Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12172926.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Captive_Prince_-_C._S._Pacat
  Relationship:
      OMC/OMC
  Character:
      Original_Male_Character(s), Torveld_(Captive_Prince), Erasmus_(Captive
      Prince)
  Additional Tags:
      Rimming, Staring, Blow_Jobs, Anal_Sex, Anal_Fingering, Implied/Referenced
      Rape/Non-con, Master/Slave
  Series:
      Part 2 of Something_Good
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-09-24 Completed: 2017-10-07 Chapters: 9/9 Words: 22422
****** Treated Well ******
by Iliad06
Summary
     Tadeas never asked for any of this. He definitely didn't ask for
     Gareth, but the captain is nothing like he thought and everything he
     needs.
Notes
     This is the story of my two OMC's in Something Good. I was blown away
     by the amount of people who loved my characters Gareth and Tadeas and
     decided to share their story online. This is NOT a story about
     Torveld/Erasmus, although they will show up in the background. If you
     haven't read Something Good yet, you'll probably want to go do that!
***** Chapter 1 *****
Tadeas never asked for any of this. He never asked to be a slave in Akielos.
His parents were poor and sold him to the palace as soon as he was off breast
milk. The only parents he knew were his trainers, who punished him time and
again when he couldn’t submit exactly how they wanted. He learned over time to
mold his body and wipe his face of expression until he was the picture of
tantalizing submission. Only his thoughts remained his own.
He never asked to be trained to be a pleasure slave. While watching lovers
copulate day after day was entertaining, he did not like the expectations his
trainers had of him. No kissing anyone. No touching anyone. No one can touch
you. No touching yourself. The list went on and on to ensure Tadeas was as pure
and untouched as possible to be sold to the highest noble of the Akielos court.
He never asked to be shipped off to Vere. He was vulgar, snarky, and rude. He
knew that; he owned it. But his crude thoughts were never shared with a noble
or a trainer. Only slaves heard his witty comments. Most blushed but said
nothing in response. He imagined he was helping with their training. Their
masters would undoubtedly say worse and expect them to participate in worse
acts so Tadeas figured they may as well get used to it. The other slaves must
not have seen the value in his education. Someone told a trainer and the next
thing Tadeas knew, he was bound and on a ship with twenty-four other slaves,
exiled from Akeilos.
He never asked to be a target in Vere. They were told little as they were
shoved into the dark hull of a ship, except they were part of a treaty with
Vere. They had been sold to a master in a country Akielos usually despised.
Some slaves were eager about the prospect of having a master. They were stupid.
Trepidation tickled Tadeas’s spine as the ship creaked. They didn’t know the
language. How could they be expected to serve?
They weren’t expected to serve. Only to be the pawn in a game of cruelty the
likes of which Tadeas had never imagined. Men and women took their pleasure and
their frustration out on him. Tadeas fought every time. He struggled as he was
held down. He cursed and yelled obscenities in Veretian so they knew exactly
how much he didn’t want what was happening. They laughed and took from him. He
was powerless. He became a target: the mouthy slave that was entertaining to
overpower. Nicaise told him they even had a betting pool about who would break
him and how long it would take. Tadeas fought even harder after that.
Tadeas fought until Alaric, the servant from Patras, fetched him from the
garden, freshly bruised and bloody from a particularly rough Veretian soldier.
Alaric brought with him tidings of Patras, a warm bath, and a healing salve.
Tadeas never asked to be sold to Patras either, but he would take it. Anything
was better than Vere. Anything.
The first few days as a Patran slave were spent on a ship with the other
Akeilon slaves. He thought it would be nice to be surrounded by his people
again, but they distanced themselves after a few choice phrases. He tried to
curb his commentary, he really did, but the wall between his mind and his mouth
had crumbled in Vere. No matter what he did, it seemed irreparable. Thoughts
spewed from his mouth unbidden until the rest of the slaves gave him a wide
berth.
The final night on the ship, finds Tadeas asleep alone on a pallet in the
corner while the other slaves huddle together for warmth and comfort. The
blanket over him is thin and does little shield the draft, but sleep finds
Tadeas regardless. He is exhausted from all day, unrelenting worry.
Sensations float through his mind: a woman laughing, strong hands holding him
down, burning pain against his skin, cruel commands in a language he doesn’t
understand. He struggles but it is no use. The pain continues and the fear
chokes him. Not again. Not again. Not again.
The ship lurches and the wood makes a loud creaking sound. Tadeas eyes fly
open. He’s panting and sweating, blanket tangled around his feet in his
struggles. It was only a nightmare. Relief should flood through him but fear
still grips his heart like an iron manacle. What if Patras is worse than Vere?
Could such a thing be possible?
It’s late. The sun is not set to rise for a few hours according to the glimmer
of sky he can see through a porthole. Still, he knows he will find no comfort
in sleep. He aches to wake another Akeilon slave and to unburden his thoughts
but he will find no comfort there. The other slaves are naïve, stupid really.
All hopeful that Patras will be better than Vere. The hope is unfounded; they
will still be slaves.
Tadeas kicks the blanket from his legs and leaves the room with soft footsteps
to ensure the rest of the slaves still sleep. Alaric is his handler but, more
importantly, Alaric knows Patras. If anyone can bring light to his dark
worries, it will be the man who has served Patras for most of his life.
Light streams from the crack in the door frame and Tadeas knocks once, lightly,
knowing that Alaric is awake and will hear him. He is not kept waiting long.
The door opens to reveal the man servant, still dressed in his clothes from the
day.
“Do you ever sleep?” he scoffs, then wishes he hadn’t as Alaric’s sharp eyes
search his face.
“Do you?” Cool fingertips brush against the darkened skin underneath his eyes.
His skin burns. Tadeas hates the casual touch but he allows it. He needs
something from Alaric and it doesn’t help to fight the man before he’s in the
door.
Alaric motions Tadeas into the room and the slave doesn’t hesitate to enter and
seat himself in one of the wooden chairs around a small table. Papers litter
the table’s surface but Tadeas knows better than to read the missives without
permission, although his curiosity begs him too. It’s probably just stupid
supply logs anyway.
Alaric places a goblet before him and the dark liquid swirls with the motion of
the ship.
“Wine,” Alaric says, when Tadeas looks at him in confusion, “to help you
fortify yourself and loosen your tongue.”
Tadeas knows what wine is, he isn’t stupid, but slaves are not usually given it
in abundance. He picks up the goblet and swallows the entire contents of the
glass.
“You may regret that later,” Alaric says, although he pushes a goblet of water
towards the younger man, which Tadeas sips from slowly. “Tell me what troubles
you.”
“Troubles me?” Tadeas chokes on a laugh. Troubles are trivial and what weighs
on Tadeas is anything but trivial.
“I’m assuming you’re not in my quarters in the middle of the night to discuss
the weather.”
The young man fiddles with the goblet, finger tracing over the uneven rim as he
thinks on how to answer. Alaric remains quiet as he thinks until he starts to
feel the wine blurry on the edges of his mind and warm in his limbs. It is not
enough to get drunk but he welcomes the fuzzy feeling it brings.
“I’m worried about Patras,” he says finally, eyes still trained on the goblet.
“What about Patras?” Alaric asks.
“I’m worried I’ll get in trouble.”
“Knowing what I know of you after a few days, you probably will at some point.”
The blunt statement feels like a sharp blade lodged between his ribs. Alaric is
right. He will get in trouble. There’s no avoiding it. He’ll get in trouble and
be given to a cruel master to fix him and he’ll get hurt and he’ll fight and
he’ll be cast from Patras and—Calloused fingers brush against the top of his
hand, circle his wrist, and grip lightly until he turns his attention to the
man across from him.
“You’re babbling,” Alaric says softly. His eyes are kind and warm with concern.
“Say that again, slower and clearer so that I can understand you.”
Tadeas wasn’t aware of the babbling, but he takes in a deep breath and tries to
formulate his worries into a coherent sentence.
“I’m worried about what my master will be like. I know I’m not supposed to
think about these things, but I can’t seem to stop myself after everything that
happened in Vere.”
“What worries you about your future master?” That Alaric does not admonish him
for his thoughts fills Tadeas with a gentle flicker of courage, enough to
continue. Perhaps it’s the wine.
“I’m worried I’ll be punished for my mouth.”
“What punishment worries you the most?”
Tears spring to his eyes, but he chokes down a mouthful of water and blinks
them away. He won’t cry about Vere. He won’t even think of it.
“I worry I’ll be given to a cruel master to put me in my place or…”
“Or?” Alaric prompts when Tadeas is quiet for too long.
“Or that I’ll be cast from the palace and available to anyone for the taking.”
The servant is quiet for a moment, his fingers brushing across Tadeas’s wrist
as he seems to run over the slave’s words in his mind. Tadeas is glad for the
moment of thought, although the touch is beginning to make his skin feel
strange. The silence gives him a chance to get his eyes under control until
they no longer water and burn at the edges. That Alaric thinks it through as
opposed to just respond immediately with platitudes all at once worries and
calms Tadeas. Maybe Alaric realizes how much Tadeas fears are founded or maybe
he gives thought to any issue before responding.
“I don’t think that’ll happen,” Alaric says. Tadeas opens his mouth to protest,
but the servant barrels forward. “Patras is very similar to Akeilos in culture.
The Patran court knows the value of slaves, especially a slave from Akeilos.
You will be treated well.”
“And what if I say the wrong thing?”
“The court will be made aware of what happened to you in Vere.” Tadeas winces.
He doesn’t want anyone to know that. Alaric squeezes his wrist until he looks
up from the table. “In Patras, it is a master’s duty to protect and care for a
slave. That is how slaves are honored. They’ll need to know what you went
through to care for you properly.”
“But still, what if I say the wrong thing?”
Alaric runs his free hand over the scruff of his jaw in thought for a moment.
“Any master worth their salt will realize it is how you respond to what
happened to you.”
Tadeas can feel his eyebrows raise high in shock, but Alaric only shrugs.
“I was like this in Akeilos,” Tadeas says. “That’s what got me sent to Vere in
the first place.”
“Listen,” the servant grasps both of Tadeas’s hands in his own. Tadeas tries to
pull his hands away, unused to the gentle touch of another, but Alaric holds
strong. “You have been through a lot. I know that you are scared, but Patras is
nothing like Vere. Veretians do not see any value in slaves and they do not
understand the beauty that they threw away by hurting you.
“Masters in Patras are kind. They will have expectations and rules, but they
will not be cruel in their demands or in their punishments. Rely on your
training.”
“What if I can’t submit like I used to?”
“You can. With time.” Alaric pats the back of his tan hand. “You faced worse
cruelties than most of the slaves. I will make sure Prince Torveld knows so he
can ensure your master is patient.”
Tadeas rips his hands back and glares at the man across from him. “And if no
one wants me after they find out how used I am?” he snaps, rubbing at the skin
of his hands to erase the servant’s itchy touch.
“Oh Tadeas,” Alaric sighs. Pity swims in his brown eyes and makes the itch from
Tadeas’s hands spread over his body. He glares and tucks his hands into his
armpits to keep from fidgeting. “You do not understand what you have to offer.”
“I understand perfectly well what I have to offer.” Anger courses through his
body, making his limbs tingle and his face burn with heat. He pushes to his
feet and looks down at the servant with an upturned lip. “Two holes for a
master to take his pleasure. That’s what I have to offer,” he snarls.
“Hopefully it is enough to keep me under a roof and not on the streets.”
Tadeas storms out of the room, leaving the door open in a petty attempt to
infuriate Alaric as much as the man has infuriated him. The memory of that gaze
filled with pity and those hands meant to comfort wash over Tadeas’s body like
a thick sludge. He doesn’t want pity. He doesn’t want to be handled with gentle
hands. He doesn’t want his future master to know about his defects. Yet, he is
powerless to prevent these things.
He trudges up the wooden stairs towards the deck of the ship. The moon has
begun its descent towards the horizon, although sunrise is still hours away.
Still, Tadeas knows there will be no more sleep for him tonight. He leans
against the rail and watches as dark waves lap at the side of the ship. When
they reach Bazal, he will need to pull on every memory of his training to get
his mouth under control. He will act the part of doting, submissive slave until
he is safe, protected, and Vere is a distant memory.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Prince Torveld is an idiot, Tadeas muses as Alaric hands him a pair of riding
pants. He is quick to pull on the pants underneath his tunic, relishing the
fabric against the skin of his legs. Sure, the fabric is a little scratchy and
uncomfortable to his sensitive skin, but the pants provide an extra layer of
protection he didn’t have in Vere.
The idiot prince’s plans become more clear as Alaric moves among the slaves.
First, the slaves were divided into two groups: slaves who had ridden a horse
before and those who hadn’t. Now, those in the first group have been given
pants meant for riding, padded at the buttocks and thighs to provide support
for long days on horseback. Alaric steps away to lead the group of slaves with
no riding experience to the cart. Tadeas can’t help the protests bubbling at
his lips.
“They can’t be planning to give us our own horses,” he says, voice filled with
obvious distaste. “We aren’t that skilled at riding.”
A few slaves hush him, eyes darting to Alaric to make sure he did not overhear.
Tadeas stops himself from making a face at them, but it is a near thing.
“Prince Torveld is wise,” Erasmus, a slim, pretty slave says, affection clear
in his tone. It makes Tadeas’s lip curl. “He has a plan.”
Unbidden anger rushes through him. Erasmus has been a favorite from the start,
treated nicely and given quarters with the prince. He has nothing to worry
about, unlike the rest of the slaves. The prince’s golden pin rests on his
shoulders and Tadeas wants to rip it off him, to take away his security, to
make him feel the fear the rest of the slaves should be feeling but aren’t
because they’re stupid as well.
Touching Erasmus would be a mistake, but Tadeas can lash him with his tongue.
“Did he tell you the plan before or after he fucked you?”
“He didn’t tell me the plan.” The blonde’s face remains passive and Tadeas
wants to strike him.
“Then what do you know?” he snarls and crosses his arms over his chest to keep
from reaching out to strangle the loyalty and calm submission from the slave.
“Patras is nothing like Vere. You will be treated well there.”
