Pairings/Characters: Mel/Johnny, Doris Rogers, Carter Baum, Harold Rienecke, J. Edgar Hoover, Homer Van Meter
Fandom: Public Enemies
Genres: AU, Challenge, Drama, Slavefic
Challenge Categories: Section D (Slave-By-Consent) & Section E (Slavefic)
Summary: Johnny thinks that a grabby J. Edgar Hoover ought to be taught a lesson.
Date Of Completion: August 6, 2010
Date Of Posting: October 19, 2010
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, Universal does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 2476
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Written for my 2010 Slavefic AU Fic Prompt Request for khylara. Pairing: Master Mel/Slave Johnny. Prompt: Turning The Tables. Also written for my 2010 DCU Fic/Art Bondage Challenge. :)
Of my heart,
Of my desire.
It’s all the same.
“Mmm, now, you look good enough to eat, darlin’.”
Johnny pulled Mel to him by his gray silk tie, kissing him warmly. Mel sighed, a small smile playing around his lips as they broke apart.
“You’ve never quite gotten the hang of who’s the Master and who’s the slave around here, have you?”
Johnny smirked. “Sorry ‘bout that…Master.”
Mel rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “I have work to do here in the office. Please get me a cup of coffee and some of Doris’ molasses cookies. And get some for yourself, too.”
Mel shook his head at the near-insolence of the tone but smiled as he went to his desk and sat down.
Johnny nearly laughed as he thought that Mel had a hard time playing Master, too. He was always considerate of Johnny’s feelings and comfort.
He was careful to tone down his jaunty step. A slave that looked too happy was sure to invite trouble.
When he’d been given the chance to get out of prison earlier than his ten-year sentence would expire, he’d grabbed at the chance. Of course, it was risky. Contracting himself out as a slave for two years meant that he was under total control of a Master or Mistress. Sure, there were laws that prevented Masters from mutilating their slaves or worse, but if they wanted to play BDSM games and you didn’t, tough luck. The golden collar and manacles etched with the Purvis family crest that he wore were symbols of very few rights.
It was all Russian roulette. Once Johnny had consented to be in the program, he’d had no control over whom he was going to serve for the next two years. And prisoners had no say over whether they’d be sex slaves or not: you simply were and it was all spelled out in the contract you signed.
As Johnny entered the busy squadroom, he remembered how surprised he’d been when a Federal Agent had chosen him…
Johnny waited in the cold, bare room that contained a scarred wooden table, two chairs, and a bare bulb in the ceiling. The room was used for private consultations between prisoners and lawyers, and was depressing as hell.
Maybe that’s because you’re about to bind yourself over to some stranger for two years, who has complete control over you. Depressing ain’t exactly the word for it.
He heard footsteps out in the hall and the door was unlocked, his stomach clenching, but he deliberately forced himself to lean back in the chair, looking insolent as he crossed his fingers behind his head, but he couldn’t help but allow surprise to cross his face when he saw the man following the guard into the room.
“Hey, Dillinger, meet your Master,” drawled the guard, highly amused.
“Hello, Mr. Dillinger,” said the soft-spoken man in expensive dark-blue greatcoat and matching fedora, his dark eyes huge in his beautiful face, raven hair slicked back with pomade.
“Mel…Melvin Purvis?” Johnny squeaked, a thrill going down his spine at the way the Southern accent caressed his name.
The guard left, closing the door behind him.
“You want me to serve as your slave?”
The agent nodded.
Johnny was dumbstruck. He’d seen the Bureau’s No. 1 Agent in newsreels and his picture in the newspapers and had felt an attraction to the man’s beauty, but since he was a prisoner, had never considered getting the chance to meet him. His amber eyes twinkled. “Well, now, that’s interestin’. Why me, Agent Purvis?”
A slight smile curved the man’s lips and Johnny felt his groin stir. “Because I need a servant. My usual man, President, is unavailable at present.” The liquid-dark eyes looked Johnny over. “You’ll do.”
Johnny noticed how Mel kept his hands in his coat pockets. He saw a slight shuffle of the polished shoes and realized that the Federal agent was nervous. He smiled again.
“Looks like you will, too.”
Man, had he hit the jackpot! He’d gotten a gorgeous man with gentle manners and honest consideration for his welfare. Despite coming from a culture where his ancestors had owned slaves, Melvin Purvis had been nervous and unsure. Johnny had figured him for an easy mark, no trouble for him to manipulate for two years.
He hadn’t counted on falling in love with the man.
“Miss Doris, Master Purvis would like some of your fine cookies.”
