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People always seem to feel one way or another about change.
What the change actually is seems to matter very little in terms of people's reaction. Big or small, good or bad—someone always seems to be upset while someone else is relieved. Nothing divides people like change. Which, Ash guesses, makes sense. After all, nothing unites people like consistency.
Ash himself isn't particularly opinionated about change, though. He can acknowledge that some things are good and that some are bad, and he can even admit that some things are better or worse than whatever came before them. But the change itself isn't good or bad. It just ... is. And, most of the time, no amount of stubborn denial or childish struggle can prevent or cause change. At best, people might manage to affect the velocity, or maybe the direction. But change has always happened, and it will continue to happen regardless of whether or not people are around to bitch about it.
So when Dino tells Ash that there's going to be a change in routine regarding his studies with the tutors, Ash sure as hell doesn't bitch about it. Honestly, Ash doesn't even spare much thought to what the change might be, or stop to consider if he wants it to happen or not. He knows it doesn't matter. What Ash wants has never had much of an impact on reality. Why waste the energy even entertaining such an idea?
He doesn't meet Blanca until later, a decent while after Dino tells him that something is changing. So, really, Ash has no way to know. Not yet. If he did bother to spare half a second thinking about the future back when he was first told, he probably would have made the obvious conclusion. If Dino wants to change what Ash is studying, it's probably because he's realized that Ash's mind has never been a match for his body. Ash can't really blame anyone for wanting him to only play to his strengths.
That obvious conclusion turns out to be wrong, though. Better or worse? Well, Ash has never really looked at things that way in the first place. It's just a change, like any other. And—just like any other change in his life—it was never his decision. Never his choice to make. Cute how some people actually have their own agency, isn't it?
For a few days after that conversation with Dino, nothing seems to be different. Ash doesn't know if the change Dino promised has happened yet or not. He doesn't know what to look for in order to know. And on some level, he can tell that it's got him anxious as hell, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But Ash has long since compartmentalized every last proverbial inch of his mind, keeping some parts of him separate from others. And so, all things considered, it's not too difficult to simply avoid thinking on it, no matter how terrified he is. Not anymore.
In general, there's not much use in giving time and effort into something that he has no control over. And, in general, Ash has control over very, very little.
The moves he does make are often calculated, intentionally driving the situation toward results that the men around him haven't even considered yet. But Ash doesn't think of himself as intelligent for it. No one would ever care enough to ask or even notice, but if he were asked about it, Ash would explain that the only reason he's able to act so quickly in a way that seems so thought out is because he doesn't have to waste nearly as much of his life on making the sort of decisions that most people agonize over. When he does get the rare opportunity to make a choice of any sort, his capability to think clearly has had plenty of time to rest, and is ready to help him take the best action for that situation.
There's a silver lining to everything, really. Even Ash. Even to something like Ash.
But regardless of whose hands should be on his body right now, Ash is currently laying on his back in the estate gardens, under the protection of the shade of the overhead gazebo and not much else. Unless you count the mathematics instructor whose larger adult body is also covering Ash in the stead of his clothing, but the asshole isn't doing much protecting from that position.
It's funny, really. This one was only hired last week. It hasn't even been a full seven days before he drove them to this point. Ash wonders if he should start keeping track of things like this. There's gotta be some kind of world record eventually, if he doesn't already qualify for it.
The instructor—professor, actually, if Ash is giving credit where credit is due—is a soft spoken, awkward, nerd of a man. He's taller and broader than Ash, of course, but not more so than most of Ash's johns. This guy sometimes reminds Ash of a mouse, or maybe something slightly more distinguished with how often he turns up his nose at Ash's antics. A hamster, maybe?
Anyway, Ash realizes, this is the first time he's seen the guy without his glasses on. They were hastily discarded, somewhere on the bench past Ash's head. Ash guesses that maybe he doesn't want to have to keep pushing his glasses up during this. Wants to keep his hands free and all, plus if his glasses fell onto Ash's helpless body it might kill the mood.
Not that Ash would necessarily care one way or the other, but he can see the logic, at least.
True to form, just like most of his type do their first time with Ash, the guy creams his damn pants just from rubbing against Ash's mostly nude form, even before he can even fully get his own clothes off. Means it's over quicker—since this guy likely doesn't have the stamina for another round—so that's nice, but Ash doesn't react anyway. Doesn't move at all. Just keeps laying there as if it was still happening to him.
The guy stammers out something, Ash isn't really sure, and then curses down at Ash and stumbles off. His legs are probably still about as good as jelly, but he manages. Ash half sits up for a moment, watching the direction he goes. The damn idiot doesn't even realize he's walking in the direction of Dino—his own fucking employer. Ash heard the distant undertones of his owner's voice speaking with someone moments ago, coming from the same direction that the math instructor is running toward with unsteady legs.
