Master of Slaves

BY : arsenicstings
Category: Final Fantasy VIII > Yaoi - Male/Male > Seifer/Squall
Dragon prints: 1072
Disclaimer: I do not own FF8, I do not make profit from these works of fiction!


A/N: I would like to thank everyone so much for waiting patiently for the next installment of my wannabe epic here. I’m doing my thesis this summer so everything has been really hectic. Let me just say that I fully intend to finish this story out, for those that have messaged me worried about that. I promise to finish this story, hopefully within 2010!

On another note, I think it’s interestingly ironic that a puppeteer is also called a manipulator hehe.

Enjoy!

Master of Slaves
Chapter 13: The Point of No Return

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

Strung up like a puppet.

With strings of chain link manipulated by a sadistic puppeteer, a manipulator.

The term couldn’t have lent itself to more accuracy if Squall had coined it himself, especially with the twisted smirk that played across Seifer’s lips.

That wicked smirk deepened his scowl and reminded him that he had sold himself to the devil.

Casting his eyes up for the umpteenth time he gazed at the elaborate craftsmanship from which his limbs hung suspended from the rafters. He vehemently cursed Seifer’s ingenuity.

He must have committed genocide in a previous life or Hyne would have at least stuck him with a conventional master, not a fucking mechanical genius.

With his lower thighs clamped and thrown apart, his upper arms and wrists bejeweled with metallic cuffs connected to a pulley that Seifer controlled at will, he really did resemble a marionette.

Squall pulled his outstretched arms down against his metal restraints only to have them yanked back up by Seifer.

He snapped his neck up at the smirking blonde.

“ Just testing.” Seifer grinned wolfishly.

The blonde licked his lips, his tongue slowing over the angry red bump, testament to why Squall was here in the first place. But that sweet victory seemed cobwebbed in a past long forgotten now.

Seifer casually leaned his weight on the bundle of chains in his hands, causing Squall’s arms to remain outstretched from the opposing weight.

The blonde’s emerald eyes seemed to sparkle under the flickering candlelight.

“ As entertaining as your antics were, you will be reaping the consequences of those actions.”

Squall sneered, the candles playing with his shadows to look more menacing than they were.

Seifer grinned broadly and released the little tension he held on the chains. Squall’s arms fell to his sides, a loud clanking of metal sounding.

“ Comfortable?” Seifer leered.

Squall closed his eyes against the tremor of rage that tingled his spine. He twitched slightly restraining himself, remembering Rinoa’s advice.

If he played the obedient puppet, his manipulator would cast him aside.

Playtime…

When he reopened his eyes the usual gray hue was smoothed over by a calm blue, like placid waves.

Seifer beamed at the subtle change in his lion’s demeanor, “ Good, let’s begin.”
With the grace that only a natural predator could possess he stalked away to retrieve a chair, then returned and slowly settled into it, sliding his long limbs out as if to entice his little marionette.

Squall tightened his jaw against the sudden surge of adrenaline in his chest.

Once settled in with haughty ease Seifer leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs at the ankles, “ Now as per agreement you will be saving me this laborious effort by consenting.”

A chastising snort erupted in the back of Squall’s throat, “ I doubt this is any bit taxing for you.” He dared in a low voice.

Shadows flickered across the blonde’s features and seemed to shift his face into something ominously sterile, “ Hold your tongue.” He spoke with controlled precision, “ You’re going to like what I have in store.”

Fixating a glare on the blonde he waited for this animal in gentleman’s guise to deal his worst.

“ Touch yourself.” Came the gruff order from Seifer’s lips …and it knocked the wind from Squall’s lungs.

The brunet blinked in disbelief.

Slowly Seifer’s lips curled into a small smile, “ Your punishment is to relieve yourself.” He could see the wheels turning in Squall’s brain as he tried to process the odd order and draw out all the possibilities of where this could lead to a forked road in which he would become cornered. So Seifer decided to spell it out plain and simple for him.

“ You will touch yourself, and I’m going to watch.” His baritone voice rumbled and with a flick of his thumb he unclasped the button on his tightening breeches.

When it all came together in his mind Squall’s gut instinct was to lash out and try, though in vain, to inflict some sort of pain onto the blonde.

With quickened breaths he willed his heart steady and his mind to reason.

Yes, it was humiliating,

His lashes fluttered against his pale cheeks.

But no more so than anything else Seifer had subjected him to in the past.

At least this time it was by his hands.

An immense pressure throbbed behind his eyes as he forced the great wall of pride within to crumble.

Detaching himself from the blonde’s ever prying eyes he felt his fingers curl around his penis before he realized he was complying.

The first stroke was the most humiliating.

