Page 24 of A Mistake of Worth
Henri’s fingers twitched in Michael’s grip, but he didn’t pull away.
Michael disappeared into the bathroom and returned moments later with a warm, damp towel. He knelt between Henri’s knees without ceremony, gently pressing the cloth to the inside of Henri’s thighs. His strokes were slow. Careful.
Henri’s shoulders dropped fractionally. He let out a shaky breath.
Michael didn’t speak until he was finished, swapping in a dry towel and brushing away the last trace of wetness. “There. All done.”
Henri nodded, almost too quickly, moving with purpose, and crossed to his open suitcase.
Michael expected him to pull out clothes, but instead, Henri reached for a familiar set of items with quiet efficiency: a large dildo and what looked like a collapsible phone stand.
Michael’s stomach dropped.
Henri didn’t look at him as he retrieved the stand. Just carried it back to the bed with practiced efficiency. He didn’t reach for the lube; it was already there, lying where they’d left it.
Michael followed, silent, and took the phone and its stand from Henri’s unresisting hands.
Set them up silently.
His mind, however, was spinning.
Michael’s jaw locked tight, but he said nothing. The careful efficiency in Henri’s movements told him everything he needed to know about how often this had happened before.
“What are you doing?” Henri said, his voice small, so unlike the Henri Michael had known.
“I’m not leaving you,” Michael said, his voice low and immovable as he adjusted the phone angle. “On the bed.”
Henri obeyed, slipping into position with muscle memory. His limbs folded into a practiced pose, the kind that told Michael he’d done this countless times.
Michael swallowed hard and reached for the video chat, hesitating just before hitting the button.
“How long have you been with Marc?”
Henri met his eyes, the hollowness behind them swallowing the air between them. “I’ve been Marc’s companion since we were seven.”
And suddenly, all the little moments from earlier clicked into place. The way Henri responded to direction, the hesitation before kissing, the careful way he held himself after.
This was what obedience looked like after twenty years of ownership.
Ownership.
Not love, not partnership. Ownership. Henri had been Marc’s possession since he was seven years old. A toy to be used, controlled, broken down, and rebuilt according to someone else’s twisted desires.
Michael’s hands clenched into fists. Years of systematic abuse, of having every natural response trained out of him until Henri couldn’t even recognize his own wants versus his conditioning. The practiced way Henri had positioned himself, the automatic compliance. It wasn’t seduction. It was survival.
“You can leave,” Henri said, quieter now. “You should leave.”
Leave? The thought was absurd. Michael had stumbled into something horrific, something that should never have been allowed to continue, and Henri thought he would just walk away? Leave him to perform for his abuser alone?
Michael didn’t move. “No.”
I’m never leaving you again.
The thought came unbidden, fierce and certain despite how insane it sounded. He barely knew Henri, but something primal had awakened in Michael’s chest. A need to protect, to stand between Henri and anyone who would hurt him.
He grabbed a chair, placed it behind the camera, and sat. His eyes never left Henri’s.
“I’m staying right here.”
