Chapter Text
Peter feels more excited than he has in years when he comes home that day. The last meeting has dragged excruciatingly and focusing on the quarterly performance presentation without letting his mind wander to his new purchase waiting for him proved beyond difficult.
As soon as he walks through the door, Jackson comes to welcome him, the look on his face even more disgruntled than usual. It’s not surprising, though. He’s always in a particularly sour mood when there are new arrivals for him to settle.
“Anything to report?” Peter asks as he hands him his suit jacket to put away.
Jackson’s been working for the family as the manager/overseer for years now so it’s not like Peter lacks faith in his abilities. He’s not a pleasant man but does get things done with efficiency that Peter appreciates.
“No, sir. All the new arrivals have been settled in the servant’s quarters, there were no incidents. All of them but two will start working tomorrow.”
“Two?” Peter raises his eyebrows.
“Well—three, including your new personal, sir.”
Peter grins. He has no doubt his sister will have a word or two to say about Peter’s decision but it’s fine. He deserves a little treat for his hard work. She knows he hates being dragged to that center, following her around as she takes in more workers than they need to rescue them from… Peter doesn’t even know. Working in the mine or something. It’s her little hobby and Peter’s entitled to his.
“Where is he?”
“In your bedroom, as you instructed.”
“Good. Anyone talked to him? Brought him food or anything?”
“No, sir.”
“Good.”
That must have been a long day for him, stewing in the uncertainty. But Peter wants to be the one to talk to him.
Suddenly not feeling in that much of a hurry, he heads to the kitchen. As expected, Mary and a few of the other servants are busy with dinner preparations but no one pays him much mind, safe for a quiet “good evening, sir” here and there.
Peter pours himself a glass of wine and sits at the bar, in his spot. He comes down here quite often—a habit he’s kept ever since he was a child, always looking if there was a cookie to be stolen.
The house, built by their parents, was much grander than he and his sister had need for. Still, after the death of their parents, they decided to stay. It was convenient. As twins, him and Tara were used to being in each other’s company and the house was large enough for Peter to have enough privacy, too.
Plus, Peter appreciated having his meals served and his mess cleaned without having to worry about getting his own servants and dealing with them, when here he had Jackson to run everything.
“You got a new helper, Mary?” Peter nods to the wide-eyed scrawny kid flanking the cook. He vaguely remembers he was one of the new ones from today.
“Not much of a helper, sir. Miss Martel wants him to stay with the home staff, though.”
“Hm,” Peter twirls the red wine in his glass. He’s not surprised Tara insisted on getting that one, though. She always wants to get the young ones.
“Can I get you something, sir?”
“I’m fine,” he finishes his drink in one last gulp, unable to drag it out any longer. “I have someone to attend to, anyway.”
The bedroom is dark by the time he comes in. As he flicks the light on, the figure sitting on the floor jumps to his feet, blinking.
“Hello,” Peter grins at the boy, who’s now watching him warily, his chest heaving. He scrambles a few steps back when Peter comes closer, but he just walks by and makes himself comfortable on the bed. He slips the tie loose from around his neck and undoes the top three buttons of his shirt while Simon stands there awkwardly, nervously wringing his hands. He’s still in that ugly center uniform and Peter hates it.
“Strip,” he orders softly and the boy’s face crumples in pure terror.
“Sir,” he says pleadingly. “Sir. Please. This—This is all a big misunderstanding.”
“Oh, is it?” Peter raises his eyebrows as he leans back on the bed.
“Yes, you see, I didn’t know—nobody explained to me what a blank contract was, I just thought it was like, you know what kind of jobs, and I didn’t realize… I would never…”
“Simon,” Peter interrupts the blabbering with a sigh. At the sound of his name, the boy does shut up. “I don’t care.”
More despair flashes on Simon’s face. “But—you can’t…”
“Oh, I can,” Peter snaps, annoyed. “The only thing I can’t do is kill you or permanently maim you and I don’t intend to do any of that.”
Simon gapes at him, his eyes shiny with tears, and Peter sighs again, his face softening.
“Come here,” he pats a spot next to him on the bed. Reluctantly, Simon drags himself closer and perches himself as far from Peter as he can without falling off the bed. Peter raises his eyebrows and Simon scootches about an inch closer. His back is rigid with tension and he gives Peter a look of trepidation.
“Listen,” Peter says gently. “I won’t force this on you. If you say this is a misunderstanding, I will take you back to the center.”