His hand trembled as it slowly slid down the dry flesh of his shaft.

He snapped his head to the side, his hair covering his stained cheeks. This was such an intimate act, and he was left utterly vulnerable to the sadistic blonde.

“ I didn’t say stop.” Seifer purred.

Through his bangs stormy eyes glanced up at Seifer’s smug face.

Sadistic puppet master…

The only sound was his labored breaths coming through plush lips. That arrogant look plastered on Seifer’s face incensed him and gave him the impetus over that last piece of prideful debris.

The quicker he complied the sooner this would only be a distant nightmare in the back of his mind.

Squeezing himself tighter in his fist he started pumping his penis to life. Gritting his teeth and screwing his eyes shut he tried to shut himself off from the outside world. But he could feel those intense green eyes burning through his lids and into his. There really was no escaping him… but was he really trying?

As if to validate that he was he snapped his eyes open and his vision was immediately overtaken by lust-laden jade. And he met those burning eyes with cold fire. Something in the way those eyes burned his flesh and boiled his blood added to his arousal.

It was fire feeding fire.

His breaths quickened into soft gasps from between moist lips.

The first drop of moisture from his angry red tip spilled over his thumb and though Seifer’s eyes never broke from his, he knew.

“ Slow down.” The blonde commanded huskily.

Squall’s breath hitched and his eyes widened just barely at the cruel command.

He forced his trembling hand still around his throbbing erection, and with heart thudding wildly in his chest he felt that drop of cum gracefully slide over his hand. His straining cock did not want to listen to his deliberating mind and twitched in his embrace. He grit his teeth with the staggering realization that he almost unhinged in front of Seifer…

He was to play the puppet, not become one. The ease with which he almost became Seifer’s willing puppet sent cold fear dripping down his spine, however, that did nothing to quell the heat in his loins, and he wondered just how much control he still had over himself.

Seifer ate up the sultry sight before him with predator-like lust growling in his green eyes. Had breathing been voluntary he would have asphyxiated as he watched elegantly long fingers slowly work that glistening shaft.

He licked his lips as the hunger coursed through his veins like a disease. It took every ounce of will power he possessed to remain seated and simply watch; it was almost as much punishment for him as it was for Squall. But as he watched grey eyes flutter and narrow hips begin to shallowly buck into his working hand, it made it all worthwhile. He flicked the second clasp on his breeches open as his pants became relentlessly tighter.

That pale face pulled taunt in conflicted pleasure was the sweetest aphrodisiac Seifer had ever known. He wanted this to be the last image he saw before he died. So when he recognized the subtle contortions in Squall’s face and the desperation in his frenzied pace, he had to stop him.

With a hard pull on the chains that rested under his boot he yanked Squall’s slick hands off his organ and into the air.

A desperate groan tore from Squall’s throat and wide grey eyes pinned him in fierce confusion. Seifer couldn’t help but smirk at how he had martyred his puppet, with rigid sex and arms outstretched; even Hyne had to be weeping. He lavished in the way Squall’s slick sex slapped against his taunt stomach and the way his stomach contracted with each heady breath.

He had no doubt that Hyne was weeping…

“ One stroke. Only one.” Seifer rasped, voice raw with unbridled need as he let the chains slowly descend.

Squall’s flushed face contorted into incredulity. Overwhelmed by the heat pulsating through his loins, logic had taken a backseat to his rival lust and Squall heard nothing of what Seifer said. As his arms descended he grabbed his twitching cock and pumped himself feverishly. He had just enough time to throw his head back before his arms were roughly jerked away and arrested high in the air again.

He growled and jerked back against his restraints. The frenzied look in his eyes made Seifer glad that he was chained.

“ I said one stroke only Squall.” The blonde reprimanded but it rolled off his tongue like velvet.

And a silent battle ensued. It was in the eyes, always in the eyes. Grinding his teeth against the heaviness in his balls and the heat in his groin, the silent battle became a momentary reprieve for Squall. He recognized the predatory glaze over Seifer’s eyes. One word echoed in his mind and it brought him back from the land of the lustful.

One solemn and staggeringly sobering word.

Puppet.

And so he would be…

He had to be if he ever wanted to see the outside world without metal bracelets.

Seeing the tumultuous grey smooth over into passive blue, Seifer released his hold on Squall’s restraints once again.

Seifer watched the brunet’s trembling hand as he gripped his throbbing sex with bruising force. Then blue eyes peered up through fallen bangs and he delivered one, slow stroke to his slick cock, never once breaking eye contact.

Seifer nearly unhinged. He cock twitched in his breeches and suddenly he felt stiflingly hot.

“ Two strokes.” He spoke hoarsely spreading his legs a little more.

