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Master of Slaves	By : arsenicstings Category: Final Fantasy VIII > Yaoi - Male/Male > Seifer/Squall Views: 1307 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own FF8, I do not make profit from these works of fiction!

Chapter List
- 14
- 15
- 16
Master of Slaves
By: Baby Chiba
Chapter 15: The Distance Between Two Points

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Run. Run. Run.
Primordial instincts possessed his limbs.
Run. Run Run.
Try as he may, he could not surmount to the Godlike grace that he so desired. He was a mere mortal struggling with the limits set by his muscles. He suffered the burning in his thighs, the tightening of his lungs, and the sinking of his heart.
As he breached the gaping mouth of the marketplace the masses of bodies parted as they saw his bulking form. He appeared predator in the streets, illuminated by fading light, but he felt like a prey, desperately navigating in this labyrinth of darkness.
The wind played tricks upon his mind as it burned his ears. He heard the cruel cracking of a whip. He saw the black leather slapping Squall’s skin. He imagined the vibrant crimson welts bejeweling and rising to meet the hand that dealt them. He pictured the grotesque travesty of entertainment twisting Squall’s face as he hung from his arms, helpless to hide himself from the parasitic eyes of the audience. He envisioned those lucid eyes contorted with panic as he endured his torments with screams that died on his tongue.
Seifer was wild from the images his mind conjured. He did nothing to suppress them. As Squall suffered, he desired to suffer.
He clenched his jaw and ran faster.
He was overwhelmed with images of slaves writhing in torment by his own hand. Suddenly his hand dealt the same atrocities the Count did. Every act of discipline he had dealt transformed into a crime against humanity.
Shackling Squall in his cellar.
Disrobing him and chaining him in his parlor.
Paddling him, touching him, kissing him!
They were all atrocities!
His body lurched violently with feverish need to dispel the contents of his stomach. His gunblade sheath clanked against the ground. He screwed his eyes shut as every rebellious internal organ worked together to push the bile from his cavity. The sour smell rose hot from the damp cobblestone street. He cringed as his body settled from the brutal onslaught. How he had ever deluded himself into believing that his ‘disciplinary’ actions were innocent?
He was no better than the Count.
But he continued to run. It was even more a reason to right the wrong. His running became more than just the act of atonement. Seifer felt he was running from his forlorn past. He had no choice but to run. He had to breech the distance between two points.

Squall reeled back and fell onto the wooden platform as the Count delivered a vicious slap. He cringed as he fell upon his dislocated shoulder. His wrists tethered in front of him prevented him from catching himself as he fell. His head hung over the sharp edge of the scaffold. His eyes sought refuge from the crowds that swarmed like moths around a flame. He refused to meet their empty eyes as if putting them out of sight left them out of mind. However, his eyes caught with Albert’s. The boy was chained and kneeling below the side of the scaffolding. His eyes held enough pity for everyone in the playground. Albert’s eyes foretold of his imminent torture.
He wasn’t given the time to dwell. The Count kicked the bottoms of his naked feet. The veins in his neck bulged as he strained to keep the Count from hearing his pain. A trail of blood trickled from between his clenched teeth. Squall did not know if it was from biting his tongue or from the countless blows the Count delivered.
The extension of the rope that tethered his wrists together was yanked and he was forced to stumble to his knees and obey the twine master. Squall scurried upon his bruised knees as quickly as he could, but the Count pulled too rigorously and he fell upon his chin, ass in the air for all to gawk at.
“ Get up!” The Count laughed caustically.
Those dark eyes were incapable of feeling any emotion on a human spectrum save for vengeance.
“ Try a stunt like that again!” The Count was seething, ravenous with hunger.
The crowd laughed wildly at the spectacle. None of them held a distinguishable voice, they all just melded together into a distorted semblance of sound. The sound still burned his ears. In his periphery he saw mouths contorted in abstract geometrical shapes, the flickering light from the torches warping their images into something menacing. They all fed the Count’s hunger, the endless hole that grew with the emptiness inside him.
