Master of Slaves

Master of Slaves
By: Baby Chiba

Chapter 5: It carved out Destiny


It was a night like all other nights. The tavern was a cacophony of hustling drunkards and bustling whores wafting in cheap perfume and smoke. The aristocracy had different ideas of what it meant to be refined come nightfall. This time was their playtime. And play they did…

Five card games later and one gamble away from bankruptcy, Seifer watched Irvine angrily throw his hand on the table and fold.

“ Fucking leeches! Take a man’s hard earned money but Hyne forbid you let him win it back!” Irvine cursed, a chewed up cigar dangling from his lips.

A rumbling laughter erupted from Seifer’s mouth and tore his friend’s dangerous glare away from the fellow gamblers.

He patted his friend’s back gently while leading him away from the table, “ Come now Irvine, the game is run by lady-luck and apparently she isn’t your companion tonight.”

Irvine only grumbled in response and flung his shredded cigar onto the tavern floor, which made Seifer’s smile even broader.

“ Come on, I’ll buy you another drink.” The blonde insisted taking a seat at the bar and motioning Irvine to do the same.

“ Only if you down yourself a round as well.” Irvine shot back, sitting next to Seifer.

“ I can’t do that.” He replied in mock seriousness fingering to the bartender to pour Irvine a shot.

“ Fucking prude. It’s not like you’re training right now.” Irvine teased, a devious smirk stretching his lips.

“ I’m always training Irvine.” The blonde stated matter-of-factly.

Irvine snorted before fisting the shot glass and downing it expertly.

“ I’m punishing my boy as we speak.” Seifer continued, a small smile gracing his features as he thought about the minx chained to his bed.

“ Yea? Through what, telepathy?” The violet eyed man called out, voice laden with skepticism.

Seifer pointed to his temple. “ It’s all a mental game. I left him with uncertainty and my prolonged absence makes him that much more aware of his vulnerability.”

Irvine blinked face drawn in incredulity. “ So you’re trying to drive him stir-crazy so that when you get back he claws the shit out of you?”

Seifer let out an exasperated sign, as if he was trying to explain sorcery to an infant, “ I’m giving him time to adjust. Breaking him in is more mental than anything. He needs time to wrap his head around his predicament.”

Irvine arched a delicate brow. “ That’s how you’re planning to break him? With mental games?”

Seifer’s features hardened instantly.

“ I don’t want to break him, that’s the last thing I want to do. I want his submission, not his spirit.” He all but growled out.

“ I think you’ve gone soft,” he paused seeing the scowl appear on Seifer’s face, “but, who am I to question the great slave tamer Seifer Almasy!”

Seifer slammed a bill onto the counter before pushing up from the barstool, “ Enjoy your round, prick.”

Irvine threw his hands up in surrender. He was not about to chase a sulking Seifer down the street. He turned to the bartender and ordered another round, after all, the night was still young, and the whores still looked cheap.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The walk home in the thick night air did wonders to soothe his boiling blood. It was late into the evening by the time he entered his manor. The servants had retired to their quarters and the lights were dim. An aromatic fragrance wafted in the air, the remnants of dinner, of which he missed. Ambling into the dining room he saw a place set at the head of the table. A bottle of his favorite wine chilled in a bucket of ice and his dinner preserved by a silver tin cover.

He smiled. The familiar comforts of home never escaped him. Uncovering his food his senses were overwhelmed by the smell of tender game waiting to be devoured. Recognizing his own hunger his smile faltered. He gathered the plate and turned in the direction of the stairs.

He had a slave that had yet to be fed.

He heard a rattle of chains before he had even opened the doors to his bedchambers. And he was greeted with a scowling face that despite its animosity warmed his heart.

“ Did you have an eventful day staring at my ceiling?” Seifer asked playfully, setting the plate of food on the night table near the bed.

Those grey eyes only narrowed further into tiny slits and lips curled with disgust.

The room reverberated with Seifer’s hearty laughter. It made Squall’s stomach churn. Averting his eyes from the blonde they landed on the food next to him. The smell alone was enough to make him salivate involuntarily.

“ You’re hungry.” Seifer said after studying the chained brunette for a moment.

