Crossroads

a/n: This oneshot is based on my "Walking Delusions" universe, also available on both this site and my homesite. It is a prequel to that particular story, taking place at least a decade before the main storyline.

There are elements of slavery in here (general slavery not limited to any particular race or species), slash (oh yes, much boyboy kissing), slight bondage due to the presence of shackles, and a bit of domination to mix things together and make them interesting. If you've read "Walking Delusions" then you'll understand the characters more, but it is not necessary.

Also, this is self-beta'ed. All mistakes are mine and mine alone.

Thanks for reading and enjoy!

Crossroads
A Walking Delusions OneShot

He hated cities.

They were large and crowded, each road dry and dusty and littered with other living beings, and most annoyingly, humans. The smells were always more than his advanced senses could handle without being nauseous, and the noise and press grated on his every nerve. His head throbbed in beat to the street musicians and their terrible rendition of an old ballad. He had every urge to destroy their instruments just for a little peace.

Melath wasn't even sure why he bothered slipping into this city with the rest of the crowd. It was true that his supplies were running low, but he could have replenished them in the forest for quite some time. He didn't dare to call it a loneliness for other intelligent beings. In fact, Melath was hard pressed to define humans as “intelligent”. Especially if this city was anything to judge by.

He pushed through the crowd without apology, treating all protesters to a cold stare that had them stammering and walking away. That might have had something to do with the casual hand he had rested on the hilt of his sword. Melath knew better than to be caught unawares. With his looks, he would fetch a pretty penny. He almost dared someone to try. It would help to ease the tension creeping into his neck and shoulders.

Lips curled with disgust, blue eyes swept the crowded confines of the city whose name he hadn't bothered to catch. What did a place where humans gathered matter to him? He wasn't planning on making his home here.

It stank of human. It stank of mortality and waste and malice. Melath longed for the forest, wondering why he had left in the first place. Freedom wasn't all that he had believed it to be. Especially if this place was what his freedom had to offer him. But Melath also didn't believe in regret. His pride wouldn't allow it.

Above the noise and chatter and poorly-played instruments, Melath's advanced hearing picked out the sharp sound of a whip cracking. An even louder human voice followed, booming over a close collection of yammering. Morbidly curious despite himself, Melath followed the noise, cutting across the dusty streets and rounding the corner in front of a massive hostel.

Melath grimaced as an odor floated to his nose and he lifted a hand, covering his nostrils. Unwashed bodies and excrement lingered in the air, stronger here than anywhere else, and as he lifted his eyes over the dozens of bodies packed into a strangely open area, he found a stage at the far end. And the reason for the stench.

He had stumbled on the Slave Auctions, something he had not realized still existed. But he should have known. Humans weren't exactly honorable creatures. And they were completely motivated by greed. Selling the lives and bodies of their own meant nothing to them. The Anoth'di would have never permitted such an atrocity to take place.

But Melath was no longer among the Anoth'di. And his sense of right and wrong had long changed since then. As had his basely desires.

Melath allowed himself to watch for a few minutes as the man standing at the front of the stage – the auctioneer – went into detail about the two humans standing behind him. A rather pretty young woman with sad eyes who was likely to end up in some whorehouse and a middle-aged man with broad shoulders, likely to find his place in the fields. The auctioneer named off their attributes like one would list for a horse or a piece of cattle. Fine teeth. Good bones. Excellent for breeding.

With a sharp declaration of victory, the two slaves were sold and guided off the stage, each step a tread of despair. No one seemed to care, the crowd eagerly anticipating the next piece of cattle to cross the platform.

Uninterested, Melath shifted his weight to turn away. He half-caught the next slave from the corner of his eye, and Melath paused, his curiosity defeating him. A quick look was all it took for him to blink in surprise, all attempts to leave abandoned.

It was a young man, probably in his early twenties. His black hair was unbound, long and cascading down his back in tell-tale ripples. Tanned and well-formed, he wore little more than a loose pair of leggings, but it was the dark markings over his arms and across his collarbone that were of much interest to Melath. They denoted him as a half-breed, unable to control his thirst. And even from this distance, Melath could tell that his eyes gleamed golden.

