Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2012-09-13 11:12 am
ptahrrific) wrote2012-09-13 11:12 am
Entry tags:
Fake News | Sam/Jon, Jon/"Stephen", Rob/Ed, Sam/Jason | R | Concubindecision 2004
Title: Concubindecision 2004
Rating: R
Characters/pairings: Sam/Jon, Jon/"Stephen", Rob Corddry/Ed Helms, Sam/Jason
Disclaimer/Warnings: See the table of contents.
Haremverse backstory, starring Team TDS 2004. When Jon abruptly decides to [try to] become a kinder, gentler sex-slave owner, he'll have to do some work, and take on some personal risk, before Sam trusts that he means it. Ditto for her buddies Rob and Ed. (Stephen buys it immediately, but he's, well, Stephen.)
Sam couldn't remember how long it had been since Jon last called her to bed. He had been fixated on Stephen for months in a row; she, Rob, and Ed had all alternated between gentle teasing, hawk-eyed scrutiny for any special benefits he was getting as the favorite (there didn't seem to be any, but if there were, he'd be "encouraged" to share), and serious concern. Maybe he wasn't being favored. Maybe this was some kind of long-term campaign to batter down his stamina until he broke.
So when Jon did summon Sam to his chambers one evening, she did a double-take, then checked with Stephen to make sure she hadn't misheard his name as hers, then resolved to wear Jon out if she possibly can. The more reprive she could give the poor guy, the better.
Except that Jon didn't let her. Didn't even take her clothes off. She went for the usual making out, and while he responded (he wasn't a complete statue), it wasn't like he grabbed on to her or anything. She practically had to throw herself back onto the bed. At which point he (also still dressed, for the record) lowered himself on top of her, brushed back a stray lock of honey-brown hair that had fallen out of its jeweled updo, and said, "Do you want to do this?"
"Sure do. Come at me, tiger." Sam frowned. "Unless...you don't want me to want this? I was never great at Screaming Damsel, but I can give you Proud, Uptight Woman Of Breeding, easy. Any specific colleagues you had in mind?"
"What? No! Gods, no." Jon untangled himself from the legs she'd been trying to wrap around his waist and got up. "Sorry, that was a stupid question. Don't say anything for a while, okay? Just listen."
+++
He had Rob the next evening, and the day afterward Rob kept shooting Sam sidelong looks, until it finally burst out: "Was he...weird...with you?"
"Omigods, you too?" They sat under the vaulted skylight with a drink, some grapes, and a sassy internal monlogue each. "What, did he read some trashy romance and take it a little too seriously?"
"I know, right? As if he could handle us doing anything he really didn't want for five minutes! Come on."
As if either of them could handle contemplating it for five minutes. They were less far gone than their colleagues, perhaps; they could imagine disobeying Jon more easily. It was still pretty terrifying to do it seriously for long.
"I bet you anything Stephen's at the bottom of this," said Sam. She would have asked him directly, but he was off at some function or other, decorating Jon's arm. Which was good, because it was no fun learning the truth before you'd had all the fun of speculation. "Jon used him for a test run, all 'hey Stephen, I have decided to let you do whatever you desire,' and Stephen was all, 'ooh, sir, what I desire is to blow you again, pretty please, sir?', and Jon went, 'oh, wow, this is easier than I thought!'"
Rob was cracking up at her impressions. "Exactly!" he laughed. "It's funny because Stephen would totally do that!"
"I know! And he's going to call Ed in tonight, right? What do you bet Ed takes it completely seriously?"
"He will!" howls Rob. "He...." He choked, going from mirthful to sober in about half a second. "He will. We have to warn him."
+++
There was a tall oak bookshelf being set up in the common room. Sam watched in disbelief as the movers haul it in, followed by a complete hardcover set of the latest Encyclopedia al-Razi and a copy of Jon's own Qumarica: The Book.
"Planning to be doing much reading in here, are you?" said one of the workmen with some skepticism.
"Sometimes my slaves bore me," replied Jon with a shrug. "You know the feeling. Or, wait. You wouldn't."
The workman, mindful of his salary, kept any further thoughts to himself.
"I dunno, you guys," said Ed, when the intruders had cleared out and it was just the four of them left to stare at the gilt spines, breathing in the unfamiliar smell of the new paper. "I know you told me he didn't mean it, but I said we could use some reading material, and, well." He waved at the shelf. "Reading material."
Sam snorted. "So we got some new books. So what? He's got like a zillion big ones in the bank. He could buy an entire bookstore without breaking a sweat. Maybe if we asked for something he couldn't afford, but this? This is nothing. Right, Rob? ...Rob?"
"Hey," said Rob, turning a page, "did you know that we get red pigment from cinnabar, a compound composed of sulfur and quicksilver?"
+++
They got a radio (Rob's idea) and a newspaper subscription (Sam's). The latter came in handy when they got a puppy, a black-and-tan Tibetan mountain dog just barely old enough to be housetrained (Stephen's request; he adored her, named her Tisroc, and cleaned up after her when she shed, which was always).
Dog fur speckled the rich dark blue quilting of the lounge Jon usually sat on, looking almost like a deliberate addition to the gold and silver emboidery. Sam, the one designated to meet him while the others ran for the usual perfumes, oils, and snacks, tried to brush some of it off when he wasn't looking. When his attention went back to her, she sat on top of what was left, crossed her heels and folded her hands like a schoolgirl preparing a recitation, and said, "Can we, like, have a yacht?"
Jon raised his eyebrows. "What would you do with a yacht?"
Sam faltered. She hadn't ever thought about this one. "I...um...what does everyone else do with yachts?"
"Line them up next to other yachts and feel better or worse depending on whose yacht is the biggest," said Jon flatly, settling down on the more sky-blue lounge to work on popping his shoulders. "I'm not getting you a yacht."