He was hungry.

But he wasn’t about to admit that.

Distracting himself Squall craned his neck to the side, a sickening pop audible as he worked the kinks out.

Seifer frowned at the sound. In an ideal situation he would not have had to leave Squall in an unnatural and straining position.

“ We’ll hold off on your punishment until you’ve eaten. I can’t have my slave passing out on me in the middle of his punishment.” Seifer declared in a tone that left no room for argument.

Squall unconsciously tightened his jaw, setting his resolve right then.

As Seifer advanced, he felt pierced by the painfully icy glare from Squall. It didn’t relent for an instant. Seifer wondered if it hurt his features to tighten unnaturally so for such long periods.

Seifer cut a generous piece of game off the thigh; the knife sliding through the meat like butter. In one swift expert motion Seifer straddled Squall’s torso. Squall gasped before his cheeks tinged red. This was just another way for Seifer to subjugate him. But that was only half the reason his cheeks were stained red, the other half was the unavoidable bulge he felt every time Seifer assumed that particular position.

Seifer held the knife in one hand and the fork with a chunk of meat in the other, a strange glint in his eyes.

It made the hairs on Squall’s body stand.

As the fork descended Squall tightened his lips and jerked away from the offensive hand.

Seifer only followed his movements with a smirk and poked his lips with the tender meat, begging entry.

It infuriated Squall to be treated like a child.

A guttural noise came from Squall’s throat, warning Seifer to back away.

The blonde arched a brow.

Both men’s stubborn nature forcing them to prove their dominance.

Seifer dropped the knife, gripped Squall’s jaw forcefully, and pried it apart using the same expert technique he used earlier.

Squall squirmed beneath him uncomfortably and tried to rip his head away, but he was rendered motionless by dexterous hands.

When the morsel of meat was placed inside his mouth and it was promptly clamped over by Seifer’s hand, he glared daggers at Seifer, lying completely still, bidding his time.

Finally, Seifer removed his hand.

The same bit of food caught Seifer in the eye, dripping with saliva.

Squall watched his jaw tighten, eyes still screwed shut as he slowly wiped his eyelid of remaining saliva.

It was the second offense.

“ Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to bite the hands that feeds?” Seifer asked in a strangely calm voice.

Slowly his eyes peeled open to reveal a huffing boy beneath him with a permanent scowl on his face. It made his heart skip a beat just then.

Feeding time was a lost cause.

He sighed.

Maybe he was going soft…

“ I’ll make you a deal.” Jade eyes bore into gray, searching for a hint of anything besides resentment.

He wanted a reason to reward Squall.

He wanted Squall to give him a reason.

Seifer continued, “ We’ll go for a walk, since I know you’re stiff and sick of lying on your back. But only under the condition that when we get back you must eat.”

Stormy eyes glazed over and Seifer took that as proof of consideration.

Good enough.

Seifer got to his feet and disappeared into the room out of Squall’s sight.

The brunette lay still, though skeptical, his mind racing with ways in which he could seize this opportunity to escape.

He heard the familiar rattle of chains. He ground his teeth at the clanking. He’d grown to loathe that sound.

Gray eyes narrowed viciously and Seifer stopped where he stood, feeling the need to validate why the usage of more chains was necessary, as he could understand it would seem counterproductive to what he had just promised Squall.

“ It should go without saying that you’ll be kept on a tight leash.”

He did not have to explain why, Squall understood, and he knew Seifer would anticipate another escape.

But Squall could not tolerate another failure.

He quivered with sickening excitement, but willed his nerves to relax so they would not betray him.

He needed to stay focused if this was going to work in his favor.

He felt the weight of his limbs go slack against the cuffs and chains. It was a strange feeling, as if they had willed themselves still, not his mind, and though it was just temporary, he felt submissive.

Visibly it looked like submission, and that was all Seifer wanted.

The blonde swelled with pride at Squall’s submissive pose. An intense heat rushed to his groin. Though he wasn’t about to let an amateur mistake cost him his slave. He knew this was just a deceptive act, and so he kept his guard up and expelled the enthusiasm from his features.