Doris smiled. “Of course, Johnny.”
Johnny went over to the coffeepot and poured two mugs, smiling at Carter, who was one of the agents closet to Mel. Carter smiled back, a good fella who didn’t treat Johnny like dirt just because he wore a collar and manacles.
Unlike Harold Rienecke, who bumped into Johnny as he turned, the coffee nearly sloshing out of the mugs.
“Watch what you’re doin’, whore!” Rienecke snapped.
Johnny held his tongue. If he talked back, he’d be punished. Mel wouldn’t have any choice.
“Hey, Rienecke, you bumped into him. And Mel wouldn’t be too happy with you calling his slave a whore.” Carter frowned.
Rienecke snorted but threw a quick, nervous look at Mel’s office. He huffed as he walked his portly bulk back to his desk.
“Thanks,” Johnny said, sipping his coffee.
“You’re welcome.” Carter poured himself a cup of coffee. He was a fine-looking man, too, with wavy, dark-brown hair and a nice smile. “You have a right to a level of respect, collar or not. Besides, I can’t stand Rienecke.”
Johnny nodded. “I’m with ya on that.”
Suddenly there was a flurry of activity at the entrance to the squadroom.
“Uh, oh.” Carter gripped his mug tighter.
Mel ran his fingers over his lips, which still tingled. Johnny’s kiss was always pleasurable. When he’d contracted to take a slave from Michigan City Prison, he hadn’t expected to fall in love with him.
He’d been looking more for a manservant. President, his usual manservant, had fallen ill and not been able to come with him to Chicago. He knew that Hoover would approve, as the man’s house staff was a mix of freemen and contract slaves.
Mel wasn’t sure why he hadn’t asked for one of his father’s free servants or hired someone new, but he’d seen the picture of John Dillinger and been immediately captivated when he’d come across it in the files. Dillinger was a new member of the prison’s contract slave program, looking to get out from behind grim prison walls. If he performed well, he’d be eligible for release two years early from his ten-year sentence.
Mel smiled to himself. It was working out very well. Johnny was smart, witty, and sexually insatiable. Mel wanted to enjoy every minute of the time he had with his lover.
A disturbance sounded at the entrance to the squadroom. Frowning, Mel began to rise, his stomach tightening as he recognized Director Hoover’s voice. This was a surprise visit! He quickly went to his ajar office door and opened it all the way.
J. Edgar Hoover strode in, surrounded by a coterie of agents.
“Agent Purvis! A word with you!” he bellowed.
Mel stifled a wince. That didn’t sound good, but then, Hoover often sounded like a demented foghorn even if nothing was wrong.
The Director marched into the office, Mel closing the door, the agents left to disperse outside. The door didn’t quite shut, but neither man noticed it.
“Director Hoover, a pleasure to see you, suh. How may I help you?”
“How are you proceeding with the hunt for the Miller and Nelson gangs?”
“No fresh leads at this moment.”
Hoover pursed his lips. A short, powerfully-built man, his eyes darted around the office, his foot tapping nervously. Mel was used to his boss’ tics.
“Agent Purvis, I need results! I’m beginning to wonder if you’re the man for this job.”
“I beg to differ, suh. While the leads are not fresh, we are still pursuing tips. Vern Miller was last sighted in Ohio, and Baby Face Nelson’s gang was last seen in Wisconsin.”
“Not good enough! You should be pounding the pavement!” Hoover stepped closer, Mel able to smell the pomade on his hair. He took an involuntary step back. “Surely a bright young man like you knows the score.”
Mel nearly cursed as he bumped up against the wall. Hoover was uncomfortably close, eyeing him like a bear who’d just plucked a fish out of the stream.
Fry me up with butter, Mel thought a touch hysterically.
“Ummm, well, Director…I…”
Johnny was furious. He wanted to bust into the office and protect his Mel from that leche! Unfortunately, that was out of the question. Slaves didn’t tell bigshots like Hoover to keep his grubby paws to himself.
He’d used the excuse of the coffee and cookies to stand out in the hall, able to hear the goings-on through the crack in the doorway.
The goings-on were not what he liked to hear. Mel was trying to fend off Hoover as best he could, being polite while he was at it, and was hampered by the fact that Hoover was his boss.
Johnny heard Carter’s step down the hall.
“What’s going on?” the agent whispered.
“Now, Mel, you could go far,” Hoover’s voice purred from the office.
“I…uh…I’m happy in your confidence in me, suh.”
