![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kelly_girl
Title: The Well Trodden Path
Rating: R
Pairing: Michael Weatherly/Mark Harmon, (Previous Michael Weatherly/Kevin Bacon, Michael Weatherly/Kirstie Alley)
Notes:Set in![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
poisontaster's Kept Verse. If you know nothing about it, you may be a little confused. go here for more info.
Disclaimer: Michael and Mark belong to themselves. This is all made up.
A/N: Big thanks toixchel55 for the quick lookover. Also thanks to poisontaster for letting us play in her sandbox.
Summary: Being comfortable doesn't equal happiness
Michael woke to the barely there beeping of his alarm clock. Usually, he didn’t need it but he’d had a late night and he’d set it before falling into bed. He ignored the twinge in his knees and stretched before slipping on a pair of jogging shorts. He slipped out of his room and enjoyed the silence that signaled the early hour.
Master Harmon’s house was beautiful, but no one would ever mistake it for a showplace. The furniture was well built and comfortable, but definitely not this year’s style. No one was in the kitchen and Michael let himself out the back door, his mind on other things than the jogging route he could run blindfolded.
In one week he will have been with Master Harmon and Mistress Dawber for twenty years. It was a very long time for a body-slave and the promises and words that have been said over the years were all hard to remember when you were forty. On one level he believed Master Harmon wouldn’t sell him just because he wasn’t a dewy, smirking, (always politely, of course) twenty year old anymore but he’d heard the stories and read the pain filled entries online.
They said I was family…they said they loved me…they said they’d never sell me.
Michael didn’t fool himself. Of course they care about him, he took very good care of them and of the house. He knew the ins and outs of their daily lives better than them, and he could still leave his Master very satisfied.
But the words he learned as a scared and confused teen-ager were tattooed on his soul: You are property and don’t ever forget it, they don’t.
Michael had been wealthy once. When he was fifteen his family had ended up on the brink of being on the other side of the prestige they’d valued and cultivated. One discreet, private sale to Commerce, and their bank accounts were better and he was just Michael, no longer a Weatherly and no longer free.
He’d had no time to be angry, he’d just been scared, nervous, and not sure what Master Bacon had wanted when he’d bought him home. He’d soon learned many things and with them the knowledge that his body was no longer his.
To keep some semblance of his self he learned to play a part, one that smiled and teased and made his Master happy with jokes and witty observations about the other rich people around them.
Michael glanced at the sky. It looked like rain and they could use some. He nodded to a pair of female slaves, their shopping bags bulging with groceries from the small market down the street. He sipped water and jogged back the way he’d come. He had things to do and other slaves to oversee, but his memories kept interrupting.
Michael spent four years with Master Bacon before he was sold to settle a debt. Mistress Alley was different and once again Michael remade himself. If he complimented her a lot and made her smile she adored him and showered him with gifts.
After a few months, it became exhausting to continually reassure her about every single part of her personality and appearance, but his smile never slipped and he never ever showed the pity he felt for her.
One day a close friend visited and before the visit was over, Michael was sold. He’d looked back once as he followed Master Harmon out, and Mistress Alley was already on the phone, busy talking with her friends, debating whether she wanted a blonde or brunette haired boy for her next body slave.
Michael knew it would take him a few weeks to discover the role he would have to play with his new Master. When he met his Master’s wife he still wasn’t worried. He’d become what he needed to in order to avoid beatings or any other hardships.
Master Bacon had hit him a few times and Mistress Alley had withheld food from him, once for three days, but he’d gotten through all of that, he was fine, and he intended to stay that way.
When he arrived back home, the cook was almost done with breakfast. He nodded to her and hurried up to his room. It was right beside his Master’s, but he’d stopped feeling proud of that fact years ago. It just meant more time spent pretending everything was okay and that he was pleased to serve.
He showered and dried in record time, only to stop and stare at his revealed reflection as the steam slowly seeped away. Deep down, he was afraid that those things had become so much a part of him that it was true. He was domesticated, a favored pet, something beloved perhaps, but not anything they couldn’t replace if necessary.
When he opened the door to his Master’s room he was struck with the memory of the first time he’d entered.