He linked the short steel leash to a hook on Squall’s neck bangle and unlatched that from the bedpost, as well as the handcuffs, quickly.

Squall lay still, not wanting to take the opportunity to sit up lest Seifer interpret it that wrong way, and not trusting himself not to bolt.

He waited until Seifer stood back bringing him up with a small tug to his leash.

He swallowed his revulsion down his throat. He even abhorred feigning obedience. It felt wrong. Being treated like an animal, made to walk, heel, sit, eat like one stripped him of his humanity, and his spirit fought it fiercely.

Seifer could see the battling waging behind Squall’s eyes.

He understood that Squall’s resistance wasn’t just a choice, but deeply ingrained in his nature.

And it would make domination all the sweeter once achieved.

His first few steps against cold marble floors felt surreal. Seifer led him through the bedchamber doors, his robe swaying against his naked flesh. He scanned the surroundings with vigilance, every now and then stopping when Seifer ceased his tugging on the leash.

He detached himself from the situation of being treated like an animal, or else they wouldn’t have gotten as far down the manor as they did.

Instead he concentrated on how good it felt to walk again, to be somewhat in control of his own limbs. He savored the cold pressure against the balls of his feet.

And Seifer watched his every move with equal vigilance, though with what began as caution turned into pleasure. He was mesmerized by the slight sway of Squall’s hips as he walked. The feminine grace present in a body he knew harbored a very masculine strength was captivating.

Before either of them realized it, Squall was leading the way through un-chartered territory. They strode in silence that seeming fitting for both.

However, the silence was disturbed by a gloating Seifer, “ All it takes is for you to realize that struggling is futile to reap the benefits of submission.”

That one word was all it took to provoke Squall and send him into a full-fledged rage.

The brunette spun around with his hands clasped and bashed Seifer’s nose and cheek with the steel cuffs. Seifer howled in pain and shock, grabbing for his nose and dropping the leash.

Squall seized his opportunity and took off down the corridor, through the next room, down another corridor. It was not long before he heard another pair of footsteps behind him.

And they fell into a pursuance, one for freedom, one for vengeance.

Squall rounded a corner and saw the corridor dead-ended, and so he turned into his only exit, another enclosed room.

Seifer halted at the door and let out a scornful sounding laugh.

“ You forgot an important detail in your hasty attempt at escaping.”

He slammed the door shut and latched it.

“ You should probably know the layout of the manor better than your pursuer before you try to escape them.” Seifer’s thick voice taunted.

Squall curled his lips in disgust, “ Fuck you!”

“ My what a mouth, I think I liked you better gagged.” Seifer jeered sadistically.

All prior sense of patience and logic was replaced by the predatorily hunger prevailing.

It was thrilling. He bared his teeth at his prey pacing frantically in the corner, searching the walls for some solution, some salvation.

Squall noticed on the far wall that there were two swords mounted like trophies. He took one look at the wall, then back at Seifer before he charged toward the blade. Seifer caught his focus with wide eyes. The blonde was right on his tail.

His cuffs were a hindrance in grabbing the blade from its mounts off the wall. That hindrance allowed Seifer the second necessary to throw Squall off his balance and arm himself.

Squall rolled forward on his shoulder, showing remarkable control of his fall. In a flash he was back on his feet the blade poised between his hands.

Seifer was already standing with the blade reflexively drawn out and pointed at Squall.

Chests heaving, eyes locked, both men stood their ground.

“ This will be a losing battle for you Squall. Do you know what you’re holding so boldly in your hands?” Seifer asked sharply his eyes trained on Squall’s blade.

“ A gunblade.” Squall hissed huskily as he cocked the blade.

Seifer was taken aback, but grinned deviously at the challenge.

It incensed Squall.

“ You aristocrats aren’t the only ones that handle these.” His voice low yet tight with ferocity.

Seifer noticed the way Squall held the blade, even with the restrictive cuffs, it was held properly.

He had adapted to his restrictions like it was second nature.

Seifer knew Squall was experienced. Everything from the fire in his eyes to his footing told him so.

Seifer grinned.