Briefly, he considers warning the guy. After all, this isn't the first time this has happened, and Dino never much seems to like people using his belongings without paying for them. Ash tries to call out over the perfectly groomed hedges, tries to say anything at all, but his voice catches uncomfortably in his throat before he can make it audible. The world tilts with vertigo, though Ash is still alone. By the time he's come back into himself enough to even clear his throat, his dear teacher has stumbled through the greenery surrounding them and is out of sight.
Ash lays back down on the bench, halfheartedly pulling what he can of his briefs back up around his hips with one hand.
... Oh well. That teacher wasn't much good at differential equations anyway.
— — —
It was weird though, wasn't it? The way that new guy was behaving. Reaching for Ash like that, but not—not like that. And what business does he have being so damn tall, anyway? There's no need for all of that.
Ash is laying out on the grass in the gardens, using a few stacked books as a pillow. It's not that the teacher's touch is getting to him—that was nothing new. Not really. But something about that new guy, the big one ... Ash isn't sure how to feel. He isn't sure if he should be hoping for him to hang around the estates more or not.
Luckily, it's not like Ash will have a say in the matter.
And sure enough, as though summoned by the mere thought, there's a voice from behind Ash.
"You are awake, aren't you?"
Ash glances over his shoulder, carefully making sure he doesn't reveal just how much the man's voice startled him. It's odd, really—there's so much of him there, Ash is sure he should have heard such heavy footsteps from a quarter mile away.
Ash doesn't otherwise acknowledge the guy, but he sits down with Ash anyway. That's normal, though—everyone always just keeps going if Ash is unresponsive.
Reluctantly, grumbling internally, Ash at least does him the decency of sitting up in the grass. Besides, at least that way he's not as inviting of a doll.
He still gives the giant—Blanca, he called himself—the cold shoulder, so to speak, overall making it clear that he'd be unwelcome here if Ash had any say in it. Not that Ash does, but he at least wants to make sure that Blanca knows he's not sharing his company by choice.
He keeps his voice steady, a trained emotionlessness. Curt, bored. Until—
"I hate baseball," Ash blurts. The words tumble out of him before he has the time to consider what he's saying. He notices his hand shifted to cover his mouth, like he's afraid he'll be sick. With more effort than it really should take, Ash shifts his hand to the side of his jaw instead, trying to keep up the illusion of indifference.
Blanca is babbling on about how surely all American boys must love baseball, so Ash snaps at him that it's not that weird. What's it to him, anyway? None of his damn business how Ash feels about anything, especially fucking baseball. Screw him.
Ash is about to dismiss this latest ogre entirely, but then he says something that Ash can't ignore.
There's no fucking way Ash has even a hint of Irish in his normal speech. Dino's had everything but a perfect midwestern neutral beaten out of Ash so he can sound halfway well-bred when he's dressed up in a suit, but he knows he slips up sometimes when he's not bothering to try hard enough. He does it intentionally around his guys—the casual lilt that's commonplace in Jersey and New York seems to get him farther on the street.
If Blanca had said he could hear the Bostonian in him, or guessed that he was from the Cape, Ash could believe it. But Ash never even met his grandfather, and his dad spent nearly his whole life in the stupid ass-backwards town that Ash was born in.
It's not true. It can't be.
So how the hell did he guess it anyway? Ash hasn't told anyone those details. He knows Dino has unveiled far more of Ash's life before New York City than he ever planned for the old perv to see, but he's protected as much as possible when it comes to his family. Information can be weaponized all too easily, so Ash knows for a fact he's kept shit like this out of his pillow talk even when he's drugged half out of his mind.
But Blanca doesn't give him an answer. Not really. Not ever.
— — —
With time, though, Ash learns to accept that implausible events are simply commonplace when Blanca is involved.
The way he saw Ash in that motel with the rope still around his wrists, and he didn't touch him. Or, well—Blanca touched him; he held him, but he didn't ...
Talk about implausible, right?
But it becomes commonplace. Truly. And Ash never would have anticipated that when he first saw the behemoth. From repeated learned experience, Ash has understood since he was a kid that most adults he meets will fuck him sooner or later. Especially adult men. Especially powerful, large, dangerous adult men with money.
So he justifies it to himself; it makes sense that he assumed upon meeting him that Blanca would eventually use Ash's body. It makes sense that he's had panic attacks in Blanca's presence imagining how painful the sex will be, and it makes sense that he steals glances at Blanca's crotch to try to get an idea of just how big he is down there.
And Ash lies to himself, letting him convince his own mind that this is all an understandable reaction to what he's been through. That it's not proof that everyone was right all along, and he really is asking for it.
But hell, if Blanca used him at this point, Ash couldn't even complain. Not when he's been leading him on this whole time.