Hope flashes on Simon’s face and Peter continues. “I will tell them you’re too stupid to know what you’re signing and to change your contract. You’ll stay in the center while they process the papers and it might take months, which, of course, won’t count towards your sentence. You can take your chances, sure. Who knows who will come for you then. Hopefully you won’t have to spend the next decade in a sweatshop, like most of the wards do.”
It’s satisfying, watching the hope slowly fade away from Simon’s face. Peter waits a bit for the words to sink in. “Or,” he smiles. “Or, you can stay with me. Look around you. This house can be your home. You’ll sleep here with me, in my bed. You’ll eat only the best food. You won’t have to work in grueling conditions. It’s an easy life, sweetheart.”
Simon stares ahead of himself, both fear and hopelessness battling on his face.
“I can be a generous man,” Peter continues. “If you please me, there will be rewards. I’m sure your sister could use some extra money, no?”
As expected, the words make Simon flinch, his head snapping to look at Peter.
“How do you—”
“I’ve read your file. I know why you’re doing this. How noble, saving your sister from poverty and servitude. I, too, love my sister dearly, so I can relate.”
Simon’s quiet for a long time and Peter waits him out patiently, watching as slowly his resolve crumbles, his shoulders sag and a look of defeated resignation creeps in.
“I don’t—,” he says finally in a small voice. “I’ve never done any of this before.”
Peter grins. “Don’t worry about that, sweetheart. The only thing you need to know how to do is obey.”
Simon swallows convulsively but then his face sets in resolve and he nods.
“Now, then,” Peter says sweetly. “Go on and take off your clothes.”
Simon blinks and the apprehension and fear are back in full force. “Like, now? Can we maybe… start tomorrow? It’s been a long—”
“Yes, now,” Peter interrupts him. “And don’t make me ask a third time or you won’t like what happens.”
Finally, that gets the boy to move. His hands shake as he unbuttons the uniform and slips off his pants. He moves the heap of clothes away with his foot and Peter takes makes a mental note to teach him to fold his clothes neatly next time.
Peter gets up, circling around, taking his time to admire. Simon is very pretty—his pretty face was what caught Peter’s interest in the first place. He has lovely fair hair, though right now it looks a bit dull and caked with sweat. It’s fine though, Peter will have him grow it out, get him some products, maybe brighten it up a bit with some highlights. Oh, how lovely will he look. And longer hair is always nice for grabbing.
Next he turns his attention to Simon’s body. He’s a tad too skinny for Peter’s liking. Not that Peter doesn’t like them slim but he also appreciates a bit of toning, just a hint of muscles. Nothing too extreme, of course. Peter will talk to his personal trainer tomorrow to take Simon under his wings, create a custom exercise plan and eating regime to get him just where Peter wants him.
His skin is perfect, though, pale with cute freckles sprayed over his back and shoulders. Right now, he’s blushing beautifully, the deep red creeping down his neck all the way to his chest. His hands are clenched by his side and he’s shaking with the effort to stay still under Peter’s scrutiny.
“Good,” Peter praises him. From behind he wraps one arm around Simon’s chest, pulling him closer to keep him still, while with his other he reaches down and takes Simon’s soft cock in his hand.
As expected, Simon flinches violently but Peter holds him in place. “Sir,” he pants. He makes an aborted movement as if to stop Peter.
“Hush,” Peter says softly. He hooks his chin around Simon’s shoulder and continues to gently stroke his member. As stressful as this must be for Simon, Peter is pleased to see he does start getting hard after the initial resistance. His mouth parted slightly, brows furrowed, he looks simply delicious. It takes barely any time for Peter to stroke him into full erection. A bead of precum appears at the head of Simon’s dick and Peter uses his thumb to spread it around, eliciting a little broken noise from the boy.
“Well,” Peter takes a step back, wiping his sticky hand on Simon’s chest. “That was lovely, but I don’t think you’ve earned an orgasm just yet. Let’s get you cleaned up and ready for bed.”
Simon bites his lip and Peter can’t tell if he’s relieved or disappointed. Paying him no mind, he heads to the en-suite bathroom and starts a bath. He checks the water temperature and adds a cup of his favorite relaxing bath salt. Once there is enough water he turns the tap off and gestures to Simon who’s been standing awkwardly by the door, watching him.
“Get in.”
Simon does, after only a beat of hesitation. He sits in the large bathtub, hugging his knees to his chest, and keeps glancing at Peter nervously. It’s when Peter moves a small stool next to the bathtub and grabs a washcloth that he recoils.
