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sabinetzinTitle: White Elephant
Summary: So it goes without saying that when everything changed, John was completely unprepared for it.
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis (fusion with Kushiel's Dart)
Word Count: 1300
Rating/Contents: PG-13, discussions of masochism, prostitution, all that good stuff
Pairing: ...Gen? Mention of John/Caldwell, eventual John/Rodney
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: Okay yes I wrote the thing, because it was just way too funny of an idea to leave sitting. I think you can read this without knowing much except the basic premise of Kushiel's Dart; I certainly took enough liberties with it that it may not even help.
If John hadn’t been the son of the late, lamented Patrick Sheppard, the only man who had ever made the threat “If you don’t shape up, I’m going to sell you to Valerian House” and actually followed through with it, he might have stood a chance at a normal life.
John couldn’t be entirely sure, later, that his father had ever intended to sell him at all. His father had seemed certain enough, when he marched John down to Valerian’s doorstep and presented him to the Dowayne. She took one look at the scarlet fleck in John’s eye and instantly agreed to the ridiculously high price John’s father demanded. John would never know if he was just imagining the look of surprise on his father’s face, nor interpret what it might have meant; but he sold John just the same.
He wasn’t long for Valerian. John realized early on that they hated him, all of them, for being an anguissette, for effortlessly enjoying the torment that they’d had to learn to put themselves through. He was kind of in awe of it himself, of the thing that danced in his blood, of the way his body could transmute pain into pleasure without any effort at all. Just the thought of it was exhilarating; if he could bring himself to such heights with just a hand and his clumsy, pinching fingers, he could only imagine what it would be like to be under the hand of someone versed in pain, someone who could play him like an instrument, like he was meant to be.
Valerian could have learned to bear the insult of his nature, John knew, if it hadn’t been so readily apparent that he didn’t fit into their canon at all. No matter what they did, no matter how long they tried, they couldn’t beat servility or grace or submission into him.
They did try, though. John had a lot of good memories about that part.
So John grew up in half a dozen houses, passed back and forth between them like an unwanted vase. His tenth birthday passed, and his fourteenth, and his sixteenth, and his eighteenth; and pretty soon everyone his age was doing something with themselves, was an adept or had been bought away from the Night Court, while John did nothing, basically. He sort of liked his life, in those days, as a perpetually out of place hanger-on; he braided hair and attended at parties and played the lyre for the children, and if it was boring, at least it was safe and stress-free.
There were always the prospective buyers to be dealt with, of course. They started coming when John was young and never really stopped; but if there was one thing John had learned in all his years of navigating so many different houses, it was how to manipulate people. To the ones who wanted him to kneel humbly, he was brash and angry; to the ones that wanted to force him to his knees, he was quiet and subservient. Almost all of them went away frustrated, flustered by John’s dedication to being completely unmanageable.
There were a few that John almost considered letting in, just dropping the act and letting them decide for themselves. Caldwell was the last of them. He was clever and funny and cruel, and whenever he was around, John’s heart beat faster. John was certain he’d pay John’s virgin price, if nothing else; but then, quite suddenly, he had a new war and a new wife to contend with, and he forgot about John entirely.
John was only a little bit devastated.
And John’s life passed idly by in that fashion, his opportunities slowly dwindling, one by one; so it goes without saying that when everything changed, John was completely unprepared for it.
He was back at Valerian again- he didn’t rightly know why they were still bothering with him, but they were masochists, after all. He wasn’t in attendance the night that it happened, but gossip spread like wildfire even in the sober halls of Valerian. All he knew was this: the Dowayne had played a rich, unknown merchant in a game of chance; the Dowayne had lost; the Dowayne had promised the trader one of the great treasures of the Night Court in payment. Everyone was consumed with guessing what- or who- the Dowayne would have to give up. John was just as interested as anybody else; if he’d had money, he’d have wagered it on one of the enormous, vine-covered statues in one of the lesser gardens. They were incredibly old, incredibly unwieldy, and incredibly valuable, which made them perfect candidates. There was no way the Dowayne would possibly agree to part with anything that had real worth.
It didn’t surprise John when he was summoned to attend. Wanting to see what was going on won out over his natural rebellious streak, so he dressed carefully and went, kneeling abeyante next to the wall, his eyes cast mostly downwards.
The first thing he ever saw of McKay was his feet, clad in leather boots that were desperately in need of polish. “I’m very busy,” he said to the Dowayne. “I really only have time to take my winnings and go.” John frowned slightly, trying to puzzle out whether he was deliberately thumbing his nose at the Dowayne, or just too ignorant to know he was doing it; one he was all in favor of, but the other he had no time for.