He was beautiful, in a way that differed from the pale, lithe attraction of the Anoth'di. He was darkness ensconced by resistance, his chin tilted in defiance despite the chains around his wrist and throat. He didn't even flinch as the auctioneer rattled off his attributes, no doubt leaving off the truth of how difficult the slave would be to handle. He would not submit easily.

Something about this man stirred Melath. Was it his defiance? His evident pride despite his current predicament? His dark beauty?

Or was it the truth which then poured from the auctioneer's lips, like a siren call to Melath's insatiable curiosity about the world beyond the old forest. This man, this slave, was the tainted one. The cursed being from legend. Every man, woman, and child in Tears knew that prophecy. Could quote it without fail.

Melath wondered how they knew his identity. Perhaps it was just a ruse to encourage a higher price. Not that many would be willing to spend good coin on a man who could possibly have a hand in the destruction of their world. If one wanted to believe such myths.

More believable was the bounty on the slave's head. An assassin was it? How very interesting. Melath was intrigued by this man. The slave was the first human – or half to be precise – to fascinate him since he had left the forest. The fact that it was a man was far removed from Melath's sensibilities.

The bidding began with a grand sweep of the auctioneer's gangly arm, his gap-toothed smile urging the crowd to offer up their coin. Unsurprisingly, there were few takers, a low murmur already sliding through the crowd at just the mention of the famous prophecy. One man, however, nearly rubbed his hands together in glee.

Standing near the front, directly before the stage, a fat, pig of a man already had two slaves chained at his feet, bound by short lengths of thick twine. Both men were waifish, looking as if they had been simultaneously beaten and starved. They were unnaturally pretty and unusual. One with blond hair and green eyes, but a lovely line of scales down his back – a mutant. The other had strawberry-red hair and grey eyes – a very rare sight in Tears.

The pig was a collector of rare, beautiful creatures it seemed. And there was no telling what they had suffered under his hand. No doubt he used them for lecherous purposes, a thought which made Melath's skin crawl.

The thought of that proud creature being forced to service such an abhorrent beast was unforgivable. The half-breed looked defiant, as though he were worth a challenge. Unbreakable. Perhaps the very thing needed to stir Melath from his apathy. A part of him itched to own the slave. He knew he had the coin.

A deeper, more inherent part of him balked at the idea of purchasing another living creature. It went against everything he had been taught in the old forest. Everything he had been led to believe. But which would be the greater tragedy?

And admittedly, a small part of Melath wanted the half-breed for himself. He was intrigued by those golden eyes – like pools of honey – and those dark tattoos. A sense of challenge stirred him in ways nothing in the old forest had ever been capable. And his blood, once sluggishly running through his veins, pumped with a new heat.

Melath realized he had already made his decision, and now he wasted time justifying it to himself. And the fat pig had already placed a bidding.

He moved forward, sliding through the crowd. And Melath's mouth opened before he entirely knew what he was doing. A great sense of excitement bubbled in his belly, surprising him with it's intensity.

“Twenty gold!”

Heads in the crowd swiveled towards him as his bid rang across the space; he stood a good half-foot taller than most of them. The murmuring grew into a low buzz of surprise, even the auctioneer shocked that someone else would offer gold for the half-breed.

Melath continued towards the front, until he stood a few yards away from the overweight rich man. A sneer twisted puffy lips while a pale hand lifted again.

“Thirty.”

“Forty-five,” Melath countered without missing a beat, never taking his eyes off the dark-haired man on the stage.

The slave returned his gaze evenly, something stormy behind the pools of gold. He didn't even twitch as the other human made another bid for him, swiftly upped by Melath. The half didn't seem bothered by the fact two men were bartering for his body.

“His hair!”

“Ain't he one of them from the forest?”

“I thought they weren't supposed to leave it?”

“And I thought they was jes a legend?”

The startled voices of those surrounding him floated to Melath's ears. He didn't flinch, letting their comments pass over and through him. The populace was beginning to recognize him for who he was. He would have to confirm his victory quickly before someone tried to put him up for sale as well.

The fat pig's face purpled, spittle flecking from his lips. “Seventy-five gold,” he hissed, limiting the bidding between he and Melath. No one else dared come between them. His fingers curled like twisted sausages around the chains of his current slaves.

Melath tossed him a half-hearted, dispassionate flick of his eyes. “Ninety.”