Again that elegant hand pumped up and down his shaft, his stomach muscles constricting with the effort of controlling himself. Those eyes stayed burning into Seifer’s, waiting for his next command. And the fact that he had Squall at his beck and call sent such an intense pool of heat rushing to his groin he couldn’t resist touching his own needy sex.

“ A slow, steady pace now.” The puppet master purred.

Taking a slow and unsteady breath Squall stroked the hot flesh between his thighs. Consciousness half glazed over by his bodily needs he surrendered himself to the mind-numbing pleasure. After all, it wasn’t very often that he actually felt compelled to relieve himself, too wound up with anger at everything.

Seifer rubbed the prominent bulge begging to bust out of his breeches and electricity surged through his body, curling his toes. He knew he was close and he had barely even touched himself.

Interrupting the sultry brunet seemed like blasphemy, however, Seifer never contested to being a blasphemer. Abrasively he tugged the chains and brought Squall’s arms up into a mock crucifixion once again.

Squall bit his lip hard to stifle the pleading moan that inevitably came. Desperate angry eyes sought Seifer.

He was in exquisite agony. He was teeming with seed ready to burst through his engorged red shaft. Seifer’s eyes hungrily followed a stream of moisture that leaked from his head down his flesh and fist, over his ruddy balls and between the cleft of his buttocks.

Seifer pulled his penis from the confines of his breeches and it twitched anxiously. Eyes clouded with lust looked up at Squall to see him staring at Seifer’s enflamed member. He almost smirked. He would have had he not been so aroused. At this point he too was losing all sense and sensibility.

“ You may only come after me.” Seifer rasped out roughly, his heightened state of arousal making it difficult to speak.

Still staring at Seifer’s impressive length he absently nodded, expecting his arms to be released, but they were not. Seifer kept a firm hold on the chains and a firm hold on his cock. In a death grip he stroked himself, slowly at first, eyes locked on Squall, studying the boy’s reactions. When Squall unconsciously licked his lips and his member twitched against his thigh, Seifer unconsciously sped up. He couldn’t remember ever being this aroused before. His limbs trembled with the thought of taking Squall right there. He wanted to, Hyne how he wanted to. But even through frantic arousal and temptation, he couldn’t disregard his moral code.

He would not take Squall without consent.

His own fluids leaked over his shaft at an alarming rate making the wet slapping sound of flesh prominent as he pumped himself faster and harder. And he released Squall’s arms.

Squall matched his frenzied pace knowing nothing else except the most basic of human needs, release. He was so close he could smell it, the pungent smell of masculinity heavy in the air. His whole body was flushed and writhing under his fist, hips bucking, thighs and stomach clenching. A small cry escaped past his plush lips. Hearing such a wanton sound threw Seifer over the edge, he grunted roughly twice before his entire body tensed and he came, violently.

Following suit, Squall squeezed himself even tighter in his fist and came with a strangled moan, bucking against his hand as he shot ribbon after ribbon of hot fluid.

Joining Seifer in his symphony of jagged breaths he swooned as he rode his high from heaven. His toes went numb and he could barely keep his eyelids open. He hung his head utterly spent.

Both men sat there motionless for a few moments, collecting their remaining wits. Seifer was the first to move. He stood tucking himself back into his pants and pulling something from his pocket. Squall moved his eyes only to look at Seifer as he advanced towards him. The blonde crouched down and looked up at him with the most vibrant green in his eyes that Squall had ever seen.

A silly half smirk pulled at his lips as he began unfastening the clasps at Squall’s thighs. Squall lazily followed the motions, his head leaning on a chain for support still reeling. Then the blonde began wiping the seed clean from his thighs and stomach with the handkerchief he’d pulled from his pocket. Normally Squall would have fiercely objected however he allowed it this time. He rationalized that allowing Seifer to pamper him was also part of playing the puppet he had to endure if he wanted to see the light of day again.

Perhaps now that he’d been obedient he would get some reprieve from his wicked ways. And then Squall felt a familiar ring being rolled over his flaccid penis and a familiar pressure around his overly sensitive shaft.

There would be no reprieve.

Seifer chuckled softly at the sneer on Squall’s face, patting his cheek as he stood to unhook his shackles from the rafters.

He was still too dazed to muster any real negative emotion even as the blonde led him away by the cuffs on his wrists like a strung up puppet.

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

“ Hold out your blade.” Seifer deadpanned, his own wooden blade limb in his grasp.

Squall glared though it paled in comparison to the sun’s glare that had him squinting furiously.

