as always, but stripped of fear: the desire to beat it off his darling face.
"If your curiosity grips you, you could always come and find out."
David laughs at that. "And work for another man? And work for /you/?" He scoffs. "I'd rather kill myself."
There: he's made Nathaniel's eyes drop again.
"Still, it must have taken some getting used to. No Darius. No Persephone." He turns his head slightly, his eyes fixed on Nathaniel's. "No me."
Nathaniel fixes his eyes down. "David, you know I never -- That I consider any -- That the injustices that I had committed against you, against you all -- That I -- I -- When you left, I understood, I --"
David tips his head back and laughs. "Spare me." He turns his head back to Nathaniel like he's hunting him. "And you never thought of me again?"
"That's --" Nathaniel coughs. "I didn't say that."
And at once David is standing over him, his hands on either arm of his chair. "Oh, I'm certain you did." His voice is soft; he smiles. "I'm certain you thought of me /many/ nights. /Don't/" -- his finger darts out to turn Nathaniel face back towards him -- "look away from me."
Nathaniel is breathing a little heavier. There are inches between them now. He can almost feel Nathaniel's heat. He laughs softly.