“You bastard,” the other man cursed lowly, growing angrier in the face of Melath's clam. He looked apoplectic, as though any minute he might tackle Melath himself. Clearly, he wanted the half-breed very badly.

Unfortunately for him, Melath did as well. “One-hundred,” he added, without the other man having to make another bid.

Above them, the auctioneer loudly proclaimed Melath's bid, causing a ripple of surprise to echo through the crowd. It was probably the highest amount they'd seen that day. Probably even that week. And for a cursed half-breed? How absurd!

“Tch.” The fat pig snarled, turning his wide nose up to the air. “He's probably infested with diseases anyway. Hardly worth the effort.” With a fierce yank to the chains, he stalked away, dragging his slaves along with him.

When the men didn't move fast enough, he cuffed them across their heads with blows hard enough to rattle their skulls. Melath watched dispassionately as the captives crawled quickly after their masters, a firm, suffocating yank on their collars providing ample incentive. The very sight of it made Melath sick to his core. Especially when he caught sight of the markings on their backs, repeated brands burned into flesh, just like cattle.

Swallowing down his disgust, Melath shifted his attention back to the stage. The auctioneer was announcing his victory, but Melath had eyes only for his prize. Those golden orbs returned his stare placidly, only the twitching of his fingers betraying his feelings about the situation.

It was half of the coin in his possession, but Melath had the feeling this man would be worth every piece of gold.

He felt the eyes of the crowd tracking his every move as he followed the line of the stage, heading for the far booth where the coin was being collected. A woman wrapped in leather and fur took his coin with a gap-toothed grin, practically snatching the bag from his hands. Melath barely spared her a glance, more interested in circling around to the side where she had stated he could retrieve his new purchase.

While the idea of owning another human being rankled on his morality, Melath found himself growing more and more enamored of it by the minute. After all, it wasn't as if he planned to mistreat the half-breed. And if he wished, he could release the man at a later date. Right now, however, curiosity and something a bit more concupiscent, colored his thoughts.

A few of the guards leered at Melath as he waited around the back, the noise muffled by the high wall that encircled the stage. New slaves were being brought out, but the chatter wasn't as grand as it had been when Melath was bidding. No doubt it would be the talk of the town for days to come.

The whispers washed over and through him. Melath's spine prickled as he felt their stares, focused on his pale hair and his unnaturally bright eyes. His ears gave him away as well, but Melath refused to hide them, out of pride alone.

Several long minutes later, the half-breed was brought out from the back, bleeding from a cut on his lip and looking freshly bruised. Probably recently beaten and guessing from his attitude, it was a result of putting up a fight. And despite being guarded on either side, both burly men having a firm grip on the chains attached to his collar and wrist shackles, he held his head high and his shoulders back. Defiant and proud to the last.

“Ye'll have yer hands full with this one,” the left-hand guard muttered, his right eye swollen and darkening with each passing minute. He looked grim, as if he'd appreciate nothing more than to be able to strike his charge in full.

Melath inclined his head. “So I gather.” Blue eyes raked over his new purchase, taking in muscular, lithe limbs and the stark lines of those tattoos.

Golden eyes met him haughtily, filled with a sour glare that promptly assessed and dismissed Melath within a matter of moments. “You wasted your coin,” the half sneered. “I'll be no one's slave.”

He had a sonorous voice, husky on the edge. It suited him. And he spoke with a faint accent that denoted an origin far to the north.

The rebellious air was thwarted when the right-hand guard promptly cuffed him on the side of the head, hard enough to make him stumble. “Shut up,” the man snarled, seemingly unaware of the poisonous glare golden eyes shot towards him.

“Careful wit' him,” the left-hand guard insisted, shifting his attention to Melath as he handed over a small iron ring with two keys on it, presumably for the two different locks. “He's violent.”

Melath flicked his gaze to the toothed metal but he did not accept them. “Your warning is appreciated but unnecessary. Unlock him.”

The left-hand guard blinked, exchanging glances with his partner. “I don't think--”

“They do not pay you to think,” Melath interrupted sharply, fingers tapping across his tilt. “Loose those chains.”

His tone called for no argument. The two men scrambled to obey. Chains rattled and metal clanked as the shackles fell away.