She'd ruined it. All they'd worried about Ed and Stephen (though to be fair, Stephen hadn't even asked for anything since the puppy), and it had been Sam, clever and savvy (and hot, let's not forget hot) Sam, who pushed him too far.
Jon had just put his feet up when he noticed her shaking. "Sam? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine!" wailed Sam. "Everyone else is fine too! We don't want a stupid boat — it wasn't even their idea, it was all mine — I'm really really sorry please don't yell at me!"
"I didn't mean...." There was a pained shadow crossing Jon's face; he made a halfhearted attempt to reach for her, then fell back when she, still sniffling, flinched. "Would you stop that? I'm not yelling. If you would just think about it...how am I supposed to keep up a yacht? And it's not like you would know how, so...."
A motion between the pillars caught his eye. Sam followed his gaze and found that the others had arrived: Stephen with a pitcher of wine and some goblets, Rob with a shallow ornate bowl and a collection of colored glass bottles, Ed with the fruit plate and a befuddled expression. "Did you make Sam cry?"
"I didn't mean to!" said Jon, irritable. "Will one of you get over here and fix it? Give her my foot rub, or something."
Once it became clear that Jon wasn't going to punish them for the overreach, at least not any time soon, Sam did manage to pull herself together. It didn't hurt that Rob had been assigned to massaging her feet, with the help of a couple of lavishly expensive perfumes. She practiced proper skin care, of course (it was very important, when you were a concubine), but this was something else.
Ed sat cross-legged on a nearby cushion and strummed his sitar, filling the room with a gentle background as leisurely as falling water, while Stephen gave Jon the usual backrub. Just because Jon was doing Sam a kindness didn't mean he couldn't still enjoy himself, after all.
"I don't have to buy the yacht," said Jon at last, the sharpness replaced with a husky satisfaction. He was on his stomach now, head pillowed on his arms; Stephen's hands had been over his bare back twice, and kept hesitating over whether to take a crack at his legs. "I can rent one. Take you all out on the water some time. If that was what you were looking for."
The concubines exchanged cautious looks. It was Ed who took the plunge. "That would be nice."
"Right. We'll do that."
"Sir," piped up Stephen. "J-Jon. Do you want me to...?" He cupped his hands against Jon's upper thighs and flexed his fingers.
Jon swallowed a sharp gasp. "It's fine, Stephen. Not right now." He grabbed the nearest pillow and let his face fall into it. "Sam, grab me some cold water, will you?"
That would be it for the foot massage, then. "On it," said Sam, and gave Rob's hand a quick, appreciative squeeze before getting back to work.
+++
When it came time to board the boat, the four of them took turns hanging all over Jon. There was an art to visually draping yourself over a high-ranking noble without limiting their ability to walk, and Sam was excellent at it. Stephen was too clingy, Ed too slow to respond to sudden changes, and Rob too prone to accidentally elbowing Jon in the face.
Once the dock fell away in the distance, leaving just them and the busy crew in the middle of the wide river, Stephen made a beeline for the bow of the ship and pretended to drive. Rob and Ed found a place at the railing and stood, shoulder to shoulder, watching the trees fly by. Jon found a deck chair under an umbrella and sat.
Sam stayed by Jon's side and tried to keep an eye on them all, though the prospect of all the waves and whales and other things she could be checking out had her practically hopping with impatience.
At last, as the ship pulled out into the open ocean, Jon said, "Sam. It's okay. Go look at the water."
Delighted, she ran to the stern to see the engine churning foam, while he went back to looking at Stephen.
+++
Ed got a technical manual for radio mechanics, and read his favorite sections to Rob, who was loudly and vocally bored but listened to every bit. At last, flush with confidence in his newfound knowledge, he took theirs apart. It turned out he didn't know how to put it back together after all.
"You get to be the one to ask Jon for a new one," Sam told Stephen. "He'll be least mad at you. You're the favorite."
Stephen lit up. "You really think so?"
Sam patted him with the same gentleness she uses when patting Tisroc. "Don't let it go to your head, pal. It's only because he likes sex with you the best."
"Oh," said Stephen, suddenly distraught. "Then what does it mean if he stops having sex with me? I mean, I'm not saying he is. I'm just curious. You know, hypothetically."
A quick survey confirmed it. Jon had continued taking them all to bed at night, settling into a nice recognizable cycle (Sam, Stephen, Rob, Stephen, Ed, Stephen, repeat), but he had held to the same strange boundary there that had gone up within the harem itself. Sexual content could approach a certain point, but once it got there, it just...stopped.
They told Stephen not to worry. It didn't stop him from pouting as he went with Jon for the night.
Jon snapped at Ed for negligence the next morning. Just when Ed was about to have a full-on nervous breakdown, he added, "I'm not getting you a third one, so don't even try to take this one apart."
The new radio was delivered to Jon's office; Rob and Ed had to carry it downstairs. The remains of the old one were carefully hidden in their room, away from prying eyes who would wonder what a couple of bedroom slaves need with so many electronic circuits and vacuum tubes.
+++
"Maybe he just doesn't like sex," theorized Rob. They were lounging on cushions around the radio, listening to a static-y sonata that harmonized with the afternoon downpour outside. Tisroc's head was in Stephen's lap; Ed's head, in Rob's. "Maybe he was faking it really, really well."
"Noooo, I'm pretty sure he likes sex," said Sam, toying with the bangles on her wrists. "He even likes sex with us. He just wants to do us enough favors that he'll feel like it's something we owe him."
"Now you're just being silly," said Stephen. "It is something we owe him. That's what we're here for." He paused, confused. "Isn't it?"
"Well, sure! I mean, obviously," Sam stammered. "But if he doesn't think it? What if...I know this is crazy, but hear me out, here...what if he's never going to go back to thinking it? What if he's going to keep this up forever? And even if we ask for something he can't deliver, he doesn't flip out on us. What if we could ask for anything?"
