"What's this about?" Duo demanded, feeling his face grow hot as Yalith turned a wary eye on him. Her fingers absently caressed the doorknob as she locked the room with a strange brass key, dropping it into a small bag at her hip.
"Things are being rushed," she said simply. "We've got to get you out of here; both of you. As you know--"
"Wait, wait," Duo interrupted, holding out his hand. Heero glared at him, but the American didn't appear to notice, or care. Heero's heart pounded in his chest--she knew a way out? His fingers unconsciously found the brand on his pale flesh, the mark that made him property, for the first--for the last--time.
"I don't know shit about what's going on here. Care to explain?" The woman made a growling sound deep in her throat, and tapped her wrist.
"We haven't got much time for this--"
"We do if you stop stalling." Duo crossed his arms firmly across his chest. There was something wrong here; something they weren't supposed to know. Her mouth tightened into a firm line of steel; she seemed almost ready to refuse when there was a loud thumping at the door.
"Heero!" His lilting falsetto scraped through a crack between the door and the cold stone floor.
Yalith breathed a sigh of relief. It was Ashura--the fool boy couldn't give it up, could he? She sneaked a look at Heero out of the corner of her eye, and smiled.
Then Duo looked at her and her hackles rose. Something about that boy rubbed her the wrong way. "Let's stop playing games," he said huskily, his voice carefully smoothed over. She nodded.
"You'd better sit down, then." They obliged, hovering tensely at the edge of the bed.
"It starts like this." Duo shivered at her calm words; somehow, he knew that when the day was over, he would see things in a very, very different light.
He walked down the hallway almost timidly, each step only a mere patter, where others would have stomped proudly. Only thirteen years old, bought new off the slave market, his hip still ached where they'd pressed the brand.
And he was going to meet his new master.
Tears welled up in his eyes, unbidden. He could feel a hoarse sob threatening to free itself, and then he was huddled in the darkened corner with the rats and the ants. He tried to stop, but the tears kept coming, muffled cries like little animal grunts.
His master! He would be a little slave to some old man who would put it in him, over and over and would laugh when he cried after. Like Dominic had, like he'd promised he would again. His body still ached from his rough touch; there were bruises on the insides of his thighs where his hip bones had pressed mercilessly.
He nearly jumped as he felt a calming hand on his shoulder, and looked up into a pair of wide, green eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked, concern evident in his stooped posture, gentle voice.
"I'm fine," he sniffled, and pushed himself to his feet. "Aren't you gonna get in trouble?" he asked, looking at the metal band around his neck, his Master's subtle way of telling the Palazzio, who were not so subtle in their advances, that he was taken.
"He doesn't care, as long I'm there to warm his bed after he's finished drinking himself into a stupor," he replied, a grin threatening to erupt. "Are you lost? Do you need help finding someone?"
He shook his head. "Just going back to my room," he sighed. He hated his room. It was beautiful, in an extraordinarily tacky and overdone way. The cabinet full of whips and clamps was situated at the foot of the bed, where they were the last things he saw at night before he slept and the first thing he saw in the morning when he woke.
"I'm Pierce," he said, holding out a tanned hand.
"Darius," he replied, and took the proffered hand, noting how strong he seemed to be; odd for a boy born and bred to be a slave...
And for the next few hours, they stuck together, talking about their outside lives. Darius told him about his life on L-2, voice raising in volume, bursting with pride, as he spoke about his gang.
"We take care of each other," he informed Pierce. To his credit, the other boy simply nodded seriously, eyes intent on his face. Irrationally, Darius felt a flush rise to his cheeks, and pretended to scratch his nose, trying to hide the blush in his cheeks from Pierce.
"What Key are you?" Darius finally asked, looking pointedly at his hip. Pierce rolled his eyes, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his red mouth. He flopped down onto the wood bench beside him, and they both stared out the window, at the people moving around in the courtyard.
"Erm..." Pierce laughed as two Keys embraced and one pushed the other beneath a shaded tree, "...Diamond Key. I can't believe those two are still so horny!" he laughed, pointing at the intertwined couple.
Darius shot him a quizzical look. "Why?"
"Their Masters are as horny as all hell...they've got to be getting it at least twice a day. Who knew?" he sighed, resting his chin on his hand, his eyes heavily lidded as sapphire gems watched their intimate motions.
"Umm...shouldn't we...ah?"
"Nah...they wouldn't mind..."
And that was Darius' first taste of the Palazzio.