The half-breed was fast, but Melath was faster. Perhaps he had been planning to escape, or even attack the two who held him. Either way, Melath stopped him in a manner of moments. In a flash, he had the slave pinned beneath him, wrists clamped in one hand and good grip on long dark hair in the other. The half-breed bucked, snarling like a wild beast, but Melath didn't falter, his weight pinning the slave to the ground.

Melath forced him down, his heart pounding in his chest. “You are mine now, boy. I suggest you get used to the idea.”

The half-breed twisted, trying to pull his wrists free. “I will never claim to be yours.”

“We shall see.” Melath twisted his fingers, yanking harshly on the slave's hair. Inwardly, he celebrated when the man winced – the first true sign of submission. “What is your name?”

Silence.

Melath wasn't surprised. He allowed it for a long moment, taking the time to admire the intriguing tattoos up close. They seemed to form letters, though Melath wasn't familiar with the language. Perhaps when his new acquisition was better accustomed, he would be ready to answer some questions. In any case, Melath was struck with the sudden urge to run his tongue over them, just to see how the slave would respond. Another time perhaps, once he had this willful creature under his control.

Growing impatient, Melath's knee dug into the half-breed's lower belly. “Your name?” he insisted, knowing that the press of his weight had to have been painful.

The half gasped, paling significantly. “Vincent,” he gritted out with a strained breath. “And that's all you will know.”

Melath smirked. It was a start.

“Very well, Vincent.” He leaned over, until his lips hovered a mere inch from Vincent's ear. “I am your master. But you may call me Melath.”

Satisfied, Melath released Vincent's hair and reached up with his free hand, gesturing impatiently towards the gaping guards. “Shackles.”

Metal pressed to his hand immediately and Melath closed the thick iron around Vincent's wrists. The momentary freedom had only been to prove a point after all. He was both stronger and faster than Vincent, and had no problem using said force. And Melath was not so foolish as to leave the slave immediately unfettered.

Hands properly secured, Melath demanded the chain as well and attached it to Vincent's collar, taking a moment to admire the contrast of dark metal to Vincent's skin. Melath's finger hooked around the band, sliding his finger across the rough collar. He would have to replace it.

Rising to his feet, Melath effortlessly flipped Vincent over, planting his boot between the half-breed's shoulders and just below his neck. It forced Vincent to turn his head back to the side in order to breathe comfortably.

“Where is the nearest and best hostel?” Melath demanded of the guards, a hunger growing inside of him. He wanted to tame his newest purchase. “With iron, not wooden beds, if you please.”

“That be your best bet.” The right-hand man pointed to a building nearby, a massive structure made of stone and wood that stood over three stories high. “It's made a business offa caterin' te new owners.”

It appeared relatively acceptable. Over-priced no doubt, but it did seem to be in good condition. It would serve its purposes.

Melath removed his foot and jerked Vincent's collar, dragging the half-breed to his feet. “This can be easy or this can be difficult,” he informed the other man, trying not to linger on the sight of the blood dripping from Vincent's lips. It contrasted beautifully with his skin. “I have no preference for either.”

The half-breed twisted his jaw, but his head dipped in subservience. He either finally understood his position, or was impressed by Melath's ability to dominate him. Melath couldn't be sure of either. It was also possible that it was Vincent's last ditch effort to ensure later freedom – pretend acceptance and servility now, but a stab in the back and escape at the first opportunity.

“Good,” Melath purred, his finger sliding around the edges of Vincent's collar, brushing briefly against the heat of his skin. “And allow me, at this moment, to remind you that if you were to escape from me, your bounty will be returned.”

Meaning, it would be open season on Vincent again. He wouldn't be considered a free man. Every mercenary in Tears would be looking for him, because Melath imagined he would accrue quite the hefty reward.

Vincent looked up at him in surprise. Obviously, he hadn't considered such a thing. But he didn't speak, quickly schooling his expression.

Pleased, Melath tugged him towards the hostel, leaving the two guards behind. No doubt they were all too ready to wash their hands of Vincent.

A well-painted sign swung lightly in the stale breeze announcing the name of the hostel – Whispering Pines. A bit too poetic for this backwater town. Melath found it painfully easy to get a room, despite the fact that he led a chained man behind him. Ample coin always tended to grease the way.