He’d been with his third owner for two days and he’d been growing afraid that his new Master had changed his mind. In the sparsely decorated bedroom, Master Harmon had laid out the rules while Michael tried to keep an attentive, pleasant look on his face. His mind had raced with the possibilities that this new Master was a little insane. There were no outrageous rules or demands said in a pleasant voice. His duties didn’t seem too bad, but he knew another shoe would fall soon.
Mistress Dawber was a mystery too. She had her own body-slave and when she talked to Michael she was always polite, a smile on her face, and her instructions sounded like requests.
He woke Master Harmon and brought out the clothes he’d prepared, before he turned on the shower and made sure the towel heater was at the right temperature. He’d been doing these things for years, whether he spent the night in here or not.
After breakfast he made sure the meeting room was in order. Master Harmon would never think to check and wouldn’t care if others coming into his home found it up to a certain standard.
That had become Michael’s job a year after he’d been bought. This household had needed someone in it to make sure certain formalities were followed and then eased back when the elite wasn’t focused on it or the family.
Being the owner of one of the most successful football teams in the Empire made Master Harmon a man to know. People wanted favors and business had to be done. His Master was good at hiding his annoyance behind a jovial and polite manner. Michael often wondered if he knew Michael too played a role.
There were three meetings and they each lasted an hour. He kneeled next to Master Harmon’s chair and acted the part of the dutiful slave while listening carefully to the various Masters and forming opinions he’d share with his owner later.
Five years after being with his new Master, and being told he was valued while getting used to their eccentricities, like doing some of their own cooking and gardening, he looked up his family on the internet.
The shock of finding out Michael Weatherly Jr. died in a car wreck at the age of fifteen caused him to break the rules that had kept him sane. He’d known, of course he’d known he could never go back, but this was like a whiplash across his shoulders.
The anger he’d dismissed and pushed away for so long, poured out and when Master Harmon found him in the wrecked office, Michael was certain he was on his way to being sold to some corporation where he’d die in a mine or cleaning up toxic waste. Tears poured down his face and he couldn’t even think to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness.
Master Harmon had studied him and demanded an answer. When none was forthcoming he’d looked around the room and at the computer. He’d read the article that accompanied a picture and like that, he’d put it all together. Michael waited, hating that his fate wasn’t in his control, hating everyone at that moment. He’d felt broken and for the first time he’d talked about things he’d shut away since his first night with Master Bacon.
His Master had done the impossible and listened. Then he told him he was sorry. The ‘punishment’ he was given for wrecking the office gave Michael the opportunity to safely get rid the anger still bubbling under his skin. In a few weeks, his Master had a section of the yard dug out and ready for a pool.
Later that night, Michael shared his observations about the meetings and wondered if his Master would mention the upcoming anniversary. He’d have to give an embarrassed smile and thank him if he did. It was still hard to do, especially knowing if his life had turned out the way it was supposed to, he’d be the Master. But that kind of thinking led to trouble, so he pushed it away. He was good at that too.
There was no mention of the years he’d been in service and after he and Master Harmon had sex, Michael lay there and hoped it would not come up at all. He repeated the same mantra he’d repeated for years as he fell asleep; ‘My name is Michael Manning Weatherly Jr.’
End
Rating: R
Pairing: Michael Weatherly/Mark Harmon, (Previous Michael Weatherly/Kevin Bacon, Michael Weatherly/Kirstie Alley)
Notes:Set in
poisontaster's Kept Verse. If you know nothing about it, you may be a little confused. go here for more info.Disclaimer: Michael and Mark belong to themselves. This is all made up.
A/N: Big thanks to
ixchel55 for the quick lookover. Also thanks to poisontaster for letting us play in her sandbox.Summary: Being comfortable doesn't equal happiness
Michael woke to the barely there beeping of his alarm clock. Usually, he didn’t need it but he’d had a late night and he’d set it before falling into bed. He ignored the twinge in his knees and stretched before slipping on a pair of jogging shorts. He slipped out of his room and enjoyed the silence that signaled the early hour.
Master Harmon’s house was beautiful, but no one would ever mistake it for a showplace. The furniture was well built and comfortable, but definitely not this year’s style. No one was in the kitchen and Michael let himself out the back door, his mind on other things than the jogging route he could run blindfolded.
