Is It Zero Tolerance?

I wrote this because I love Juxian Tang's stories so much. For those who don't know

her gorgeous works, please visit = http://juxian.slashcity.net.

Disclaimer : Zero Tolerance and its characters are 100% property of Juxian Tang. Zero

Tolerance is one fabulous story, and I meant no harm to it at all.

-----
Zero Tolerance Part 5 (Juxian Tang)

No, he didn't want to look. At nothing. He wanted to cover his face if he didn't know how pathetic it would look. Or he wanted to fade into unconsciousness - why couldn't he pass out when he needed it? Just not to see Simon approach him, his foot raised for kicking, his mocking, insulted face. "Don't you dare to disgrace me..."

He probably wanted it too much; he blacked out before Simon came up to him.
-----


Simon didn't know why his heart lurched so bad seeing his slave suddenly passed out in the cold tiles. He was used to seeing Peter beaten up (why, he once beat the boy by his own hands before),so why suddenly this worried him so much?

From the first moment he brought Peter here, he thought only to make use of his slave, to be known in public as one of the appropriately behaving good masters in the town.

He himself didn't like fights and bloodshed, had been involved with those long enough to know that the pleasure always came with the pain. It was so very rare to win without a single stratch on your skin.

Still, being a good master, he must show his slave the pain and pleasure of winning and losing.

From the first time, he never expected Peter to win. His former master was never strong at fighting, he had no single strong muscle in his body. He was more suited to wearing a formal suit, sitting behind a high desk, wearing communication device, clicking at the computers while giving orders to his workers.

Who'll ever guess that he would be here, standing beautifully naked, with such a wavering expression at his face and wandering eyes to the other slaves, guessing which ones will be his enemies. Which ones would be beaten by him, or beat him. Which ones would fuck him, or would be fucked by him.

Simon never liked blood, but seeing his slave bleed for defending his name, he didn't mind at all. Of course, Simon knew that Peter would fight merely to defend his little pride (the former league family kept thinking that he still had what was so called
pride), and only by winning he would gain that.

So, he fought. He looked so alive when gaining his prize, thrusting to his losing enemy's body so passionately, his body gleaming amidst the water like the finest marble statue in the town's museum. The bruises he got, Simon likes to caress them. Of
course he didn't like them marring Peter's pearly white skin,but they stand out as the marks of him fighting in the behalf of his master's order. He liked how the townsfolk praised him, that he was clever and lucky to have a slave as passionate, beautiful and unexpectedly tough as Peter.

Well, Peter wasn't like that before. My taming did all those.

Simon liked all the attention, so he kept bringing Peter here. He thought the time when Peter lose would come later, not now. But his instinct came to play when he saw Peter's 4th enemy with his bald head and muscular bulky body. Well, Peter's ex-enemies were slender beauties compared to this one. He saw the two standing, staring and measuring at each other. Peter looked fascinated by his enemy's groin, looking at how he stared at IT innocently like a little boy seduced by a toy he already wanted for a long time ago. His enemy caught his eyes, smiled, and said: "I never thought that my
cock would win this beauty first before my fists do", and enticed the audience's applauds.

It seemed like Peter didn't understand, because he just stared at the man before him, dumbfounded. Then he looked back, his eyes searching for Simon, and found him. Simon just nodded at him, to give him reassuring.

Well, there's no going back now. Not when your master's pride is at stake.

Peter plunged first, and fell first. His enemy threw himself at Peter and beat him like a bear clawing at his prey. Peter's blood colored the tiles,the water and his enemy's fists red. He tried to punch back, of course. But a rabbit's claw was nothing, his enemy never stop or withdrew his ravages.Soon, the rabbit tried to scramble away. Wriggled and crawled, he managed to stay away for a few moments, but he was caught again, and got more beating. Seems like finally he gave up, for suddenly he didn't cover himself anymore and let his enemy beat him to a pulp.

Looking at how his prey stopped resisting, the bear stopped his ravaging. He flipped Peter's body to his back and opened his legs. Peter's face was smeared with blood, and he seemed too dazed to react. When the man raised Peter's legs to his shoulder and started to lean down, Peter started to moan, and got a slap instead. As the man started thrusting, Peter seemed to have trouble breathing. He was gasping and struggling for air like a fish thrown on the shore. His enemy seemed to enjoy gaining his prize, speeding up and slowed down for a long time, giving a satisfying entertainment for the audience. At a time, he looked down at Peter and spat at his face, but there was never hatred or contempt at his eyes. He just treated Peter like
an instrument he made use to amuse his audience.

Such a show off he was, for he suddenly pulled out from Peter, and spurted his seed over Peter's belly, making Peter jerked and gasped. As the man stood up and bow to the audience, Peter just laid there, his legs still opened, and he was just staring into nothing. His expression was like the one he got the first night Simon brought him to the inn's bar, when he was publically registered as a slut, used by a lot of people he couldn't remember and there was nothing he can do to prevent it.

Peter suddenly passed out, just his eyes closing and his breath calmed down. He looked like a broken, helpless doll tossed away at the sink, and there was a pang inside Simon's heart. There was suddenly this immediate need to reach this doll, to somehow make amends of what's had been done...To mend it...