The Count slapped him again and he fell to his side, repeating the same vicious cycle. He would have scrambled to his feet and fought, however the Count had rendered him helpless. From trying to escape earlier the Count had whipped the bottoms of his feet so severely that there was barely a shred of flesh left. He had maimed him; he had incapacitated him. Now he was trapped, a spectacle on this scaffolding for all to bear witness. He thought of Nida and the first time he had seen him on this very scaffold. The events of that day were but a blurb of memories from eons ago. His thoughts drifted to Seifer. Seifer had rescued Nida that day, the day he hung, a victim of the Count’s maliciousness. He stopped the progression of thought at that. He would not fantasize of Seifer, a slave trainer in his own right, rescuing him like something from a fairy tale. Seifer had released him; he had no reason to come back for him. Seifer’s former words surged forth from the confines of his mind.
You've never seen lands like these before. Galbadia is cruel. You wouldn't last out here.
So this is what he had meant. Seifer had known what awaited Squall beyond his manor walls.
I never put you on display, nor will I ever…
Squall trembled with the urge to laugh, but his stomach twisted with the urge to vomit. Did Seifer think he was doing him a service by keeping him captive?
Galbadia is cruel.
Yes, yes it was. An imperial land where the definition is captivity is synonymous with charity.
“ Now ladies and gentlemen, the spectacle you’ve all been eagerly awaiting! Prepare to witness the instant domestication of a severely disobedient slave. Behold how the whip delivers him!” The Count’s deep voice roared over the cheering crowds.
Squall stifled a howl into the earthy smelling wood, but was given no time to wallow as he was just as soon hoisted into the air by the pulley system the Count devised. He was stretched out and exposed, the weight of his body felt in his arms. Hanging suspended from his wrists and looking out into the sea of hungry heads he knew what it was to be a true martyr.
It was hard to breathe with his arms so high over his head. He slowly spun in the air, round and round. As he came full circle he saw the Count disrobing. He shed his heavy coat, withdrew his arms from his sleeves and folded the shirt over his waist. Then with heavy strides he approached Squall, the thick black whip in hand. Squall tried to swallow but his throat was dry. The whites of the Count’s eyes seemed to glow against the blackness centered there. The Count pressed himself against Squall’s taut body. His eyes traced a line that his fingers followed down the side of his face, the corner of his lips, his chest, then grabbed his penis and squeezed with a brutal fist.
“ Now the real fun begins my lovely. I will have you screaming in exquisite agony. You will accept me as your master.” The Count breathed through teeth clenched in excitement.
Squall would have heaved all over the Count had he anything in his system. Despite himself he knew his limbs were trembling. The Count chuckled bitterly and licked a trail from his puckering nipple to his neck. It was then he felt the Count’s erection pressing into his thigh. Squall snapped his neck to one side. His lips quivered and he screwed his eyes shut. He felt a hot tear hit his cheek. He had lost his faith in Hyne.
The Count brought the whip above his head. The crowd’s response told Squall his actions. Squall braced himself. He wished himself dead. The humiliation was far worse than the pain would be.
The pain was secondary, but it was still very real and very threatening.
He heard the whip sail through the air. His muscles clenched as well as his eyes in anticipation for the blow. He heard it, a clanking of metal. It sounded off, but he was waiting, waiting for the pain. And… he fell to his knees onto the scaffolding. The rope from the pulley fell upon his head. His eyes shot open.
Time crept across his eyes, soundlessly, slowly.
The glint of a blade blinded his eyes as it lifted into the air from cutting his ropes and aimed towards the Count’s neck. He recognized those fluid moves, the way tendons flexed under sun-kissed skin as it wielded the blade.
Seifer.
Then time caught up with him, and with mouth agape he pushed himself away from the scaffolding center, tugging vigorously at his bindings. But just as he reached the scaffolding edge, hands grabbed at him. He whipped his head around as far back as it would go, the Count’ lackey’s…
Seifer’s warrior trained periphery also caught this. One eye trained on the blade prodding the Count’s neck, the other on Squall.