"So we keep getting books and boat rides?" asked Rob. "I could go for that."
Sam punched one of the pillows in frustration. "Can't anyone here think bigger?"
Rob rolled his eyes, the picture of scorn. "Oh, come on, like there's anything else we need. I for one am having an awesome time wearing sensible pants when there aren't guests over, and having a dog to pal around with, and not being forced to sleep with anyone who isn't Ed."
Ed frowned. "I don't force you."
"Shut up, you know what I meant."
"If I could have anything," said Stephen glumly, rubbing his knuckles against the top of Tisroc's head, "all I would want is to be Jon's favorite. For real, not just for sex."
Sam groaned and decided to quit bothering.
Nothing she truly wanted was remotely feasible anyway. Unlike Stephen, she craved a companion on her own level, someone to pair off with the way Rob and Ed had. Even if Jon had wielded the wealth and power to buy a thousand more slaves, he couldn't guarantee that happening. Children were even more out of the question. A cute guy might turn up by chance; her ovaries weren't coming back.
"You know what I want?" said Ed dreamily.
"Another couple radios to break?" guessed Rob.
"Glasses?" said Stephen, with a perceptivity that shouldn't have been surprising. Nearsightedness was a challenge that he and Ed both faced.
Sam tried to take her own advice and think big, think unreasonable. "A tutor? Someone to teach you how to put radios back together?"
Ed shrugged. "That too. But the first thing I'd ask for is to be able to take Rob and go East."
The reaction was immediate. Rob clapped a hand over Ed's mouth, while Stephen covered Tisroc's ears and Sam jumped to her feet to do a quick sweep of the room. Secure. As far as she could tell.
"You can't say things like that!" yelled Rob, shaking Ed. "Are you crazy? You can't even think things like that!"
The taller man wrested himself out of Rob's grip, looking hurt. "What did you expect me to think?" he demanded, more sharply than Sam had ever heard from him. "When you said you wished we could get married, where else were you thinking that would happen?"
"You weren't supposed to take it so literally!" cried Rob.
"What else wasn't I supposed to take literally?"
"Both of you, can it!" snapped Sam. "Stephen, quit protecting the dog's plausible deniability and help me make sure nobody's listening."
They checked the doors and scanned the halls, poked heads into the adjacent rooms, even leaned out the keyhole windows and made sure the driveways and walkways were empty, though they were several floors below. Nobody was evident. Thank the rain.
Sam turned up the sound on the radio, put it between them and the door, and gathered her friends into a tight circle. "We're not talking about anybody running," she said sternly. "Got it? And we're not even thinking the words that rhyme with Shmeastern Shmee Shmerritories. But if we were...what would we need to pack?"
+++
They planned.
They stockpiled and strategized and worked in tandem. Ed got a pile of reference books that happened to include an atlas. Rob snuck nonperishables from the kitchen. Sam's requests for new outfits just happened to include sturdy shoes.
It kept on until the morning Stephen returned from warming Jon's bed with an order to be all dressed up that day. Sam had barely finished applying the powder to Rob's head when Jon swept into the room and hauled Stephen into a kiss.
"Some visitors are going to come calling in about half an hour," he announced to the others. (Stephen, released, looked too dizzy with adoration to know or care what he was saying.) "It's expected that I'll receive them here. It would be best if I were...occupied...when they showed up."
"Like, sex occupied?" asked Ed. Sam biffed him across the temple. "Ow!"
"Well, sure," said Jon with false nonchalance. "Or anything else more socially acceptable than planning a run for the border."
Even Stephen froze up at that one. When Rob glared at him, he cowered against Jon's side. "What? I told him you weren't even thinking about it!"
Sam made a mental note to throttle the poor guy later. All their plans, evaporated in one misguided bit of late-night pillow talk....
"It's a good thing you're not," continued Jon. "Because I had a custom order come in recently, which, when delivered, would bring the couriers within half a day's walk of the Eastern Free Territories. Most people would hire a delivery service to take care of something like that, but I would love to save a few crowns by having my happy and loyal harem slaves handle the job."
Stephen opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Rob and Ed just gaped.
It was Sam who adjusted first. She had read through a bunch of the legal terms in the encyclopedia, and spoke carefully as she tested them out for the first time. "Harem slaves who are not only attested to be happy and loyal, but have been witnessed in their enthusiasm firsthand by such unimpeachable sources as...who did you say these visitors were, again?"
"I didn't," said Jon evenly, guiding Stephen toward the lounges and taking a sideways seat. "Must have forgotten to mention it. They're royal inspectors, here on behalf of the Council."
Not the answer Sam had expected. "Okay, refresh my memory here," she said, kneeling behind him to ease off his shirt. "What are they inspecting you for?"
Jon was distracted for a moment or two by Stephen's mouth on his chest. To be fair, Sam was distracted by it too.
"Some obnoxious minor lord got poisoned a couple days ago," he said at last. "And since I publicly called him a dick last month, I get to be on the suspect list. Mmm, that's nice." He ruffled Stephen's hair. "Keep it up."
+++
"Of course I'm not going."
Ed dropped a piece of his still-broken radio; Sam nearly tore the newspaper she had been plumbing for some of Lord Carlson's history. It was a shame Rob was taking his turn in Jon's chambers: the scene really needed a shout of comically outraged astonishment.
"I'll miss you! When did I say I wouldn't miss you?" cried Stephen, as the other two began to protest. "But I'm happy here! I love Jon, and Jon is very happy with me, and the food is good and it's very comfortable and nobody needs anything from me except to be my fabulously attractive self. I have a dog! Jon's promised to get me a horse next! I don't want to go."