“ So you’ve had a couple backwoods lessons with it huh? Let’s see how many half assed swings it takes me to knock it out of your hands.” Seifer gibed, though he didn’t believe a word of what left his mouth.

Squall saw red and lunged.

At the first collision of blades Seifer felt the staggering strength behind Squall’s attack, and knew he was no novice.

Seifer swung his arm out and knocked Squall back.

The brunet came again with concise movements.

He aimed for the heart.

The clash of metal grew louder and the attacks became fiercer as both men slipped into a heated dance. They circled and slashed hungrily at one another both starved for battle. For too long his blade had been collecting dust for lack of competition.

Amidst the sparks that flew Seifer beamed. He had gotten much more than he’d bargained for with this slave. He had found true competition, in every sense of the word.

He was enflamed by battle, by Squall.

Seifer held the advantage, having the lighter blade and no shackles, but Squall held his own beautifully.

He was the embodiment of Ares, this pale lithe fighter in his naked abandon.

Seifer took a slew of slashes from Squall, two escaping his blade and lacerating his flesh just barely. Seifer laughed and returned the favor with a cut to Squall’s arm.

The brunet grit his teeth, his eyes glowing with bloodlust.

This was child’s play for Seifer.

They circled one another.

Squall stared with deadly intent. Those jade eyes sparkled with mirth as he beckoned him forth, mocking him.

And so he struck.

Sparks flew as he drug the blade across the tile and at the last second as Seifer brought his blade over his head to strike, Squall grabbed the opportunity and sliced.

In slow motion he saw his blade bite through the flesh between those mocking jade eyes.

Before he knew what he was doing he dropped the blade, mesmerized by the crimson droplets that clung at the metal tip. He hadn’t intended to do that; he just wanted a window of opportunity to escape. He didn’t know why he was suddenly immobilized.

The distractive thoughts were his mistake. Squall couldn’t even focus his eyes on the tip of metal sheering the air towards his face before it made a twin cut.

He staggered backwards, his hands coming up instinctively to shield his face. White-hot pain seared through him before he saw black.

Seifer’s blade clattered to the floor. His legs bucked and he fell to his knees next to Squall. Inhaling sharply as he wiped the blood from his eyes to look down at his fallen slave.

The sprawled Ares with eyes closed and unruly hair plastered with blood over his face.

Seifer’s wound flowed profusely, rivulets cascading down his nose and chin and onto Squall’s forehead, cheeks, and lips.

Seifer squinted through his blood to see. His weight slipping under him as his hand slid in the puddle of blood pooling next to him.

They had gone too far.

He had marred his slave.

He had lost control.

A feral roar ripped from his chest as he pushed himself up on unsteady feet. He clutched at Squall’s limbs and threw the limp boy over his shoulder, his bondage rattling.

His adrenaline was surging.

He felt like a beast, a provoked animal.

Through the corridors, down the stairs, and into another room he went, as far away from the scene of the crime as he could. It seemed the room he stopped in was the room where most of the slave taming had been dealt, or punishments to be more precise. The stony walls held shackles with chains, a cement bed equip with the same restrictive devices. The room held no windows, no light, save for that of candles.

Seifer let Squall slump off his shoulder onto the hard ground. He undid the shackles at Squall’s wrists and the neck collar. He then hoisted him up none to gently by his flaccid arms and shackled his wrists to the wall restraints.

His arms were locked over his head, with enough room to bend his elbow. His heavy head fell unceremoniously forward. His dead weight rested on his bent knees.

The blonde paused for a moment and stared at the unconscious brunet.

The color red smeared all over his pallid skin.

Seifer sneered and abruptly stalked out of the room, bolting the door, keeping the boy securely in, and him securely out.

He did not trust his temper right now. He did not trust himself with his slave, with Squall.

He raked his shaky fingers through his damp hair as he paced in front of the room he had just tucked Squall away in.

He felt he was suffocating.

He needed to get out.

He needed to treat his wound before he bled all over the floor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was well into the night when the doors to the tavern were thrown open to reveal a sulking blonde. Irvine nearly choked on his brew. His face paled when his friend neared and he saw the stained bandage across his face. Everyone in the tavern looked at the blonde as well. Murmurs exchanged between harlots and hookers, aristocrats and merchants alike.