“Easy to say when you already know your master.” Tadeas winces inwardly. He did
not wish to reveal that worry to an idiot slave who trusts too easily. In Vere,
Erasmus was targeted just as much as Tadeas, although for different reasons. He
cannot understand how he remains so unaffected, so unworried about the cruelty
that they could be stepping into in Patras.
Erasmus turns away from him, eyes lighting with affection as they both see
Prince Torveld approach. It turns Tadeas’s stomach sour.
The men lead five mares to the group of slaves as Torveld begins to detail the
plan of the journey to Bazal, including his plan to have each slave paired to
ride a horse together. The other slaves listen with rapt attention but Tadeas’s
mind and gaze wander. He has no interest in the words of a prince, especially
one who can’t count. Tadeas is surrounded by eleven other slaves and there are
only five horses to ride. Idiot prince.
“Tadeas,” the deep voice makes him flinch. How does the prince know his name?
He stares hard at Torveld’s boots, worried of making himself more of a target.
Did Alaric hear his argument with Erasmus? Cold fear trickles through his
chest. Will he be banished before they’ve even begun the journey?
He grips his fingers hard behind his back and swallows the worries down as
Torveld continues. “Tadeas, you will ride with Lord Gareth.”
Relief is a wave splashing through his stomach to cool the sour knots that wind
and twist. He isn’t in trouble. At least, not yet.
His eyes follow Torveld’s finger to a young man already sitting astride a tall,
brown stallion. Lord Gareth meets his gaze and smiles, a lopsided, easy grin.
His chestnut hair falls around his face in effortless waves. He is slighter
than the men around him and can’t be more than 23 years old, making him very
young for the Captain’s badge that gleams on his chest. Tadeas doesn’t know
much about being a soldier, but he knows that captains earn their badges
through brute strength, a tactical mind, and finesse with a sword.
The fear is back, hammering at his chest. He was wrong. He is in trouble and he
is being paired with a ruthless captain to sort him out with wandering hands
and cruel remarks. His training urges him to fall to his knees in front of
Torveld or Gareth or both and apologize for whatever wrong he may have
committed. His pride has him lifting his chin and stomping towards Gareth
instead. If he’s to be punished, he will take his punishment without groveling.
Halfway to the horse, a plan begins to hatch in the young slave’s mind, a way
to ensure the captain delegates him to ride in a cart instead.
Gareth offers a hand but Tadeas ignores it and pulls himself onto the saddle.
In one swift movement, he presses his entire body against the firm body before
him. He wraps his arms tight around Gareth’s waist, presses his hips forward
into the curve of Gareth’s backside, and even cups the man’s legs with his own.
“I can’t wait for us to ride,” he murmurs directly into Gareth’s ear. “Your ass
will feel so nice moving against my cock.” He flicks the tip of his tongue
against Gareth’s earlobe and grins at the shudder of disgust he can feel travel
up the captain’s spine.
Gareth turns and Tadeas fights not to back down when piercing brown eyes stare
at him from only inches away. He’s too close. Gareth searches his face for a
second and his lips twist into a pleased smirk. He leans forward, bringing his
mouth close to Tadeas’s ear.
“You’re bluffing,” he whispers.
Heat floods Tadeas’s cheeks as Gareth pulls back and smiles at him. The young
man’s arm drop in surprise and make it easier for the captain to turn around
and nudge forward in the saddle to create space between their bodies. Tadeas
stares at wavy tresses, eyes wide and unseeing, unable to think of anything
other than: how did he know?
Gareth clicks his tongue and the horse begins to move forward in a steady trot
that barely rocks his riders. The young man’s legs tighten against the beast’s
ribs and he scrambles to brace himself against the back of the saddle instead
of wrapping his arms around Gareth again. He doesn’t want to touch him.
***** Chapter 3 *****
They travel in silence for an hour. The stallion moves at a lazy trot some ten
yards ahead of the rambling group of men, carts, and slaves. The captain was
tasked with riding ahead today to look out for any obstacles on the path and it
is clear to Tadeas that Gareth takes his role seriously, even as he maneuvers
the horse off the road every so often to jump fallen logs for no reason Tadeas
can work out other than Gareth finds it fun.
Throughout the ride, Tadeas leans back, grips the back ridge of the saddle
tight, and squeezes his legs together around the horse to keep his seat. He
doesn’t want to touch Gareth if he doesn’t have to.
“You know,” the captain says in a gentle voice, the first words they’ve said
since the company started moving, “you’re going to be very sore tonight if you
keep riding like that.”
Tadeas scoffs but says nothing. He’ll take sore muscles over cuddling up to a
stranger whose motives remain unclear.
Gareth clicks his tongue and urges his stallion into a fast trot, heading
towards the biggest log yet. The stallion clears the log with little exertion,
its hind quarters bumping up and dislodging Tadeas’s grip on the saddle. He
crashes forward against Gareth’s back with an “oof!” and grips his waist hard
to keep from falling sideways off the saddle as they land.
“That’s better,” Gareth laughs and pats the back of his hand. Tadeas jerks away
and inches back in the saddle again, away from the warm body before him.
“Fuck off,” he murmurs, rubbing at the tingling skin on the back of his hand.
“Hard to do on a horse, although I am always up for an adventure.”
“Yeah? How about you adventure into the woods and I’ll take your horse to Bazal
myself?”
Gareth laughs, loud and booming, and the noise makes Tadeas scowl. The captain
is strange. The things that should make him angry, especially coming from the
mouth of a slave, only seem to entertain him. Tadeas’s plan to be sent to a
cart or to at least create more distance between them only amuses Gareth. It’s
going to be a long three days. And he still doesn’t understand…
“How did you know?” he asks and wishes he hadn’t. His fingers grip onto the
saddle behind him, numb with how they’ve been holding tightly all day, and he
stares at the back of the chestnut head.
“Know what?”
“That I was bluffing.”
Gareth is quiet for long enough that the slave begins to think he won’t answer.
“You ignored my hand,” he says, glancing over his shoulder.
“So?”
“So it would not have hurt you or your pride to take my hand and let me help
you onto the horse. Emanon is tall and you are rather short.”
“I’m sixteen,” Tadeas snaps. “I have growing years to come still.”
Gareth chuckles. “Still, the only reason you would ignore my hand is if you
didn’t like people touching you and with what you faced in Vere, I knew you had
to be bluffing.”
Apprehension swells in Tadeas’s chest and makes it hard to squeeze out the next
words. “You know what happened in Vere?”
Gareth pulls his horse to a stop and twists in the saddle. “I accompany the
prince on all of his visits. I have a good idea of how Akeilon slaves would be
treated by the Veretian court.” His brown eyes are dark and stormy, all traces
of his earlier easy humor gone. “I wish I had not witnessed it.”
Tadeas blushes bright and turns his head, not in submission but to conceal his
own emotion from the captain. “Did you see me?” he asks, voice soft and timid.
He hates it. He hates the fear that still lingers hundreds of miles away from
Vere.
Fingers bump the bottom of his chin, but do not grasp, and that has Tadeas
looking up at Gareth instead of flinching away. “If I had seen someone abusing
a beautiful man like you, I would have run them through with a sword and
started a war between Patras and Vere.”
“You would lose your captaincy.”
Gareth shrugs. “Have you seen how Prince Torveld cares for Erasmus? If he had
seen the brands on his legs as they were happening, I believe the entire court
of Vere would have been vanquished.”
Green eyes search brown for a moment before Tadeas has to glance away from the
weight of that stare. He knows Gareth is a captain, the badge on his chest
declares him so, but he was not expecting the fierce protectiveness to be
directed towards him.
Gareth clicks his tongue and Emanon starts to move forward onto the road again.
“You Patrans are very protective of slaves,” Tadeas says.
“Of course,” Gareth responds flippantly.
“Why?”
“We understand the value of beauty.”
“And submission?” He tries not to spit the word, but he can’t help it.
“Perhaps the others value submission. I value bravery and a sharp mind.”
Tadeas cocks his head at that but Gareth is looking forward again. It seems he
was wrong before. He was not paired with Gareth to be put in his place. He was
only paired with the older man because Torveld knew he would be protected.
His hands are numb and his legs starting to feel sore from gripping onto Emanon
to stay upright. He inches forward in the saddle, rests his chest against
Gareth’s back, and loops his arms in a lazy circle around his waist. Gareth
hums his approval but says nothing, for which Tadeas is grateful. He closes his
eyes, suddenly exhausted from riding tense, and relaxes fully against the
captain.
“Sleep, Tadeas. I’ll make sure you do not fall.”
“How did you...?” he mumbles. The last thing he hears is a soft rumble of
laughter.
***
Tadeas naps against Gareth for about an hour before he is woken by Gareth’s
laughter to find Erasmus sharing a Akeilon children’s tale about trolls and
poison ivy. He sits up fully in the saddle, rubbing at his eyes as Gareth looks
over his shoulder with a smirk.
“Sleep well?” He nods and ignores the bright smile coming from the nymph-like
slave riding next to them. Erasmus looks like he wants to say something, but
turns his attention forward when Torveld squeezes his thigh and points at a
mountain in the distance.
“Did Prince Torveld dismiss you from scouting duty?” Tadeas asks and Gareth
laughs.
“No, he couldn’t get rid of me if he tried.”
“And I have tried,” the prince quips, pulling a laugh from both Erasmus and
Gareth.
Tadeas is quiet for a moment. They’re walking with the group now at a slow,
even pace that no longer requires him to hold onto the saddle or Gareth’s
waist. He’s grateful to be able to lean back a little, to put some distance
between their bodies. He feels rested and relaxed, even with Gareth sitting
inches from him. In Vere, his skin crawled and his hair stood at attention
whenever someone came within ten feet of him, especially a guard.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, staring at his fingers as they fidget in his lap.
“For what?” The confusion is evident in his voice and Tadeas wants to groan. He
hates explaining things like gratefulness and apologies. Shouldn’t saying it be
enough? He has much to be thankful to Gareth for: for not forcing the slave to
touch him, for calling him beautiful, for not making it a big deal when Tadeas
finally did touch him.
“For letting me sleep on you,” he says finally. Anything else would reveal too
much.
Gareth glances over his shoulder, a twinkle of joy in his brown eyes. “You
needed sleep. I’m happy to be of service any time you want a pillow.” He winks
and shocks a laugh out of the young slave.
Tadeas considers his teasing for a moment, then leans forward and rests against
Gareth’s back again. He loops his arms loosely around the man’s waist but keeps
his eyes open this time to watch the trees pass by as they move. He doesn’t
need to hold onto Gareth to keep his balance, but it is comfortable and the
feel of his chest pressed to the long, lean back doesn’t make his skin crawl.
Perhaps it’s because he’s initiating or because Gareth isn’t touching him back.
Either way, he relaxes and strikes up a conversation with the older man about
their journey so far.
***** Chapter 4 *****
They set up camp when the sun is an hour from setting. Gareth orders men and
slave alike to start fires, pitch tents, and secure horses. Tadeas is tasked
with helping the men start fires and he keeps his distance from the gruff
soldiers who jostle each other as they stack wood and light it with flint.
Soon, the camp is settled, the men are eating, and some slaves are waiting on
the soldiers out of their own sense of duty, not on command.
Tadeas gulps down a piece of bread and a skin of cool water as he stands away
from the fire. He watches warily as slaves move in and out of the men, relaxed
in their element of serving. He doesn’t understand how they can move so freely
amongst the roughened soldiers whose eyes linger on curved hips and bare
thighs. He doesn’t see any wandering hands, but the leering looks and muttered
phrases from one soldier to another makes his skin itch.
He feels eyes on him, the hair on the back of his neck raising, and casts his
glance around to find an older soldier staring at him from across the fire.
Tadeas glares and the soldier smirks. A female slave kneels at the soldier’s
side and offers him a skin of water. The soldier’s stare leaves Tadeas and
falls to the woman’s chest instead. Tadeas cannot help but feel relief and
quickly squashes the rising guilt in his throat. If she wants to serve when she
does not have to that is her choice, but he won’t stay at the fire to witness
the result.
Tadeas makes his way through the camp to a tent that is slightly larger than
the common soldier ones surrounding it. He hesitates at the entrance—How does
one knock on a tent and ask for entrance anyway? —before pushing the flap up
and shoving his way inside. Gareth looks up from a piece of parchment, eyebrows
climbing his hairline in surprise.
He knows how this looks: a pleasure slave entering a man’s tent after dark so
close to the time when the camp will turn to bed for sleeping and other things.
“I’m not here for you to fuck me,” Tadeas announces by way of explanation. He
flushes hot and stares at the ground, clenching his fists behind his back.
There is a sound of parchment being set aside and Gareth clearing his throat.
“Good. I’m not here for you to fuck me either so I’m glad we have that
established.”
Tadeas flushes harder, mortified, and shuts his eyes tight. He had no right to
come here. His body trembles with his shame and he’s unsure how to make his
request. Boots move across the grass floor with a soft hushing sound and stop
right before him. A hand grips his shoulder and the heat of it burns through
the fabric of his tunic. He fights the urge to flinch away. He’s asking Gareth
for something and he won’t get what he wants if he rebukes the man.
“Why are you here?” Gareth asks softly and it doesn’t sound reproachful like
Tadeas feared.
“I…” he hesitates and Gareth squeezes his shoulder. “I don’t trust the men. C-
can I stay here?”
“Are you saying you trust me?”
“No!” he snaps and shoves the captain’s hand from his shoulder. Gareth smirks
and raises one eyebrow in a clear challenge to try and explain himself. Tadeas
sighs.
“I mean… I guess… I know you won’t—you know.” He stares at the tip of Gareth’s
boots and wishes he was anywhere but in this tent right now. Then he remembers
the leer of the man at the fire. Maybe not anywhere…
“I have one condition,” Gareth says in a low voice. Tadeas eyes widen and his
spine trembles. Gareth was going to demand service as repayment. The slave had
read him all wrong and now he is going to pay for it with his body.
“Sire, please,” he begs, voice wavering and he hates himself for it.