Stealing a look up at his captor standing gracefully at ease there was a second, a tiny, incomprehensible second, of appreciation that entered and left Squall’s unconscious mind. The sun was vengeful. Squall could feel his skin practically searing off his sweat-slicked shoulders. But Seifer seemed to feel none of the sun’s wrath; instead he stood there, tall and confident, as if the light were there to illuminate his sun-kissed skin.

A modern day Adonis.

Grimacing, Squall held out his blade, pointing it straight at Seifer’s throat. He wanted to mar that smooth tan skin.

Seifer casually knocked it out of his grasp, as if he had been swatting at mosquitoes, his face impassive.

Squall glared again as he bent down to retrieve his blade.

Seifer merely scratched one of his arched brows with his free hand.

Squall detested the mode Seifer assumed while training. The blonde was infuriating enough when his intentions were clear, but now with this stoic face Squall at a loss as to what the blonde was feeling or planning.

And there was nothing more dangerous than an unpredictable Seifer.

“ Hold out you blade.” He commanded again in a new tone that Squall was slowly becoming acquainted with.

Squall forcefully brought the blade up again, feeling the burn in his shoulders as he did so.

And was promptly disarmed again.

Squall hissed out a vile curse as he was thrown off balance by the momentum of Seifer’s blade, which left his blade sweeping across the sand. He snapped his sore neck up at the blonde with a look that would have made a lesser man weep.

He was at his wits end.

All morning the blonde had him performing grueling tasks, from stretching to sprinting, to inanely holding his arms out in front of him until his muscles collapsed from exertion, and then again. He understood the value of some of the tasks, but now he was questioning whether the blonde was taking this training proposition seriously or if he was just using this to subjugate him further.

Chest heaving and sweat dripping down his temples this is what he silently demanded from Seifer.

Instead of cracking a wise-ass bit of sarcasm like he usually did, the blonde simply turned on his heels with the same stern look on his face since dawn this morning, and retrieved Squall’s fallen blade.

In a violent mixture of confusion and frustration Squall watched Seifer walk away from him, retrieve the blade, flawlessly flip it in his hand, and hold the handle end out to Squall, gesturing him to take hold of it once more.

Squall merely stared down at the handle and up again at Seifer as if he’d lost his mind.

“ We’re going to do this all night until you learn how to hold the damn thing properly.” Seifer explained sternly, urging Squall to silently take the blade handle from him.

He felt insulted that the entire day’s lesson was dedicated to holding a blade. Meeting stern green eyes that sparkled with challenge, he found the impetus to rise to the occasion. Squall forcefully gripped the blade handle. Seifer’s hand lingered a moment longer than necessary on the other end of the blade before returning to a blade’s length away from Squall.

“ Now, hold your blade out.” And Squall saw the first hints of a smile pulling at Seifer’s lips since last night.

And so the rest of the day went as promised until nightfall.

However, it did not stop at nightfall.

A different kind of training began when the stars were bright.

Also as promised by their pact.

Squall was beginning to think of it as a one-sided suicide pact.

Here he was once again made to mimic a marionette. And as he craned his stiff neck up towards the rafters to inspect Seifer’s handiwork his stomach churned at his lack of resolve.

The fact alone that he had taken Seifer’s proposition up was testament to how malleable he had become in Seifer’s hands.

Dropping his head with a deep breath of dismay he wondered just how much more malleable he’d become before he could be rid of his chains. In that very moment hands roughly grabbed his semi-erect length and squeezed, forcing his head up and a hiss from his lips.

Cloudy gray eyes met with a fierce smirk, that smirk that meant so many different things to him. But all those things were driven from his mind as a large calloused hand delivered a firm stroke to his cock, and magically brought it to life.

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


The days came and went as such.

Blade by day, flesh by night.

And the distinction between reality and pretend meshed into a single mold of one-sided submission, one that Seifer held in the palm of his hand.

“ Proper form is vital.” Seifer belayed to Squall.

His naked chest was absent of any perspiration even though the sun beat down across his flesh, accentuating every taut line of muscle definition in his upper body.

“ You hold poor form.” The blonde began and with godly speed and precision his blade arm snaked out and knocked the blade right from Squalls grasp, making it look like child’s play. “ You have already lost the first battle.” He finished with smiling eyes.

Those eyes that said they held an edge over Squall.

And it unnerved Squall how the blonde was always a step ahead of him.

In a flash of light against steel Seifer wielded his blade over his back in a fanciful display of talent, then pointed the tip of his blade towards Squall.

“ Now, show me your offensive stance.” Seifer voiced in challenge.

All the blood rushed to Squall’s head as he heard the challenge. If there was one thing Seifer was master of it was getting Squall’s competitive nature to emerge.

There was thick blood between them, good and bad.