The weird part is that Blanca ... doesn't. He doesn't use Ash. He touches Ash, sure, and it hurts—but it's under the premise of combat training. He finds plenty of areas of Ash's body that are soft and vulnerable, but none of the ones Ash was expecting.
"Fucker!" Ash spits at Blanca during a practice spar. He holds his side, panting. How the fuck does Blanca move like that when he's got so much of himself to move? It feels impossible. Or implausible, but Ash guesses he's started to accept that. "Can't you go easy on me? Jesus fuck man, you must be twice my weight at least."
Blanca raises an eyebrow. "Nearly thrice your weight, actually. But that's only because you refuse to bulk up like I keep instructing."
"Yeah, well forgive me if I'm not jumping at the chance to look as ugly as you. But can you hit a little lighter at least?" Ash's voice is strained, though he tries to hide it. He's suppressing a wave of nausea—Blanca didn't even hit his digestive tract, but it just hurts that fucking bad anyway.
Blanca's lips quirk up at the corners like he's amused by the sight in front of him, but Ash thinks he can see a bit of pity in his eyes. "I am going easy on you, little cat."
"Like hell you are," Ash grumbles, but he actually does believe that. It's gotta be hard for someone like Blanca to not just fatally wound something of Ash's size, even without meaning to. Of course, if he did, Dino would throw a fit and a half over losing his toy, and there goes Blanca's paycheck. So he's got good motivation to keep his temper in check, but still. It's admirable.
The glint of pity when Blanca looks at Ash is actually pissing Ash off more than almost anything else. But he knows better than to act on that frustration—Ash is quite familiar with the feeling of swallowing his pride for the sake of enduring a bit less pain. And besides, at least pity is more honest from Blanca than it would be from anyone else in the fucking world right about now.
Ash still daydreams about that moment when Blanca broke Marvin's wrist. He plays the moment over and over in his mind, sometimes even imagining that Blanca had first intervened earlier, years ago. It's a childish fantasy, and Ash knows that, but it brings him some solace. Besides, all these asshats can't have it both ways—if they want to do it with a kid so badly, then they should be prepared for the fucktoy they're using to act like a damn kid.
Ash is only fourteen, after all. Even if he has been at this for long enough to be an expert, he's still only fourteen.
The nausea has mostly passed and Ash can stand up a little straighter now, but he's still panting. Honestly, he's practically gasping for air, and he knows that it was nearly this bad from exertion alone even before he got the wind knocked out of him.
He still hasn't landed a hit on Blanca. But that's not unique to this sparring session—Ash still hasn't ever landed a hit on Blanca, not even after all these months of personal instruction in hand-to-hand combat. He's gotten close a handful of times, and Ash wants to be proud of at least that. But every time he thinks of those moments, he's still not completely sure that Blanca wasn't just fucking with him.
But in the game of cat and mouse, just like in any other game, Ash has always been the prey. All his life, Ash has been the one that people do things to, the one people toy with, and never the other way around. It's okay, though, really—Ash doesn't think he'd have much use for a free will anyway. Not when he's never had anything to lose. Why fight when even your own body isn't worth fighting for?
Fourteen is the oldest Ash has ever been. Sometimes he finds himself frustrated nearly to tears that even the 'good' adults who don't actively hurt him still don't think of him as a whole person. Ash fucking hates that no one ever listens to him, or anyone else his age. Maybe these geriatric assholes have lived more years than Ash has, but that doesn't mean shit. Most of them don't know a goddamn thing about anything.
But sometimes Ash feels like he's so exceptionally small, so out of his depth with every part of his life. He's only fourteen. Whatever he did to deserve any of this, he's sorry. He's only fourteen.
... Blanca has never given him this long to catch his breath before. Cautiously, ready to dodge out of the line of fire if Blanca was only waiting for this opportunity, Ash looks across the manicured lawn and up, up, up to catch Blanca's eye. The hell is going on?
What Ash can discern doesn't answer much of anything. Blanca's standing in a neutral posture—not relaxed by any means, but about as close to it as Ash has ever seen him. That's not the stance he takes while teaching Ash combat.
Ash shuffles half a step back.
It's gotta be a trick. There's no way the sparring match is over already. Not when Ash is still conscious, still standing. He wouldn't have learned to dread every evening after training with Blanca—when Dino or any of the others will get off a bit extra on how damaged Ash's body is, how much pain he's in—there'd be nothing to fear if Blanca let him go this easily. This doesn't happen. Ever.
It's not over. He's just waiting for Ash to think that it is so he can exploit the weakness. That's the only explanation that makes sense.
So Ash stays on guard, making sure Blanca knows that his trick isn't working. Keeps his stance stable, ready to deflect any incoming attack. But Blanca isn't even looking at him.
"Little cat," Blanca says, almost wistfully. He's looking well over Ash's head, out toward the horizon. "I fear I have some news for you."