“Now you know you should call me Jayee. You know how much I believe in you and…”
Johnny couldn’t believe it! He could clearly hear the unspoken “…want you.” He could see Carter figuring it out, too, and the agent raised his hand to knock. Johnny stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“I’ll do it. Hoover already thinks I’m somethin’ he should scrape off his shoe. I’ll take the heat.”
Carter nodded gratefully and Johnny knocked on the door, which was immediately opened by a flustered Mel.
“Your snack, Master.”
“Oh, yes, bring it in, please, Johnny.”
“We’re in a meeting!” barked Hoover as he glared at Johnny.
“Refreshments are a civilized way to do business, suh,” said Mel smoothly, straightening his tie and suit jacket. Johnny kept his face carefully neutral despite the anger seething below the surface. He set the tray on Mel’s desk.
“Have a seat, Director.” Mel quickly took his seat behind the desk.
Hoover was furious, glaring at Johnny, who took his place at Mel’s right hand, keeping his eyes downcast as was proper protocol. He clasped his hands behind his back, feeling the hostility rolling off Hoover in waves. The metal of his collar and manacles felt especially cold against his skin in this moment.
“C’mon in, Carter!” Mel invited.
The agent came in, carrying a file. “Here are the statistics for last week’s expenditure of manpower, sir. You’ll see that all of our efforts were directed toward efficiency.”
Hoover was somewhat mollified as he took the file folder from Carter. If there was one thing that could distract him, it was his beloved statistics.
That evening, Mel sighed as Johnny held him in bed. The Southerner was exhausted.
Takes a lot outta a fella to be constantly chased around a desk by his boss.
Johnny gently kissed Mel’s temple.
“Thank you for cooking such a fine supper tonight, Johnny.”
“Hey, it’s what I do for my beautiful Master.”
Mel looked at his companion. “You know it’s more than that.” He touched a manacle and traced his family crest. “I wish you didn’t have to wear these.”
“Oh, they’re not so bad. Shows everyone I’m yours.”
Mel smiled. “I like that.” He rubbed his thumb over Johnny’s cheek. “It goes both ways.”
“Oh, yeah, darlin’.”
Mel snuggled up against him. “You’re a real comfort to me, especially today.”
Johnny frowned as he carded his fingers through Mel’s hair. “I don’t like Hoover pawin’ you.”
“I’m not thrilled with it myself.”
“Shame you can’t tell him to go fuck himself.”
“I don’t think it would be proper protocol to tell your boss such a thing.”
Johnny stroked Mel’s shoulder. “Still, he shouldn’t be allowed to get away it.”
Mel looked closely at his lover. “What are you up to?”
Hoover smiled. Once he got Melvin into the bedroom, it would be easy to take what he wanted. His dear Melvin would be powerless to object. No one would believe him, and once sullied, he would be indisputably his, marked and owned as surely as Melvin owned that gutter trash Dillinger.
Really, what was his Melvin thinking? A man of such culture and grace, worthy of his esteemed Director, consorting with a convict? A common robber? Wholly beneath his precious Melvin!
A knock on the door of his hotel room caught his attention. He opened the door to find a handsome young man standing in the hall.
“May I come in, sir?”
“Why? You don’t look like staff, and I didn’t order room service.”
The young man smiled as he walked in, shutting the door behind him. He wore his dark-blond hair slicked back and a suit that wasn’t cheap but not ridiculously expensive, either. He prowled around the suite, seemingly satisfied with what he found. Turning, he stalked toward Hoover, who took an involuntary step back.
“I’m ready to show you a good ol’ time here in Chicago, Director.”
Flustered, Hoover objected, “I don’t know why you think I am in need of prostitute services, sir.”
“You don’t have a pleasure slave, do you? I mean, I’ve never seen one in the newsreels and pictures in the paper with you.”
Scoffing, Hoover pushed the young man away. “I need no collared whore, sir! I get what I want from free men and women.”
The prostitute smiled knowingly. “Sure, Director.” He reached out and played with Hoover’s tie.
Hoover slapped his hand way. “You’d better get out of here.”
The blond shook his head. “Now is that any way to deflect untold pleasures, sir?”
Hoover’s finger trembled as he pointed toward the door, and the blond smiled insolently, jamming his hands into the pockets of his coat and sauntered out of the room.
“You are an evil man, John Dillinger.”
Johnny smirked as he kissed Mel. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more, but at least ol’ Jayee will know what it’s like to suffer unwanted attention.” His grin widened. “We owe Homer a dinner.”
Mel took Johnny’s face in his hands. “Just tell me the restaurant and we’ll be there with bells on.”
Johnny laughed as Mel pushed him down gently onto their bed.