The next night, with Stephen away, Sam gathered Rob and Ed together and said, "Someone has to stay and look out for him."
"Sam," protested Rob, clasping her wrist. "What are we gonna do without you?"
"Be harder to catch?" suggested Sam. "Guys, let's be real here. Two concubines running away together is a love story. Three is a conspiracy. I mean, four would have been a conspiracy too, but that wouldn't involve leaving one of us behind to get confiscated when Jon gets called out over it."
Or, she thought but didn't say, to get sold off after someone succeeded in assassinating Jon.
"Is this really going to be enough for you?" said Ed softly.
"Are you kidding? This'll be fine. Jon's not into hurting us or denying us things for the sake of a power trip, Stephen and me together can probably keep him out of trouble, and as for my suppressed maternal instincts, Stephen is basically a big five-year-old anyway, you know? Not in every way, because, ew, but...you get where I'm going with this?"
They did. Even though Ed cried, and Rob loudly drew attention to the fact that he was not crying, before making a hasty exit for their bedroom.
+++
Jon, when he heard, was more sanguine. "Good. I'm going to need your help."
"Wait. What? Help how?"
They were sitting on the couches under his bedroom window, looking out over the gardens. A couple of Jon's peacocks strutted past below, tiny jewels in the moonlight. "With the next couple of people I buy," he replied. "Someone's going to need to ease them into what's going on here. Stephen will tell them how wonderful I am, which they won't believe, and would probably end up assuming I killed you all and dumped the bodies in the river. If you're here, you can tell them the truth."
"Hold up there, pal. You're buying more of us?"
"How long do you think I could be taken seriously with a harem of two? Even four is pushing it."
"Uh-huh. And if the next two also want to run? Because a whole lot of us do. You get that, right?"
This was dangerous territory, but Sam didn't care. Rob and Ed had decided to leave a day earlier than scheduled, the better to keep up Jon's plausible deniability. He didn't know that they were already gone.
"Then we'll have to stagger it," said Jon with a shrug. "Maybe by a lot. I'll have to look for smart people — anyone who can think strategically. Who can understand why it'll pay off to be patient."
"I figured you were going to say you'd have to look for people who didn't want to run."
"Oh," said Jon, looking genuinely caught off-guard. "I guess I could do that too."
Sam considered for a minute. Then she plucked the book he was reading out of his hand, tossed it onto a nearby chair, and straddled his lap.
Jon let her kiss him, though his hands rested lightly on her thighs, almost chastely. When she had broken it off, he said, in a low, wary voice, "What are you doing, Sam?"
"Getting some," said Sam frankly, undoing the top clasp on his collar. "Don't get me wrong, this is entirely a convenience thing. You're handsome, decent at sex—" ("Decent?!") "—and not an objectively terrible person. Had the same kind of thing going with Rob for a while, but he went and fell for Ed, and Stephen wouldn't be interested, not to mention he can't keep it up once you get below a minimum threshold of penises involved. So that leaves you."
The silk under her hands fell back over Jon's bare shoulders. She ground their hips together and felt a jolt of heat, compounded by his shuddering gasp.
"Aww yeah. That's right. Don't even pretend you don't want out of your whole self-imposed dry spell."
"Um," said Jon. "About that."
Except for her heaving chest, Sam went still. "Oh, don't tell me you already went back to tapping Stephen."
Jon shrugged. "He was very persuasive?"
"I'll bet he was," grumbled Sam. She would worry about it, of course, and talk to Stephen, and make sure he was okay. But all that could wait. "As of tonight, the top thing on my wishlist is at least one orgasm. Think you can handle that, O master mine?"
He pulled her down for another kiss, rocking his hips upward. "Let's find out."
+++
The auction house was a sullen, joyless place. Sam hated it here. She would have hated it only moderately less if would-be buyers hadn't kept copping feels, assuming in spite of her modest outfit that the silk leash meant she was on display.
Jon snapped at the few that he caught, and eventually settled his arm around her waist, which helped.
They stopped in front of a young man with island heritage, messy black hair and thick glasses over a prominent nose. His blurb in the pamphlet had caught Sam's eye; he had been used mostly for show and entertainment, and was supposed to be quick-thinking on his feet. In person he looked anxious, but that didn't mean stupid.
Not that Jon could ask about those things. He looked the man up and down, then ordered, with mild curiosity, "Say something with an accent."
"Chip chip cheerio, guv'nor," said the man promptly.
Jon marked down a silent bid on John Oliver.
A few lots down, Sam stopped in her tracks.
Jon went still quickly enough to make it look like his choice, and they both ended up staring at the most gorgeous man Sam had ever seen. Dark curls, broad shoulders, square chin...he was looking absently at something in the distance at first, then realized he was being watched, locked eyes with Sam, and offered her a roguish wink. He also posed, flexing the muscles of his arms...which were not quite as impressive as he thought they were, but still, phew. She had to surreptitiously fan herself with her sleeves.
Jon flipped through the pamphlet for the man's name. Sam leaned sensuously against his arm at just the right angle to read the blurb along with him, and was crushed to find it wasn't one she'd marked for follow-up. In fact, rereading between the lines, this guy was described as dumb as a box of rocks.
"Aw, don't pay any attention to that stuff," said the Adonis before her, unprompted. "My last owner was just too modest to admit that she can't handle the J-squared."
Sam was dimly aware that she was grinning like an idiot. He reminded her of everything she had liked best about Rob, with the bonus that he was eager to impress instead of eager to seem above it all. Plus, he had about a thousand percent nicer hair.
"Moving on?" prompted Jon gently.
"Hang on," said Sam. "Sir," she added quickly, as the nobleman next to her gave them both the hairy eyeball. "Don't we, sir, need at least one more biggish guy around to help carry things, sir?" (The guy in question helped her out by flexing some more.) "Like that! Sir."