“I understand completely,” the Dowayne said smoothly, as if she didn’t notice the slight. “Please, be seated. Your prize is close at hand.” McKay took a place on the nearest couch; John could see him rub his hands together as he waited.
“John,” the Dowayne called, and he rose, going to her side, keeping his eyes carefully lowered. He sincerely hoped that he wasn’t going to have to lug one of those freaking statues all the way out here for her. Instead of sending him away, though, she merely placed a hand on the small of his back. “This, my lord, is the greatest treasure of Valerian.”
John forgot himself in an instant, whipping his head around to gape at her; when he finally got his first look at McKay’s face, it was just as shocked as John’s.
“He is an anguissette,” the Dowayne said; her voice was full of pride, but her eyes were full of mischief, “marked by Kushiel’s Dart. He is the pinnacle of all we could ever hope to achieve.”
“An anguissette?” McKay stammered. “I didn’t- I don’t-”
“Forgive me,” she said coyly, and John kind of hated her more than usual. “I imagine you were not expecting a gift quite so valuable.” She sighed. “But we must repay our debts in full.” She rose, kissing John in farewell. “I will not keep you any longer. You are always welcome here, my lord.” With that, she turned and left the chamber, without another word.
McKay stood gaping, staring after her; one hand came up to clutch at his hair. He turned to John, suddenly, and demanded, “What the fuck was that?!”
John flicked his eyes up and down McKay’s body, taking him in. He was younger than John expected, not much older than John himself; his skin was pale, his fingers stained with ink. He was dressed in the manner of the incredibly rich- which is to say that he dressed like he was on his way to the pawnbroker’s to buy his good clothes back.
He didn’t carry an ounce of cruelty anywhere in his body.
“The hell if I know,” John answered flatly. He couldn’t tell which one of them had been cheated more, him or McKay.
Summary: So it goes without saying that when everything changed, John was completely unprepared for it.
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis (fusion with Kushiel's Dart)
Word Count: 1300
Rating/Contents: PG-13, discussions of masochism, prostitution, all that good stuff
Pairing: ...Gen? Mention of John/Caldwell, eventual John/Rodney
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: Okay yes I wrote the thing, because it was just way too funny of an idea to leave sitting. I think you can read this without knowing much except the basic premise of Kushiel's Dart; I certainly took enough liberties with it that it may not even help.
If John hadn’t been the son of the late, lamented Patrick Sheppard, the only man who had ever made the threat “If you don’t shape up, I’m going to sell you to Valerian House” and actually followed through with it, he might have stood a chance at a normal life.
John couldn’t be entirely sure, later, that his father had ever intended to sell him at all. His father had seemed certain enough, when he marched John down to Valerian’s doorstep and presented him to the Dowayne. She took one look at the scarlet fleck in John’s eye and instantly agreed to the ridiculously high price John’s father demanded. John would never know if he was just imagining the look of surprise on his father’s face, nor interpret what it might have meant; but he sold John just the same.
He wasn’t long for Valerian. John realized early on that they hated him, all of them, for being an anguissette, for effortlessly enjoying the torment that they’d had to learn to put themselves through. He was kind of in awe of it himself, of the thing that danced in his blood, of the way his body could transmute pain into pleasure without any effort at all. Just the thought of it was exhilarating; if he could bring himself to such heights with just a hand and his clumsy, pinching fingers, he could only imagine what it would be like to be under the hand of someone versed in pain, someone who could play him like an instrument, like he was meant to be.
Valerian could have learned to bear the insult of his nature, John knew, if it hadn’t been so readily apparent that he didn’t fit into their canon at all. No matter what they did, no matter how long they tried, they couldn’t beat servility or grace or submission into him.
They did try, though. John had a lot of good memories about that part.
So John grew up in half a dozen houses, passed back and forth between them like an unwanted vase. His tenth birthday passed, and his fourteenth, and his sixteenth, and his eighteenth; and pretty soon everyone his age was doing something with themselves, was an adept or had been bought away from the Night Court, while John did nothing, basically. He sort of liked his life, in those days, as a perpetually out of place hanger-on; he braided hair and attended at parties and played the lyre for the children, and if it was boring, at least it was safe and stress-free.