Seifer fell into the stool next to Irvine at the bar, ignoring the curious glances. Irvine continued to stare, speechless.

“ I need a drink.” Seifer growled his eyes avoiding Irvine’s questioning gaze.

“ You know, now is a prime opportunity for me to say ‘I told you so’, but I think that’d be overkill.” Irvine drawled, the alcohol making it thicker.

Seifer glared.

Irvine shrugged and ordered him a drink.

After he downed the amber liquid and hissed as it burned a hole through his chest, Irvine allowed himself to comment, “ So the little minx likes it rough huh?”

The liquor in his blood making him more brazen than usual.

Seifer opened his mouth as if about to fiercely object and then quickly shut it, his face scrunching, searching for the right words.

Irvine stared at the shifting emotions on his friend’s face. He’d never seen Seifer so distraught before, about anything, let alone a slave boy. He couldn’t help but be slightly amused.

“ I- I lost control with him.” Seifer finally spat out, eyes unfocused.

Irvine leaned in on his palm, listening intently, a stupid smile creeping up on his face. Seeing that his friend was lost in thought, another rare sight, he decided to help move the story along.

“ How’d you get in a situation where the kid had a blade?” Irvine asked bemused, then paused when he noticed a darkened blotch of dark red on Seifer’s shoulder, “ Hyne, the kid did a number on you, have you cleaned yourself up yet?” Irvine’s voice taking on a slight tone of urgency as he sat up and reached for his friend’s shoulder.

Seifer batted his hand away, which Irvine let fall limp at his side.

“ I’m fine! That’s not the point Irvine!” Seifer rushed, trying again to explain the dilemma that had driven him from his home at an ungodly hour.

But Irvine would hear nothing of it, his attention solely focused on the blondes still bleeding cuts.

“ How deep is that cut, you may need to get it sutured up, it looks deep.” The violet-eyed man interrupted, his fingers lingering around the bandage, trying to peel it back to examine it.

Seifer’s already limited patience was wrought thin. He should have known better than to argue with a drunk…

Seifer grabbed his friend’s hand and held it firmly.

“ Irvine! Listen to me! I lost control! He-” Suddenly a booming baritone voice cut through the air and interrupted Seifer again.

“ Having slave problems?”

Both men froze. Seifer clenched his jaw and shut his eyes, willing himself to stay planted on the seat. Irvine looked down and scratched his head. This was going to get ugly. One could feel the tension suffocating the air from across the tavern.

“ My boy is none of your concern… Count.” Seifer spoke gruffly, hissing the last word out as if it were venom on his tongue.

“ Ha, the boy would be better off with me, what they all need is a sound lashing. That always does the trick.” The Count retorted arrogantly.

The Count closed the space between them, his black cape swaying with each step. Sea green eyes snapped to stare into black abysmal. The inky eyes of the Count of Monte Cristo laughed at him, bearing the sadist he truly was.

Irvine caught how Seifer’s fingers blanched around his empty shot glass, as if trying to anchor himself on it.

“ I don’t believe in resorting to violence as a means to make my slaves submit. There are other just as effective ways to discipline.” Seifer spat out with pure animosity.

Irvine’s eye twitched.

“ How delusional! I suppose they listen to you out of love and respect, correct? You’re a gutless tamer!” The Count persisted haughtily daring to take a step closer to the pair.

Irvine’s other eye twitched. He was not in any mood for a fight, or any condition for that matter.

Seifer inhaled deeply, his body quivered with residual bloodlust.

“ I shall have to ask you to refrain from insulting me so Count…” He warned through clenched teeth, turning away from the Count.

He was dangerously close to snapping.

“ What would you do? Coddle me to death?” The Count leaned in close and whispered cynically, his black tresses framing the cruel smile that curled his pale lips.

Seifer’s nostrils flared. He veered his head slightly to the side so his lips were close to the Count’s ears.

“ You’re not my slave, I have no reservations about gutting you like the pig you are!” Seifer snarled, emphasizing the last part of his threat.

The Count chuckled slowly seemingly enjoying Seifer’s hostile disposition.