The room was in better condition than Melath would have expected. It was clean and organized, a thick coverlet blanketing a mattress surrounded by metal posts. The single table held a basket of fruit and a lantern. The curtains were drawn wide open to let in the sunlight. It would suit his needs perfectly.

One hand holding tight to the end of Vincent's chain, Melath set his pack aside on a chair and lay his sword and sheath atop it. He noticed that Vincent watched him, or more precisely, his sword.

“Can you fight?” Melath asked, stripping off his cloak and draping it over the back of the chair. A stirring was growing inside of him, and it took every ounce of his self-control to not let it show.

Interest flickered in golden eyes. “If I had a sword in my hand, you would be dead.”

“It would be intriguing to test that theory,” Melath remarked, turning to face the slave. He approached Vincent, lifting a hand to touch his face, fingers skirting over a streak of dirt mixed with blood. “So dirty. I”m not sure I dare taste this.”

Vincent tilted his chin, defiant despite the collar around his neck. He seemed to be considering something. Melath waited patiently for him to come to a decision. He was not interested in forcing anything after all. He wanted Vincent's willing submission. Only in that would be truly satisfied.

Something silent passed between them in the expectant quiet of the room. And then, to Melath's delight, Vincent slowly lowered himself to his knees, the chains giving off a soft rattle of metal on metal.

Intrigued, Melath contented himself with watching, unwilling to break the moment. His eyes followed each movement as Vincent leaned forward, placing his mouth over the defined bulge in Melath's loose trousers. He could feel the heat of Vincent's breath, the pressure of his mouth, and it was damn good, sending a flash of heat through his groin.

Vincent mouthed Melath's arousal, saliva dampening the cloth of Melath's pants. He knew exactly where to lave the flat of tongue for maximum effect. Melath's cock thickened, blood filling his shaft.

“Eager,” Melath commented huskily, knowing that hunger darkened his blue eyes to a shade of night. “And skilled. Were you a whore before this Vincent?”

Vincent did not answer. Not that there was any need of one. Melath had his suspicions, and they were likely truths. A half-breed and cursed? Vincent had likely been tossed out not long after birth, whenever the truth of his existence was revealed. And there were few things a child could do on his to survive. What kind of life had Vincent led, Melath wondered. What kind of story would he have to tell?

Teeth nibbled across his cock, dragging Melath's attention back to the man kneeling before him. His fingers tightened around the chain, blood rushing through his veins and straight to his groin. But it was not enough. He wanted to feel Vincent's mouth on his length, skin to skin, and he didn't want to be standing for it.

Melath tangled his fingers in black hair, pulling Vincent away. “As much as I enjoyed that, I would prefer we move this to a more comfortable location.”

A tongue ran across reddened lips as golden eyes gazed up at him. “Whatever master commands,” he said huskily, though there was a mocking tone to his words.

No matter. Melath would teach him respect soon enough.

“No longer fighting it, I see,” Melath purred as he backed towards the bed.

He settled against the headboard, drawing one knee towards himself as he made himself comfortable. Vincent watched, and followed along after him.

“It is gratitude,” Vincent said after a moment, as if the admission physically pained him. Tattoos rippled invitingly as he crawled between Melath's legs, hands still chained before him.

“Oh?” Melath cocked his head to the side, lifting his hand to loop the chain around the bed post. If anything, it would delay Vincent from fleeing. “For what?”

Skilled fingers tugged at the ties of Melath's trousers, pulling out his hard cock, already leaking at the tip. “For outbidding that swine,” Vincent answered, his fingers stroking a visible vein on the side of Melath's pale shaft.

“He was not worthy of your defiance,” Melath murmured, allowing his fingers to card through the lengths of Vincent's hair. It slid through his touch like silk, though it spilled across Vincent's shoulders like glossy, obsidian oil. “Now show me your gratitude.”

Vincent's answer was to lower his head, breathing hot air across the head of Melath's cock. His fingers curled around the rigid shaft before his tongue swirled around the mushroomed tip. Melath sucked in a breath, forcing his hips not to buck upwards as Vincent parted his lips and took Melath's cock into his mouth, inch by inch.

There was no question. Vincent was good.