“I can wash myself, sir.”
Peter’s annoyance flares. He grabs Simon’s hair and yanks him closer.
“None of that,” he chides coldly. “Your only job is to obey, remember?”
Simon nods jerkily and Peter lets go of him. Soaping up the washcloth, he gets to work, smiling to himself. It’s going to take time and patience to turn this one into a perfect pet, but he can already tell he’s going to enjoy every step of it.
Peter takes his time cleaning up the boy. He runs the washcloth all over his body, getting him accustomed to Peter’s touch just as well as getting him clean. He cleans his now-soft dick and runs the cloth between his butt cheeks, much to Simon’s dislike, but to his credit, there are no more words of complaint.
After he’s clean, Peter dries him off with a large fluffy towel. Simon wraps himself in it afterwards and when Peter holds out his hand expectantly, his face falls a little. He does give it up, though, and then follows Peter back to the bedroom stark naked.
Just a moment later there’s a knock on the door.
“Come in.”
Simon’s eyes grow wide in alarm and he quickly clasps his hands in front of his crotch. It’s adorable but Peter will train it out of him soon.
It’s one of the house servants. Jimmy, or Jerry, Peter doesn’t remember, and he’s wheeling in a small cart with food he’s sent for before the bath.
“Sir,” the boy bows. “Anything else I can do for you?”
“No, that’ll be all, Jimmy.”
The boy gives him a shy smile and Peter wonders if he’s got the name right.
“Alright,” Peter turns to Simon once they are alone again. “Are you hungry?”
Simon glances nervously at the plate with an array of sandwiches, nuts and fresh fruit. With a sigh, Peter comes closer, gently taking hold of Simon’s chin to look him in the eyes.
“It’s not a trick question. I told you, you won’t ever go hungry with me.”
Simon nods. “I am very hungry, sir.”
Peter moves the cart closer to one of the armchairs in the bedroom and then sits down, gesturing for Simon to come closer.
“Kneel.”
After a moment of hesitation, long enough to be bordering on disobedience, Simon finally does fold himself ungracefully on his knees. Peter gives him a critical look and corrects his posture a little, guiding him to cross his wrists at the small of his back. Then he takes one of the sandwiches, cut into a neat triangle, and holds it out to Simon.
To his surprise, Simon clenches his teeth angrily and looks away, not moving to take the food in the slightest.
“What is it?” Peter asks, deceptively soft.
“I ain’t—I can feed myself. Sir.”
Peter slaps him. Not hard, just enough to make him blink in surprise.
“I’m sure you can,” Peter says icily. “Now, eat.”
He holds the sandwich out once more and Simon sets his mouth in a thin line, almost desperately.
“Simon,” Peter warns. “If you don’t eat now, you’ll have to wait until breakfast tomorrow. Which I will also hand-feed you. There is no getting around this.”
Simon closes his eyes in defeat. Two tears roll silently down his cheek and finally, he opens his mouth. Ah, yes, he still has that pride of being free and independent. It must be hard to let go of it and accept that this is his new life but Peter is nothing if not patient.
Once Simon gives in, the rest of the meal passes peacefully. Peter feeds him a few of the sandwiches and slices of orange, which make juice dribble down his chin. Peter wipes it with a napkin, enjoying the flash of indignation on Simon’s face.
Contrary to what he told Simon, he does not plan to hand-feed him all his meals. It’s impractical and slow but he does want Simon to accept it and get used to it right from the start.
After they are done with the food, Peter changes into his pajamas. Simon watches him, a slightly hopeful look on his face, but Peter just shakes his head.
“You’re sleeping naked.”
Simon pouts a little but doesn’t complain. They brush their teeth in the bathroom and then finally, Peter climbs onto the bed, lying down with a satisfied sigh.
“Come on,” he lifts the blanket invitingly. Simon looks at the bed with barely concealed terror, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.
“Are you going to fuck me?”
“I am,” Peter answers easily. “Not today, though. All in good time. Now let’s go to sleep.”
After one last beat of hesitation, Simon makes himself climb on the bed, too. Before he can get any ideas about sleeping as far from Peter as the large king-size bed allows, Peter grabs him and pulls him closer, throwing an arm over the smaller boy.
“Hush,” he whispers when he feels Simon tremble in his arms. “I said we’re sleeping.”
Peter has no idea when or if the boy manages to fall asleep. All he knows is that he is out almost immediately.