DemoGrassi

one

It's dark.

Scott's hands are shackled together at the wrists, the cold metal of his handcuffs digging into his skin.

See, Scott is a slave. He is bought by the wealthy and put to work, usually in the fields.

It's a horrible life, but Scott makes the most of it.

"Get up. We're having an auction," a rough voice commands, jabbing his back. Scott wordlessly obeys, letting the guard lead him to the room where he'd be getting ready.

+++

Scott stands uncomfortably on top of the stage, his fellow slaves next to him on both sides. A group of people, mostly men, are gathered at the foot, their eyes running over the slaves' bodies and mouths shouting out prices.

Soon, it's Scott's turn.

"Scott Hoying, male, six-foot-four, muscular, good for working in the fields. Can I get a $1,000?"

"$1,050!"

"$1,500!"

"$5,000!"

Silence.

Scott tries to find the person who spoke so he can see who is new master is, but he's tugged away before he can.

"Your new master wants you ready in five minutes. Hurry up. Don't keep him waiting." The guard throws a bundle of the standard slave clothing at him, and Scott catches it, scrambling to put it on.

Five minutes later, the guard comes back and pulls Scott outside, only pausing when Scott stumbles and falls. He yanks on the rope attached to Scott's handcuffs. "Get up," he growls, and Scott hurries to obey, forcing himself on his feet.

The man hands the rope to a small man waiting outside by a limo. Scott takes a minute to observe him: chocolate eyes, hair that looks as though it was dyed blonde and brushed to the side so it flops over one eye, and the cutest small frame. He's only about a half a foot shorter than Scott, but six inches is quite a lot height-wise, so he seems really small. With a jolt, Scott recognizes the man as Mitch Grassi.

Mitch offers Scott a soft smile, gently pushing him inside the limo and then sliding in beside him. Scott sits tensely, hoping desperately that the rumors aren't true and Mitch didn't kill his last personal servant by whipping her one time too many.

Mitch glances over at him, and surprising Scott, laughs softly. "The rumors aren't true, if that's what you're thinking. Lizzie died of pneumonia," he says quietly, and Scott allows himself to relax.

Scott sits in silence as they drive back to The White House, staring at his hands. Mitch talks softly to him, giving him the rules that he'll have to follow.

"You can call me 'master' or 'sir' or just 'Mitch' if you want. I honestly don't care. And my father thinks I got a girl one again, so he might get mad, but I can handle that. I will hopefully be your master if he doesn't bring you back or something." Mitch glances over at Scott again, and sees him tense at the mention of being brought back. "That probably won't happen, though," he says quickly, and Scott relaxes once more. 

As Mitch gives the rules, Scott can't help but notice how soft Mitch's voice is, and wonders how in the world he managed to talk over the others to bid on him.

"I like to think I'm one of the nicer masters, so I'll only punish you if it's absolutely necessary. Oh, and I don't know if I'll be able to get my dad to let you sleep in my room on the little slave bed thingy, since I, uh, am not interested in girls, but I'll try my best. If not, I'll kick Jessa out of her room and you can sleep there. What you'll have to do is simple: just follow me around and get me a drink if I ask you and stuff. My dad might put you out in the fields at first, but I'll get you out, so you don't have to worry about picking cotton and sh*t anymore. Oh look. We're here. Come on, Scott."

Mitch opens the door and gently coaxes Scott out. They're standing outside when Mitch glances down at Scott's wrists and jumps, appearing to remember something. "I'm sorry, Scott. I forgot to take your handcuffs off." His hands reach forward to do just that when he hesitates, looking up at his servant. "You won't run, will you?" he asks quietly, and Scott shakes his head. "No, Master," he says just as quietly, and Mitch smiles relievedly, undoing the little clip. The handcuffs fall off into Mitch's waiting hands. Mitch slips them somewhere — Scott doesn't know — and smiles back up at Scott. "Let's go, then."

The two walk inside the large mansion, Mitch comfortably and Scott just the opposite. Noticing his timidness, Mitch smiles reassuringly, grabbing Scott's calloused hand and squeezing it. Scott swallows nervously, but keeps quiet, obediently trotting after his new master.

"What is that?"

Mitch sighs at the sound of the voice, turning around to look his father in the eye. Scott swallows nervously at the sight of the intimidating man, and instinctively holds Mitch's hand tighter. Mitch squeezes his fingers again reassuringly before speaking.

"It's 'who is that', Father. Scott is a person, not an object."

"Is he your new slave?"

"Yes. Problem?"

"Actually, yes. I do have a problem."

"Care to tell me?"

"He's a guy."

"I noticed."

"You're gay."

"Yep."

"He's a guy, and you're gay."

"We established that, yes."

"Mitch, you're going to have a guy sleeping in your room."

"And your point is . . . ?"

Mitch's dad sighs, running his hands through his hair. Mitch smirks, knowing his father is trying not to yell.

"Mitch, I refuse to let you have a guy as your new slave. Send him to the fields or something."

"No! He's not going to go out in the fields!"

"Do you want me to kill him? Because you know I can and you know I will."

"You better f*cking not. Listen, Father. He is my slave. I bought him with my own f*cking money so I will do what I want with him. Understood?"

Scott's eyes widen, shocked by Mitch's sudden outburst. Suddenly he knows how Mitch was heard over all the other bidders.

Mitch's dad seems to be surprised at Mitch's outburst at first, but slowly his shocked expression melts into an impressed smile. "Good job, Mitchie. You're going to need to be a bit more aggressive if you want to run the country properly, and that was perfect. I'm proud of you," he says, and Mitch relaxes slightly, but his eyes still have a threatening glint to them. "Was that all a ploy to get me to get angry?" he asks irritatedly, but Scott can sense the amusement in his voice. Mr. Grassi laughs. "Not entirely, but pretty much. I still don't think you should keep him in your room, but you're right — you did buy him with your own money — so I guess I can't control that." Mitch's lips curve into a triumphant smile, but his dad ignores it, turning to Scott. Scott cowers behind Mitch at his father's gaze, but Mr. Grassi has a warm smile on his lips. "Good luck — Scott, was it?" Scott nods, keeping his eyes trained on the floor. "Yes, sir," he murmurs.

"Good luck, Scott. Mitch can be . . . rough."

"Father! Don't scare him!"

Mr. Grassi chuckles, coming forward to ruffle Mitch's hair. "Sorry, Mitchie. Now, if you don't mind, I have a country to run."

Mitch scowls at his father's receding back, momentarily letting go of Scott's hand to fix his hair. As soon as he's done, he turns to Scott, another smile on his lips.

"Now that that's over, shall we?"