In one week he will have been with Master Harmon and Mistress Dawber for twenty years. It was a very long time for a body-slave and the promises and words that have been said over the years were all hard to remember when you were forty. On one level he believed Master Harmon wouldn’t sell him just because he wasn’t a dewy, smirking, (always politely, of course) twenty year old anymore but he’d heard the stories and read the pain filled entries online.
They said I was family…they said they loved me…they said they’d never sell me.
Michael didn’t fool himself. Of course they care about him, he took very good care of them and of the house. He knew the ins and outs of their daily lives better than them, and he could still leave his Master very satisfied.
But the words he learned as a scared and confused teen-ager were tattooed on his soul: You are property and don’t ever forget it, they don’t.
Michael had been wealthy once. When he was fifteen his family had ended up on the brink of being on the other side of the prestige they’d valued and cultivated. One discreet, private sale to Commerce, and their bank accounts were better and he was just Michael, no longer a Weatherly and no longer free.
He’d had no time to be angry, he’d just been scared, nervous, and not sure what Master Bacon had wanted when he’d bought him home. He’d soon learned many things and with them the knowledge that his body was no longer his.
To keep some semblance of his self he learned to play a part, one that smiled and teased and made his Master happy with jokes and witty observations about the other rich people around them.
Michael glanced at the sky. It looked like rain and they could use some. He nodded to a pair of female slaves, their shopping bags bulging with groceries from the small market down the street. He sipped water and jogged back the way he’d come. He had things to do and other slaves to oversee, but his memories kept interrupting.
Michael spent four years with Master Bacon before he was sold to settle a debt. Mistress Alley was different and once again Michael remade himself. If he complimented her a lot and made her smile she adored him and showered him with gifts.
After a few months, it became exhausting to continually reassure her about every single part of her personality and appearance, but his smile never slipped and he never ever showed the pity he felt for her.
One day a close friend visited and before the visit was over, Michael was sold. He’d looked back once as he followed Master Harmon out, and Mistress Alley was already on the phone, busy talking with her friends, debating whether she wanted a blonde or brunette haired boy for her next body slave.
Michael knew it would take him a few weeks to discover the role he would have to play with his new Master. When he met his Master’s wife he still wasn’t worried. He’d become what he needed to in order to avoid beatings or any other hardships.
Master Bacon had hit him a few times and Mistress Alley had withheld food from him, once for three days, but he’d gotten through all of that, he was fine, and he intended to stay that way.
When he arrived back home, the cook was almost done with breakfast. He nodded to her and hurried up to his room. It was right beside his Master’s, but he’d stopped feeling proud of that fact years ago. It just meant more time spent pretending everything was okay and that he was pleased to serve.
He showered and dried in record time, only to stop and stare at his revealed reflection as the steam slowly seeped away. Deep down, he was afraid that those things had become so much a part of him that it was true. He was domesticated, a favored pet, something beloved perhaps, but not anything they couldn’t replace if necessary.
When he opened the door to his Master’s room he was struck with the memory of the first time he’d entered.
He’d been with his third owner for two days and he’d been growing afraid that his new Master had changed his mind. In the sparsely decorated bedroom, Master Harmon had laid out the rules while Michael tried to keep an attentive, pleasant look on his face. His mind had raced with the possibilities that this new Master was a little insane. There were no outrageous rules or demands said in a pleasant voice. His duties didn’t seem too bad, but he knew another shoe would fall soon.
Mistress Dawber was a mystery too. She had her own body-slave and when she talked to Michael she was always polite, a smile on her face, and her instructions sounded like requests.
He woke Master Harmon and brought out the clothes he’d prepared, before he turned on the shower and made sure the towel heater was at the right temperature. He’d been doing these things for years, whether he spent the night in here or not.
After breakfast he made sure the meeting room was in order. Master Harmon would never think to check and wouldn’t care if others coming into his home found it up to a certain standard.
That had become Michael’s job a year after he’d been bought. This household had needed someone in it to make sure certain formalities were followed and then eased back when the elite wasn’t focused on it or the family.
Being the owner of one of the most successful football teams in the Empire made Master Harmon a man to know. People wanted favors and business had to be done. His Master was good at hiding his annoyance behind a jovial and polite manner. Michael often wondered if he knew Michael too played a role.
There were three meetings and they each lasted an hour. He kneeled next to Master Harmon’s chair and acted the part of the dutiful slave while listening carefully to the various Masters and forming opinions he’d share with his owner later.