His second came later that night, as his Master, a young man, came to visit for the first time. He learned what fear was, what pain and the knowing looks exchanged between the older Keys contained.
As soon as he was finished, his Master grunted in annoyance as tears began to leak from his eyes. He rose slowly from his flesh, muscular arms supporting his weight as his cock slipped from his body, slick with his seed, and Darius' own blood.
"Stop weeping like a woman, little Sapphire Key," he snapped, slapping him a few times. "You don't ever let your enemy see you cry." Darius nodded, sniffling, and wiped his eyes on his arm, leaving a streak of moisture over the smooth skin.
So his Master considered him his enemy? He had known that the men who paid for stone keys were generally hedonistic, taking pleasure any way they could get it. Yet, to be subservient to a man who thought him his *enemy*? The thought was frightening, and he was not comforted as the man very obviously fingered the hilt of his knife as he lay down by Darius, not touching, but breathing down his neck, making the fine hairs there raise.
What had he done to deserve this? He had never done anything to him, to anyone! The unfairness of it all hit him tenfold, and Darius had to bite his fist to keep from crying out. That would only lead to other things, things that he had heard Pierce speaking of and would rather not experience firsthand.
So he pierced two little holes in his palm, the blood thick and coppery in his mouth, but to his credit, he made not a sound the rest of the night.
The next day, things seemed less despairing, if only for the sunlight that shone through the opened roof. Over breakfast, Darius met some of Pierce's friends and sometimes lovers; "Darius, meet Armand and Sarsis," he said cheerfully, pulling out a chair next to Sarsis.
Darius watched the two Keys carefully, and then in a flash of intuition, realized that the two boys sitting before him were the Keys they'd seen locked in an embrace in the courtyard.
"Hello," he said, looking curiously at Pierce, who hid a smile behind his napkin.
Armand was very pretty, with long, willowy limbs, and even longer fingers. He watched, mesmerized, as the very tips of his fingers pinched the stem of the glass, the rest of the length of flesh and bone curving around it in a delicate circle.
Sarsis was also very pretty, but in a definitely masculine way, a strange contrast to Pierce, who, while definitely not effeminate, had eyes that shimmered too brightly and cheekbones too perfectly defined to be called something so...rough. He couldn't find the words he wanted; rough wasn't what he meant, but in a way it was close enough.
The four of them became fast friends, always sneaking smiles in the back halls or sharing private in-jokes that none of the other Keys understood, or even cared about. Darius was beginning to see that none of the other slaves messed with Pierce and Sarsis, or even Armand, for all his seeming fragility, beneath that lay a stubborn will of steel that refused to be budged once he'd made up his mind.
If only his Master didn't exist; if only he could just lay down and die. During the day, he found some kind of peace, even if it was different from the life he had known. Being with Armand, who he felt closest to, seemed only natural. The boy was not at all shy, and they spent many nights simply talking beneath the willow trees, speaking for minutes and then remaining silent for others.
But at night, the young man without a name still ravaged his body, taking his pleasure and then leaving him, bleeding, torn, half-numb from the pain. He wasn't sure he could take it anymore, this dual life. It was slowly tearing him in half...
It had all built up so hopelessly; he snapped, and one night, the Sapphire Key dared to hit back.
And received the worst beating of his entire life.
Every inch of his body ached. He sat, perched on the sides of his thighs, the only place that didn't scream and beg for mercy when pressure was applied. Darius dared not move to call for help or to retrieve a salve that would help with the pain; it would not be worth the agony to move a single muscle.
That was how *she* found him.
She had devastating blue eyes, so cool and icy, like a void that could swallow him up if he dared stare long enough, and long blonde hair that fell in thick waves around her shoulders. She said her name was Yalith.
"You shouldn't have hit back," she admonished lightly, stepping into his room though the door was locked and only his Master had the Key. "When you fight, it only makes them angrier and causes more pain for you." As if to prove her point, she pressed her fingers into his back brutally, smearing cream over the angry lash marks.
"Itai--!" She said nothing, but kept applying the cold cream to his skin, gently massaging the blood from his bruises, making them fade substantially.
Before she left, she lowered her head so that her lips were by his ear. Darius drew in a sharp breath, feeling her tongue trace the line of his jaw. "If you ever need help, follow the red stones down to the basement. From there, stay left and knock on the last door twice. I will come as soon as I can." With that, she rose from her place behind him, skirt riding precariously high on her creamy thighs, and padded out, carefully shutting the door behind her. Darius stared after her for a long time, eyebrows scrunched together, troubled.
End Part Three
Ariana
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