Blair's Branding

Insomnia seemed to be an after effect of his freak out so Blair found himself, during the small hours, pacing the household. It was difficult to become physically exhausted when his life was taken up with sedentary activities like learning to read Quinn’s library or attending his duties as valet. Out of desperation he even began to learn a martial art - that made Quinn laugh because it was something one learned as a child, and here was this grown off-worlder trying to get his stiff body through these moves. At least he had a way of getting some kind of workout. He’d even begun hiking the vast acreage of Quinn’s family holdings. That took some doing; Quinn had to forewarn the other houses so no one would think Blair was running away. Someone ghosted him of course; this was hostile and alien territory for him, even within the confines of the Clan borders. Megan would not accompany him; as far as she was concerned this was too much like physical work and the climate would ruin her skin. He would also accompany Quinn on various outings. Megan didn’t resent the additional attention; none of these activities appealed to her. Besides, she had Quinn at the end of the day.

He should have realized that a sexual being like Quinn, having left Blair’s bed, would seek his comfort elsewhere. Still, it was a shock to stumble upon Quinn and Megan fucking in the bathing room. They didn’t see him; Megan was in Quinn’s arms, her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms around his neck and her face buried in his shoulder. If he were to be honest with himself, when he backed out of the room he felt overwhelming jealousy…and arousal. He could feel Quinn’s cock in him when he recalled how Quinn’s buttocks rhythmically flexed as he thrust into Megan. Quinn hadn’t sought him out since the incident. Oh he was kind, spoke to Blair, touched Blair, laughed with him, but he didn’t ask for him. Blair knew Quinn well enough now to realize that Quinn was waiting for him. Quinn would not do the asking, Blair must. Well he wasn’t ready to do that yet. Certainly Quinn recognized the implications of such an action as much as Blair did. If he were to go to Quinn, then he would give tacit acceptance to his bondage. So he struggled against the impulse because he really did want to go to him.

This is what probably robbed him of sleep. The freak out gave voice to those agonies, and now they wouldn’t be hushed. He wished he believed in fate or destiny because perhaps then he could convince himself that it was his fate to travel the universe and find his love. His love? How could he love his master? He thought he believed in that fate and destiny stuff. He used to fancy himself a seeker. He was all into meditation, healing music, vibrations, and the lot. It was all crap. Here he was facing the ultimate test of his peace of mind pfft and it all went to shit. He was like everybody else; making it up as he went along.

“Lights.” He said entering the library. The sensors obliged and brought up lighting of half intensity, half being what he’d specified the last time he haunted the stacks during the small hours of the morning. The scribe Quinn had purchased for him, as promised an old hay burner, was doing a great job teaching Blair. Blair felt that scribe was pleased with him, surprised that the pleasure slave for whom his services had been purchased would be interested in serious scholarship. His attitude changed from the first day to the next facilitated by Blair‘s capacity and by Quinn‘s impressive private collection.. Eagerly he introduced Blair to science and poetry, culture and history topics, taking pains to help him understand symbolism and metaphor to truly appreciate the literature.

Blair’s current interest was in philosophy. He was beginning to understand this ‘fucked up stratified society’ better. The inflexibility he saw was ingrained. Individuals were born into their roles; roles inherited and passed on from generation to generation. A man who attended his craft enough to be mediocre at it would be more admired than one who applied himself to a different role than that destined to him by his family. That second man was an anathema. If destiny were a shape in this society, it would be a reed; one could move up or down, but there was no room to move across. The anthropologist in him recognized the hostile planet as the root cause of this social stratification. After all, every individual’s survival would depend on every individual’s dedication to his particular duty. Flourishing in such an environment would breed up some stubborn people. Combine the two and the result is a tough minded population slavishly dedicated to tradition and order. The reeds bound together would prove formidable.

Quinn, coming from a warrior clan, would have begun training as a small child. There would be little time for a child’s foolishness here. He would have known his duty even before he knew his way home from the market. Quinn was no meat headed fighter, but his intellectual prowess would be secondary to his physical prowess and his mastery of strategy, leadership and the like. And leadership would be especially important considering his father was the current Clan Leader.

This was why Blair - a wild-caught adult off-worlder - was such a poor fit. In so many ways he was completely the antithesis of this society. He came from a world where, at least in his corner of it, he had the freedom to choose his own destiny and to change his mind in mid-stream if he so desired. In his corner of the world at least, through mutual consent, it was agreed that no one individual had the right to infringe on another’s individual’s right to his own destiny. What Blair had not realized was that for such a paradigm to exist both parties had to agree in philosophy. Obviously, as he was learning now, if one party did not acknowledge the other party’s right to his own destiny, then the one whose destiny remained was the one who survived the struggle. To be blunt, regardless of Blair’s belief that no man should be enslaved, he lacked the power to enforce this in a society where no one agreed with him. Therefore, it was a useless belief.

He put the book down abruptly; shocked at the logic of the conclusion he drew on his own. Of course the book itself said nothing about Blair’s situation. But clearly it laid out a logical case. Megan was right when she said all that time ago that it didn’t matter what he believed because here, that belief wasn’t the case. Slavery might be wrong back in Cascade, Washington but it was through mutual agreement. Here, slavery was not wrong; it was simply one of many roles. Some people were merchants, some were scribes and scholars, some were philosophers, some were warriors and some were slaves. Slavery was Blair’s reed and in it he could move up or down. He found a certain relief in this illumination, but also a certain anxiety. He was trapped that was clear. But would he survive, mind intact?

“Aaargh!” His own shout of frustration surprised him. How could he choose? Philosophy aside, this was no small thing. Even as his logical mind began to grasp the reality of his circumstances, his gut remained petulant. But I don’t want it! He cried mentally, stamping a mental foot. Blair felt almost physically torn; he felt so agitated he did not know whether he would first do murder or harm himself. He looked up at a small noise and found his salvation. Quinn stood at the door, bare save for the robe he’d thrown on running out to find the source of disturbance. Blair tugged at his own curls thoughtfully as he contemplated his master.
“At least this way I would sleep.” He murmured to himself as he rose from the table.
Boldly he approached Quinn and took his hand. He pressed it to his cheek and kissed the palm before drawing Quinn to his small room. The question of his sanity would remain for another time; at least this way he could sleep.