Chapter Twenty-Five #3
Velle leans up against the shelf, shifting some of the books. I can’t tell if he’s simply relaxing his posture, or if he’s attempting to back away.
To get some space between him and his boss.
“Because it changed. You and I both know why…”
Another scoff-like noise puffs from The Ivory’s lips, sloped into an annoyed grimace.
“Why are you over here, Jonathan? I didn’t call you down.
You came on your own, and yet now you’re pulling this indecisive act, as if the rabid animal has had a sudden, miraculous change of heart. It’s utter nonsense—”
“So what?” Velle breathes. “Like you’re the only one who can be hot-and-cold…”
“Jonathan…” The Ivory’s tone is becoming noticeably edgier. I’m familiar enough to pick up on it.
Velle should too, but he seems like tonight is different, and he’s hellbent on speaking his mind.
“You call me down here all the time when it behooves you, sir.” He’s wound up. I can hear it in his tone, see it in his stiffness.
The way he’s pushing back feels like something he doesn’t do all the time… But it would appear that The Ivory is allowing it to happen, despite how clearly irritated he is.
It’s as fascinating as it is unsettling…
“I do, because I own you,” The Ivory growls, barely an inch separating their faces.
Why does it feel like I’m being stabbed in the chest with a dull blade?
? “Now, in recognition of that, why don’t you give up this little show for independence we both know you don’t really want and get down to the real reason you’re here?
Because we also know it’s not to argue.”
Velle has gone still. I can’t see his eyes from here, but based on the side of his face, I think he’s struggling to hold on to his hostility because he thinks he has to.
Still, I recognize that look… Desperate to let go of your control because it’s so damn heavy, it’s weighing you down, while being terrified that when you do, you’ll never be able to get it back.
I think The Ivory is seeing the same thing I am, because his expression softens a bit. He reaches out, brushing his fingers along the angle of Velle’s sharp jaw. A tender touch I can feel myself, though I really wish I couldn’t.
“It is so hard to be you, isn’t it, my pet?” His voice has gone smooth, cunning once more. “I’m not unsympathetic to your plight, carino. You know that. But if you’re going to keep showing up over here, wound up and looking for someone to lash out at, I will have to insist on muzzling you.”
His gentle grazing of Velle’s jaw turns rough, and he grabs him hard by the mouth. Glaring, eyes dark and sinister, he hisses, “When I say heel, you heel, dog. Do you understand?”
Velle rumbles, nodding fast. His words muffled by The Ivory’s hand covering his mouth.
Placated by his obedience, he releases Velle, murmuring, “Good boy.” Turning, he saunters across the room, calling as he goes, “Come.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Velle scampers after him, stopping when Ivory stops and spins to face him.
“Down,” he grunts.
Velle drops to his knees.
The Ivory strokes fingers calmly through Velle’s hair. “Good boy… eres un perro bueno.”
I’m… fucking floored.
Here I’ve been wondering if The Ivory and Velle are screwing. If their elaborate history has ever included them getting it on—it would certainly contribute to the palpable tension and bred hatred.
But what I’m witnessing right now… I don’t think that was ever it.
It’s clearly so much deeper than sex could ever reach.
The Ivory takes a seat in his large leather chair, with Velle kneeling before him. He opens the drawer of his side table, removing something I can’t make out from all the way over here.
But when he unbuckles it, I understand what it is.
“I know you fear someone finding you over here, my pet,” he hums, opening the leather collar and leaning forward to fasten it around Velle’s neck. “I told you all those years ago that perception is everything.”
Velle nods. “Yes, sir… You did. You were right.”
“I also told you that there can be only one guard to your heart,” he whispers, finger slipping through the buckle. He tugs hard enough that Velle grunts and fumbles a bit. “Don’t forget that, Jonathan.”
Velle’s chin is dipped, gaze aimed at the floor, as if he’s programmed to do so. “Yes, sir.” The Ivory’s fingers brush up his neck, and his eyes lift. “Only you.”
“Buen chico,” he whispers, lips quirking.
I feel my legs giving out. Without an ounce of strength left, I drop to my knees too. Behind the bookshelf, I kneel, and I watch.
Eventually, The Ivory signals for Velle to come closer, which he does. He nestles up against Ivory’s legs, curled up at his feet while Ivory pets him, sipping scotch by the fire. It never turns sexual, not in any conventional way. But again, this is stronger.
This is ownership.
The guard dog, and his master.
And I stay on the floor of the library all night myself, just watching them.
Absorbed, yet restless. Because it seems to me like, even when he inevitably picks himself up off the floor and goes back to being Officer Chevelle, the guard who’s as hard as stone and cold as ice, that collar never truly comes off.
And I wonder if either of them actually understands just how tightly they’re chained to one another in a destructive, captivatingly tumultuous and damningly loyal… love.