“Let him go.” There was such a feral quality to Seifer’s voice that it made the hairs on Squall’s arms rise.
The Count, with his chin tilted up from the blade, quirked a bitter smirk, his arms raised at his sides, the whip at his feet.
“You heard him, release the boy.” He spoke in a deceptively steady voice.
His black eyes never left Seifer’s.
The lackey’s were slow to release Squall’s arms, but once they did, Squall was quick to untangle his wrists from his bindings, Albert at his side.
The corner of the Count’s mouth twitched into a semblance of a smile, “Come to admire my handiwork?”
Seifer pushed the edge of his blade into the Count’s larynx, causing a gurgling of sound to spill from his lips.
Seifer made no pretense about why he was there. Spotting the drop of blood that ran down the Count’s neck, he became incensed. He wanted more. He wanted to paint the scaffolding with the Count’s blood. His nostrils flared as the image of Squall strung up and bruised came to mind.
“You have offended me for the last time, Count.” The raspy words barely escaped Seifer’s closing throat.
The Count’s eyes flashed from black to brown.
“No.” Albert whispered, eyes wide.
Squall snapped his neck up from working his bindings at Albert’s plea. He registered Seifer’s body language. He knew what carnage was about to unfold. He wanted nothing more than to see the Count’s head roll, and… he did not know why he did what he did.
“Seifer! Don’t!” The cry cut through Seifer’s focus.
In a flurry of brain activity Seifer registered the sound, weighed out the demand against his own desires.
Squall watched Seifer’s fingers twitch against the handle of his blade, and then he tore away with an exasperated growl. Face twisted in distress his eyes met Squall’s, and he was beside himself. Squall was the reason he was here, not the Count. Turning his back on his bloodlust, he moved to help Squall out of his twine bindings. Squall watched, his eyes unbelieving of what was happening. He knew this was a milestone between Seifer and himself. The day the Master walked away from bloodlust, the bloodlust he knew Seifer craved more than anything at this moment. Though, perhaps not as much as his slave’s safety… The blonde’s descent was interrupted by a shrill cry from behind him. Seifer halted abruptly, teeth bared and face contorted. His hand went to his side and pulled away the color of sanguine.
The Count stood behind Seifer, bloodied knife in hand, smirking maniacally, “ Come now Seifer, you aren’t really going to refuse me this battle for the boy.”
In that moment Albert had undone the last of Squall’s bindings, “ you’re free.”
With that Seifer dove down and gripped Squall’s forearm, hoisting him to his battered feet.
“Run.” Seifer commanded as he sprinted off the stage, a strong hold still on Squall.
A burst of adrenaline ravaged his body as his tender feet collided against the hard ground. It was enough to allow him mobility, past the swarms of intrusive eyes, past the shrieking voices, past the immorality of the playground.
With Seifer’s hold still on his wrist, Squall blindly followed the flutter of the trench coat in front of him, two vagrants escaping into the solitude of night. Squall could hear cries behind them, distorted from the rush of the wind against his ears. He did not dare turn around.
They rounded a corner, through an alley, another corner, and another alley. Each step further into the labyrinth sent a fire up the sole’s of Squall’s feet. Overwhelmed by his injuries, Squall ungainly lost his footing, pulling Seifer with him and slammed into the jagged wall next to him. Seifer regained composure just as Squall curled up and violently emptied his stomach on the street. His trembling body slid down the wall, a thin sheen of sweat glistening his skin. With a pale face Seifer saw the shredded skin on the bottoms of Squall’s feet. He looked down the alley to faintly see Squall’s blood-splattered footsteps that led a path right to them. He swallowed the guilt that lumped in his throat, though he found it incredibly hard to breathe. Breath ragged he hurriedly shrugged out of his trench coat.
“Can you stand?” His steady voice held urgency.
Squall nodded and began to pull himself up. Seifer bent down to help, threw his coat around the trembling boy, then turned around.
“Get on my back.” Came the austere order.
“No.” Squall husked back, voice low with pain.
