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collar-shocked · 2 days ago

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Power in Property

TLDR: Bree discovers he's not as hopeless as he once thought inside the Goffard manor.

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The time of day is unknown. All the Frenchman knows is the sun is blaring through the windows and his shadow is following against the wall he lingers near. He's been living in this pompous stinkhole for about a year and two months now, and if he's learned one thing- one thing at all- it's that he's invisible. His only job is getting dressed up "properly", whatever the hell that means, and following Master Derek around like a duckling. Bree's gotten adjusted to his new lifestyle, but that doesn't mean he likes it.

His sole purpose is to be arm candy and play the role of Panic Pete whenever Derek sees fit. None of the help talks to him, none of the other Goffard's address him, and if he's not in his room- a room he shares with Derek, but just barely- he's in the garden, his one area of relief. The one place he doesn't have to worry about blood, or chores, or yelling, or... or sex. God, Bree loves the garden...

...But he's not in the garden. He's inside, walking to the kitchen to grab HiS mAsTeR his tray of dinner, pondering what could possibly be on that very special tray. Are all the crusts trimmed from his peanut butter and jelly just how he likes? Is it cut into quarters just the way he likes? He turned the corner and entered the vast, shiny kitchen, hardly taking note of the worker stacking the dishes. It wasn't hard to spot the tray. Bree cross the kitchen and lifted the tray, immediately turning around to head back to that room he's constantly held up in.

He did not see the extra shine on the floor.

One moment, he was carrying his masters food to his room. The next? He was behind-and-palms on the floor covered in marinara with a sore leg. Bree looked around at the spilled tray, his soiled clothes, the wet spot on the ground, his glasses now off to the side, and felt his eyes begin to sting with wet. He doesn't cry. He's not a cryer. But.. a little puddle is gonna get his ass beat? Really? Upon moving to push himself up, he flinched and whined loudly at his knee and ankle, both sent in awkward, stretched positions in the really, really embarrassing slip. Preparing for a struggle, h-

A shadow loomed above him. The helper who was busy with the dishes. They're... not supposed to do this. Not supposed to even look at Bree. He does not exist to them, else is means losing their hands or being fed to the dogs or something... but finding him out on his own is so rare! Where's the harm in extending a hand? Just this once?

"You okay?..." They spoke quietly, indicating this mutual weight of theirs as their hand hung in the air.

"..." Bree didn't respond. It felt.. unnatural being spoken to by someone else. Dangerous, even. This idiot's gonna get themself killed... He tried getting up without their help, just to wince and fall back down.

The eye contact was intense. The nameless worker gave him a small smile, and... he groaned and took their hand. They noted how soft his hands were.

"A-Ah ah ah, okay-" Bree hobbled up, turning to lean against the counter top. He gave them a stubborn, awkward, sorrowful look. ...He nodded a thank you, but couldn't vocalize it.

"..You're welcome." They could, though. They watched the man turn towards the hall and limp just a few feet, struggling the entire time. They sighed and caught up to him, grabbing onto his arm. "Let me help you, sir.."

Bree was frightened by the hold and yanked his arm away. What the hell, man?! The way he looked at them was disgusting... He grabbed both his elbows in a self-hug and inched away, sneering at them. "..I-.. I don't need help."

"Pff... really? Look at you, doll. You can barely walk! Please, let me-"

"-Leave me alone! M-My day is has been foul enough!"

...That's not exactly what they expected. Bree was always so small and shy- or, so they thought he was. They scoffed and fixed their clothing, turning away with copious amounts of sass. "Fine. But you don't have to be a jerk because daddy's not around to be one for you." Back to the kitchen they go with a hard hmph.

Now offended, but alone at last, Bree took his sweet time working with his aching leg. Bree slowly inched his way down the hall. He was lost in thought, going over all the very many ways Derek would throw a hissy fit back at the room. His stomach swelled with anxiety that just grew and grew the closer he got, his tears threatening to come back and limbs beginning to shake. He's gonna be in so much trouble for his clothes... he's gonna be in even bigger trouble for the lack of food, and- dear god, especially for the mess. He doesn't want to take another step... he doesn't want to go back to that room- that man... He hates him. He hates him but he's all he has. And even when he is able to reach out and briefly touch anything or anyone else, it turns out like.. that! An annoying stickler! He's a jerk?! A jerk for wanting space in his little time alone?! Bree began to shake in anger and anxiety, a sick feeling taking over. The hall then seemed so much longer, his limbs felt like string, his body felt like a waterbed, his mind was foggy and blurry and unreal and his face was wet. Goddamnit! He didn't want to cry!!