Squall assumed his offensive stance, steely eyes biding Seifer to confront him. He watched as green eyes skirted his body, lacking all of the animalistic ferocity they held at night. These eyes were judgmental but honest, always honest.

“ That…” Seifer motioned with his blade at Squall’s pose, “ I don’t know what that is. Are you ready to waltz with that steel?” The blonde critiqued, using his blade as a pointer.

Immediately Squall felt his throat tighten. He narrowed his eyes in defense. Had he been a lesser man he would have struck while Seifer was not expecting it.

“ Come on, spread your feet apart and hold your power in your thighs.” Seifer began demonstrating, his tone highly didactic, which indicated to Squall that his intentions really were to teach and not humiliate.

Squall listened to that tone, because he respected it. In a distorted sense he respected that Seifer was teaching his captive the art of the gunblade. It was a highly reputable art form. Although it was part of their pact that Seifer teach him the blade, there was nothing but honor that kept him true to his word. Squall knew this. And it was from this knowledge that he came to respect the boisterous blonde. He became tolerable. And when night fell extraneous tolerability remained, and it scared Squall like nothing else.

Pretending turned tolerating. He became a prisoner inside himself, unable to muster up the hatred and anger, and unwilling to fight any longer. Of course he wanted his freedom, of course he still resented Seifer, but as the days came and went, he felt his control dwindling.

He was powerless.

“ Being the best isn’t about being the strongest, but the quickest. You have to know your opponents next move before they do.” Seifer spoke, each word articulated with a pace back and forth.

Squall stood stretched out in a proper defense stance, watching, waiting for Seifer to emphasis his next point with a strike.

“ You will learn to read your opponents body. Every offense step they take, which is their dominant arm, where their weakness lies. Every step, every muscle twitch, you will see it, and only then do you have a chance at winning.” The blonde spoke with such enthusiasm Squall found himself engaged, strung along by mere words.

This was what brought Seifer to life.

The Gunblade.

It was evident in the way he spoke, in his walk, and in his eyes.

Those honest eyes now shone with a childish excitement, something pure and untainted by age and vice.

Seifer halted his pacing steps in front of Squall, “ You have the time in which your opponent picks up their weapon before the duel begins to do that studying.” He said earnestly, brows slightly arched. And then a small smile curled his pale lips, “ So you must become proficient at it.”

Without turning his back to Squall he retreated four steps. Squall barely had time to register the subtle shift in weight that indicated Seifer was on the offense, “ Now…what’s my next move?” And then he was upon the brunet in a billowing sandstorm of agility.

Squall clumsily parried the halfhearted slash and quickly recovered into his defensive stance. Seifer was already retreating and circling Squall with quick calculating steps, trapping him inside an invisible circle.

His heart thudded in his chest to the rhythm of Seifer’s steps. His sweaty fingers flexed around the handle of his blade. He tried to anticipate the blonde’s next move. He watched his feet, watched his hands, watched his eyes, and failed to foresee the premeditated attack. Seifer came at him with a spin and swing. Squall grappled to block the attack but the momentum of an afterthought swing threw off his balance. Seifer diverted the momentum of his swing as he saw Squall wouldn’t meet his blade. But his steel came close to drawing blood. The near mishap made him slightly nervous and anxious.

“ Come on Squall! Read my body! Where am I going next?” Seifer’s authoritative voice boomed out over the sand arena.

Squall staggered back to his feet and wheeled his body around to follow Seifer’s pacing steps again. He was becoming increasingly impatient with himself.

Dangerously narrowed eyes focused on Seifer once more. The blonde’s eyes remained trained on him, the eyes of an experienced warrior. He was sizing him up, breaking his technique down, and formulating a strategy in his head all with one glance.

Squall was still reeling when the blonde came at him again, but it was a juke. Seifer stopped short and retreated.

He was testing Squall.

“ Don’t listen to me, watch me!” Seifer bellowed.

He felt he was on fire, the sun beating down on his skin, and the fervor of the fight devouring his senses.

He trained his eyes on Seifer’s limbs. And there it was, the briefest twitch of his fingers over his handle, and time seemed to suspend itself as he prepared for the attack.

And when Seifer came at him Squall returned with a well-aimed strike in response.

“ Yes! Focus, focus!” Seifer hollered enthusiastically holding up a clenched fist.

The small gesture brought Squall to life. If it was night that killed him, then it was day that revived him. In the day he could keep his integrity intact.

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

Squall was slow to bathe.

He was in no hurry to meet with what awaited him. The blonde usually watched him bathe, but not tonight. Squall wanted to take advantage of this rare privacy. Exhaustion weighed him down; it was evident in how slowly he dragged the sponge across his skin.

His muscles ached with an all to familiar burn, begging for the sleep he would get so soon.