There were always the prospective buyers to be dealt with, of course. They started coming when John was young and never really stopped; but if there was one thing John had learned in all his years of navigating so many different houses, it was how to manipulate people. To the ones who wanted him to kneel humbly, he was brash and angry; to the ones that wanted to force him to his knees, he was quiet and subservient. Almost all of them went away frustrated, flustered by John’s dedication to being completely unmanageable.
There were a few that John almost considered letting in, just dropping the act and letting them decide for themselves. Caldwell was the last of them. He was clever and funny and cruel, and whenever he was around, John’s heart beat faster. John was certain he’d pay John’s virgin price, if nothing else; but then, quite suddenly, he had a new war and a new wife to contend with, and he forgot about John entirely.
John was only a little bit devastated.
And John’s life passed idly by in that fashion, his opportunities slowly dwindling, one by one; so it goes without saying that when everything changed, John was completely unprepared for it.
He was back at Valerian again- he didn’t rightly know why they were still bothering with him, but they were masochists, after all. He wasn’t in attendance the night that it happened, but gossip spread like wildfire even in the sober halls of Valerian. All he knew was this: the Dowayne had played a rich, unknown merchant in a game of chance; the Dowayne had lost; the Dowayne had promised the trader one of the great treasures of the Night Court in payment. Everyone was consumed with guessing what- or who- the Dowayne would have to give up. John was just as interested as anybody else; if he’d had money, he’d have wagered it on one of the enormous, vine-covered statues in one of the lesser gardens. They were incredibly old, incredibly unwieldy, and incredibly valuable, which made them perfect candidates. There was no way the Dowayne would possibly agree to part with anything that had real worth.
It didn’t surprise John when he was summoned to attend. Wanting to see what was going on won out over his natural rebellious streak, so he dressed carefully and went, kneeling abeyante next to the wall, his eyes cast mostly downwards.
The first thing he ever saw of McKay was his feet, clad in leather boots that were desperately in need of polish. “I’m very busy,” he said to the Dowayne. “I really only have time to take my winnings and go.” John frowned slightly, trying to puzzle out whether he was deliberately thumbing his nose at the Dowayne, or just too ignorant to know he was doing it; one he was all in favor of, but the other he had no time for.
“I understand completely,” the Dowayne said smoothly, as if she didn’t notice the slight. “Please, be seated. Your prize is close at hand.” McKay took a place on the nearest couch; John could see him rub his hands together as he waited.
“John,” the Dowayne called, and he rose, going to her side, keeping his eyes carefully lowered. He sincerely hoped that he wasn’t going to have to lug one of those freaking statues all the way out here for her. Instead of sending him away, though, she merely placed a hand on the small of his back. “This, my lord, is the greatest treasure of Valerian.”
John forgot himself in an instant, whipping his head around to gape at her; when he finally got his first look at McKay’s face, it was just as shocked as John’s.
“He is an anguissette,” the Dowayne said; her voice was full of pride, but her eyes were full of mischief, “marked by Kushiel’s Dart. He is the pinnacle of all we could ever hope to achieve.”
“An anguissette?” McKay stammered. “I didn’t- I don’t-”
“Forgive me,” she said coyly, and John kind of hated her more than usual. “I imagine you were not expecting a gift quite so valuable.” She sighed. “But we must repay our debts in full.” She rose, kissing John in farewell. “I will not keep you any longer. You are always welcome here, my lord.” With that, she turned and left the chamber, without another word.
McKay stood gaping, staring after her; one hand came up to clutch at his hair. He turned to John, suddenly, and demanded, “What the fuck was that?!”
John flicked his eyes up and down McKay’s body, taking him in. He was younger than John expected, not much older than John himself; his skin was pale, his fingers stained with ink. He was dressed in the manner of the incredibly rich- which is to say that he dressed like he was on his way to the pawnbroker’s to buy his good clothes back.
He didn’t carry an ounce of cruelty anywhere in his body.
“The hell if I know,” John answered flatly. He couldn’t tell which one of them had been cheated more, him or McKay.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-26 12:41 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-26 02:44 pm (UTC)*chin hands*
I WILL WATCH WITH ANTICIPATION. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-26 04:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-26 04:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-26 10:24 pm (UTC)Would it be rude to just sit here, mouth open like a baby bird, waiting for more?
.\/
(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-26 10:30 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-26 11:58 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-27 01:26 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-27 02:59 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-27 03:15 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-27 09:00 pm (UTC)So, next there is UST and angst and then lots of kinky sex. Yes? Am I right?
(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-03 04:42 am (UTC)