"Ah, yes," said Jon. "Yes, I remember now. This is why I let you tag along."
And he put in the first bid on Jason Jones.
Rating: R
Characters/pairings: Sam/Jon, Jon/"Stephen", Rob Corddry/Ed Helms, Sam/Jason
Disclaimer/Warnings: See the table of contents.
Haremverse backstory, starring Team TDS 2004. When Jon abruptly decides to [try to] become a kinder, gentler sex-slave owner, he'll have to do some work, and take on some personal risk, before Sam trusts that he means it. Ditto for her buddies Rob and Ed. (Stephen buys it immediately, but he's, well, Stephen.)
Sam couldn't remember how long it had been since Jon last called her to bed. He had been fixated on Stephen for months in a row; she, Rob, and Ed had all alternated between gentle teasing, hawk-eyed scrutiny for any special benefits he was getting as the favorite (there didn't seem to be any, but if there were, he'd be "encouraged" to share), and serious concern. Maybe he wasn't being favored. Maybe this was some kind of long-term campaign to batter down his stamina until he broke.
So when Jon did summon Sam to his chambers one evening, she did a double-take, then checked with Stephen to make sure she hadn't misheard his name as hers, then resolved to wear Jon out if she possibly can. The more reprive she could give the poor guy, the better.
Except that Jon didn't let her. Didn't even take her clothes off. She went for the usual making out, and while he responded (he wasn't a complete statue), it wasn't like he grabbed on to her or anything. She practically had to throw herself back onto the bed. At which point he (also still dressed, for the record) lowered himself on top of her, brushed back a stray lock of honey-brown hair that had fallen out of its jeweled updo, and said, "Do you want to do this?"
"Sure do. Come at me, tiger." Sam frowned. "Unless...you don't want me to want this? I was never great at Screaming Damsel, but I can give you Proud, Uptight Woman Of Breeding, easy. Any specific colleagues you had in mind?"
"What? No! Gods, no." Jon untangled himself from the legs she'd been trying to wrap around his waist and got up. "Sorry, that was a stupid question. Don't say anything for a while, okay? Just listen."
+++
He had Rob the next evening, and the day afterward Rob kept shooting Sam sidelong looks, until it finally burst out: "Was he...weird...with you?"
"Omigods, you too?" They sat under the vaulted skylight with a drink, some grapes, and a sassy internal monlogue each. "What, did he read some trashy romance and take it a little too seriously?"
"I know, right? As if he could handle us doing anything he really didn't want for five minutes! Come on."
As if either of them could handle contemplating it for five minutes. They were less far gone than their colleagues, perhaps; they could imagine disobeying Jon more easily. It was still pretty terrifying to do it seriously for long.
"I bet you anything Stephen's at the bottom of this," said Sam. She would have asked him directly, but he was off at some function or other, decorating Jon's arm. Which was good, because it was no fun learning the truth before you'd had all the fun of speculation. "Jon used him for a test run, all 'hey Stephen, I have decided to let you do whatever you desire,' and Stephen was all, 'ooh, sir, what I desire is to blow you again, pretty please, sir?', and Jon went, 'oh, wow, this is easier than I thought!'"
Rob was cracking up at her impressions. "Exactly!" he laughed. "It's funny because Stephen would totally do that!"
"I know! And he's going to call Ed in tonight, right? What do you bet Ed takes it completely seriously?"
"He will!" howls Rob. "He...." He choked, going from mirthful to sober in about half a second. "He will. We have to warn him."
+++
There was a tall oak bookshelf being set up in the common room. Sam watched in disbelief as the movers haul it in, followed by a complete hardcover set of the latest Encyclopedia al-Razi and a copy of Jon's own Qumarica: The Book.
"Planning to be doing much reading in here, are you?" said one of the workmen with some skepticism.
"Sometimes my slaves bore me," replied Jon with a shrug. "You know the feeling. Or, wait. You wouldn't."
The workman, mindful of his salary, kept any further thoughts to himself.
"I dunno, you guys," said Ed, when the intruders had cleared out and it was just the four of them left to stare at the gilt spines, breathing in the unfamiliar smell of the new paper. "I know you told me he didn't mean it, but I said we could use some reading material, and, well." He waved at the shelf. "Reading material."
Sam snorted. "So we got some new books. So what? He's got like a zillion big ones in the bank. He could buy an entire bookstore without breaking a sweat. Maybe if we asked for something he couldn't afford, but this? This is nothing. Right, Rob? ...Rob?"
"Hey," said Rob, turning a page, "did you know that we get red pigment from cinnabar, a compound composed of sulfur and quicksilver?"
+++
They got a radio (Rob's idea) and a newspaper subscription (Sam's). The latter came in handy when they got a puppy, a black-and-tan Tibetan mountain dog just barely old enough to be housetrained (Stephen's request; he adored her, named her Tisroc, and cleaned up after her when she shed, which was always).
Dog fur speckled the rich dark blue quilting of the lounge Jon usually sat on, looking almost like a deliberate addition to the gold and silver emboidery. Sam, the one designated to meet him while the others ran for the usual perfumes, oils, and snacks, tried to brush some of it off when he wasn't looking. When his attention went back to her, she sat on top of what was left, crossed her heels and folded her hands like a schoolgirl preparing a recitation, and said, "Can we, like, have a yacht?"
Jon raised his eyebrows. "What would you do with a yacht?"
Sam faltered. She hadn't ever thought about this one. "I...um...what does everyone else do with yachts?"
"Line them up next to other yachts and feel better or worse depending on whose yacht is the biggest," said Jon flatly, settling down on the more sky-blue lounge to work on popping his shoulders. "I'm not getting you a yacht."
She'd ruined it. All they'd worried about Ed and Stephen (though to be fair, Stephen hadn't even asked for anything since the puppy), and it had been Sam, clever and savvy (and hot, let's not forget hot) Sam, who pushed him too far.