“Get on.” Seifer demanded again, his patience dwindling.
Squall glared about to refuse again when his footing gave way and he fell into the blonde’s broad back. Seifer hoisted him up, encountering little resistance from the feeble brunet, then briskly strode off, seemingly undisrupted by the added weight.
It was not long before they rounded a corner and a stopped carriage blocked their path. The drivers’ identity obscured by the black cloak draped over his head. Squall’s heart thudded wildly in his chest, thinking it was an adversary. Then the driver drew back his cloak; Irvine. He tipped his hat in mock salutation.
“You two lofty gentleman look like you could use a ride. Get in.” He drawled thickly.
Seifer carried them to the carriage door, helped Squall in, gave the direction, “ to my manor. Pull around back,” and then fluidly slipped in beside him.
As soon as the carriage door shut, Seifer sunk into the leather cushioned seat and exhaled loudly, massaging the palms off his hands over his closed eyes. The silence that fell made Squall uncomfortable, as it was unexpected. He did not know what he expected Seifer to say, but he wanted, needed to hear something.
It had not occurred to Squall, until he glimpsed the hard lines around Seifer’s eyes and mouth, that the man could be exhausted. He looked thoroughly worn, even through the haze of night. It was a strange look for the young blonde that contrasted sharply against everything he had come to know about the slave tamer. Was he the one that wore the relentless and persistent blonde out? His thoughts treaded dangerous territory as he wondered just what he meant to Seifer, and what Seifer would stand to lose by losing him, as a slave. He wanted to ask why Seifer came back. Why he risked his life and his reputation even after he had set him free? Unless Seifer had not really meant to free him... Instead, he gazed at Seifer’s unflinching form, and clung to the trench coat draped around his arms.
And he felt something wet on the inside of the coat. Looking down he touched the dampness and brought his hand out from within. His brows furrowed, as the dampness he touched seemed to paint his hand black. He snapped his neck over to Seifer and dimly made out the same dark dampness staining his side. Blood.
As if he smelled the anxiety off Squall, Seifer’s eyes easily opened towards the boy. He could only make out the wide whites of Squall’s eyes as he was silhouetted by the moonlight, but he knew what was on his mind, and hand.
“ Just a flesh wound.” He said calmly, though he pressed his hand tight against the gash.
The carriage wheels gradually came to a stop. Seifer threw the carriage door open and slid out first. When Squall went to follow he saw Seifer standing directly in the doorway, his back to Squall. After a silent moment of deliberation on Squall’s part, Seifer craned his neck towards the boy.
“ You aren’t walking, get on…last time.” That familiar authoritative tone sent chills down his spine.
Fighting the blonde at this point was futile, with his dislocated shoulder and myriad of bruises and injuries; he would not have stood a chance. He reluctantly draped his arms and legs around Seifer’s broad form. He could not help but blush at the feel of strong pectorals under his palms and cords of working muscle against his groin. The blonde was built like a workhorse. Even though he was injured he showed no outward sign of disability. His show of endurance silently impressed Squall, as he would never admit it.
Irvine jumped down from the driver’s seat and only managed a half step before Seifer sent him an order as well, “ Go fetch my physician.”
“At this hour?” Irvine chuckled lightly, oblivious to their conditions.
“ Go, Irvine!” Seifer bellowed. Squall felt the rumble in his own chest.
“ As his majesty wishes…” Irvine scoffed and jumped back onto his carriage seat.
Seifer carried them through a side entrance, the servant’s quarters, the passageway Squall tried to escape through once upon a time. Being back in Seifer’s manor filled him with conflicting sentiments. He no longer dreaded it, but it brought back a taste of bitter resentment, a dulling resentment.
Seifer stopped at a servant’s quarter and pounded on the wooden door. An elderly woman answered, her face distressed and confused.
“ My apologies, Sirrah, would you run some bathwater up to my chambers please. There’s been an injury.” He spoke hurriedly yet still composed enough not to startle the elderly woman.