That does throw Ash for a fucking loop, but he does his best not to let it show. He doesn't respond, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Where is this going?
Blanca waits longer than Ash would have expected, but when Ash still doesn't reply, he sighs. "I'm leaving soon, little lion cub."
Ash blinks. "Am I to go with you? When are you coming back?" Focus on getting the relevant information. Analyze it later.
Blanca shakes his head fondly, looking down to where Ash is still poised for a fight. "I'm not coming back. And you're not coming with me. I'm retiring. I've finally had enough of this life, I think."
Ash's hands drop to his side, though it's through no intent of his own. "You're tired of me, you mean. You're leaving me."
"You knew this was temporary, yes? Like everything else."
Well, sure. Like everything else. But it hasn't even been a full year, and Ash ... Ash was just starting to settle in. To feel comfortable around Blanca, or as close to it as he can be.
This isn't fucking fair.
"Where you going anyway? Some other pedo paying better rates than Papa Dino, or what? Got some other kids to turn into weapons?" Ash is lashing out, and he knows it, but he doesn't care. Blanca deserves his rage, if this is what the past several months have come to.
Ash used to fantasize, dream about Blanca stealing him away in the night. Out of everyone, surely Blanca could protect him from Dino or anyone else. Surely Blanca could keep him safe, if only he cared enough to.
"I told you. I'm retiring. I plan to spend my golden years on the beach, basking in the glow of the seaside sun. The Caribbean should do quite nicely." Blanca seems to take in Ash's distress, but he doesn't respond to it. He keeps himself cold, calculated. "Not many in my line of work survive long enough to retire. I look forward to finally settling down. It's nothing personal. You know that."
Ash is absolutely seething. He wants to cry, and scream, and to shake with the rage that's tearing through his soul. He wants to tell Blanca that he was the first person Ash ever trusted. He wants to tell Blanca that he wishes they never fucking met.
Instead, he just growls, "When?"
"Hm?" Blanca inquires, as though there's any chance he doesn't already know what Ash is asking.
"When are you leaving?" When are you abandoning me?
Blanca considers Ash for a moment. Then, with about as much compassion in his voice as the cold sound of a gunshot, he says, "Tomorrow."
Ash closes his eyes. He doesn't know why he hoped for anything more.
Ash has never much minded change of any sort, but it's easy to welcome change when you've never known kindness. When change means losing the closest to kindness you've ever experienced?
Ash wants to ask how long Blanca's known, how long he's hid this from Ash. He wants to ask if he made enough money off of Ash to retire and that's why he doesn't need him anymore. He wants to ask if Blanca has even considered the fate he's condemning Ash to, if he's thought of what will happen to Ash in his absence. If it disgusts him, or just turns him on like everyone else.
Part of Ash even wants to beg Blanca to stay, to apologize for not being good enough, to promise that he'll do anything to earn his place at his side or at his feet.
But Blanca has been teaching Ash a lot in these past months, and it's enough to know that none of those actions will prevent this change from happening.
So Ash turns, and he runs.
He's certain Blanca could catch up to him if he wanted—the man's legs are practically the size of Ash's whole body, for fuck's sake. But Ash now has new information, and he'll take advantage of that. Because now he knows that Blanca simply doesn't care enough to follow him.
Ash runs, and keeps running when tears blur his vision, and keeps running when Marvin tries to stop him at the front gate. He runs all the way off of the land that Dino owns, runs halfway to Manhattan before he finally stops sobbing. And he resolves not to return, no matter which of Dino's men are sent to drag him back, until Blanca has left the fucking country.
Ash really doesn't want to see him again. Not when he's just going to turn his back on Ash anyway. Did he ever care?
Heading up toward one of his usual red light districts without really thinking on it, Ash takes in his own appearance. He's not exactly at his best dressed right now, and he really didn't plan to be hooking tonight at all. But plans change. Things change. Whether you want them to or not.
He's gonna need somewhere to hole up until he can be certain that Blanca's long fucking gone. A john's bed would work just fine, or he can try for a motel—but he'll need to sleep with someone for the cash first anyway.
If Blanca is leaving him to deal with this shit on his own, he might as well start dealing with it. Maybe he can even find someone who will slip him some sedatives, or at least a bit of alcohol. Make it a bit easier. Make him forget he ever hoped for anything better for himself.
Ash thinks he's starting to finally get why people hate change so much. It's just another way to look your own helplessness in the eye.
A car slows down as it nears him. It's a bit early in the evening, and he might not be dressed like the other whores. But he's probably the youngest one standing on a street corner anywhere within a radius of a mile or more.
The car rolls to a stop, and the passenger side front window begins its descent.
Luckily for Ash, some things never change. And unfortunately for Ash, a lot of people never do either.