Eventually, after the journey and mustering up courage, Bree opened the door and rested against the frame. He caught his breath and sniffed in, feeling a certain amount of peace at the fact Derek, though present, hasn't acknowledged him. He's at his desk doing something on his computer with earbuds in... maybe Bree can sneak by without being notic- Of course he can't! That's too much hopeful wishing. It's like his first step inside the hellish room alerted the blond fuck like a dog picking up his scent.

...Because he did. Literally. Derek smelled the marinara and plucked his earbuds out, turning around quick on his swivel chair. "What took you so long?! I'm star- What HAPPENED?!" Derek scrunched his nose in pure, unfiltered anger at the sight of his pet coated in sauce and thyme. He got up and marched over, feeling a sense of satisfaction as Bree shuddered and loomed closer to the hall. He opened his mouth to spit more venom, but stopped.

Bree.. can't stop crying. Something about the stress from the earlier interaction combined with the slip combined with Derek being a confrontational bitch has left him.. defeated. If not mentally wounded. He said nothing and kept his weeping nearly silent, opting to bury his face in his sleeve instead.

"...What happened?" At this point, Derek knows Bree well enough. He's not a crybaby. He hardly ever cries, let alone breaks down like this. He's been through some real hardship under this roof and came out with a blank face- because he shuts down, not breaks.

Bree tried his best to move passed him, but his limp made it impossible. Derek reached an arm out to trap him, guiding his back against the wall instead. It frustrated him. It.. it made him so damn angry. "Can I have one moment of peace?!"

"Not when you're coming back from a SIMPLE TASK looking like this."

God, why is everyone pulling on his dick today?! Bree got angry. He placed a hand on Derek's arm and began to push. "Let me through! I can not do this right now!" ...An intrusive thought became something more. An opportunity. Bree is.. Bree is a good person. In truth, he won't be doing anything at all. He won't be. "I-I just want to lay down, Derek, please." He's playing up his patheticness.

And Derek sees through it like a layered brick wall. Not at all.

"You're covered in shit and got something wrong with your leg, you're not goin' anywhere until you spill." Derek is... protective of his pet. Not because Bree is Bree, but because Bree is his. He's his toy, his doll, his property, and no one else is allowed to put hands on him. He's the one thing in this entire world that is his alone, so yeah, he likes keeping tabs on him. Not just that, but... it feels like he's keeping him out of some kind of drama! He wants the details, he wants an excuse to yell at someone- and Jesus Christ, it's coming in hot.

...Bree isn't sure why he said it. He's not sure why he followed that little thread of a power-high. But... he did. And now taking it back isn't possible.

Not like he would, anyway.

"...Th.. they stopped me in the kitchen." He kept his eyes to the floor and rolled his nails against his palm. "...They p'hh.. they were mad or something. Hit the food out of my hands." Derek couldn't help but snort. "And they pushed at me in the hall.. A-And.. put their hands down my pants..."

"Hold up, what?"

Complete silence. ...Bree knew that would piss him off. He knew it'd grind his teeth. He knows how protective he is over his body, knowing he's the only one who's ever seen or felt it that way- he knew learning he's not exclusive to his master anymore would be the nail in the coffin.

Bree kept quiet and continued to push against the wall, as if he could just disappear into it. This aggravated the other who became increasingly aggressive. "What did you just say?!" He gave his pet a few seconds. No answer. "BREE!!"

Bree flinched and raised a hand in defense. With a hard swallow, he finally spoke back up. "They put their hands down my pants..."

"And you LET THEM!?"

"I did not know I could stop them!"

"WHY?!"

"They told me if I touched them I would be in big trouble!" Bree used his language wisely. More withheld and short-winded phrases as opposed to his usual mean, loud, agitated arguments- the kind he uses when Derek's in a more... threatening position. "I am not really much of anything, but they are all employed here, s-so..."

The anger was indescribable. He was so pissed. Derek finally stepped back, looking around the room while rolling his tongue over the front of his bottom teeth, huffing and puffing and finally shoving Bree hard against the wall- not once, but twice- the bang of his head against the causing him to choke-up and breathily sob. "Well now you ARE so you should'a hit em' ANYWAY! Why are you always gettin' into shit?! Why are you SO fucking stupid!?"

Not all of this is fake. Bree truly is.. terrified. Derek can act out in such terrible, disgusting ways when he's blinded by anger. And he still feels sick! With a hard shudder and a hand to rub at his head, he sniffed in, feeling humiliated, and just.. nodded. He doesn't want to get hit any harder than that. "I don't know!... I-It's not my fault!..."

That seemed to do something. It went quiet. No activity, no aggression, no yelling, just the sound of wind outside the window and Bree's nasally sniffing. Derek moved. He's letting him go. "Change your damn clothes and go to bed."

Didn't have to tell him twice. Bree moved as quickly as he could to his little area. Passed the sheer curtains and onto his inflatable mattress, working on getting out of the cold, heavy, sticky clothes. He plucked his shirt off with a loud grunt before tossing it aside on the rest of his dirty laundry, moving his hands to his pants and freezing. Bree has this little ritual of checking watch before going farther than his shirt, but in doing so, he discovered he doesn’t have to worry.