Fingers ghost along his cheek and he flinches away as if scalded. “Tadeas, it
is not what you think.” The slave lifts wary, green eyes to meet concerned,
brown ones. “I ask only that you share my pallet to rid you of these dark
circles under your eyes. I will not touch you, you have my word.”
Relief sweeps through his chest, cooling the anxiety that clenches his heart.
He’s only known Gareth for a day, but he can’t help but trust that the man will
keep his word. The captain exudes honor.
He nods and the smile that spreads across Gareth’s lips is easy and makes him
look younger.
“Unless of course, you want me to touch you,” Gareth adds with a wink. Tadeas
laughs, only slightly strangled, and shoves at the older man’s shoulder.
“Unlikely.”
“I don’t know. You did lay against me all afternoon.” Tadeas flushes but can’t
think of a witty response before a yawn has his mouth splitting open. The
captain ushers him onto the pallet and covers him with a thin summer blanket
before stepping back to gather the parchment from before. It feels good to lay
down after a long day of riding and a long journey of sleepless nights. Tadeas
nuzzles further into the blanket, limbs already heavy with impending sleep.
“Aren’t you going to join me?” Tadeas murmurs into the soft padding below his
head.
“Later, I promise.” If Gareth’s voice is a little rougher than normal, the
slave doesn’t have a moment to think about what that means before sleep
overtakes him.
***
The first thing Tadeas is aware of is that it’s warm. Too warm. The second is
his body pressed against something that is decidedly not a pallet. That
something is the source of the heat and rises and falls gently beneath his
head. He blinks his eyes open to find himself pressed to Gareth’s side from
shoulder to ankle, his head resting on the captain’s smooth, bare chest.
He squeaks and scrambles back from the too warm body. Gareth groans and opens
bleary eyes to look at him.
“What is it?” he asks through a yawn. The brunette pushes himself into a
sitting position, making the blanket pool in his lap and reveal his slim,
muscled chest to the slave. Tadeas looks away.
“I don’t like touch.” He fiddles with the edge of the blanket and tries to slow
his breathing from the panicked pants that wrack his chest.
Gareth cocks his head and considers the slave for a moment. The gaze makes
Tadeas want to squirm, but he stares back, daring Gareth to contradict him.
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“How the fuck would you know?” he snarls, lip upturned.
Gareth shrugs and holds out a hand. “Let me see your hand.”
“Why?”
“A test. I will only touch your hand, nothing beyond your wrist.”
Tadeas doesn’t know what compels him to listen, probably his slave training
that makes him eager to please. There is a slight tremble in his fingers as he
places his hand in Gareth’s outstretched one. Gareth doesn’t react, merely
studies their hands together for a moment, dark olive against cream.
Tadeas moves to pull his hand away but Gareth grasps his.
“Please,” he says softly, eyes still focused on the smaller hand in his grip.
Tadeas stares at the lowered head, wavy hair a nest of chaotic mess from sleep,
and concedes. If the man wants to see his hand, it is a small price to pay for
the restful sleep he got to indulge in for the first time since leaving
Akeilos.
In the next moment, he wishes he could jerk his hand back. A warm palm cups his
hand as calloused fingers trace up the back of one finger from nail to wrist,
down the next finger, and then back up again. His hand twitches and the skin
tingles from the slow, gentle touch. Gareth reaches his thumb and the relief is
palpable in his chest. Surely, Gareth has touched his fill and he can take his
hand back.
Gareth isn’t done. He turns Tadeas hand over, cradles the back of it, and
begins to trace his palm in the same way. The tingling intensifies, all at once
ticklish and pleasurable. Tadeas whimpers as the calloused fingers run over the
center of his palm. He can feel himself reacting underneath the blankets,
swelling with heat and pleasure, and he wants to jerk his hand away and leave
the tent. Gareth doesn’t look up at him, only smiles at his noise, and keeps
tracing his hand.
What seems like hours later but is really only moments, Gareth’s questing
fingers find their way to the top of his hand and circle gently around his
wrist. Tadeas entire hand still tingles and his body trembles with small sparks
of pleasure. Gareth’s eyes raise to his and Tadeas flushes at the storm of lust
within them. A thumb brushes back and forth across his wrist, but Gareth
doesn’t press him down into the pallet like he expects of guards and men who
think only with their cock.
“It seems,” Gareth’s voice is low with his want and makes Tadeas shudder, “you
do not hate touch given your reaction to mine.”
Tadeas opens his mouth to protest but Gareth cuts him off with a single finger
held aloft. “What you hate is touch that you are not permitted to say ‘no’ to,
am I right?”
The slave nods, gritting his teeth and trying to pull his hand away. The tent
is too small and the air is heavy. He needs to get out, walk in the fresh
morning air, and watch the sun rise over the horizon.
Gareth’s grip tightens on his wrist and he tugs until Tadeas looks at him
instead of the walls of the tent. His brown eyes are bright with emotion,
imploring. Tadeas’s training makes him want to look away from the display, to
submit, but he finds himself compelled to stare back.
“You can say ‘no’ to me and I will listen,” Gareth says.
“You expect me to believe that?” he snaps.
“In time.”
“No.” He means he won’t believe him, but Gareth unwinds his fingers from the
slim wrist and Tadeas’s hand falls into his own lap. Surprise fills him even as
he brings his hand up to his chest and tries to rub the itch away. It seems the
captain plans to prove he is true to his word, not just say something and do
the opposite like most men.
“I have a proposal,” he says, watching the slave with a carefully blank
expression. Tadeas can feel his eyebrows knit together. “You’re aroused. Let me
touch you again, just your hand, while you take care of it.”
“Why would you want to do that?”
“Because it won’t be comfortable for either of us for you to ride with an
erection.”
“I can take care of it myself.”
“Then allow me to be selfish, I want to see to your pleasure and this is the
only way I believe you will let me.”
Tadeas wants to argue. He wants to kick Gareth out of the tent, or will down
the erection, or leave and hope it goes away itself. But he hasn’t been this
aroused since Akeilos. His lap is warm and pulsing and all he wants is relief.
Later, he will blame the pleasure for clouding his judgement but Gareth made
his hand feel good and he wants that again.
He bites his lip and nods once. Gareth grins, even as Tadeas glares at him
defiantly, and reaches out to grasp his hand again.
“It might be easier if you lay down,” he murmurs against the slave’s
fingertips, ghosting over each one with a gentle kiss. Tadeas shakes his head.
He isn’t ready to be so vulnerable to the man beside him. He pushes the blanket
aside and hikes the edge of his tunic up around his hips to reveal bronze
thighs and his stiff cock. Gareth groans at the sight and the noise makes the
hairs on Tadeas’s neck stand up. He almost pushes his tunic down and leaves the
tent, but when he looks up, he finds Gareth watching his face, fingers idly
stroking along his hand again. His expression is one of lust, yes, and of
adoration. He smiles when he finds Tadeas looking at him.
“Would you like me to touch you?”
Tadeas shakes his head. Having the man beside him is enough to make blood thrum
in his veins without letting the man touch him. Not one for ceremony, he takes
himself in hand at the base and strokes to the top of his cock, squeezing
lightly at the head. He moans and shudders as pleasure alights in his stomach.
It has been too long since he did this.
“Slow down.”
“Don’t tell me how to touch myself,” he snaps, speeding up his wrist just to be
contrary.
Gareth chuckles, breath hot against Tadeas’s palm. He smiles for a moment
against his fingertips, then sucks one long finger into his mouth, swirling his
tongue around the digit. Tadeas whimpers as shudders wrack his spine from the
mouth on his hand and not his hand on his cock. It shouldn’t feel so good, but
it does. Gareth goes slowly, bobbing his head back and forth, and Tadeas
matches the rhythm of his strokes with the mouth on his hand.
His body is warm with pleasure and a little of embarrassment. He moans and
whimpers as he strokes himself and as Gareth’s hands and mouth explore the
sensitive skin of his hand. It’s erotic like watching lovers intertwine, yet he
doesn’t think it should feel so good. Still, Tadeas has never been one to
question mundane things like “should.”
Gareth releases his finger from the warmth of his mouth and presses a series of
kisses to his palm. Teeth press gently against the fleshy part near his thumb
and Tadeas gasps at the sensation. He strokes himself and stares at the
brunette head bent over his hand, lavishing it with attention and caresses. The
captain looks up at him, eyes dark with lust and Tadeas’s body comes alive,
writhing amongst the bed sheets. He’s close, so close. Just one heated gaze
feels like hands on his skin and he could come with a word from Gareth.
“Kiss me,” he pants, desperate for the other man’s touch. Gareth crashes
against him in a fumble of lips, too overexcited to kiss properly. His back
hits the pallet, head cradled in a large hand, and he gasps at the impact. The
captain presses his tongue inside and all Tadeas knows for the next moments are
Gareth’s strong body looming above his, soft lips and tongue pressing to his
own, and his own hand stroking his cock in earnest. Fear passes over him for a
moment. Gareth could easily take advantage of him on his back with his legs
spread, but his caress never leaves his hand or his mouth.
He whimpers and Gareth swallows the noise with a groan. Fingers curl around his
hip, but travel no further, and that warm touch finally tips him. His orgasm
crashes through his body in waves of hot pleasure. Gareth pulls back from their
kiss and watches his expression from inches away as his face twists and smooths
with his release. He strokes himself through it, hips thrusting into the air,
until he is spent.
He collapses onto the pallet, limbs loose and out of breath. His head feels
hazy and he blinks his eyes open to find Gareth’s darkened gaze inches from his
own.
Embarrassment floods him. Regret is heavy against his chest, overriding the
floaty feeling of post-orgasm. How could he do that so soon after Vere? And
with a guard? The way he moaned and shuddered and begged for Gareth’s lips
turns his stomach. How could he be so willing?
“I-” he starts but is cut off when lips press to his own. The kiss is gentle
and lazy warmth fills his stomach as a tongue strokes against his for a moment
before pulling away.
“Don’t let your thoughts ruin what just happened.” Gareth’s eyes are warm with
affection and lust.
Tadeas flushes hot. Gareth is too perceptive.
“I, for one, enjoyed watching you.” Gareth chuckles. Tadeas becomes aware of
the hard length pressed against his thigh, still snug in the captain’s pants.
“Do you want me to…?” he trails off and gestures to the captain’s lap.
Gareth smiles and shakes his head. “Do you know how to tack a horse?”
“Of course, I’m not an idiot.”
“Will you go ready Emanon for the day? I will join you shortly.”
Shock floods Tadeas’s body and his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. Gareth
laughs and presses a kiss to his jawline.
“Are you serious?” Tadeas asks.
“Very.”
The slave pushes up from the bed, wiping his hand of his release on the blanket
and pulling on the riding pants he discarded the night before so he could sleep
without overheating. Fingers wrap around his wrist and tug him to face Gareth
again.
“Will you treat me to one last kiss of your sweet lips?”
“Are you always such a sweet talker with slaves?”
Gareth’s eyes narrow and he tugs Tadeas back onto the pallet with him. “No, I
am a sweet talker with men with whom I have an affection.”
Warmth floods Tadeas’s face but he has no time to think of his embarrassment
before lips press against his again. The kiss is languid and he whimpers into
it, cock twitching in interest even though he just spent.
Gareth pulls away a moment later with a lazy smile. “Emanon,” he prompts when
Tadeas doesn’t move. The slave nods and pushes to his feet, a little dazed. At
the entrance to the tent, he glances back to find brown eyes following his
movements, hands not yet having moved to undo his laces. He smiles and throws a
wink over his shoulder, leaving the tent to Gareth’s warm laughter.
***** Chapter 5 *****
Tadeas finds Emanon grazing a few meters from the camp. The sun is starting to
peak over the horizon and already men and slaves are working to dissemble the
camp and ready the horses. Thoughts of the morning flood Tadeas’s mind as he
works to ready the beautiful stallion, but shame does not fill his stomach like
he feared. Gareth did not force him and gave him choices instead.
“Your master is strange,” he murmurs to the horse. Emanon’s bumps his shoulder
with his nose and Tadeas can’t help but laugh.
“Am I?”
He turns to find Gareth smiling at him, approaching from the camp.
“That was fast,” he teases, turning back to tighten the saddle.
The brunette laughs and squeezes his bare shoulder. “I had inspiration.”
Tadeas blushes bright and glares at the smug guard next to him, who only
smiles.
It takes the camp half an hour longer to finish tearing down tents, smothering
old fires, and preparing horses. Gareth oversees the process while Tadeas is
tasked with fetching water for the horses. It keeps him away from the men and
he’s secretly pleased that Gareth considered that when giving him a task.
The pair meets at Emanon as the guards and slaves around them begin to mount
horses and climb into carts. Tadeas offers the reigns to Gareth with a smile
but the older man shakes his head.
“You’ve ridden before, yes?”
“A little.”
“You’ll lead today. I can teach you anything you don’t remember.”
The slave isn’t sure how to respond as Gareth presses his grip tighter around
the reigns where it slackened in his surprise. He turns to the large horse and
strokes gently along Emanon’s snout.
“I told you, your master is strange.”
Emanon huffs hot hair against his chest while Gareth laughs beside him. This
time, Tadeas lets Gareth help him onto the tall stallion.
***
Tadeas is out of practice when it comes to commanding a steed but Emanon is
patient and attentive to his ever-changing commands. There are a few false
starts where Tadeas is unsure of how to control the speed of the horse and ends
up all at once nudging him to go faster while gripping the reigns too tight.
Gareth chuckles at his back and it isn’t condescending. It’s joyful and the
noise makes Tadeas’s chest feel light.
Gareth helps him. He shows him how to spur a horse on with gentle nudges to the
ribs and clicks of the tongue. He adjusts the slave’s grip on the reigns,
fingers large and warm against Tadeas’s own. He helps him steer around boulders
and teaches him how to urge the horse to jump over fallen logs.
All the while, Gareth maintains a distance between their bodies, even when
Tadeas jumps a log or two. He is a warm presence at Tadeas’s back and the slave
can feel the heat from his body, but he does not press their bodies together.