As the people started withdrawing, Simon stepped into the arena, fixing his eyes to the broken pretty doll of his. The victor still stood there, looking at him with such questioning look as to what Simon would do next. Simon just ignored him, and squatted beside Peter, scanned him with his eyes. Well, bloody nose, split lips, blackened
cheekbones and jaw, and some cut and bruised areas at his body...Simon cupped the water swirling at his ankles and with his palm, cleansed Peter's body from the blood and the seed. No broken bones. Nothing irreparable, it seems. May be, some stiches and patches will do...

Whatever. Home first.

So, Simon raised Peter in his arms. The kid was shivering, and his chest trembled with each breath he took. As Simon brought him to the locker room, he almost realized something. Well, Peter was always slim, but he never weighed this little. His bluish ribcage was almost showing, and his belly was almost hollow. Simon never checked the kid thoroughly, he was always occupied merely to how Peter could be used. He knew that he had made Peter's life somewhat pathetic and miserable, but never did he expect Peter to suffer. He always ordered the maid to prepared his and Peter's food, and anyway, it was not his job to check whether the kid ate properly or not.

Peter was his slave, no more, no less. Well, except that he was once your former master, though.

Simon grabbed a large towel and dried Peter's body, then took his large coat and covered Peter with it. After dressing himself, he carried Peter through the backdoor, and called for a horse cart. Sitting behind the driver, he sit Peter on his lap. The
kid still looked dead, only his ragged breaths showed that he was still alive. His shivering was decreasing, may be, he was merely cold of being naked. Or may be, was it Simon's embrace that warmed him?

Arrived at home, Simon gently laid Peter on Peter's bed. After calling for the doc to come, he realized that Peter was shivering again. Throwing open his wardrobe, he brought out some heavy wool blankets and covered Peter with them, hoping that somehow, the warmth would calm Peter's constant shivering. Not that Simon wasn't used to Peter's shivering, Peter was always shuddering when they had sex, or when he cried alone at night.

Yeah, of course, Simon knew.

I know sometimes you woke up abruptly at night, finding yourself already crying, like a child woke up from a long lasted nightmare. Except that, it isn't nightmare that made you cry. Nightmare will only piss you off, leaving you restless for a whole night and giving you a haggard pale face and blackened eyes at the morning, ecspecially if it is me you found at your nightmare.

Crying, instead, will make your cheeks flushed in the morning, like the color of fresh peach, and your lips will be puffy, tender and rosy, because you gnawed at them for a whole night to surpress your pitiful sobs.

It isn't nightmare that made you cry those pitiful sounds.
It is beautiful dreams that made you cried. Beautiful dream of your past, the past that you have once neglected, and won't ever have anymore. What, may be, the past of your beautiful and silent wife, that you never appreciated before. Your tears will keep running down, and you always strain yourself to keep silent. But, of course I am still be able to know whether you're crying, because your bed always creaks a little with every sob and turn of your body.

By the way, that's the reason why I gave you that bed. Of course, you won't ever know, right? Because you are one deaf man.

The doc came, checking on Peter with amused eyes. He asked something like:"Was it a fight?". Simon only murmured:"Check on his chest and his end". The doc run his palm gently on Peter's ribcage, stated:"Some fractured ribs, I have to bandage him". When he slid his finger down between Peter's legs, he hummed and said:"A minor tears, don't
use him for a few days, and it'll heal". The rest is some disinfectant at the bruises and cuts at Peter's body, and then he left, leaving some quality time for Simon to wait for Peter's wake.

Sitting beside Peter's limp body, Simon realized that Peter's shivering was gone somehow. His chest wasn't trembling anymore, and his breaths calmed down. But, he was still deadly pale. The kid's complexion was always white, but he was never this pale before. With such tranquil expression on his smooth white face and bluish cheekbones, he looked like the figure in a picture hanging at the art shop Simon usually passed on his way home. The picture was entitled:"A humble dead saint".

However, If Peter was its model, it was better retitled:"A pretty dead slave".

Such a waste for a pretty slave like this to die, Simon thought while running his fingertips on Peter's eyelids, down to his cheekbone, and to rest gently on his slightly parted lips. But, of course, Peter never chose to be pretty, to be a slave, or to die. He fought, and he lost. Losing is born because there is winning as well. He had won before, and now it was time for him to lose. That was all, no more, no less.

He had fought, had won, and had lost - as his slave, in behalf of both their names.

That was all.


----
Zero Tolerance Part 5 (Juxian Tang)

And he came round already in his bed - *at home* - well, it was his home, he had no other anymore. He was warm and covered and his body felt heavy and not quite whole - but even though it was difficult to breathe, there was no agonizing pain piercing his chest on every inhale. His ribcage was wrapped tightly in bandages, he felt it when raising his hand tentatively and checking.

Someone took care of him.

Simon... sitting on his bed - turning to him as he sensed or heard that Peter moved.

"I am sorry..." he tried to say it before he would see the anger flare in Simon's eyes. Not because he wanted to diminish his punishment. Because he really felt sorry.

Loser... loser in everything...

//"What for?"// there still was no anger. What was it? Anxiety? Peter would say it was if he could believe it. //"Jesus Christ... Nobody can always win."//

He felt his breath caught - trying to figure out with painful efforts if it was some trick Simon tried to play on him, if his mood would change abruptly. He expected a blow when Simon reached to his face - expected it even though there was no cold, measured fury that appeared in Simon's eyes every time he was going to strike. But the fingers only ran through his hair.

//"If you want, we won't go there any more."//
----