Derek isn’t in the room… at all.

The Frenchman got un then redressed as soon as possible. The pit forming in his stomach told him his master didn’t just leave to use the bathroom or something, and he was determined to catch him before the innocent janitor- or whatever the hell they are- got caught. He shuffled awkwardly out of the room and followed the voices back down the hall- back in the kitchen. That pit increased…

Bree eventually latched onto the corner and peeked around it, eyes widening upon spotting Derek, that worker, and a table fork. The nameless employee- the one who helped him earlier- is on their knees, nose spilling blood, with Derek standing behind them gripping a fist-full of scalp-distance hair. If their tearful eyes didn’t lock onto Bree, they’d be gazing down the prongs. They seem to be in some kind of… disagreement.

“H-He’s lying!! He lied about everything, HE LIED!!” The desperation painted the air as they struggled in their awkward pose- spread knees trapped under them as their back arched and stretched with Derek’s pulling.

“Ah, so he just… faked his leg, then? Dumped the spaghetti on himself just ‘cause he doesn’t like you specifically? Am I reading you right?” Derek was full of energy and bitterness. In a way, it made Bree feel.. kind of nice. He felt important for once.

Then it made sense. He doesn’t have a pit in his stomach. He has butterflies… Committing such a violent, painful act by not even his own hand, simply because this person had annoyed him… He felt powerful. He felt in control. It felt like the pedestal belonged to him this time- and so did they. Panicked eyes stared Bree down, and he loved it. He is their saving grace.

But Bree is no longer a graceful man.

“Teh-! TELL HIM!!! TELL HIM!!” They begged at a stadiums volume. Derek then glanced over and spotted Bree, taking him in.

Bree hugged the wall and gave his best puppy-eyed look. Everyone in the room understood.

A loud squelch would bounce off the walls, but not louder than the shriek following it. The clang of the now wet and dirtied fork hit the floor- as did their body, writhing and gripping their face as the tiles were painted red, and Derek caught his breath. “Let this be a lesson for the next time you feel brave enough to take what doesn’t belong to you, bitch!!” Derek ended their little discussion with a hard kick to their side, moving past them towards Bree while wiping his hands off on a handkerchief. “C’mon. Back to bed.”

With one good, wavering eye left, they cough loudly and wiggled, pushing themselves up to watch the pair go- and their blood ran cold. Bree held a smile you’d assume ended at his eyes. It was devious and sharp, and the only reason they are catching it now is because he stayed to watch them. With one click around the corner, Bree had turned to join his keeper, officially leaving them alone.

They got back to the room. For once, Derek was… patient. He didn’t rush. He didn’t push. He offered no assistance but he kept his mouth shut, and that is a lot to appreciate for someone like him. Once that door closed, they both took a seat. “…You can defend yourself.” The younger of the two finally spoke up. “If you need to push or shove, you can. Don’t let something like this happen again.”

Bree was filled with delight. He feels like he just committed a crime and got away with it! He feels like he cheated at a game and nobody noticed! Derek has not a single idea that he and his position in this household were just used… by the pet. He’s a walking weapon around here and Bree has the benefit of his protection. It only took a year and some to die ove this kind of vile potential. “…Okay.”

Derek is an asshole. Bree fucking hates him. Hates his entire being, hates his entire family, hates his stupid amount of money. He often makes this known and is usually just shut down or sent to his room to cool down. Derek doesn’t need him to like him. Hardly even desires it. …but when he likes him, it feels like bliss. Like the mean, evil family pet has chosen his lap to sit on. Being nice to Derek, even for a moment, fills Bree with so much indescribable rage and disgust that any other person would explode under that pressure- so even if Derek treats him better for a time in trade for kindness, he refuses to show it often.

Even so, he clears his throat. “…D-.. Sir?” A name he is often ordered to use with force, and only with force. “Thhh… thank you.”

A glint appeared in Derek’s eye at the painfully given validation. He nodded back and gave him an all-too-cool, brushed-off mumble of a response, not wishing to expose the… embarrassing excitement. He watched Bree struggle to stand, limping off through his see-through curtains to finally lay down and rest up. Derek went back to his computer, first new tab he opened being DoorDash.

From here on out, Bree got his wish to remain lonely. The lesson was learned, the example was set, and no one wanted anything to do with Bree from there on out. It’s like everyone but Derek could see how the dynamic had ever so subtly changed.

Both of them now hold the end of a leash, and it is everyone else’s problem.

#tpof #the price of flesh #big fic energy #tpof Derek #derek goffard #tpof oc #the price of flesh oc #My Oc’s #Bree Dishe

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