Jon had just put his feet up when he noticed her shaking. "Sam? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine!" wailed Sam. "Everyone else is fine too! We don't want a stupid boat — it wasn't even their idea, it was all mine — I'm really really sorry please don't yell at me!"
"I didn't mean...." There was a pained shadow crossing Jon's face; he made a halfhearted attempt to reach for her, then fell back when she, still sniffling, flinched. "Would you stop that? I'm not yelling. If you would just think about it...how am I supposed to keep up a yacht? And it's not like you would know how, so...."
A motion between the pillars caught his eye. Sam followed his gaze and found that the others had arrived: Stephen with a pitcher of wine and some goblets, Rob with a shallow ornate bowl and a collection of colored glass bottles, Ed with the fruit plate and a befuddled expression. "Did you make Sam cry?"
"I didn't mean to!" said Jon, irritable. "Will one of you get over here and fix it? Give her my foot rub, or something."
Once it became clear that Jon wasn't going to punish them for the overreach, at least not any time soon, Sam did manage to pull herself together. It didn't hurt that Rob had been assigned to massaging her feet, with the help of a couple of lavishly expensive perfumes. She practiced proper skin care, of course (it was very important, when you were a concubine), but this was something else.
Ed sat cross-legged on a nearby cushion and strummed his sitar, filling the room with a gentle background as leisurely as falling water, while Stephen gave Jon the usual backrub. Just because Jon was doing Sam a kindness didn't mean he couldn't still enjoy himself, after all.
"I don't have to buy the yacht," said Jon at last, the sharpness replaced with a husky satisfaction. He was on his stomach now, head pillowed on his arms; Stephen's hands had been over his bare back twice, and kept hesitating over whether to take a crack at his legs. "I can rent one. Take you all out on the water some time. If that was what you were looking for."
The concubines exchanged cautious looks. It was Ed who took the plunge. "That would be nice."
"Right. We'll do that."
"Sir," piped up Stephen. "J-Jon. Do you want me to...?" He cupped his hands against Jon's upper thighs and flexed his fingers.
Jon swallowed a sharp gasp. "It's fine, Stephen. Not right now." He grabbed the nearest pillow and let his face fall into it. "Sam, grab me some cold water, will you?"
That would be it for the foot massage, then. "On it," said Sam, and gave Rob's hand a quick, appreciative squeeze before getting back to work.
+++
When it came time to board the boat, the four of them took turns hanging all over Jon. There was an art to visually draping yourself over a high-ranking noble without limiting their ability to walk, and Sam was excellent at it. Stephen was too clingy, Ed too slow to respond to sudden changes, and Rob too prone to accidentally elbowing Jon in the face.
Once the dock fell away in the distance, leaving just them and the busy crew in the middle of the wide river, Stephen made a beeline for the bow of the ship and pretended to drive. Rob and Ed found a place at the railing and stood, shoulder to shoulder, watching the trees fly by. Jon found a deck chair under an umbrella and sat.
Sam stayed by Jon's side and tried to keep an eye on them all, though the prospect of all the waves and whales and other things she could be checking out had her practically hopping with impatience.
At last, as the ship pulled out into the open ocean, Jon said, "Sam. It's okay. Go look at the water."
Delighted, she ran to the stern to see the engine churning foam, while he went back to looking at Stephen.
+++
Ed got a technical manual for radio mechanics, and read his favorite sections to Rob, who was loudly and vocally bored but listened to every bit. At last, flush with confidence in his newfound knowledge, he took theirs apart. It turned out he didn't know how to put it back together after all.
"You get to be the one to ask Jon for a new one," Sam told Stephen. "He'll be least mad at you. You're the favorite."
Stephen lit up. "You really think so?"
Sam patted him with the same gentleness she uses when patting Tisroc. "Don't let it go to your head, pal. It's only because he likes sex with you the best."
"Oh," said Stephen, suddenly distraught. "Then what does it mean if he stops having sex with me? I mean, I'm not saying he is. I'm just curious. You know, hypothetically."
A quick survey confirmed it. Jon had continued taking them all to bed at night, settling into a nice recognizable cycle (Sam, Stephen, Rob, Stephen, Ed, Stephen, repeat), but he had held to the same strange boundary there that had gone up within the harem itself. Sexual content could approach a certain point, but once it got there, it just...stopped.
They told Stephen not to worry. It didn't stop him from pouting as he went with Jon for the night.
Jon snapped at Ed for negligence the next morning. Just when Ed was about to have a full-on nervous breakdown, he added, "I'm not getting you a third one, so don't even try to take this one apart."
The new radio was delivered to Jon's office; Rob and Ed had to carry it downstairs. The remains of the old one were carefully hidden in their room, away from prying eyes who would wonder what a couple of bedroom slaves need with so many electronic circuits and vacuum tubes.
+++
"Maybe he just doesn't like sex," theorized Rob. They were lounging on cushions around the radio, listening to a static-y sonata that harmonized with the afternoon downpour outside. Tisroc's head was in Stephen's lap; Ed's head, in Rob's. "Maybe he was faking it really, really well."
"Noooo, I'm pretty sure he likes sex," said Sam, toying with the bangles on her wrists. "He even likes sex with us. He just wants to do us enough favors that he'll feel like it's something we owe him."
"Now you're just being silly," said Stephen. "It is something we owe him. That's what we're here for." He paused, confused. "Isn't it?"
"Well, sure! I mean, obviously," Sam stammered. "But if he doesn't think it? What if...I know this is crazy, but hear me out, here...what if he's never going to go back to thinking it? What if he's going to keep this up forever? And even if we ask for something he can't deliver, he doesn't flip out on us. What if we could ask for anything?"