Heat surrounded Melath's shaft as Vincent swallowed him slowly but surely. Melath felt the head of his cock hit Vincent's throat and a groan of pleasure escaped him, his length encased by wet heat. A nimble tongue stroked across the sensitive skin.

Vincent glanced up at him, startled. He was probably not used to the men he serviced showing their appreciation. Or perhaps he didn't expect it from Melath.

Eyes gleaming, Melath rocked his hips upwards, pushing his cock deeper into Vincent's mouth. Encouraging him to continue. The building pressure in his groin all but demanded it. Some time had passed since Melath had found relief by something other than his hand, and his body was eager to explore more of Vincent's.

“I think I may be jealous of who has benefited from your experience,” Melath murmured, his breath coming in quickened bursts as arousal flooded his system. “There will be no one else.”

Vincent's answer was to swallow him completely, until Melath could feel the flexing of the half-breed's throat around his cock. He groaned, struggling not to buck into Vincent's mouth and choke him. His gaze swept over Vincent, taking in the sight of his defined features and the flex of his scarred skin with every move he made. His body was lean and toned, stretched out across the pale comforters in front of Melath.

He suddenly had the greatest desire to see Vincent beneath him, skin flushed crimson as Melath pushed deeper and deeper into him. Golden eyes pools of molten desire. The scene was so vivid in his mind that Melath's breath hitched, a moan trapped in his throat.

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the headboard, his hips taking on a rhythm on their own. He was close; Melath could feel it. A combination of unintentional celibacy and Vincent's skills pulled him closer and closer to the edge. He could feel the heat gathering in his groin, coiling and rushing through his body.

Teeth grazed carefully over his cock, Vincent's tongue flicking against the sensitive head. Melath tracked his fingers through Vincent's hair, his hips rocking into that wet heat. Fingers tickled at his scrotum, gently rolling the furred sacks in a skilled hold. Melath drew in a sharp breath, clenching his teeth as the pleasure sparked through him. All thoughts of holding to his control shattered as Vincent swallowed him again.

“Swallow me,” Melath gasped, though he had the feeling Vincent would have done so anyways. “Every last drop.”

Golden eyes flickered to him in acknowledgment, but Melath barely noticed, his hips raggedly jerking upwards as he thrust into Vincent's mouth. A sharp moan escaped him as he bucked, spilling across Vincent's tongue and down his throat, spots of light dancing behind his eyelids.

Melath slumped against the headboard, watching as Vincent's tongue slid over his softening cock, cleaning up the last traces. Each swipe was gentle, making the sluggish heat in Melath's veins give another twitch of interest. He smirked to himself. A good purchase indeed.

Pulling away, Melath straightened, and tucked himself back into his trousers. “Very good,” he murmured, one hand cupping Vincent's chin and wiping away a dribble of spittle. “Though you spilled a drop.”

Chains rattled as Vincent dragged a forearm across his mouth, his tongue snaking out to dance over his lips. “Were you not satisfied?”

“I didn't say that.” Cocking his head to the side, Melath's eyes tracked over Vincent's body as the half-breed rose to his knees in a languid, graceful motion.

His finger hooked in the tattered band of Vincent's trousers, forcing him to half-crawl across the mattress closer to Melath. He smirked as he pressed his palm to Vincent's groin, feeling the rigid heat that pulsed lightly beneath the thin, ragged cloth.

“I would fuck you as you look in need of it,” Melath murmured, his fingers rubbing over Vincent's evident arousal. “But I refuse to do so in your current state. This will have to suffice.”

Hips rocked towards his touch as if unconsciously seeking stimulation, a delightful flush gathering in Vincent's cheeks. “Used goods,” he muttered, eyes skittering to the side, perfectly subservient. Even so, he arched towards Melath's fingers, his rigid shaft pulsing.

“Filthy goods,” Melath corrected, drawing Vincent from the confines of his trousers and curling his fingers around the thick length. His free hand tugged on the ends of dark hair, a length which matched his own. “Women would kill for this hair.”

Vincent jerked his head away from Melath's touch, a scowl twisting his lips.

Annoyed, Melath grabbed a handful and yanked him back closer, Vincent sprawling forwards and straddling his lap. “A sore point, I take it?” he demanded, swiping his thumb over the sensitive crown of Vincent's cock and delighting in the short gasp it elicited.