Gareth wraps one arm loose around his waist to maintain his balance and the
touch feels surprisingly comfortable to Tadeas. His hands do not wander,
although every so often his fingers grip at the material above Tadeas’s hip and
makes Tadeas think of the morning of the grip that finally tipped him into
bliss.
“You are not like other men,” he claims and nudges Emanon into a brisk canter.
Gareth whoops with laughter behind him as they speed to the top of a hill
slightly off the path. Tadeas tugs on the reigns as they crest the hill, eyes
alighting on the view of miles of green before them and a winding path to
Bazal.
“I’m not like other men, huh?” Gareth’s voice is teasing and Tadeas blushes. He
was hoping Gareth would forget his statement with the exhilaration of the
galloping horse and the wind whipping against their faces.
“Is it because I did not bend you over as soon as I saw you?” It’s supposed to
be another tease, Tadeas can tell because of the light tone to his voice, but
the statement shocks him. His spine stiffens and ice fills his chest. His hands
tremble at the reigns and he has to close his eyes to try and ward the images
of Vere away from his brain.
Fingers glide up his arm and grip over his hand and he flinches away from the
touch.
“I’m sorry,” Gareth murmurs, and he’s too close to Tadeas’s back. Too close,
too vulnerable. “I’m so sorry. I did not think-“
“It’s fine.” His voice is tight and he clears his throat to rid himself of the
weakness. “It’s true after all.”
Gentle fingers grip his chin and turn his face to look at Gareth. His skin
burns and he fights the urge to rub the spot. Gareth looks miserable, frown
heavy with regret and eyes shining with guilt.
“I should not have been so flippant about the abuse you have faced. You deserve
better from me.”
Tadeas feels a warm tinge settle onto his cheeks and loosen the ice cold in his
chest. He doesn’t know how to respond. He’s never been apologized to before.
He gives Gareth a hesitant smile. “Kiss me?” he asks and bites his lower lip.
He isn’t worried about being bold as some slaves would be, but he is worried
about rejection. He is soiled, touched by too many men, and unworthy of an
esteemed guard’s affection in any form, according to his training.
Gareth does not seem to mind. He smiles, genuine and lopsided, and presses his
lips to the slave’s in gentle, slow kiss. Fingers stroke his cheek and Tadeas
reaches his hands up to cup Gareth’s sharp jaw. The kiss is thorough, neither
party in a rush to end it, and when Gareth finally pulls back, Tadeas teeters
on the horse and smiles, dazed.
“Thank you,” Gareth murmurs and presses a kiss to the young man’s cheek.
Tadeas turns in the saddle, emboldened by the gentle kiss, and nudges Emanon
into a frenzied gallop towards the party. He whoops and laughs as Gareth laughs
behind him. They speed to the front of the party, wild and joyous, heading
straight for Prince Torveld and his speckled stallion.
Gareth’s hands clench at his hips, urging him to slow down, but Tadeas is
feeling reckless. He waits until the grip is bruising, Gareth’s nervousness
clear, and tugs hard on the reigns. Emanon skids to a stop, spraying dirt and
dust around their feet and the feet of the prince and his pretty slave.
“Enjoying yourself, Sir Gareth?” the prince asks, amused smile tugging at his
lips. Tadeas eyes drift to the slave at his back and find Erasmus smiling
brightly. He grins back.
“Naturally, my lord,” Gareth responds, his relaxed tone not betraying the way
fear had pressed bruising fingertips into Tadeas only moments ago. His fingers
rub absentmindedly over the abused skin and Tadeas smiles at the gentle touch.
He turns with a grin to Gareth. “Again?” The challenge is clear in his voice
and Gareth meets him with a confident smirk.
“Waiting on you, sweetheart,” he drawls. Tadeas chokes on a laugh and kicks
Emanon into another wild gallop away from the company. Fingers press against
his hip and Gareth nudges forward in the saddle.
“You’re brave,” he mutters and presses a kiss beneath his ear. A memory floats
to the front of Tadeas’s mind: I value bravery and a sharp mind.
***** Chapter 6 *****
The air of the camp is chilly but the warmth of the fire wards it away. Tadeas
sits on the ground near a smaller fire away from the large one in the main
circle of the camp, a plate of food in his lap and one by his side. There are a
few slaves around the fire but only one guard, who seems more interested in
eating than leering at slaves.
Tadeas picks at his food, not really eating, as he waits for Gareth to finish
his duties for the evening. He stares into the flickering flames as his mind
wanders from his plate to the day’s events. Gareth allowed him to lead the
horse the entire day, which was all at once fun and tiring. His leg muscles are
sore but it is a small price to pay for the exhilaration of galloping and
jumping. Their conversation was easy and Tadeas cannot remember ever laughing
so much. As the day progressed, the captain scooted closer in the saddle until
their bodies pressed together. It was comfortable and Tadeas’s skin didn’t
itch, even as their bodies rocked gently with the sloping steps of Emanon.
He likes Gareth. The man is witty and kind and doesn’t treat him like used
wares, although he is mindful of his past. Warm hope tugs at his stomach but he
tries to push it away. He likes Gareth but captains don’t have the salary to
afford a pleasure slave.
The sound of boots wading through the tall grass pulls him out of his thoughts.
A hand rests on top of his head as the owner of the boots comes to stand beside
him.
“Is that for me?” Gareth asks, pleased smile evident in his voice even if
Tadeas didn’t look up to see it. He nods and offers the plate of food to the
man as Gareth sits beside him with a groan.
“Long day?”
“Only when I was away from you.” Gareth winks and Tadeas flushes at the casual
flirtation. Hope flickers in his chest again and it’s harder to smother it with
the reason for the hope sitting close enough to him that their knees touch and
their arms brush.
They eat in silence, companionable and easy. The slave stares at his plate,
fingers fiddling with a small piece of bread. In Akeilos, a slave shows honor
and loyalty to their master by serving them. Gareth has not asked him for any
service but Tadeas’s training urges him to regardless. He wants to fight it,
but the instinct to try and please Gareth tugs at him and he would be lying if
he said he didn’t want to serve the strong man beside him.
He blushes lightly and offers the bread to Gareth without a word. The captain’s
eyes light up with amusement and Tadeas glares at him, daring him to say one
word to rebuke his training. He knows Gareth doesn’t demand his submission but
for once in his life he desires to submit.
Soft lips pull the bread from his fingers, brushing against his fingertips in a
gentle reminder of the morning. Pleasure warms Tadeas’s stomach. He stares,
outstretched hand frozen in the air, as Gareth swallows and a crooked smile
stretches his lips. He leans forward and presses his lips to the slave’s ear.
“You make me desire things I never saw the appeal of. You are beautiful when
you choose to serve.” Gareth presses a cool kiss to his burning cheek before
leaning back to smile fondly at him. He ducks his head, eyes downcast to the
almost empty plate in his lap. His stomach churns with pleasure and worry. He
chews his lips as he considers his next words but the steady presence of Gareth
gives him confidence.
“I-I want to serve you,” he says into his plate. The words are bold for a slave
who is not supposed to want anything, especially a specific master, but he
knows Gareth will not mind. “I have never wanted that.”
Fingertips brush over his cheekbone and he flicks his eyes up. It’s hard to
make eye contact with the intense stare leveled at him but he pushes down the
instinct to look away. Embarrassment floods him but Gareth only smiles bright,
affection clear in his expression.
“You please me,” he says simply and the words make Tadeas’s chest all at once
tighten and expand. He leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to his captain’s
cheek, unsure how to express his gratitude for such a simple statement that
affects him so much. He nuzzles his way into the man’s embrace, pressing his
forehead into Gareth’s neck and his body closer to the man’s. An arm loops
easily around his back, stroking along his waist and hip.
“Take me to bed?” he mutters into the curve of Gareth’s neck and can feel the
man stiffen a little in surprise. He’s worried that he asked too much, but he
does not want to miss the opportunity of a night with someone he chose before
he is bought by a noble of Patras.
“Of course.” Gareth presses a gentle kiss to his hair line.
***
The pair stumbles into the tent, a frenzy of meeting mouths and wandering
hands. Gareth guides Tadeas backwards towards the pallet with firm hands on his
hips. The sturdy grip and the control Gareth exudes over him makes Tadeas
tremble as he goes willingly where his captain steers. He has never yearned for
a master to handle him with strength and he spent his time in Vere fighting
such actions. But Gareth does not demand obedience, nor expect submission. He
exudes effortless strength and Tadeas cannot help but respond.
They reach the pallet and Tadeas scrambles on to it, lying on his back and
spreading his legs to invite the older man into the curve of them, a position
he was unwilling to take before a day of easy banter and flirting. He is
breathless and flushed already and they have only just begun.
Gareth smiles from the edge of the pallet, eyes dark as he drinks in the sight
of Tadeas open and willing.
“I will not take you,” he says, discarding his tunic in a swift motion.
The words sting and Tadeas locks his knees together. Shame fills him and he
gnaws his bottom lip, squeezing his eyes shut and wishing he was anywhere else.
He read Gareth all wrong. Of course, the man wouldn’t desire him after he had
been defiled by so many.
Fingers brush over his bare knees and he flinches hard. “Don’t-” His eyes fly
open to see Gareth’s concerned face hovering over him.
“You misunderstand. I desire you and I will lay with you tonight.” The words
make Tadeas’s heart thump against his chest, even as shame still turns his
insides. “I just meant I will not enter you.”
“Why not?” He wishes he didn’t sound so pathetic, so desperate.
Gareth’s smile is soft and he cups Tadeas’s cheek with gentle fingers. “You are
not ready and you are not mine. Not yet.”
The slave considers his words, turning them over in his head. Not yet weighs
heavily on his mind, but he pushes it away quickly. He is trained for nobility
and a simple guard cannot afford to buy him, captain salary or not. He does not
wish to think on it. As Gareth looms over him, patient for his response, Tadeas
vows to enjoy this night and whatever he can have with Gareth before he is
given to an unknown noble.
“Then what shall we do?” He reaches out to cup the gentle captain’s cheek and
smiles when Gareth nuzzles into his palm.
“I wish to use my mouth.”
The words splash heat through Tadeas and the slave lets out a shuddering
breath.
“Yes, yes please,” he murmurs as lips press against his in a thorough kiss.
Fingers catch at the fabric of his tunic and peel it away until he is nude
amongst the sheets and pillows. Gareth breaks their kiss then and leans back
onto his heels.
His captain’s heated gaze roams over his body and the weight of it is like a
caress to his skin. The young man curls his shoulders in and crosses his arms
over his front, trying to shield himself. Fingers curl around his wrists and
brown eyes stare into his face, imploring.
“Please, allow me to gaze upon you. I want to remember this night.”
Tadeas flushes hotter at that and his body trembles. “You embarrass me.”
“You have nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re gorgeous.”
Warm fondness fills the slave and he allows Gareth to position his wrists on
either side of his head and push his knees farther apart, leaving him open to
Gareth’s viewing. Sharp eyes take in every inch, moving over his skin in small
increments as if drinking every minute detail. He studies the older man’s face,
hungry and pleased, as he is being watched. Gareth is slender but strong,
sinewy muscle bulging beneath his alabaster skin. Tadeas smiles as he realizes
how different they are: Tadeas is slim and tan while Gareth is muscle and
cream.
A hand settles on his chest and a calloused thumb rubs a sensitive nipple
absentmindedly as Gareth still stares. Tadeas twitches against the pallet and
shudders as pleasure courses through that small point of contact.
“Sensitive,” Gareth mutters, eyes trained on the small circles his thumb makes
over the pebbled nipple. Tadeas whimpers and bites his lip against more
embarrassing noises. He has never been caressed or showered with attention and
the small touch makes pleasure alight his body.
“Gareth, no teasing,” he pants.
The older man tips forward, lips searing a path up his neck before teeth nip at
the lobe of his ear. Tadeas gasps at the sensation and the movement causes his
cock to rub against Gareth’s coarse pants.
“I will make you delirious with pleasure before you release tonight.”
“Why?” Gareth chuckles at the suspicion in his voice. No one has ever seen to
his pleasure.
“Because I desire to.” The older man nudges his hips forward and the hard bulge
beneath rough fabric presses against the sensitive skin of Tadeas’s balls. He
moans and rubs down without thought to his wanton actions, making Gareth groan
and rut forward.
They are a loop of pleasure for a moment. Tadeas’s hips move and make Gareth
groan, which in turn makes him thrust forward harder. The pleasure spurs Tadeas
to moan and press down harder as well until they are both rutting against the
other, seeking pleasure and friction.
Fingers grip hard at Tadeas’s hips, stopping their motions and bruising along
his skin.
“I will not spill in these pants,” Gareth declares, eyes dark with desire that
makes Tadeas want to thrust against him again. “I wish to spill on you.”
Tadeas never saw the appeal of sticky liquid on his skin, but he moans at the
idea and thrashes his head against the pillow. “Please Gareth, I will go insane
if you do not touch me soon.”
Gareth needs no further encouragement. He slides down the slave’s body,
trailing kisses and nipping teeth as he goes. He pauses to tease small, brown
nipples and Tadeas practically vibrates against the sheets, jerking his hips up
into the air. His chest is sensitive, having never been touched before, and the
contrast of soft lips and sharp teeth makes pleasure bloom across his nipples.
He cups Gareth’s head in his hand, trying to encourage him with gentle
pressure.
The older man doesn’t seem to mind. He keeps his head ducked, lips and teeth
tugging at one nipple as his fingers circle and pluck at the other. The
sensations are overwhelming and Tadeas can do nothing more than pant and
shudder as Gareth teases each nipple with a focus Tadeas has never seen the
likes of before. He laps at one nipple and rolls the other between sword-
roughened fingertips before switching to give each one the same treatment. He
switches back and forth again and again until Tadeas’s cock throbs with heat.
He has never had his pleasure seen to with such prolonged focus before.
Gareth nips sharply at one nipple and chuckles dark and low when Tadeas whines
and squirms.
“Hurts,” he murmurs, but does nothing to push Gareth away. He’s not sure how
much time has passed since Gareth first turned his affection to his chest. His
nipples are peaked and swollen with the attention Gareth has lavished on them.
Every new touch sends sharp pleasure through his chest that makes him hiss and
squirm. Gareth groans and nuzzles his face in between his sore nipples.