It was the first time he witnessed how Seifer treated his servants. And it was not at all what he expected from the blonde. Seifer spoke to his servants with respect. His tone was not that of an expectant master but of a humble master who understood that his servants did not have to do his bidding.
“Of course, at once Sir!” And with that she shut the door to make herself presentable.
As they strode off down the corridor Squall felt voyeuristic, like a fly tagging along on Seifer’s shoulder, seeing a side of the blonde he wasn’t intended to.
Once in his bedchamber Seifer deposited Squall onto the bedside, then strode off to shuffle through his drawers. His chamber still had the candlelight’s flickering from earlier. Squall swallowed hard and pulled the coat tighter around him. He felt wholly vulnerable back in Seifer’s chambers.
Seifer came back with breeches, a shirt, and another coat in his arms. He threw the shirt and breeches next to Squall, and shrugged into the other coat.
“They aren’t yours but they’ll have to do for now.”
Brows raised Squall looked up at Seifer’s unpredicted hospitality. His gaze seemed to make the blonde uncomfortable as he shifted and scratched the back of his neck, darting his eyes away. Squall blinked and looked down at the clothing that would no doubt be five sizes too large.
“Do, do you need help getting in them?” Seifer mistook Squall’s inaction as inability and presumptuously took a step towards him.
Squall quickly shock his head, “No…”
Seifer awkwardly caught himself and retracted his step and aid. He lingered there hesitantly before asking, “ Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
“ No…” Came Squall’s terse answer.
Seifer folded his arms and stood there looking like he wanted to jump out of his skin.
Sirrah interrupted in that moment with a basin far too large for her in hand and cloth tucked under her arm.
“ Here Sir, I put some sea salt in the water.” She waddled in and Seifer jumped to meet her at the threshold and grabbed the basin and cloth from her.
“Thank you very much Sirrah, I’ll take it from here.”
“ Are you sure Sir? Is there anything else I can get for you?” She clasped her willowy hands in what was considered an obedient and sincere display to any master.
“No, no that will be all Sirrah. Go get some rest.” Seifer insisted and turned to place the basin on the floor, under Squall’s dangling feet.
Her mouth made a little ‘o’ as she saw Squall on the bed, half dressed in oversized breeches. She must not have caught him earlier hanging off Seifer’s back.
“T-thank you Sir.” She stuttered and bowed as she exited through the threshold of his chamber.
Squall looked down at the top of mussed blonde hair as Seifer knelt, saturating the washcloths in warm salt water.
He looked up and caught Squall’s eyes.
“ This will sting, but the salt will help cleanse away bacteria and infection.” He waited, the statement also asking permission to continue.
Squall nodded.
The blonde gingerly touched the warm cloth to the sole of Squall’s left foot. Squall hissed, as expected, it stung. His foot involuntarily twitched. He did the same to the right foot. Then motioned Squall to submerge both his feet into the basin. As he did he bit back a groan of agony.
Once in, Seifer cupped both Squall’s ankles and squeezed gently, enough to steady his twitching feet and cut off some of the circulation, lessening the searing sensation of salt sucking out the bacteria in his flesh. It was a tender gesture. It added to the paradox that was Seifer. Things were easier when hate and anger were primary motivators.
After a few moments the water turned rusty and dingy. Seifer pulled Squall’s feet out; they dangled over the basin. Seifer took one of the clean cloths and pressed it lightly against each of the soles of Squall’s feet, collecting the excess grim and blood.
It felt odd to have Seifer fussing over him. It felt odd to be back in Seifer’s manor, in his bedchambers, in a wholly different capacity. Perhaps the silence felt so thick because neither knew in which capacity they stood with one other. So much had changed since the last time they were together.
“Almasy?” A foreign voice came from the threshold.
Seifer let the cloth fall into the basin. He stood wiping his hands on his shirt before extending one out to the visitor. Irvine lingered behind in the threshold of the doorway, ankles and arms crossed.
“ Dr. Kadowski, thank you for coming. I’m sorry about the intrusion.” Seifer began in earnest but the Doctor’s easy laugh silenced him.