Vincent didn't respond to the barb, settling for a golden glare that stirred something inside of Melath. Some desire to dominate this man and watch him submit.

He kept talking, even as Vincent's body hunched forwards, his hips taking a ragged rhythm, thrusting into the tunnel of Melath's fingers.

“I think a visit to the clothier is in order,” Melath continued, loosing his hold on dark hair to let his fingers explore the bare expanse of flesh before him. Not an ounce of fat could be found on Vincent's body, though his ribs were visible in stark contrast. That would have to be amended. “Though I am sorely tempted to keep you in nothing but your trousers, however irrational that may be.”

Vincent frowned. “They are dirty,” he muttered, licking his lips again as Melath stroked him effortlessly, feeling every throb of the half-breed's heart through his cock. Vincent would not last long either.

“Indeed,” Melath agreed, and his fingers tracked down Vincent's side, finding traces of old scars, and evidence of recent wounds.

Some were not entirely scabbed, others looked to have had the blood dry only recently. Melath recognized several scars from feel alone – lash marks and a few sword wounds. He wondered how old Vincent actually was.

His finger ghosted through one such scar, thick and ridged and shaped distinctly – like a brand. Melath frowned. “And the healer as well.”

Vincent stilled briefly, before picking up his rhythm again. He shook his head. “I won't,” he denied through clenched teeth, breath quickening as his arousal dampened Melath's fingers.

“You will,” Melath insisted, his finger tracing the strange shape of the mark on Vincent's back. “I am not interested in whatever diseases your former acquaintances may have carried.”

A dark chuckle slipped from Vincent's lips, his head ducking. He arched in Melath's hold, chains clanking as his fingers curled into loose fists. The collar around his throat stood out in stark contrast and as Vincent swallowed, it bobbed noticeably.

He really was a beautiful man. Melath's fingers traced the dark lines of Vincent's sealing tattoos, something he would definitely inquire about at a later time.

“Come for me,” he ordered silkily, the tip of one digit grazing over a peaked nipple. He scratched at the pert nub with his fingernail, Vincent shuddering with pleasure. “I want to see you spill.”

Melath hungrily watched as Vincent drew his bottom lip into his mouth, gnawing on the delicate flesh in an attempt to contain his cries. He felt's Vincent's cock swell in his fingers before a groan rattled in Vincent's chest. He fell forward, his forehead striking Melath's shoulder as heat spilled across Melath's hand.

Heated breath puffed against the side of Melath's neck in frantic intervals as Vincent vainly tried to regain control. Melath's fingers teased at the sensitive skin of his shaft until the last of the tremors faded. Lifting his hand, Melath eyed the release coating his fingers, even as Vincent stiffened, seeming to realize his vulnerable position.

The half-breed abruptly drew backwards, nearly flailing in his attempt to distance himself from Melath. The thick musk of sex filled the room as Melath considered the fluid sticking to his hand. And then he smirked, wondering how far he could push Vincent's submission.

Golden eyes watched him warily as Melath rubbed some of the pearly fluid between two fingers before lifting his hand to Vincent's lips. His possession didn't flinch as Melath dragged the evidence of his release across Vincent's closed lips, leaving a trail of semen behind.

Pleased, Melath pushed it further, pressing two fingers against Vincent's bottom lip and slowly slipping them into Vincent's mouth. Those honey eyes held his gaze, making his heart beat thunderously as his fingers slid along Vincent's wet tongue. Every action dictated Vincent's submission, but there was a challenge in his defiant stare. One that proved he would display his disobedience later. The very thought sent a thrill of desire up Melath's spine.

“Clean my fingers,” he ordered huskily, his voice sliding through the expectant quiet. “One should always clean his own messes.”

Vincent didn't hesitate. His tongue flicked across Melath's fingers before sucking them entirely into his mouth, licking off every trace of his own release.

It was sexiest thing Melath had ever witnessed. Once again, he had the thought that Vincent had been worth half his coin.

“Why do you submit to me, Vincent?” Melath asked, curiosity compelling him.

His fingers slid from Vincent's mouth with an obscene slurp, his lips reddened. “Why did you buy me, Anoth'di?”

“Oh, so you do know what I am.”

Amusement danced in the half-breed's eyes. “What you were,” Vincent corrected.