“You’re so responsive. I could spend hours here,” he says and presses a gentle
kiss to a puffy nipple. Tadeas jerks and whimpers. The pleasure-pain makes his
cock twitch unbearably.
“I’d prefer you spend hours elsewhere.”
Gareth flashes him a wolfish grin. “As you wish.”
In the next moment, Gareth nudges his legs further apart with broad shoulders
so he can settle between them. The position makes Tadeas feel exposed and
desired all at once. Gareth’s mouth is inches from his weeping erection and his
eyes are looking up at him, cloudy with lust. His fingers wrap around the base
of Tadeas’s cock and squeeze lightly.
“I wish I had a glass so you could see your expression right now.”
Tadeas can feel the heat of a blush burn across his cheek bones. He wiggles his
hips, trying to get Gareth’s attention where he really wants it, but the man
persists in watching his face with a gentle smile.
“Well, I wish you’d leave teasing already,” he snaps and tugs at the captain’s
hair.
Gareth barks a laugh and nips sharply at the top of his thigh. “My impatient
little one.”
Tadeas opens his mouth to argue against the pet name but chokes out a loud
groan as Gareth swallows down his entire length. His mouth is hot and wet and
overwhelming. Tadeas tries to thrust up without thought but strong hands hold
his hips still. The older man bobs his head up and down the length of his cock
and Tadeas has to close his eyes against the image in hopes that he will last
longer.
He is fighting a losing battle. Gareth’s mouth is talented. He sucks with the
perfect amount of pressure and his tongue teases along the bottom of his cock
when his head is buried fully in Tadeas’s lap. On the upstroke, he flicks and
swirls his tongue around the sensitive head of his cock, sweeping away the
liquid that drips with his pleasure.
Tadeas writhes on the pallet, unable to move against the strong grip and
finding pleasure in being pinned so effortlessly. He never liked being pinned
before but with Gareth it is an addition to the sensation, not a trap for his
body. He knows that even now, as he jerks and moans and grips at the pallet, he
could say “no” and Gareth would honor his request.
“Close,” he mutters.
Gareth hums and the action vibrates his throat around Tadeas’s cock. He moans
and Gareth swallows around him, fluttering his tongue along his cock and
keeping his nose pressed against Tadeas’s curls. The heat and pressure from all
sides is too much. Pleasure bursts along his skin and his back warms with his
release. He moans and spills into Gareth’s mouth, back arching and hips trying
to thrust to no avail.
He pants as the hazy feeling of orgasm settles over him. He feels lazy, content
to lay amongst the pallet and allow Gareth to find his pleasure however he
wants. He considers turning over and pushing his backside up, sure the captain
will want as all men want, but he doesn’t have the energy.
There’s a rustle below and he glances down to find Gareth’s eyes on him, dark
with lust. His pants are unlaced and pushed down to his thighs, revealing his
long cock. Gareth’s erection is purple at the head with his held off pleasure
and his hand grips it tight as he strokes up and down. His hips rock forward in
small thrusts into his own hand.
Tadeas swallows at the image and feels his cock give a tired twitch against his
thigh, sticky with come and spit. He reaches down and runs gentle fingertips
against the leaking head of Gareth’s cock. The older man groans and jerks away.
“Just let me,” he murmurs and resumes stroking himself.
“I’m not a delicate flower.” Tadeas glares and pushes up on his elbow to get
closer to Gareth so he can wrap his fingers around the man’s length.
Gareth grips his wrist, stopping his movements and making him look up. He curls
his lip to snap something petulant but Gareth’s expression is one of concern.
“I didn’t mean- “
“I know,” he cuts Gareth off. “Now, move up here so I can stroke you and you
can come on my chest like you said you wanted.”
Gareth groans and kicks off his pants in a quick movement. With haste, he
straddles Tadeas’s hips, keeping his weight off the young man’s sensitive cock,
and Tadeas takes him in hand, stroking his length with the same steady rhythm
Gareth was using before. The older man groans and rocks his hips forward.
“Better?” Tadeas asks, teasing.
Gareth answers with a choked-out moan as Tadeas flicks his wrist at the head.
He smirks and watches Gareth’s face as he continues to stroke him, varying
speed and pressure. His cock is warm and heavy in his hand, a respectable
length and thick. Tadeas is glad for a moment he didn’t roll over and offer up
his hole. It’ll hurt no matter how slowly Gareth goes and he doesn’t want to
taint his opinion of the captain with unbidden memories of Vere.
Gareth groans and the noise reigns in Tadeas’s wandering thoughts. The older
man rocks fully into his hand now, an imitation of the act Tadeas secretly
desires. He groans and his thighs tremble with the exertion of holding himself
above Tadeas. Tadeas squeezes his hand a little tighter and grins when Gareth’s
hips stutter and he moans. His face scrunches up with his pleasure and hot
liquid splashes onto Tadeas’s chest and collarbone. He strokes Gareth through
it until every drop is spent and Gareth collapses forward.
He’s boxed in and the feeling of the strong body looming over him makes his
chest tight. He wishes he could banish the feeling and tries to distract
himself by leaning up and pressing a gentle kiss to Gareth’s lips. Gareth is
nice. Gareth won’t hurt him.
Brown eyes crack open at the kiss and Gareth’s smile stretches into something
lazy and content.
“Better,” he rumbles and Tadeas laughs, having forgotten the unanswered
question. His laugh must be a little too high, a little too loud because
Gareth’s eyes narrow and he rolls off him in the next moment to fetch a cloth.
The damp cloth is gentle as it wipes away the mess from his chest and in
between his thighs. He hisses when it rubs over his still sore nipples and
Gareth winces in sympathy.
“I’m sorry, Tadeas. I was a little too enthusiastic.” Tadeas looks down at his
chest, still swollen and a little red, and blushes at the memory of how he
writhed and whimpered at the attention Gareth laved on his nipples.
“S’ok,” he murmurs, brushing fingers through chestnut curls. Gareth presses a
kiss to the palm of his hand.
Fatigue washes over Tadeas, making his limbs feel heavy and his head full of
cotton. The tumble with Gareth was enjoyable, but Tadeas still had to spend
some time pushing away thoughts of Vere. His skin doesn’t itch with any
unbidden touch like it did in days prior so Tadeas muses he must be getting
better in some capacity.
Gareth finishes wiping at his cock with gentle strokes and tosses the cloth off
the edge of the makeshift bed. He lays down beside Tadeas and wraps his arms
around the slighter man, nuzzling his face into the curve of a slim shoulder.
Tadeas stiffens.
“What are you doing?” Gareth’s arms are heavy around his waist and he feels
confined, trapped.
“Have you never cuddled after?”
Tadeas shakes his head and squirms. He’s never cuddled after because he’s
always gotten away as quickly as he could. Gareth loosens his hold, allowing
Tadeas to put some distance between them, but grips his hip when Tadeas tries
to scoot to the other end of the pallet.
“Please, allow me this touch,” he says softly. His eyes are imploring, gentle,
and Tadeas knows he can move away fully and Gareth would allow him to, but he
doesn’t want to see the twinge of hurt in the older man’s eyes if he does. The
arm feels a little lighter where it is slung across his waist and Tadeas
concedes. He can give Gareth this, this small comfort, if it means he will keep
looking at Tadeas with adoration.
He nods and the smile Gareth flashes at him is brilliant. Gareth presses a soft
kiss to his temple, murmurs his gratitude, then shifts back to allow inches of
space to settle between their bodies. Tadeas smiles, intertwines his fingers
with the hand loose on his hip, and ignores the happy glint in Gareth’s eyes in
favor of sleep.
***** Chapter 7 *****
The road to Bazal stretches before them. Tadeas is at the reigns again, Gareth
a sturdy presence at his back. Emanon moves at a steady walk ahead of the group
of travelers so that Gareth can ensure the path is clear of any obstacle that
would make it difficult for the carts to move.
The morning was quiet, easy. Tadeas woke to a warm embrace, having moved closer
to Gareth during the night, but the older man let him inch away without trying
to hold him close. They exchanged soft kisses before leaving the tent for the
day and Gareth kept his hands loose on Tadeas’s body as if he could tell the
slave needed the distance. Even now, he maintains a few comfortable inches
between their bodies, not leaning forward in the saddle and pressing against
Tadeas’s back like the day before.
Tadeas is grateful for the reprieve. He likes Gareth a lot. The man has no
qualms about his mouth or his actions, even when those actions keep the captain
at a distance. He is incredibly patient, sometimes too patient, but Tadeas
would rather be the one to push himself past obstacles than have the man force
him past them.
Tadeas sighs and fiddles with the reigns, turning the slack leather over in his
hands. With each step Bazal gets closer and the tightness in his chest
thickens. Tadeas wants nothing more than to stretch their travel a few more
days. He almost wishes for a wagon wheel to break but he knows that will only
cause trouble for Gareth.
“Are you alright?” Gareth asks softly from behind him. His fingers brush up the
side of his waist, the first touch he’s bestowed upon the slave since they left
their tent, and Tadeas stiffens under the gentle caress, hoping Gareth doesn’t
notice.
With Tadeas’s luck, he notices. Gareth takes the reigns, pulls Emanon to a
stop, then nudges at Tadeas’s shoulder until the younger man half turns in his
seat. He won’t look up at Gareth, even though the man’s gaze is heavy with the
expectation for him to do so.
“Tadeas?”
“What?” he snarls.
“Does your chest hurt?”
“No.” He fights down a blush at the question. His chest is sensitive and the
soft fabric of the chiton chafes against it every so often in a teasing
reminder of the night before. But sore nipples are the least of his concerns.
“What is troubling you?” Gareth asks, worry clear in his voice. Tadeas’s chest
tightens with a new anxiety now, overriding the worry of getting close to
Bazal. He feels trapped. He doesn’t want to have this conversation but there’s
nowhere to go. He knows Gareth will listen to him and share the burden of his
worries but that won’t help. He would only succeed in burdening Gareth as well,
cutting short the time they could enjoy together on their last day.
Fingers brush across his cheek bone and he forces himself not to react, not to
knock the hand away and rub at the itch the touch has left behind.
“Your face is a storm of troubles. Tell me.”
“Just because I’m a slave doesn’t mean I have to answer your questions.”
Strong fingers grip his chin and force him to look up into concerned brown
eyes. He glares, hot anger rushing down his spine, but Gareth speaks before he
can snap something else to convince the man to leave him alone.
“Have I ever once treated you like a slave?”
No, that’s the problem. You’ve given me a taste of what I cannot have. He stays
silent and glowers at the man instead of answering.
“Do you regret last night?”
No, never. The itch blooms on his skin, moving from the points on his cheek and
jaw to cover his entire body. He wants to get away, to escape, to put distance
between himself and the caring gaze and gentle hands of the man behind him. But
Gareth is stubborn and won’t stop until he knows the answer.
“Do you?” the captain prompts.
“Yes,” he growls and knocks the hand from his chin. He turns in the saddle and
kicks Emanon forward into a brisk trot to gain the distance they’ve lost by
stopping. Gareth is silent at his back and Tadeas wishes that he would yell, or
hit him, or cast him from the horse, but he does nothing. The regret that swam
in his gaze makes Tadeas’s chest feel heavy with ice and he spurs the horse
faster, wishing he could put distance between himself and Gareth.
***
They ride in silence for an hour, the air around them tense with unspoken
words, anxiety, and regret. Gareth does not touch him, not even to steady
himself as Tadeas varies the speed of Emanon into brisk gallops and jumps. He
is silent and the slave can only imagine the thoughts racing through his quick
mind.
He wishes he could reverse time and retract what he said. He doesn’t regret the
night before, he only regrets that it is the only night of its kind. In trying
to put distance between his heart and the man behind him, he successfully
ruined the comradery with the only person who has shown him kindness since
Vere. Now, he will have to face his future in Bazal without a confidant at his
side. The anxiety hangs on his mind like a heavy blanket he cannot cast off.
Hands grip the reigns above his and snap the leather against Emanon’s neck,
making the horse quicken its pace.
“Hey!”
“Hush,” Gareth mutters. The fierce command has Tadeas dropping the reigns and
holding onto the horn of the saddle to steady himself instead. Gareth guides
the horse towards the company and the realization that Tadeas will get what he
originally wanted—distance from Gareth as he rides in a cart—churns his stomach
instead of making him feel relief like he thought it would.
Only, Gareth does not halt the procession to make Tadeas join the cart slaves.
He trots next to Torveld and names another guard to take up the scouting duty,
citing “nature calls” as his need for a break. Before Tadeas can question the
captain’s actions, the older man steers Emanon into the woods away from eyes of
the company.
They dismount in silence but Gareth makes no move to find privacy amongst the
trees. Instead, he faces Tadeas, eyes determined and mouth set into a deep
frown.
“Do you really regret last night?”
That isn’t what Tadeas was expecting. He was expecting to be yelled at or
struck or any number of punishments Gareth could inflict away from prying eyes.
He wasn’t expecting to face the doubt in Gareth’s eyes, hidden behind the
unwavering tone in his voice. Gareth is supposed to be strong and confident but
a few words from Tadeas have made him insecure. Guilt is heavy in his stomach
and he takes an abrupt half-step towards the captain, hand outstretched, before
he realizes what he’s doing.
He shakes his head and wraps his arms around his stomach. Tears prick at his
eyes as guilt and fear roll his stomach in complicated twists and turns. Gareth
was sweet to him and he ruined that. He doesn’t deserve to touch the captain
now, no matter how much he wants to.
Strong arms wrap around his body and pull him forward into the curve of
Gareth’s neck and chest.
“Shhh,” Gareth murmurs against his hair, hand rubbing gently up and down his
back. He doesn’t cry. He won’t cry, having shed too many tears over Vere and
his own predicament, but he leans forward and relaxes into the comforting
embrace, allowing the path of Gareth’s hands to rub away his worries until they
are a gentle nudging at his mind instead of a tumultuous storm.
“Tell me what is truly worrying you,” Gareth says quietly moments later, once
Tadeas has stopped holding himself so tensely in the circle of his arms.