However it was not soon enough.

Lowering his head in disgrace his bangs fell over his half-lidded eyes. He sighed deeply, trembling in the process.

Nothing was as it should be. Everything was backwards.

Everyday Squall witnessed just how capable the blonde was at wielding his weapon. And everyday he became a bit more disillusioned about his freedom. His previous plan of learning the craft from the enemy and plotting to use that craft against him seemed hopeless, and in the least, eons away. Seifer was a soldier, a warrior at heart.

Squall did not stand a chance as he was now.

The doors to freedom were slowly closing.

Sliding back against the cold porcelain tub he let his heavy lids drape close.

There was one last way in which he could secure his freedom.

Puppet.

Everything he had left was riding on this façade.

All that was left of him was this façade.

He swallowed against the tightening in his throat.

He had unknowingly slapped another shackle onto his wrists.

He brought his palms up to his eyes and pressed, pressed until all was black. Black. Black. Black. But the thoughts remained.

It wasn’t the actual ‘punishment’ that he dreaded, it was how his body reacted. He lifted his head abruptly and his nostrils flared at the image of himself conforming to Seifer’s hand.

Bile rose in the back of his throat at the thought of how masterfully Seifer had trained his body to obey his touch, his command. Even in his absence he felt the ghost of hot hands stroking him, prodding him, kneading him.

And his manhood stirred to life.

Cringing, he stared bitterly between his legs, cursing his traitorous flesh. Hot tears welled up in his eyes and threatened to fall.

He understood now Nida’s submission.

He understood now the look held in the eyes of slaves in the playground.

He understood now why Seifer was known around Galbadia as the master of slaves.

Through humiliation and depravation, through cunning and deceit, Seifer had made him a slave to his own body, and in turn, had become master over him.

For all the pretending, and tolerating, and fighting, it amounted to nothing.

In the end he too had a hand in his enslavement.

If only he were a stronger man.

If only Seifer were a weaker one.

Swallowing hard he recomposed himself. The water was cold and Seifer never left his side for too long. If he couldn’t have his freedom or his pride he wanted to salvage what little dignity he had left.

Standing from the bath, the cold water rushing down his limbs, he held his chin high, internally repeating the mantra that kept him going through the endless night.

Puppet, Puppet, Puppet.

After abrasively drying off he stepped under the threshold of the bath chamber door. Leaning seductively against the bedpost, arms and legs crossed was his master. It took Squall every ounce of discipline to not look away when carnal eyes caught his. Those eyes racked up and down his naked body, stopping over his erect penis. Something in the blonde’s expression changed, he couldn’t pinpoint what, much less be sure he saw anything, but he felt a change.

His heart dropped.

Squall limply held out his arms, a common practice after bath time to accept his shackles and be led downstairs into the cellar where his nightly ‘punishments’ were given.

Seifer lowered his arms and smirked, “ There will be none of that tonight. I have a treat for you instead.”

Squall’s arms slowly returned to his sides. His heart skipped a beat. With furrowed brows he looked to Seifer for clarity.

The blonde pushed himself off the bedpost with unnatural grace, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. Stalking towards Squall he unbuttoned his shirt and let it fall off his muscular arms and float onto the ground behind him.

Squall glanced at the discarded shirt, full well understanding what Seifer intended.

He swallowed thickly.

Puppet. Puppet. Puppet.

Once Seifer reached him, their noses mere inches apart he utterly huskily, “ Tonight I show you how generous of a master I can be.”

All that Squall registered was the overwhelming masculine smell that was Seifer before lips were on his, hard and rough.

It was a violent semblance of a kiss, which didn’t last long as those hot lips moved down to his neck and shoulder. Seifer’s hand entwined in Squall’s damp locks and pulled roughly. A small sound that resembled a moan came from the back of Squall’s throat at the rough treatment. Seifer’s grip grew tighter at the mistaken sound.

Play the puppet. Play the puppet.

Squall’s eyes fluttered at Seifer’s feverish aggression. And the battle of morality versus survival ensued. His integrity gone, his sanity compromised, he was forced into this submissive role. This disgustingly submissive role that excited him!

He was sick.

Seifer was sick.

But if this were what it took to end his bondage, then he would endure it.

Seifer roughly detached himself from Squall and threw him over his shoulder, hauling him over to the gargantuan bed. He was thrown down so forcefully onto the mattress he bounced up an inch before he settled, however, Seifer was over him too quickly for it to matter.

The blonde gripped Squall’s lightly tanned thighs with bruising force and wrenched them apart, settling between them.

His eyes glowed with a hint of madness to them. It was the look of a ravenous animal about to consume its prey.