“ But you see, I’m not the one marked up like cattle by a slave boy. You’re a coward who can’t handle a real slave.” The Count admonished, looking Seifer up and down in disgust.

Seifer willed his breathing steady.

“ And it will be with the sweetest pleasure that I take him off your hands and claim him as my own.” The Count sang sweetly.

And Seifer heard no more save for the sickening crunch of bone under his fist as he dislocated the Count’s jaw.

~~~~~~~~~~~

It was not a night like all other nights as Seifer found himself striding home with haste.

The Count’s words had struck a cord.

His threat to claim Squall was empty.

However he felt like a hypocrite.

He did not believe in violence. Yet it persisted under his roof, amounting from his lack of restraint.

He carved his slave up like cattle as well, perhaps worse than he’d been.

He’d left a very wounded slave unattended to because he had been overwrought with emotion.

It was inexcusable.

Seifer felt sick.

He ceased his rapid strides and veered off to the sidewalk to lurch up the contents of his stomach, which was a mere shot of whiskey.

Shakily wiping his mouth with his sleeve he ran the rest of the way home.

Collecting various things in his arms before unbolting the room where he left Squall, he crept in, quietly.

The brunet’s head was still bowed, though it had rolled onto his right arm. He saw the trail of still damp blood from his forehead down his arm.

Seifer swallowed, overwhelmed with feelings of guilt.

He knelt in front of the unconscious boy.

He was so serene in sleep, even encrusted in blood.

Seifer poured some clear antiseptic onto a towel and gently dabbed at the dried blood trails over pale skin.

The robe lay open, exposing his tainted flesh completely to Seifer’s eyes.

Each new gash he found made his chest constrict with unbridled remorse.

As he began his ascent up Squall’s face to the source of all the spilt blood Squall’s eyes fluttered and slowly peeled open.

For a moment Seifer stilled, waiting for Squall’s eyes to focus.

Once they had he continued dabbing at Squall’s skin.

Squall stay still as stone, it seemed the boy ceased to breathe.

For the first time those stormy eyes regarded him with something other than resentment and anger.

Squall watched Seifer tend to his wounds in silence for some time. He noticed the blotched bloodstains on Seifer’s shoulder and chest.

“ What about your wounds?” The pensive brunet spoke barely above a whisper.

Seifer continued cleaning Squall before the smallest curl of his lips indicated a smile, “ just scratches.”

Squall snorted playfully at the jibe, his lips barely moving but it was enough for Seifer to realize that the brunet was smiling.

Their eyes caught and something in him shifted when he saw the tenderness with which Seifer’s peridot eyes examined him.

Seifer’s touches were feather light and gentle as the wind’s caress on his abused flesh. Squall let his eyes slide closed. He resigned himself to Seifer’s mercy.

The blonde’s breath hitched in his throat. It was Squall’s first real sign of submission. True submission.

It made Seifer thankful for the night’s turn of events, despite how detrimental they initially appeared to be.

When the dried blood had been cleaned away and the path of the gash was made clear it made Seifer’s blood run cold. He was looking at a mirror image of his own face. How they had both cut identically into one another so precisely was hauntingly surreal. Seifer carefully removed the bandages from his own face.

At that moment Squall reopened his eyes and focused on the wound identical to his own on another’s face.

Seifer felt that the wounds were riddled with some intangible profoundness unbeknownst to either of them.

Seifer watched that same realization set in Squall’s eyes before he slipped back into unconsciousness.

TBC…

A/N: Gomen nasai! I took forever with this chapter. You all have to forgive my schedule! So I just recently watched Gankutsuou: The Count of Monte Cristo, and I have fallen in love with the series! I both loved and abhorred the Count. He was so utterly human in the most inhuman way… crazy I know. But I felt he deserved a cameo in my story here. We will be seeing more of him. I apologize for any spelling or grammatical mistakes, I have no beta and I can only catch so much.

Tell me what you guys think about the alternative way in which the boys get scarred up, heheh!

I promise the yaoi is to come shortly, but I will not rush it if it’s not warranted. This isn’t a pwp, for that go check out my other stories!

As always accepting REVIEWS and criticism!!