“I don’t want to go to Bazal.”
“Why?”
Tadeas shakes his head and tries to burrow deeper into the embrace, but Gareth
pushes him back and holds him at arm’s length.
“I cannot help you if I do not know. Why?” he asks again, hands gripping tight
onto the slave’s bare shoulders.
The worries pour from Tadeas’s mouth without his permission. He babbles about
masters and strangers and cruelty and expectations and punishments and being
sent away. He tries to stop the wave of anxieties, but they all come out,
revealing too much, making him vulnerable to the fierce captain in front of
him. He can’t look at him. He can’t see the pity there. Not Gareth. Not-
Gareth clears his throat and his gaze is a weight on Tadeas, demanding he look
up. He raises his eyes slowly, scared of what he will find in the older man’s
expression after his confession, and finds only a gentle half-smile.
“Is that all?” Gareth asks with a lazy drawl.
The urge to strike out and slap the infuriating man fills Tadeas with heat but
Gareth yanks him forward into a tight embrace before he can react. He stumbles
forward and slams into Gareth’s chest with a punched-out breath. He squirms and
struggles, trying to create distance between their bodies as his skin begins to
itch. He can’t have this and he doesn’t want to tease himself.
“I’m going to ask the king for you.”
The fight leaves him at once, freezing his body in the circle of strong arms.
“What?” Tadeas pushes back to look at him and Gareth lets him go, arms loose
around his waist instead of crushing like before.
“I said, I’m going to ask the king for you.”
Tadeas chews the inside of his cheek, considering the declaration. He wants to
believe Gareth. He wants to push aside all his fears, accept the information,
and celebrate by kissing him against a tree, but logic nudges at the edge of
his mind and keeps him from giving over the false hope.
“I may be defiled,” Gareth stiffens and opens his mouth to speak, but Tadeas
barrels forward, “but palace slaves are still expensive. A captain of the guard
cannot afford me.” He winces as he says it, worried he’ll offend the older man.
“You’re not defiled. You’re perfect.”
“You’re mad.”
Gareth laughs. “Perhaps.” He cards gentle fingers through the hair at the nape
of Tadeas’s neck. “Will you allow this mad man to ask for you?”
Shock zips through him at the question. Gareth does not need his permission. No
one has ever asked for his permission before taking him. Thoughts of the night
before float across his mind: Gareth’s gentle requests, strong hands, and eager
mouth, always aware of pushing Tadeas too far.
“This slave lives to serve,” he says, parroting a phrase from his training
without thought.
Gareth’s brows furrow and he steps closer, crowding into Tadeas’s space until
the slave has to tilt his head back to look up at the taller man. A large hand
cups the back of his neck, thumb brushing behind the curve of his ear as Gareth
leans down to hover inches from his face.
“Will you allow me to ask for you?” he says again. Tadeas shudders and nods
frantically, trying to push himself further into the curve of Gareth’s body. “I
need to hear you say it.”
“Yes, please Gareth, yes.” His babbling is cut off by the press of Gareth’s
lips to his own. The captain’s hands grip at his neck and hip and pull his
slight body tight against the strong one before him. He moans softly into the
kiss and wraps his arms around broad shoulders, content to stand and kiss the
man for hours.
Gareth pulls back to press a chaste kiss to each of his cheeks but stays close
so their bodies still press together from chest to thigh.
“Do not worry about the details. I will ask for you and I will have you.” He
presses a kiss to the young man’s forehead. “Worry no longer about your future
in Bazal. I will take care of you.”
They mount Emanon together. This time, Tadeas leans back in the saddle until
Gareth’s thighs and chest cradle the length of his body. His limbs feel heavy,
boneless, and his eyes tired. He can’t help but shift backwards until he feels
secure against the solid form behind him. He tucks his forehead into Gareth’s
neck and closes his eyes. Gareth chuckles and eases the reigns out of his
hands.
“Relax,” he mutters against Tadeas’s forehead, placing a gentle kiss along his
brow. “Sleep if you can. I know worry can be tiring.” Tadeas isn’t sure how but
Gareth manages to steer Emanon back to the group one-handed, the other arm
looped around his waist, holding him steady enough to doze.
***** Chapter 8 *****
Every step towards the city fills the young man’s stomach with bubbling
trepidation but Gareth seems to be aware of his ever-changing mood, making
jokes and stroking him with soothing caresses whenever he starts to tense. It
works and they reach Bazal without incident as the sun descends and splashes
the sky in a swirl of orange, pink, and yellow.
The city reminds him of Vere and that thought sends an unbidden shiver down his
spine. The stone walls that surround the palace are thick and foreboding, and
the castle looms, cast in dark shadows from the sun behind.
The travelers pass through the gate and the road opens into a bright square,
lined with people of all ages. The crowd cheers and waves, throwing flowers
into the air and at the feet of the travelers. The palace may look terrifying,
but the people are dressed like Akeilons and their easy smiles and ecstatic
waving sends a thrill of hope through Tadeas. If the people are that happy to
welcome Prince Torveld after a few week journey, maybe Patras isn’t as bad as
Vere. Tadeas can’t imagine the people of Vere would go to such lengths to
welcome the Regent.
He relaxes and turns back to Gareth. “Is it always like this?” he asks over the
roar of the crowd as Torveld passes through the gate behind them.
Gareth grins. “Prince Torveld is a great man. The people love him.”
Something purple and blue flashes in the corner of his eye, but Gareth snatches
it out of midair before it can go flying between them. A crown of flowers.
Gareth’s grin widens and he dumps the crown onto Tadeas’s head. Tadeas glares
but doesn’t move to remove it, which just makes the older man laugh. The slave
turns back around, arms crossed and petulant, before the smile that twitches at
his lips can give him away.
The people continue to throw flowers and wave and Tadeas notices women and men
alike showering his companion with sultry looks, flirtatious smiles, and almost
beckoning waves. He scoots back in the saddle, effectively pushing his backside
against the captain’s lap. Gareth grunts, his arm tightens around Tadeas’s
waist, and his hips nudge forward as much as the saddle will allow. Tadeas’s
body warms with his captain’s reaction instead of feeling itchy and trapped.
“I thought I should remind you who you belong to,” he says with a wink.
Gareth’s eyes are molten with lust and he pulls the slave firmer against his
body so Tadeas can feel him starting to stir in his pants.
“I belong to you, huh?” he growls into Tadeas’s ear and the young man blushes
hot, realizing the weight of what he just said. Stupid really, throwing around
words of possession and ownership when in reality he can own nothing and do
nothing but be owned.
Gareth must feel him tense because he presses a quick kiss to his temple and
nuzzles his face into the slave’s neck. “I’m yours,” he declares, breath warm
against Tadeas’s skin, “and you will be mine, I swear it.”
Tadeas turns his head to nuzzle into the side of Gareth’s. They stay like that
as they enter the inner courtyard, Gareth with his chin hooked onto Tadeas’s
shoulder, face turned into his neck, while Tadeas presses his own forehead to
Gareth’s temple. People still direct lustful looks at Gareth, but he pays them
no attention, wrapped up fully in the lithe man before him.
***
The first few hours in Bazal are a flurry of activity. Gareth and Torveld are
whisked away to report to the king, while the slaves are sent to the baths to
wash after the long journey. Tadeas feels out of place amongst the slaves,
docile and quiet as they are instructed to strip and bathe. He is so used to
the easy banter and loud joking with Gareth after only a few days and his chest
aches without it. After the bath, the slaves are escorted to sleeping quarters
where they lounge amongst fluffy pillows and eat fruit that has already been
laid out for them.
It only takes a few moments for Tadeas to go mad. The slaves are quiet and
elegant as they eat and talk about trivial things like the satin of the pillows
and the ripeness of the grapes. He tries to speak to a few slaves but after
only one or two jokes that make them stiffen and blush, he remembers the issues
he was having on the ship, the cruel reality of being different. He snatches a
bowl of berries from the table and sequesters himself into a corner, glowering
down at the bowl instead of eating its contents.
Hours of tittering laughs and thoughtless talk grate on Tadeas’s mind. He tries
to tune them out, but every once in a while, the noise filters back in. He
wants to snap but he knows that will only result in hurt looks that are more
annoying than the laughter.
There is a knock on the door and Tadeas cannot help but hope that it is Gareth
with news of ownership coming to fetch him from the mindless herd of slaves.
It’s not that he necessarily wants to be owned, but if he has to, he would
rather be owned by a man who sees the farce of slavery and submission as much
as he does.
A young servant boy steps into the room, eyes downturned in respect to the
half-naked state of most slaves, and hands a written missive to Erasmus.
“He wants me to come now?” the pretty, blonde slave asks in his light voice.
“Yes, I’m supposed to escort you to Prince Torveld’s rooms.”
Erasmus smiles, folds the paper with reverent fingers, and follows the servant
out the door. Tadeas glowers at the half-empty bowl again, jealousy ugly and
sharp in his chest. An idea jumps to the front of his mind and he’s out of the
room before he can rethink his actions, the sound of the bowl wobbling on the
ground cut off by the door closing behind him.
The hallways are long and narrow in this part of the castle, with small alcoves
for floor to ceiling windows. Tadeas follows the lyrical voices as they move
down the hallway towards the right. Surely Gareth’s room will be near
Torveld’s. A prince would need his captain by his side if another country laid
siege to the palace. He stays his distance through the first few twists and
turns, sure to keep his feet light on the stone floor in order to not call the
pair’s attention to his lurking presence.
After a few hallways, he puts his plan into action.
“Excuse me!” he calls, and jogs up to the stopped pair. “Can you show me to
Captain Gareth’s chambers?” The servant looks confused but Tadeas barrels
forward. “He’s requested me tonight. Another servant delivered the message
after you left and said to find you to show me the rooms because she was too
busy.”
The servant boy contemplates his words and Tadeas tries not to shift back and
forth on his feet. Erasmus smiles at him, eyes glinting with amusement, and
Tadeas fights not to bristle and snap at him.
“Of course,” the boy says finally, “this way.” He turns to lead the pair of
slaves further along the hallway. Tadeas moves to follow but a hand grips above
his elbow and tugs him back to face the blonde slave.
“What?” he hisses under his breath, trying to keep the servant from turning
around.
“I’m happy for you, that’s all.” The bright smile makes Tadeas roll his eyes
and yank his arm out of Erasmus’s grip.
“Me too,” he says, then jogs to catch up to the servant before Erasmus can
respond.
***
Gareth’s room is exactly what Tadeas expects of the man: functional and only
slightly indulgent. It is spacious, as far as the rooms of non-royalty go, and
even has an antechamber before the bedchamber. Tadeas doesn’t wander into the
archway of the bedchamber, although he can see the large wooden frame and green
blanket. He takes in the details of the antechamber instead: a table in the
corner with a map of the palace on top, shelves lined with worn books and
weapons in need of repairing, and two plush chairs that face each other in the
center of the room.
Now that he is in the room, he feels out of place. He knows he is taking
liberties by coming into Gareth’s private chambers without his permission and
tendrils of dread pluck at his stomach, worried he is overstepping in a way
Gareth will not forgive. He considers going back to the slave quarters but
cannot remember how to get back. He even looks at the map to see if it would
help, but everything is labeled in a short hand that probably makes sense only
to Gareth in case wandering eyes see it. His fingertips flick at the edge of
the map, turning the corner up and down, up and down, up and down in a fit of
nerves.
“Get a hold of yourself,” Tadeas mutters aloud. “He likes you and he admires
boldness.”
Still, he thinks, there is a limit to his boldness. He crosses the room to one
of the plush chairs and curls onto the cushion, pulling his legs underneath him
and looping his arms across his stomach. It’s late and although he wishes he
could curl into Gareth’s bed which is undoubtedly more comfortable, he doesn’t
want to push his luck more than he already is. He doesn’t want to give Gareth a
reason not to ask for him.
He shifts further into the cushion and closes his eyes, willing the anxieties
away so he can find some peace. Slowly his mind quiets and he sleeps.
***
Darkness. Rough hands on his body. Fear so thick it swells in his throat. He
can’t escape. A hand grips his bare shoulder, fingers digging into the skin,
and shakes. He swings his fist hard and connects with a tight belly. The guard
grunts but grabs his wrist before he can pull back and swing again. He
struggles, trying to kick off the lethargy of sleep and the man before him at
the same time. He won’t be taken without a fight. Never again.
“Tadeas, Tadeas!” the voice calls his name, distorted as if he is underwater.
He recognizes that voice. His eyes fly open and take in Gareth, one hand
grasping his wrist and the other clutching at his own stomach. The instinct to
fight leaves him at once, making him slouch back against the cushion. His heart
beats out a staccato rhythm against his chest as he tries to fight the panic
out of his breathing.
“You scared me,” he mutters towards the ceiling, unable to face the pain he put
on Gareth’s face. Surely, this is the boundary that Gareth will refuse to let
him trample. Dread rolls his stomach. He will be sent back to the slave
quarters to await purchase; he is certain of it.
Fingers smooth over his cheek and he flinches away. He does not deserve gentle
handling. To indulge will only make it worse when he is cast aside. Gareth
grasps his shoulder instead and the warmth of the steady grip calms him.
“Are you alright?” Gareth actually sounds worried, like the well-being of the
slave who punched him is important.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
“You were having a nightmare.”
He shrugs and pulls his knees up to his chest, staring at his toes instead of
at the man standing before him.
Gareth kneels, forcing his face into Tadeas’s line of vision. He looks
concerned, truly concerned, when he should look infuriated. Tadeas doesn’t
agree with ranking and submission but even he knows a slave shouldn’t punch a
captain of the guard. It would be different if Gareth was trying to hurt him.
Tadeas has no qualms about defending himself—a slew of bruised Veretians could
stand as proof—but Gareth had only ever been sweet to him.
“Are you alright?” he asks again. The slave nods but doesn’t say anything.
Gareth grasps both of his hands and presses a kiss to the back of each one. He
wants to squirm away but the fond look in Gareth’s eyes stills him.