Squall’s veins were exploding with heat. He was throbbing, anticipating, panting, and dreading all at once.

He tried to will his heart and limbs still. He had to accept this. This was the key to his freedom. And yet his brain was screaming for it all to stop.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this!

There was too much respect; there was too much resentment.

Towering over him on all fours Seifer lunged for his lips again. The lips that remained slack. He couldn’t bring himself to react accordingly in time. Sensing something amiss, Seifer brought his head up, slowly.

With reddened lips slightly agape he looked down into his slave’s eyes.

The storm was gone. There was no fight. There was no anger. There was only a look of broken fear, a look well aware.

Wanting more than anything to believe his eyes deceived him, he sat back on his haunches, hoping the candlelight was playing tricks.

When Squall slowly sat up he saw clearly those gray eyes weighed down with exhaustion. Those pathetic eyes were now just a mocking reflection of cold steel.

Wide-eyed he shook his head in utter incredulity.

“ You don’t want this.” He barely whispered.

Seifer caught the flicker of reluctance across dead eyes.

His stomach churned.

He couldn’t believe he’d been so blind. He was so preoccupied with Squall’s seemingly successful submission that he hadn’t stopped to think of any of it as a pretense.

Squall watched with trepidation as Seifer grappled with the realization. He felt like a child about to be scorned. He had been found out. His ulterior motives revealed in a single glance. He was crumbling as the seconds dragged on. He had lost his last thread of hope to escape. There was nothing left for him. He would never be free…

Seifer pressed a clammy hand against his forehead as he staggered off the bed, clumsily. His eyes glazed and unfocused. He braced himself with both hands against his dresser.

He had been played as the sweet fool. He had been foolishly devoted to a boy who was desperate to escape him. Seifer thought he’d vomit right there. The thought of his fierce little lion so utterly broken that he would allow Seifer to rape him forced him into sensory overload.

He almost raped him…

Biting his lip against the surge of bile in the back of his throat, he waited it out to gather what little composure he had left. He stood and turned towards Squall. Their eyes locked. For the first time Seifer saw just how close to breaking Squall had become. The boy had come a long way since his first days in his manor. The boy before him now with the heavy eyes was not the boy Seifer wanted. This boy could not be tamed. This boy could not be trained. This boy’s spirit would break, and he was far too precious to be another husk of a human.

The weight of his transgressions against Squall ran through him like a dagger through the heart.

He could not be held guilty for this boy’s death.

This boy could not be his…

Brusquely turning away he yanked open a drawer in the dresser and frantically rummaged through it, pulling out a set of keys. His fingers trembled with every motion. Finding the key he wanted he walked to another dresser on the opposite side of the room and shoved the key inside the lock. Ripping it open he pulled out a bundle of clothing and stuffed it under his arm.

On unsteady legs he stalked over to the bed and threw the bundle under his arm at Squall. Squall recognized them as his clothing. Disillusioned and confounded he looked up at Seifer.

The blonde regarded him with a grimace of anger and disgust. Squall hadn’t expected such vehement emotions to be directed towards him.

“ Leave my house and never come back.” Seifer hissed, his face contorting.

Squall blinked, all logic shutting down. He feared he had become mute from shock. He searched Seifer’s face, trying to make sense of this otherworldly happening.

At Squall’s innocently prying eyes tinged with the slightest bit of hope, he tore his face away. Gritting his teeth against the violent emotions that threatened to explode. His nostrils flared and his breathing picked up.

He could not take Squall’s presence any longer.

This begrudging guilt was relentless.

“ Get out…” Seifer hissed venomously.

He braced himself against the bed frame. His knuckles turned white in their hold of the wooden crutch.

Having seen enough Squall scrambled to pull his old breeches on. The feeling of clothing against his skin was utterly alien. He hadn’t arrived with a shirt or any shoes, but this was more than enough decency.

He scurried to the door, pausing just inside of it and throwing a weary glance at Seifer. He expected this to all be a test. He expected Seifer to lunge at him any moment and punish him severely for thinking he could escape. But when he glanced back, Seifer was still hunched over the bed frame, hands holding the wood and head downcast.

It was surreal. As he descended the cold stairs he expected himself to wake up from this reverie. His breathing picked up, as did his speed. He tripped over his own legs, still reeling from disbelief. He trembled with ecstasy. A shaky smile began forming on his lips. When his feet touched the bottom of the staircase he let out an exasperated laugh.

He was free.

His cupped his naked wrists, feeling like he would float away into the sky from his weightlessness.

As he pushed the heavy manor doors ajar and caught his first glimpse of the outside as a free man, a single tear rolled down his cheek.

He walked through the door for the first and last time as a free man.