“ Please Dear, if I’m not used to your untimely episodes after servicing you and your family for this long, then I’m afraid I’m a lost cause as much as you.” The wrinkles around her smiling eyes told of the myriad of times she’d dealt with Seifer’s injuries.
Seifer cracked a tired smile at the doctor before stepping aside and gesturing towards Squall.
“ I have an entire kit dedicated to the Almasy household in the event that something like this crops up.” She continued as she knelt before Squall and dropped her leather case next to her.
Her smile came effortlessly and she had a matronly quality that made her easy to trust as she poked and prodded at Squall’s tender feet.
“ There’s a flesh wound, and then there’s a flesh wound.” Irvine chimed in with his usual ill-timed quips.
Both the Doctor and Squall glared at Irvine, but the crude man was really only there for moral support for Seifer. Though the towering blonde was silent and barely registered him if only to snap at him, he knew he appreciated his presence. Just as he predicted that Seifer would do something heroically compromising in order to get Squall back from the Count’s captivity. It was old friend intuition.
“ The damage is done but not irreparably so. I’m going to apply an ointment and leave a salve with you to apply when the ointment dries up.” The Doctor began as she pulled a jar of dark jelly like substance from her bag and began dabbing it onto his feet. “ The ointment is to prevent infection and the salve is to cool the skin, because I guarantee you, this healing process is going to burn.” She annunciated that last part by looking Squall dead in the eyes, much that same way Seifer did earlier.
She stood up and dusted her skirts off, “ By decree of me stay off your feet, if you don’t, the results could be regrettable.”
Irvine chuckled at her informal yet authoritative tone.
The Doctor arched one brow playfully towards Seifer and Irvine, “ You laugh but I can’t tell you how many unnecessary visits the both of you have acquired by not listening to my very simple instructions.”
It was almost comical how the playful remarks made both men look like little boys who had just been chastised.
“ Alright, is that all? How about you Almasy? Any injuries?” The Doctor inquired as she started collecting her things.
“ No.” Came Seifer’s curt response.
Yes.
Yes he did.
Squall wanted to say as much to the Doctor, but Seifer was his own man. If he didn’t think he needed medical attention, then he didn’t. Squall wasn’t about to henpeck.
The Doctor scrutinized him a moment longer, “…Alright. I’ll be on my way then. Irvine, if you’d be so kind as to drop me off from whence you kidnapped me.”
“ Why certainly, for my favorite physician.” He bowed and extended his elbow for the woman, who knocked him upside the head before continuing ahead of him.
“Aww, c’mon Doc, I’m needy.” Irvine’s voice flowed from outside the chambers.
And then it was just two, left again in heavy silence.
Seifer rubbed the back of his neck and turned towards the door, where the remnants of Irvine’s voice carried.
“ I suggest staying here for the night,” Seifer began, then stopped and looked over at Squall with a glossy unfamiliar look in his eyes, “ unless… you have somewhere else you’d like to go…”
Squall looked down and shook his head.
Seifer inhaled and nodded in response, his eyes finding solace in the ceiling.
“ You stay here. I’ll take the guest chamber.”
“ I’ll sleep there.” Squall interjected quickly, uncomfortable with the idea of displacing Seifer, and just overall uncomfortable.
“ Don’t move. You need to stay off your feet. Any more walking around and you are likely to get staff infection. Then there’s really nothing anyone can do for you.” He finished the last part with an ominous undertone.
Squall nodded dumbly. He knew Seifer was right. Again.
And then there was one. And he had never felt so utterly alone.

TBC…
Oh goodness! Again my sincerest apologies for taking forever to get this updated! Thank you to all my loyal and dedicated readers who have prompted me to get this out of my head! It's you guys that push me to continue! Really it is!
My career has been taking off much quicker than I anticipated and I’ve been swamped with work! 18-hour days, 6 days a week are not conducive to a healthy writing schedule. Thus is the film industry though…
Another update soon! Promise!
Check out The Glitch Mob – Between two points, it was a big inspiration to this chapter! Also an overall amazing song!
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Master of Slaves