“I’m not mad at you.” Relief washes through Tadeas and his lips twitch in a
tentative smile. Gareth smiles softly and nudges at the younger man’s knees,
still locked tight against his chest. Tadeas allows the captain to guide first
one foot and then the other to the ground with attentive care and kisses laid
upon each ankle and knee. Gareth spreads his thighs with gentle fingers and
settles between them, pressing his chest the seat cushion and grasping Tadea’s
hands again. A small thrill runs through the slave at how effortlessly his body
submitted to Gareth’s arrangement without fear.
“I was so pleased to walk in and find you already in my rooms,” Gareth says
against his wrist, laying gentle kisses along his forearms and hands as he
talks. “Imagine my surprise when I sent a servant to fetch you only to have him
tell me you were already here.
“Brave.” The phrase is whispered fondly against the crook of his elbow and
Tadeas jumps at the feeling of warm breath against his sensitive skin.
Tadeas grins, cheeky and emboldened by the tingles in his arms. “I live to
serve,” he teases and Gareth barks a laugh.
“I must ask: you are bold enough to break into my room but not to sleep in my
bed?”
“I didn’t want to presume.” To explain more would be too revealing but the way
Gareth’s eyes roam over his expression makes him think the captain can see
through him anyway.
“Please, feel free to presume.” He presses a kiss to the inside of Tadeas’s
palm. “After all, I’ve had your cock in my mouth. I cannot make my intentions
any clearer.”
Teeth press into the meat of his hand and Tadeas gasps and shudders, arousal
warming his cheeks and his lap.
“Gareth,” he pants and the captain’s grin turns predatory.
“I cannot wait to have you.”
“Then don’t wait. Have me. Please, I’ve never wanted-“ Gareth cuts him off with
a kiss, rough and claiming. The older man’s tongue thrusts into his mouth and
his hands grip tight at Tadeas’s hips, keeping him from thrusting up against
the man’s stomach. Tadeas whimpers and squirms, wanting nothing more than to
press up against the captain, to entice the older man to take him.
“Not tonight,” Gareth says when he pulls away. Tadeas wants to argue, but
Gareth looks serious and he remembers that the captain wants to wait until
Tadeas is officially his. It seems silly to the slave, but he yearns to show
his master that he can do something right when it seems he keeps doing things
wrong.
Tadeas brushes his fingertips over Gareth’s swollen, bottom lip. “Your mouth
then?” he asks, looking up at Gareth through his lashes. The older man smirks
and presses a kiss to his fingertips.
“Of course.”
***** Chapter 9 *****
Chapter Notes
     Thank you all for following Tadeas and Gareth's journey! I was
     genuinely surprised and pleased at how much people loved my two OCs
     so I hope you all enjoy the last chapter of their story.
“Go back to sleep, Tadeas. It’s early.”
“Oh, I hadn’t noticed. Somebody was flopping around on the bed.”
Gareth chuckles, low and dark, and the noise sparks unbidden desire deep in
Tadeas’s belly. Too early for that, he muses when his cock gives a half-hearted
twitch and pushes himself out from the warm covers and soft bed. Gareth kneels
beside a chest on the floor, eyes half-closed as he rummages through the
contents. His hair is mussed with sleep and his face slack with exhaustion.
Finally, he finds what he is searching for and pulls out a tunic.
“Strip,” Tadeas says and plucks the clothing out of his hands.
“You don’t have-“
“The faster you dress, the more sleep I get. Now, hush.”
A tired smile tugs at the corners of Gareth’s mouth and he presses a kiss to
the slave’s forehead before following the order. Tadeas begins dressing him and
a comfortable silence settles onto the pair as he works. Gareth loops one arm
around his waist and lifts the other to comb through his sleep-tousled locks,
picking out knots and parting it properly. Tadeas hums, soft and pleased, as he
twists the cloth and pins it at the shoulder.
“There,” he says, fingers plucking and arranging the garment where it bunches
around Gareth’s waist. “Ready for the day. Now, leave and let me sleep.”
Gareth laughs and wraps both arms around Tadeas’s waist, pulling him closer.
His eyes dance with amusement and Tadeas fights to look displeased. It must not
work because Gareth smiles at him fondly and presses gentle kisses along his
brow, cheeks, and nose.
“Let go, old man,” he growls and pushes at Gareth’s chest.
“Not yet. I need to bask in Tadeas before I’m in meetings all day.”
Tadeas huffs but allows the older man to indulge in gentle caresses and warm
kisses on his face and neck.
“What am I supposed to do all day anyway?”
Gareth hums absently and nibbles at his collarbone.
“Gareth,” he prompts, poking the man in the side just to feel him jump.
“Roam the castle, ride Emanon, explore the city, you can do anything you want
really.”
Tadeas chews his bottom lip, turning the ideas over in his head and casting
each one aside. Perhaps he will choose one of the captain’s books and spend the
entire day reading. He glances around the room and shudders at the idea of
being stuck within the stone walls all day. Still, being trapped and secure is
better than…
A calloused thumb brushes over his bottom lip and tugs it out from between his
teeth. “Patras is nothing like Vere.” Gareth cups his cheek and runs his thumb
across a sharp cheekbone. “No one will harm you. The guards will look out for
you.”
“I doubt that,” Tadeas huffs, then flushes hard when he remembers the rank of
the man before him.
“They will; I’ve trained them.” The slave opens his mouth to apologize or to
protest, he isn’t sure, but fingers wrap around one of his wrists and pull his
arm up in between the pair. “I know you don’t like them,” Gareth indicates the
gold wrapped around his wrist, a sign of his slavery, “but these will protect
you. The people of Patras value slaves and the guards are trained to protect
them.”
Tadeas must still look hesitant because Gareth adds, “You are free to stay here
all day. But if you would like to leave, you are welcome to. Just please be
back before nightfall.”
Tadeas nods and leans up to press a gentle kiss to Gareth’s mouth. They indulge
for a few moments, mouths moving languid and familiar against one another.
Tadeas shudders against him and Gareth pulls back with a chuckle. “That is my
cue to leave before you entice me back to bed.” The slave blushes and nods,
disappointment curling in his chest.
“Tonight, I promise,” Gareth murmurs and kisses him again.
***
Tadeas took Gareth’s advice and spent the day riding Emanon through the fields
and paths behind the castle still within the outer walls of Basal. The day was
sunny and warm with a light breeze that teased the young man’s hair and tunic
as he rode. The horse handled beautifully and easily cleared any obstacles that
Tadeas guided them over. It was the most carefree he had felt since he could
remember, even with the clanking gold at his wrists and neck.
He was careful to return well before sunset in order to give Emanon a thorough
brush-down and a treat of chestnuts, and take a bath to ease muscles sore from
riding and clear the sweat from his skin.
Now, the slave stretches across Gareth’s bed, indulging in the feel of soft
sheets against his bare skin, tunic discarded to the floor. Gareth appreciated
his boldness the day before and even teased him for not taking the initiative
to sleep in his bed. It’s not that Tadeas hadn’t considered it. He had and
quickly discarded the thought, anxious not to insult Gareth by taking too many
liberties. Of course, Gareth had no such qualms.
Thus, his current state of nudity amongst Gareth’s sheets. If the man
appreciated boldness, Tadeas could give him boldness.
The door to the outer room creaks when it opens and Tadeas’s stomach does a
flip. He has a moment to worry about taking things too far, about insulting
Gareth, about getting cast out of his bed, before the sound of boots across
stone stops in the archway of the bedchamber.
“Oh,” Gareth says, eyes wide at the scene before him. The word sounds like
someone punched it out of his chest and Tadeas blushes hard, anxiety
heightening when Gareth doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, just stands in the
doorway and stares.
He made a mistake. The thought is heavy and chills erupt across his body. He
brings his arms down to cover his body, to curl away from Gareth’s stare.
“No,” Gareth croaks in a rush of air, hand lifting towards him. He clears his
throat when Tadeas freezes mid-motion. “Please, lay how you were before. Let me
look at you.”
If Tadeas was blushing before, his face flames now with his embarrassment. His
heart thuds as he lifts his arms above his head, spreads his legs a little, and
tilts his hips in a way that he knows makes his body look long, lean, and
enticing. Gareth’s eyes devour him, roaming over every inch of his skin from
where he stands in the doorway. Tadeas feels eager and can almost imagine hands
on him instead of Gareth’s heavy gaze.
“Did you ride today?” Gareth asks, voice roughened with lust. Tadeas nods and
shifts, restless and yearning for the man to come closer. “Your skin is
golden.”
“Gareth, come to bed,” he says softly and wishes he didn’t sound so meek.
Gareth does this to him, makes him feel small, makes him want to submit without
rough hands, force, or commands.
“I asked the king for you today.” The captain finally moves and comes to stand
beside the bed. He cups Tadeas’s cheek and runs a thumb over his cheekbone when
the young man nuzzles into his hand. “You are mine, if you wish it.”
“What I wish is for you to fuck me.” He nips at the heel of Gareth’s hand and
delights in the gasp it pulls from the captain. He feels strong with the
knowledge that just his skin, just the image of him lying in a bed, can affect
his captain so.
Gareth strips off his tunic in a flurry of fabric and crawls onto the bed to
loom over Tadeas, legs and arms framing the younger man’s body as he leans in
for a kiss. The kiss is rough and desperate. Gareth’s hands are everywhere at
once, roaming the length of his skin, pressing, pinching, and rubbing in an
uncalculated pattern that has Tadeas writhing against the sheets in moments,
cock quickly swelling.
“Gareth, please,” Tadeas breaks away from the kiss to whimper against his neck.
“I want to take my time, but I cannot resist you.”
“We can take our time next time.” He loops his arms around the captain’s neck
and pulls him in for another kiss, this one gentler and slower than before
despite his words.
The desperate movement of their bodies slows and hands caress instead of rub.
Tadeas runs his fingers over broad shoulders and down Gareth’s back to cup at
his backside. He pulls and Gareth thrusts down. Both men groan at the
sensation, breaking their kiss to pant against each other’s mouths. Tadeas
plants his feet and pushes up when Gareth rolls his hips again, the pleasure
greater than before. The younger man moans and presses his nails into Gareth’s
hips, guiding the friction of their thrusting in a haze of pleasure and want.
A large hand splays over the soft skin of his belly and presses down when he
tries to thrust up again, pressure enough to keep his hips on the bed. He
blinks and tries to focus on brown eyes, warm with affection and lust.
“Why-“
“You are irresistible. I will spend before I’m inside you if you keep rubbing
against me.”
Tadeas blushes at the statement, embarrassed at the desperation that overcame
him and allowed him to thrust against Gareth’s body like some dog in heat.
Gareth tuts and presses a kiss to his brow. “None of that,” he murmurs into the
slave’s forehead. “I enjoy you finding your pleasure. See?” He grasps one of
Tadeas’s hands and pulls it down to cup between his legs, erection large and
thick with the evidence of his pleasure. “You have made me stiffer than I have
ever been.”
Tadeas shudders at the heated gaze Gareth levels on him then. “Gareth,” he
gasps, wrapping fingers around the older man’s cock and stroking it. Gareth
closes his eyes, thrusts gently into the circle of his hand, and groans, a
deep, guttural noise that leaves Tadeas feeling eager for more.
“You test me.”
Tadeas chuckles and Gareth smiles at the noise. He stops the movement of
Tadeas’s hand on his cock and presses the slave’s hands into the sheets next to
his head instead. “Stay,” he orders with a wink and Tadeas laughs. He’ll
indulge the man for a moment. If Gareth really wants to pleasure him, he’s not
going to deny him.
Gareth works down the length of his body, charting a path with gentle fingers,
sharp nips, and soft kisses as he moves. He stops at Tadeas’s chest and blows
air across his small nipples, thumb circling one as his mouth kisses the other.
They don’t hurt like before when they were oversensitive from Gareth’s
enthusiastic treatment, but they are still sensitive. Luckily, the captain must
be able to tell because he moves down to the soft skin of his belly and hips
before Tadeas can become overwhelmed.
Gareth litters his hips and lower belly with kisses as hands press against the
backs of his thighs, pushing his legs up and apart to expose his entrance and
give Gareth more room to settle between.
“Can I use my mouth?” The question confuses Tadeas. Gareth has used his mouth
on Tadeas’s cock twice now; he thought the permission abundantly clear. He nods
anyway, brows furrowed, and watches the smile on Gareth’s face turn sharp. He
doesn’t have more than a moment to question the predatory grin before Gareth
ducks his head and a warm, wet something rubs over his entrance. Tadeas’s head
slams back against the pillows as he cries out at the overwhelming pleasure
that radiates from his backside. Tongue, that’s his tongue, is all he can think
as Gareth licks over his entrance again and again. His thighs tremble and try
to close, but strong fingers grip into the meat of them and force them open.
“Is this alright?” Gareth asks, breath warm against his backside and that
shouldn’t feel good, but it does. The captain is near the most sensitive part
of his body, laving it with a type of attention no one has ever lowered
themselves to doing for a slave.
“Yes, yes, yes,” he chants, head thrashing desperately and hands clutching at
the sheets. Gareth chuckles, nips the skin where cheek meets thigh, making
Tadeas jerk, and ducks down again to lick at furled skin.
It’s warm and wet and overwhelming. Tadeas shakes with sensation and drops his
hands down to sink fingers into Gareth’s thick curls. The man grins a little, a
strange thing to realize because of the press of skin against his flank, and
the pressure against the slave’s entrance becomes more incessant. Gareth cups
his cheeks and spreads them further, making Tadeas writhe at the openness and
the deeper licks of his tongue.
The pleasure is maddening, white-hot, and pooling in his groin. The threat of
orgasm builds in his cock and he thinks he could come just from this, just from
Gareth’s talented mouth against his hole.
As soon as the thought crosses his mind, Gareth pulls away to kneel between his
legs. He sobs and clutches at the captain’s skin, trying to urge him back down.
Gareth grins, wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, and stays on his
knees as if he didn’t just drive Tadeas to the height of pleasure and stop
before it could crest.
“Gareth, please,” he whines. He knows he’s being desperate and that will
embarrass him later, but it’s hard to think when pleasure still tingles his
spine and his thighs still twitch.