"So we keep getting books and boat rides?" asked Rob. "I could go for that."
Sam punched one of the pillows in frustration. "Can't anyone here think bigger?"
Rob rolled his eyes, the picture of scorn. "Oh, come on, like there's anything else we need. I for one am having an awesome time wearing sensible pants when there aren't guests over, and having a dog to pal around with, and not being forced to sleep with anyone who isn't Ed."
Ed frowned. "I don't force you."
"Shut up, you know what I meant."
"If I could have anything," said Stephen glumly, rubbing his knuckles against the top of Tisroc's head, "all I would want is to be Jon's favorite. For real, not just for sex."
Sam groaned and decided to quit bothering.
Nothing she truly wanted was remotely feasible anyway. Unlike Stephen, she craved a companion on her own level, someone to pair off with the way Rob and Ed had. Even if Jon had wielded the wealth and power to buy a thousand more slaves, he couldn't guarantee that happening. Children were even more out of the question. A cute guy might turn up by chance; her ovaries weren't coming back.
"You know what I want?" said Ed dreamily.
"Another couple radios to break?" guessed Rob.
"Glasses?" said Stephen, with a perceptivity that shouldn't have been surprising. Nearsightedness was a challenge that he and Ed both faced.
Sam tried to take her own advice and think big, think unreasonable. "A tutor? Someone to teach you how to put radios back together?"
Ed shrugged. "That too. But the first thing I'd ask for is to be able to take Rob and go East."
The reaction was immediate. Rob clapped a hand over Ed's mouth, while Stephen covered Tisroc's ears and Sam jumped to her feet to do a quick sweep of the room. Secure. As far as she could tell.
"You can't say things like that!" yelled Rob, shaking Ed. "Are you crazy? You can't even think things like that!"
The taller man wrested himself out of Rob's grip, looking hurt. "What did you expect me to think?" he demanded, more sharply than Sam had ever heard from him. "When you said you wished we could get married, where else were you thinking that would happen?"
"You weren't supposed to take it so literally!" cried Rob.
"What else wasn't I supposed to take literally?"
"Both of you, can it!" snapped Sam. "Stephen, quit protecting the dog's plausible deniability and help me make sure nobody's listening."
They checked the doors and scanned the halls, poked heads into the adjacent rooms, even leaned out the keyhole windows and made sure the driveways and walkways were empty, though they were several floors below. Nobody was evident. Thank the rain.
Sam turned up the sound on the radio, put it between them and the door, and gathered her friends into a tight circle. "We're not talking about anybody running," she said sternly. "Got it? And we're not even thinking the words that rhyme with Shmeastern Shmee Shmerritories. But if we were...what would we need to pack?"
+++
They planned.
They stockpiled and strategized and worked in tandem. Ed got a pile of reference books that happened to include an atlas. Rob snuck nonperishables from the kitchen. Sam's requests for new outfits just happened to include sturdy shoes.
It kept on until the morning Stephen returned from warming Jon's bed with an order to be all dressed up that day. Sam had barely finished applying the powder to Rob's head when Jon swept into the room and hauled Stephen into a kiss.
"Some visitors are going to come calling in about half an hour," he announced to the others. (Stephen, released, looked too dizzy with adoration to know or care what he was saying.) "It's expected that I'll receive them here. It would be best if I were...occupied...when they showed up."
"Like, sex occupied?" asked Ed. Sam biffed him across the temple. "Ow!"
"Well, sure," said Jon with false nonchalance. "Or anything else more socially acceptable than planning a run for the border."
Even Stephen froze up at that one. When Rob glared at him, he cowered against Jon's side. "What? I told him you weren't even thinking about it!"
Sam made a mental note to throttle the poor guy later. All their plans, evaporated in one misguided bit of late-night pillow talk....
"It's a good thing you're not," continued Jon. "Because I had a custom order come in recently, which, when delivered, would bring the couriers within half a day's walk of the Eastern Free Territories. Most people would hire a delivery service to take care of something like that, but I would love to save a few crowns by having my happy and loyal harem slaves handle the job."
Stephen opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Rob and Ed just gaped.
It was Sam who adjusted first. She had read through a bunch of the legal terms in the encyclopedia, and spoke carefully as she tested them out for the first time. "Harem slaves who are not only attested to be happy and loyal, but have been witnessed in their enthusiasm firsthand by such unimpeachable sources as...who did you say these visitors were, again?"
"I didn't," said Jon evenly, guiding Stephen toward the lounges and taking a sideways seat. "Must have forgotten to mention it. They're royal inspectors, here on behalf of the Council."
Not the answer Sam had expected. "Okay, refresh my memory here," she said, kneeling behind him to ease off his shirt. "What are they inspecting you for?"
Jon was distracted for a moment or two by Stephen's mouth on his chest. To be fair, Sam was distracted by it too.
"Some obnoxious minor lord got poisoned a couple days ago," he said at last. "And since I publicly called him a dick last month, I get to be on the suspect list. Mmm, that's nice." He ruffled Stephen's hair. "Keep it up."
+++
"Of course I'm not going."
Ed dropped a piece of his still-broken radio; Sam nearly tore the newspaper she had been plumbing for some of Lord Carlson's history. It was a shame Rob was taking his turn in Jon's chambers: the scene really needed a shout of comically outraged astonishment.
"I'll miss you! When did I say I wouldn't miss you?" cried Stephen, as the other two began to protest. "But I'm happy here! I love Jon, and Jon is very happy with me, and the food is good and it's very comfortable and nobody needs anything from me except to be my fabulously attractive self. I have a dog! Jon's promised to get me a horse next! I don't want to go."
The next night, with Stephen away, Sam gathered Rob and Ed together and said, "Someone has to stay and look out for him."
"Sam," protested Rob, clasping her wrist. "What are we gonna do without you?"