“What I was,” Melath conceded, trailing his spit-slick fingers over Vincent's bare but dirt-dusted cheek, still faintly tinged with arousal. He decided for honesty as it didn't reveal too much or even enough. “You intrigued me.”

The other man scoffed, wariness evident in his body language. “You spent a hundred gold on a half-breed because I intrigued you?”

Melath inclined his head. “Yes.”

Snorting, Vincent lifted his shoulders, purposefully rattling the chains. “Che. I suppose I could have worse masters.”

And no doubt he had. Melath, however, didn't ask for Vincent to elaborate. A part of him didn't want to know, even if he was curious about the brand he had felt on the half-breed's back. Once again, he wondered how old Vincent actually was? Older than Melath? Younger? About the same? Melath certainly didn't look his own age.

Vincent shifted atop him, gathering Melath's attention. “Then what would you have of me, Anoth-di?” he questioned, voice approaching a purr.

He recognized it in an instant. The silken, sultry tones of a whore. The sort of tone Vincent had probably been taught and knew to use because it was all he knew. Melath let the blatant attempt at manipulation pass.

“Your loyalty and your submission,” Melath answered after a moment's thought, one hand settling on Vincent's thigh, feeling the flex of strong muscles beneath his fingers. “I am not concerned about the rest.”

He knew that his statement confused Vincent. The other man wrinkled his brow, trying to reconcile Melath's words with what he was used to expecting from the previous men – or even women, one never knew in Tears -- in his life.

“I do not want a slave,” Melath clarified.

“Just a sex slave.”

“If you would like to see it that way.” Melath's fingers wandered to the rings in Vincent's ears, the piercings still red and tender. They suited him. “But you are my slave and should anyone else touch you, I will have their head.”

A touch of arrogance entered Vincent's expression as he squared his shoulders, putting more distance between himself and Melath, though the action didn't dislodge Melath's touch. “And I suppose I should be grateful for that.”

Melath's fingers dropped to Vincent's hair, which slid through his touch like silk despite the less than clean nature. A high ponytail would not suit Vincent, Melath decided. But perhaps a braid would, a thick, corded twist of that dark hair. Yes, he would definitely suggest a braid.

“You're free to do as you wish,” Melath murmured, Vincent's heat palpable as the other man continued to straddle Melath.

Vincent snorted. “What do you do with your life, Anoth'di?”

Lips firming, Melath jerked on the handful of hair, wrenching Vincent's head painfully. He easily evaded the awkward punch that Vincent retaliated with, catching the chained wrists in his free hand. He forced Vincent to look at him, his body heating at the challenge in those beautiful eyes.

“You will call me master or Melath, but do not name me as such again,” Melath said coldly, his voice hissing like an angered serpent.

Vincent swallowed, the arching of his throat making the bob of it plainly visible. “Ashamed?” he asked, strained from his new position. Not an inch of subservience despite his precarious standing.

He chose to ignore the impertinent question because he was under no requirement to answer it. “I have no direct responsibility,” Melath answered instead, refusing to loosen his hold on Vincent's hair. “But I have heard of a job that might need my expertise.”

Vincent's gaze flicked in the direction of Melath's sword and the few visible pieces of the light armor he wore. “Where?”

“The Gerault Peninsula.”

Shuddering, the half-breed tried not to let his reaction to the mere name show. “The belly of madness.”

“So they say.” Though Melath wasn't entirely sure why they called it such. He supposed he would find out whenever he ventured that direction. “Not that it matters. You go where I go.”

He wondered if Vincent was overly familiar with the Gerault area. Perhaps he had been born there? Melath had little knowledge of the Anura, except for what he had gleaned from the various cities and peoples he had briefly encountered.

“Nothing but a slave,” Vincent muttered bitterly, laxing once Melath finally released his pinning hold.

Melath's lips curled at those words, lifting into some semblance of a smile. His fingers touched the claiming rings once more, the gold of them setting off Vincent's dusky skin perfectly.

“Perhaps one day you will be more.”

* * * * *

a/n: There will most likely be more oneshots in this universe, as soon as I think of some. I do intend to write them. Eventually.

Anyway, feedback would be much appreciated! I really enjoy hearing what readers think, even if it's just a pleading for more.

Thanks!