“I’ll make you come with just my mouth one day.” Tadeas moans at the filthy
suggestion said so candidly. “But tonight, I want to have you. Please allow me
that.”
Tadeas nods his head and spreads his legs a little more, eager for Gareth’s
touch in a way he has never been eager for anyone before. The man has been
patient and giving in bed, seeing to Tadeas’s pleasure and comfort before
heeding his own. Tadeas doesn’t owe him, he knows that, but he can’t help
feeling like he wants to reciprocate if only to make the older man feel as good
as he has felt.
Gareth presses a kiss to his knee as he settles between his legs again after
getting a small vial from the bedside table. “You must tell me if it hurts, or
if I overwhelm you,” he says as he pours the liquid onto his fingers.
He circles fingertips at Tadeas’s hole, already relaxed from his earlier
attention. One finger presses inside and Tadeas breathes deeply to relax as the
finger thrusts all the way in without stopping.
“Alright?” Gareth asks, and Tadeas blinks open his eyes, unsure of when he
closed them in the first place.
“You don’t have to be so careful. I’ve done this before.”
Gareth looks like he wants to say something to that, but Tadeas is glad when he
decides against it and presses a second finger inside of him instead. It
doesn’t hurt but the stretch makes itself known in his thighs. He gasps and
Gareth hesitates at the noise, making Tadeas push his own hips down to take the
fingers in further.
“Hurry up,” he says. “I want your cock in me soon.”
Gareth grins and quickens his pace, rubbing his fingers in and out until
Tadeas’s hole relaxes around the intrusion. The third finger goes in carefully
but more quickly than before and Tadeas has to breathe against the stretch and
close his eyes to guard himself from the expression on Gareth’s face: too
affectionate, too pleased, and too embarrassing for the young man to handle
with three fingers thrusting into him and making him shudder. The fingers crook
and pleasure bursts along Tadeas’s skin and behind his eyelids, making him cry
out.
“Now, now, now,” he chants, fingers groping and pulling at Gareth’s arms,
shoulders, any skin he can get a hold of.
Gareth chuckles and tips forward onto all fours, looming over Tadeas and
framing him with sturdy limbs. The head of his cock rubs at Tadeas’s hole,
loosened by his fingers. He doesn’t thrust in, merely presses against his body
for a moment. An unbidden memory flashes before the slave’s mind. He’s been
here before: strong guard above him with a large cock poised to thrust into his
body, regardless of his objections. Tadeas flinches, cold fear dripping down
his spine.
He tries to push the thoughts away, but they won’t leave. Gareth notices the
flinch and the tension that freezes his body and pulls away. Tadeas wants to
apologize, to reach out and pull him back, to push away thoughts of Vere
forever and replace them with memories of Gareth’s skin, Gareth’s cock, and
Gareth’s thrusts.
“Gareth-“ he croaks, reaching out, worried the man is going to realize he is
too much trouble and leave the bed entirely. Gareth’s face is a storm of worry,
regret, and understanding. The expression passes in a blink and he flops onto
the bed next to Tadeas with a wide grin and relaxed limbs.
“I want you to be on top,” he says easily as if this was his plan all along, as
if Tadeas wasn’t allowing dark thoughts to ruin the night. Tadeas opens his
mouth to protest, but Gareth cups his cheek and presses a thumb to his parted
lips. “Please, indulge me.”
Tadeas launches himself at the other man, pushing across the bed and into his
arms with such force Gareth grunts. He presses their mouths together and thanks
Gareth in the only way he knows how: with a passionate tongue and roaming
hands. He’s incessant and needy, wanting only to wrap his mind and body in
Gareth and banish all thoughts of Vere from existence. He flings a leg over
Gareth’s hips and grinds their cocks together. Gareth groans into his mouth and
grips the meat of his thigh, fingertips pressing bruises into his skin.
Gareth breaks their kiss and steadies the thrusting of their hips with his
large hands. Instinct drives Tadeas forward in minute thrusts that meet only
air, even as Gareth pulls back.
“I will spill if you do not stop,” he says in a low voice that makes Tadeas
shudder. “Do you want that?”
Tadeas shakes his head, pleased at the choice of pleasure without penetration,
but craving the penetration like never before. He wants Gareth to take him. He
wants the memories of Gareth inside him.
“I want you,” he says and Gareth’s grin is full of affection and wonder. It
warms Tadeas and makes him a little breathless that something so simple could
make his companion so pleased.
They shuffle into a new position. Gareth rests back against the headboard,
half-sitting and half-reclining, knees bent and feet planted on the bed so his
thighs can help steady Tadeas. The young man straddles his hips, legs spread
across his body and hands splayed over his stomach. The head of Gareth’s cock
rests against his hole but no painful images accompany the sensation. Tadeas
goes to rock back, to take the cock into him, but Gareth’s firm grip on his
hips stops him.
“Wait,” the older man murmurs, distracted and thoughtful. “Just a moment,
please.”
Tadeas looks up at him, brows furrowed and confused, but Gareth’s eyes only
roam over his body, silent and pensive. It makes him blush hard and look down
at his own hands. He swears, Gareth could stare at him for hours, drinking in
the sight of him like he is a piece of artistry and not a used-up slave. It’s
all at once embarrassing and overwhelming, and makes Tadeas’s skin crawl with
anticipation.
“Gareth,” he whispers, impatient. Gareth smiles and reaches up to tuck a few
strands of dark hair behind his ear.
“Go on, as slowly as you need.”
Tadeas rocks his hips backwards. There is pressure, intense and unyielding. For
a moment, Tadeas is worried that Gareth’s cock will not fit, but then the head
pops inside his rim, pushing against tense muscles as he tries to relax. He
gasps at the sensation and his hands tighten into fists. It’s too much, just
the head of his cock feels like he is being split open.
A hand brushes up the side of his waist and trails fingers over the bottom of
his rib cage. “You need to relax or it will hurt,” Gareth says, brushing
fingers back and forth across his skin. Tadeas turns his mind to that caress,
to the slight tickle of those fingers, and breathes through the soreness in his
backside.
“Good.” Gareth nudges at his hip with his other hand and guides the younger man
down his cock inch by inch. It takes forever, Tadeas gets impatient with
himself and tries to push his hips faster, resulting only in a burn-stretch
between his thighs and Gareth tutting at him to slow down. He listens and lets
Gareth guide him backwards, the older man seeming to know when his body is
relaxed enough to take every inch.
His thighs burn from holding himself up and it is relief to finally settle
back, flank cradled in the curve Gareth’s lap and back resting against Gareth’s
raised thighs. Strong hands rub his thighs and he groans, content to sit for a
moment and let Gareth lavish him with attention. He feels full and he floats
between that sensation and the pleasure-pain of Gareth massaging his already
sore muscles.
“Alright?” Gareth asks softly. Tadeas blinks open his eyes and grins at the
affection radiating from Gareth’s face.
“Better.” He shifts in Gareth’s lap and grinds down against the cock in him.
Gareth’s eyes widen comically and the groan he emits sounds like it was punched
out of his stomach unbidden. Tadeas grins, feeling powerful even stuffed full
with cock, and grinds his hips down again. Hands grip tight at his hips,
fingers bruising as Gareth tries to get some semblance of control. Tadeas only
laughs and bats at his hands.
“Hold on, old man,” he says, cheeky and bold. He raises himself up and drops
down without hesitation. He moans and the sound is echoed by Gareth, fingers
still tight on his hips like he is trying to hold on before he is swept away by
sensation. The captain’s jaw clenches tight and his face screws up in a grimace
when Tadeas rises and falls again.
“Relax. Don’t grip so hard.” Tadeas covers his hands with his own and rubs back
and forth over the backs of them. “It’s as if you’re trying to hold back.”
“I am.”
“Well don’t. I can take anything you have to give.”
This time, when Tadeas pushes himself up and back down, Gareth meets him
halfway with a powerful thrust that jostles the young man and forces him to
bounce back up. He yelps, the thrust striking that spot inside him that makes
stars burst behind his eyelids, and scrambles to hold onto something to steady
himself so he doesn’t tip over. Gareth chuckles.
“Bastard,” he grumbles, then moans when the smug captain thrusts up again.
Gareth is relentless, thrusting up before he can come back down in a random
pattern that all at once jostles him and throws off any rhythm he was
attempting to create. Sometimes Gareth meets him halfway. Other times, he
drives his hips up before Tadeas can even begin to come down. Still other
times, Gareth rests his hips against the bed and doesn’t thrust at all. Tadeas
can’t predict it. He can’t relax and it takes every ounce of his concentration
not to tip forward onto the man. Every thrust makes his brain swim with
pleasure as tingles erupt onto his skin and alight his insides with warmth.
Gareth takes mercy on him sometime later. The captain grips his shoulders and
guides him to lean forward onto his chest, head tucked into the curve of his
neck.
“Hold on,” he mutters into a sweaty brow, “relax, and let go.”
Tadeas isn’t sure he knows how to relax during sex. He doesn’t know how to not
think, to turn his brain off of his surroundings and focus only on sensation.
Gareth proves him wrong.
The next thrust is just as powerful as before and the new angle drives Gareth’s
length straight into that spot. He whimpers, the spot swollen inside from all
the friction so far, and writhes on Gareth’s chest, effectively rubbing his
cock against rippled abs.
“Yes, yes, yes,” he babbles and he can feel Gareth grin against his forehead.
The older man isn’t playing anymore, trying to tease and catch him off guard
with random thrusts. He is incessant. His hips drive into Tadeas’s tight
channel and his hands push the slave’s backside down to meet his thrusts,
rocking the young man’s cock against his body with every movement. Tadeas is
hot all over, his thighs tremble, and his head is fuzzy with sensation and
pleasure. He can feel the warmth growing in his stomach and lower back and he
knows he won’t last long.
“Close, close, please,” he whines and his fingers scrabble at Gareth’s
shoulders as he tries to push his own hips down to meet the strong, relentless
thrusts of his captain. Gareth groans and quickens his pace, hips snapping
against his body. The bed creaks and the sound of skin slapping against skin
fills the room over the backdrop of moans, pants, and whimpers.
Tadeas is aware of none of this, brain consumed only with the pleasure that
dances along his skin, the fire within his stomach, and the long cock that
drives in and out of his hole. He cries out as white-hot pleasure bursts along
his limbs and comes, spurting between their stomachs.
Gareth groans, deep and guttural, into his ear and keeps thrusting, chasing his
own pleasure. He pounds Tadeas’s spot, swollen and oversensitive, making the
young man writhe and tense around him. The overwhelming pleasure borders on
pain and Tadeas cries out, half-wanting to climb off of the man and half-
wanting to let him continue for hours. It’s only moments later when Gareth
comes, stilling inside of him and pumping him full. Tadeas whines at the
feeling and shudders.
He floats, brain hazy with orgasm and limbs loose and languid. He is aware of
Gareth pulling out, but only enough to whimper and nuzzle into the older man’s
neck. Gareth’s arms wrap around him and lips graze his forehead.
The pair stays like that for long moments, panting until their breath returns
to normal and basking in the warm glow of pleasure and affection. Gareth’s
fingers trail up and down the knobs of Tadeas’s spine, dipping lower and lower
until his fingers swipe against Tadeas’s hole. The young man hisses and wiggles
his hips. A fingertip brushes his hole again.
“Gareth,” he whines and tucks his head into the man’s neck.
“Can I touch you? Please? I want-“ He sounds desperate, wrecked at the idea and
Tadeas can’t deny him.
“Yes, yes,” Tadeas mutters between laying kisses against the collarbone under
his cheek. He’s loose with pleasure and willing to let Gareth explore any part
of his body right now. He may be embarrassed later, but he sees no need to fear
Gareth’s eccentric tastes. The man enjoys things like staring at him and using
his tongue against his hole, all oddities that result in more pleasure for
Tadeas if he indulges the man.
Two fingers press into his passage, still loosened but slightly swollen from
Gareth’s earlier attention. He hisses a little and Gareth shushes him. Liquid
drips from him and he wiggles at the odd sensation. Gareth’s fingers rub and
swirl inside him, dipping in and out of his backside, pressing against
different areas as if learning all of his entrance by touch.
“You’re so wet,” Gareth groans and Tadeas flushes hot with embarrassment. “So
loose and full of my essence.” The young man’s cock twitches at the words,
filling slowly with heat and pleasure. Gareth chuckles when he feels it.
“Insatiable,” he says and jabs his fingers against Tadeas’s spot. The slave
yelps and grips Gareth’s shoulders hard. He can feel Gareth stirring below him,
cock half-standing and pressing against his flank.
“Gareth,” he whimpers, breathless, when the older man brushes against the spot
inside him again. Pleasure-pain bursts along his spine and he clenches hard on
the broad shoulders beneath him.
Soft lips brush over his sweaty brow as the fingers leave his passage. “Thank
you,” Gareth breathes and pats his backside affectionately.
He pushes up to look Gareth in the eye. “Do you have a private bath?”
“Yes.” If Gareth thinks the request odd, his face doesn’t show it.
“I’d like to soak for a moment so you can bend me over the edge of the bath and
fill me again.” Gareth’s eyes close at the suggestion and he groans. “Once we
are clean again, I’d like you to lift me and take me against the wall. Then-“
“I will bring you back to this bed and make love to you amongst soft sheets and
pillows.” Tadeas eyes widen and he nods absentmindedly. Gareth smiles up at him
and cups his cheek with a tenderness still unfamiliar to Tadeas.
“We are celebrating after all,” Gareth says, thumb brushing over the young
man’s lower lip.
“Celebrating what?”
“The fact that I belong to you now.” Tadeas laughs, light and happy, heady with
affection for the odd man beneath him.
Gareth shows him to the bath where they wash each other with gentle hands and
Gareth massages his overworked muscles. They meet in a tangle of limbs in the
bath, against the wall, and finally in the bed until both are utterly spent,
unable to stiffen, and Tadeas is feeling both sore and satiated. He nuzzles
into Gareth’s chest as strong arms wrap around him securely. He falls asleep to
the sound of Gareth’s gentle breathing, the rise and fall of his chest, and
with the final thought that Alaric and Erasmus were right. Patras has treated
him well.
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