"Be harder to catch?" suggested Sam. "Guys, let's be real here. Two concubines running away together is a love story. Three is a conspiracy. I mean, four would have been a conspiracy too, but that wouldn't involve leaving one of us behind to get confiscated when Jon gets called out over it."
Or, she thought but didn't say, to get sold off after someone succeeded in assassinating Jon.
"Is this really going to be enough for you?" said Ed softly.
"Are you kidding? This'll be fine. Jon's not into hurting us or denying us things for the sake of a power trip, Stephen and me together can probably keep him out of trouble, and as for my suppressed maternal instincts, Stephen is basically a big five-year-old anyway, you know? Not in every way, because, ew, but...you get where I'm going with this?"
They did. Even though Ed cried, and Rob loudly drew attention to the fact that he was not crying, before making a hasty exit for their bedroom.
+++
Jon, when he heard, was more sanguine. "Good. I'm going to need your help."
"Wait. What? Help how?"
They were sitting on the couches under his bedroom window, looking out over the gardens. A couple of Jon's peacocks strutted past below, tiny jewels in the moonlight. "With the next couple of people I buy," he replied. "Someone's going to need to ease them into what's going on here. Stephen will tell them how wonderful I am, which they won't believe, and would probably end up assuming I killed you all and dumped the bodies in the river. If you're here, you can tell them the truth."
"Hold up there, pal. You're buying more of us?"
"How long do you think I could be taken seriously with a harem of two? Even four is pushing it."
"Uh-huh. And if the next two also want to run? Because a whole lot of us do. You get that, right?"
This was dangerous territory, but Sam didn't care. Rob and Ed had decided to leave a day earlier than scheduled, the better to keep up Jon's plausible deniability. He didn't know that they were already gone.
"Then we'll have to stagger it," said Jon with a shrug. "Maybe by a lot. I'll have to look for smart people — anyone who can think strategically. Who can understand why it'll pay off to be patient."
"I figured you were going to say you'd have to look for people who didn't want to run."
"Oh," said Jon, looking genuinely caught off-guard. "I guess I could do that too."
Sam considered for a minute. Then she plucked the book he was reading out of his hand, tossed it onto a nearby chair, and straddled his lap.
Jon let her kiss him, though his hands rested lightly on her thighs, almost chastely. When she had broken it off, he said, in a low, wary voice, "What are you doing, Sam?"
"Getting some," said Sam frankly, undoing the top clasp on his collar. "Don't get me wrong, this is entirely a convenience thing. You're handsome, decent at sex—" ("Decent?!") "—and not an objectively terrible person. Had the same kind of thing going with Rob for a while, but he went and fell for Ed, and Stephen wouldn't be interested, not to mention he can't keep it up once you get below a minimum threshold of penises involved. So that leaves you."
The silk under her hands fell back over Jon's bare shoulders. She ground their hips together and felt a jolt of heat, compounded by his shuddering gasp.
"Aww yeah. That's right. Don't even pretend you don't want out of your whole self-imposed dry spell."
"Um," said Jon. "About that."
Except for her heaving chest, Sam went still. "Oh, don't tell me you already went back to tapping Stephen."
Jon shrugged. "He was very persuasive?"
"I'll bet he was," grumbled Sam. She would worry about it, of course, and talk to Stephen, and make sure he was okay. But all that could wait. "As of tonight, the top thing on my wishlist is at least one orgasm. Think you can handle that, O master mine?"
He pulled her down for another kiss, rocking his hips upward. "Let's find out."
+++
The auction house was a sullen, joyless place. Sam hated it here. She would have hated it only moderately less if would-be buyers hadn't kept copping feels, assuming in spite of her modest outfit that the silk leash meant she was on display.
Jon snapped at the few that he caught, and eventually settled his arm around her waist, which helped.
They stopped in front of a young man with island heritage, messy black hair and thick glasses over a prominent nose. His blurb in the pamphlet had caught Sam's eye; he had been used mostly for show and entertainment, and was supposed to be quick-thinking on his feet. In person he looked anxious, but that didn't mean stupid.
Not that Jon could ask about those things. He looked the man up and down, then ordered, with mild curiosity, "Say something with an accent."
"Chip chip cheerio, guv'nor," said the man promptly.
Jon marked down a silent bid on John Oliver.
A few lots down, Sam stopped in her tracks.
Jon went still quickly enough to make it look like his choice, and they both ended up staring at the most gorgeous man Sam had ever seen. Dark curls, broad shoulders, square chin...he was looking absently at something in the distance at first, then realized he was being watched, locked eyes with Sam, and offered her a roguish wink. He also posed, flexing the muscles of his arms...which were not quite as impressive as he thought they were, but still, phew. She had to surreptitiously fan herself with her sleeves.
Jon flipped through the pamphlet for the man's name. Sam leaned sensuously against his arm at just the right angle to read the blurb along with him, and was crushed to find it wasn't one she'd marked for follow-up. In fact, rereading between the lines, this guy was described as dumb as a box of rocks.
"Aw, don't pay any attention to that stuff," said the Adonis before her, unprompted. "My last owner was just too modest to admit that she can't handle the J-squared."
Sam was dimly aware that she was grinning like an idiot. He reminded her of everything she had liked best about Rob, with the bonus that he was eager to impress instead of eager to seem above it all. Plus, he had about a thousand percent nicer hair.
"Moving on?" prompted Jon gently.
"Hang on," said Sam. "Sir," she added quickly, as the nobleman next to her gave them both the hairy eyeball. "Don't we, sir, need at least one more biggish guy around to help carry things, sir?" (The guy in question helped her out by flexing some more.) "Like that! Sir."
"Ah, yes," said Jon. "Yes, I remember now. This is why I let you tag along."
And he put in the first bid on Jason Jones.