Five years after being with his new Master, and being told he was valued while getting used to their eccentricities, like doing some of their own cooking and gardening, he looked up his family on the internet.
The shock of finding out Michael Weatherly Jr. died in a car wreck at the age of fifteen caused him to break the rules that had kept him sane. He’d known, of course he’d known he could never go back, but this was like a whiplash across his shoulders.
The anger he’d dismissed and pushed away for so long, poured out and when Master Harmon found him in the wrecked office, Michael was certain he was on his way to being sold to some corporation where he’d die in a mine or cleaning up toxic waste. Tears poured down his face and he couldn’t even think to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness.
Master Harmon had studied him and demanded an answer. When none was forthcoming he’d looked around the room and at the computer. He’d read the article that accompanied a picture and like that, he’d put it all together. Michael waited, hating that his fate wasn’t in his control, hating everyone at that moment. He’d felt broken and for the first time he’d talked about things he’d shut away since his first night with Master Bacon.
His Master had done the impossible and listened. Then he told him he was sorry. The ‘punishment’ he was given for wrecking the office gave Michael the opportunity to safely get rid the anger still bubbling under his skin. In a few weeks, his Master had a section of the yard dug out and ready for a pool.
Later that night, Michael shared his observations about the meetings and wondered if his Master would mention the upcoming anniversary. He’d have to give an embarrassed smile and thank him if he did. It was still hard to do, especially knowing if his life had turned out the way it was supposed to, he’d be the Master. But that kind of thinking led to trouble, so he pushed it away. He was good at that too.
There was no mention of the years he’d been in service and after he and Master Harmon had sex, Michael lay there and hoped it would not come up at all. He repeated the same mantra he’d repeated for years as he fell asleep; ‘My name is Michael Manning Weatherly Jr.’
End
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no subject
Date: 2008-10-20 03:04 am (UTC)I'd love to see more of this. Either in this same time-line or earlier in Michael's life.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-20 03:10 am (UTC)I may do some more. I want some Mark Harmon thoughts about his body-slave or even Kevin Bacon's thoughts when he bought 15 yr-old Michael.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-20 03:17 am (UTC)Anything! I'm easy. *G*
no subject
Date: 2008-10-20 04:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-20 04:18 am (UTC)Excellent set up!
Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2008-10-20 04:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-20 04:32 am (UTC)Angie
no subject
Date: 2008-10-20 04:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-20 08:08 am (UTC)Really lovely and insightful, I hope you do right some more.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-21 03:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-20 04:21 pm (UTC)They could never admit who Michael was to them and Michael could be a "perfect" slave.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-20 05:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-21 03:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-20 10:01 pm (UTC)1- Wow! That was lovely. Very poignant
2- See, *I* had originally written *my* fic with Michael Weatherly as one of my two main characters-- The master in the scenario, of course. And then I went to post it earlier, and saw your fic, and did a massive revamp/re-imagining of the story, subtituting Joshua Jackson for MW. And I Like it even better now, so THANK YOU!!!
And even if I hadn't been happy with the impact on my story, (which I really, really am) This line would have made it all ok.
"Michael had been wealthy once. When he was fifteen his family had ended up on the brink of being on the other side of the prestige they’d valued and cultivated. One discreet, private sale to Commerce, and their bank accounts were better and he was just Michael, no longer a Weatherly and no longer free."
Oh-- and the car accident. Oh my. Talk about a kick in the head.
3-It was wonderfully...domestic, without be sappy, and I loved it!
no subject
Date: 2008-10-21 03:11 am (UTC)I'm glad you enjoyed my take on Michael and Mark.
It was domestic! Hee! I didn't even realize it but yes. Thanks for reading and commenting.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-22 02:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-22 03:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-24 03:15 am (UTC)I do feel bad for him always having to keep his guard up and being wary of being sold at any time. Such is the life of a slave though. :(
I thought the most interesting line was Michael often wondered if he knew Michael too played a role.
I'm wondering the same thing about your Master, Michael! ;)
no subject
Date: 2008-10-26 02:23 am (UTC)Thank you for commenting. Everyone has given me so much to think about.
no subject
Date: 2009-01-04 05:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-05 11:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-05 08:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-05 11:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-04 01:04 pm (UTC)