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

Rinoa had seen Squall walk through the manor doors clothed, and so immediately assumed that Seifer had released him. She hoped he had released him. She needed to be sure. With giddiness in her step she scampered through the servants’ quarters, up the staircase and to her master’s bedchamber.

Peeping her head cautiously around the corner she saw her proud master hunched over his bed with a white-knuckle grip on the frame. The muscles in his arms were taut and though it was very dim she swore he was trembling, perhaps that was the flicker of the candlelight playing tricks on her eyes.

Stepping into the door with light feet she folded her hands in front of her gown.

“ Sir?” Rinoa called timidly to her master.

“ Leave me be.” He barked out in a raspy voice.

He sounded close to tears.

She swallowed hard and tried again,” Sir, I saw your slave walk through the-”

“ I said leave me be!” Seifer abrasively cut her off.

She flinched and immediately retreated from the doorway, rounding the corner, but none too far. She leaned her back against the closed part of his chamber door, her hands clasped over her heart. She ached to hold her master and console him. She loathed seeing him in this state. However, she couldn’t help but bite back a smile as she thought of the source of her master’s misery. She’d done it! She’d won! Her master was hers once again. All hers. This she could beam over in the morning, there was work yet to be done.

Grinning like a fool she raced back down the stairs and through the servants passageway. She grabbed a lantern before exiting through the side entrance of the manor and into the black night.

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

Squall deeply inhaled the smell of the night, the wind carrying the scent of the sea. He blindly followed that scent trusting it would lead him to the port, the port that could take him home.

Home.

He had nothing to his name. Not even shoes for his feet.

But he could not recall a time when he’d been more thankful for anything in his life.

Deciding to trail off the beaten path he rounded a corner between two buildings and ran right into a strong chest.

Stumbling backwards but catching himself quickly he muttered his apologies to the person, but upon looking up his eyes caught with eyes blacker than night.

And he froze.

Pale lips curled into a malicious smirk. “ Well, well, well, if it isn’t the little hellion.” The guttural cords of the Count of Monte Cristo hummed.

Two figures emerged from the darkness on either side of the Count. The Count’s smirk widened impossibly large. Gloved hands flexed, the leather creaking and knuckles popping.

Squall staggered backwards in panic, his hands sliding over the narrow alley walls, searching for support. He turned on his heels to run, but two pairs of rough hands were on him, dragging him down and restraining him. He thrashed wildly on the beaten cobblestone. A hand yanked his head back by his hair; a knee thrust itself in his back. He yelled for help but a hand shoved a gag down his throat. He choked against it, spewing up hot bile. One of the goons picked his head up further by his hair and the other punched him in the face then slammed his head onto the pavement.

His screams were muffled in the gag. His cheek throbbed with excruciatingly sharp pain. He felt the trickle of hot blood soak into the gag and spill over his chin.

“ Easy boys. Don’t rough him up too much now. That pleasure is solely mine.” The Count chuckled sinisterly.

Squall screwed his eyes shut and a strangled sob escaped him. In that moment he wished for death. From the servitude of one man’s hands to another was Hyne’s cruel irony.

The goons roughly picked him up from the ground once they had tied his arms ad legs behind his back.

Again from the darkness beside the Count emerged another figure, a much smaller one this time. One with raven hair and a heart shaped face.

Rinoa.

She meekly treaded her way to the Count’s side, her eyes catching Squall’s. She regarded him wearily.

“ Good Evening Miss Heartily. A job well done. I thank you deeply for your cooperation.” The Count chuckled, looking down at Rinoa with haughty amusement. “ And as per agreement. Here is your pay.” Digging into his coat pocket he pulled out a pouch that clinked and clanged as he dropped it into her open palms.

She opened the bag with nimble fingers and after seeing the glimmering contents snapped her head up with a greedy grin. The Count grinned in response.

Squall’s eyes went wide.

This he couldn’t fathom.

He’d been played and bartered like cattle!

Squall jerked in the hands that held him steady and barked beneath his gag. Rinoa snapped her head over at Squall, her grin falling into a frown. And though in her eyes there was resentment, she was a coward inching away from the consequences of her decisions. The goon punched Squall in the face again. This time it sent him reeling into unconsciousness. But not before he witnessed Rinoa slip back into the night like the snake she was and the Count’s last words.

“ Give my best regards to your master.”

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

TBC…

Oh I know I’m evil aren’t I?! Haha!! I’ve been waiting to reveal this forever!

As always I really appreciate any feedback. I’m trying to improve my writing abilities so if anyone has a real critique for me I’m all ears! Don’t be shy! Anyone who has read my reviews knows that I am not shy with them! Constructive criticism only please though! Thank you again all my beloved readers!




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