Disclaimer/Note: This is what I like to call metafanfiction. It's fanfiction about fanfiction. It bears little or no actual resemblance to a show called Gundam Wing (which, by the way, I don't own)- it just steals the names of people in it. In any case, I am making no profit from this fanwork.
Secondary note: You can read this in other places posted in different
numbers of chapters; technically there's six chapters- here it's posted in one
document. A change in PoV is where the "chapter" switches.
Summary: A shot at 13x6. Inspired by unhealthy exposure to AU fanfics and the infamous Wild Turkey pic. Treize acquires a slave, but just who is in charge of this relationship anyway?
WARNINGS: yaoi/lemon, slavery, references to past torture
Looking back on that day, Treize wasn't sure why he did it. Maybe it was because Bucephalus was feeling his oats, and the feeling transferred to his rider, making him want to make a nuisance of himself. Or maybe it was those eyes, like ice, that never asked for help but couldn't help begging for it. One thing for sure, Treize had never been one to stand idly by and watch a work of art be vandalized.
He'd first seen those eyes earlier in the afternoon. Been looked over by them, sized up, judged, and passed over. That had been at the market; Treize was putting in the order Catherine had requested with the butcher, and glanced up to meet those icy depths. Hidden by a hooded cloak, eyes and a slender aristocratic face were almost all he could see of the stranger, and he was intrigued. But there was still work to do, no matter how rich you were, and as he returned to it things happened... The owner of those eyes slipped away.
But Treize saw him again, on the street in front of the stable. Just returning to an impatient Bucephalus, Treize had glanced under the stallion's arched neck to catch a glimpse of familiar eyes as the man turned away from him and continued walking down the street. But Treize had seen something else in that quick look- the man wore a metal band around his throat. He was a slave. Loosing a good portion of his interest, Treize turned his attention back to Bucephalus. Which was exactly what the stallion wanted.
"You great bloody show off," Treize murmured as he pulled himself up into the saddle of the prancing horse. Bucephalus snorted. Shaking his head, the stallion turned it resolutely for home and started off at a good clip. Or tried to. Treize pulled him back so suddenly the horse reared. "No you don't." He forced the horse's head down. "No one says where we're going and how fast except for me," he said savagely, knowing that while the words meant nothing to the horse the tone carried weight. Bucephalus flicked his ears back, properly chastised; for now at any rate.
As they started at a more sedate pace, something caught Treize's attention. A commotion, in front of Sally's shop, that seemed to center around two official looking types and a mysterious cloaked stranger. A familiar mysterious cloaked stranger... And suddenly the man from earlier in the day was shoved against the wall and the cloak fell away and hair like spun gold tumbled over the slave's shoulders.
Now, Treize would be the first to admit that if something wanted to capture his attention it had a much better chance if it looked like it would make money- and gold was the heart's blood of money. So was it any wonder it was his favorite color? He halted Bucephalus at the back edge of the crowd that had gathered.
"You thieving little sneak! You're a runaway too aren't you?" One of the official types was yelling at the slave, never having heard of the notion of keeping a low profile. "Who's your master?" he demanded, in such a tone that anyone in the town could have heard him.
The slave's expression was hard. Icy. Like his eyes... He made no answer to the question. He would answer none of their questions, Treize knew, speak not a word to them. Because whatever they did to him, going back would be worse- he could read it in the ice.
A loud crack echoed through a sudden lull of silence. The official's hand drew back again, and the slave's head turned back to regard the man. "Answer me," the official demanded, and this time instead of slapping the slave he administered a kick to the stomach. The slave doubled over, falling to the ground. The second official joined the first one; they took turns kicking and demanding information.
Bucephalus gave a muted scream of protest, and it was only then that Treize realized that he held the reins in tightly and also had his heels pressed into the stallion's sides. He relaxed immediately, looking away from the tableau, but he could still hear. Bucephalus snorted in relief when his master stopped giving him conflicting messages, and that was the last straw for Treize. Turning the horse, he sent him into the crowd straight toward the officials and their prey. People scrambled out of the stallion's way but the horse never stepped on anyone, taking great care where he placed his feet.
"There you are!" Treize's voice rang out over the murmuring of the crowd but the official types barely turned to acknowledge him, taking too much enjoyment from their current activities. He nudged Bucephalus forward; the stallion shouldered one of the officials to the side and shoved the other with his nose. The slave lay on the ground, the horse between him and his two tormentors. Cautiously, he looked up, blood running down his face and into his golden hair. "There you are," Treize repeated, speaking to the slave, not even glancing at the two official types. "I've been looking everywhere. Come along, we're going to be late." The slave stared at him dazedly for a moment, unsure who he was or what he wanted, but soon comprehension dawned. He scrambled to his feet and came forward to touch Bucephalus' saddle.
"Yes master," he said softly, his head bowed.
"Hey now," one of the official's protested.
Treize fixed him with an icy glare of his own. "Yes?"
Not one to heed warnings, in voice or manner, the official plunged on. "He's not yours," he protested.
"Oh?" Treize's tone was mocking, but Treize felt the slave standing beside Bucephalus wrap his hands around Treize's ankle, gripping at the stirrup. Please, those hands asked. "He's not is he? Then whose is he?" When the official made no immediate reply, Treize continued. "I though so. Come along," he said to the slave beside him as he turned Bucephalus toward the path leading out of town and urged the horse into a fast walk that soon broke into a trot. The slave struggled to keep up, but Treize daren't stop for him yet. He couldn't show any concern for the man in view of those cretins, and he wanted to get out of their view as soon as possible. Before they thought to stop him and question him further. Treize didn't have a story worked out; lying wasn't one of his fortes. Usually his cool glare served him well enough that lying didn't become a necessity.
Once they rounded a curve in the trail, Treize halted Bucephalus and pulled the stallion over to the side of the trail, off among the trees. Halting the horse abruptly, he slid down from his back. The slave collapsed panting at Treize's feet.
"Who is your master?" Treize asked, his voice firm.
The slave looked up at him. "You are, master," he replied without a pause.
"Very funny. We both know that's not true. If I'm going to be stealing, I like to know who from."
Treize could feel the slave's eyes scanning over his face, looking for something. "Dermail," he said finally, then bowed his head to Treize. "My lord."
Treize frowned. Duke Dermail was not a man one would wish to anger. He let his eyes travel over the man kneeling before him. "Alright," he said finally, not quite sure what he had just decided. He turned back to Bucephalus and swung into the saddle. "Come on," he said to the slave, offering his hand to pull the man up behind him. The slave regarded him with surprise for a moment, but hastened to obey his new master. He placed his hand in Treize's and Treize pulled the other man up behind him. Bucephalus snorted at the extra weight, but Treize knew he was up to it. He patted the stallion's neck and pointed him toward home.
Once he arrived home, things only got more complicated. The slave refused to leave his side. Treize knew he could order the man to do so, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not until he learned more about this man who was, he was sure, going to disappear as soon as he got the chance. Eventually he handed Bucephalus over to a groom to be taken care of, though he usually saw to the horse himself, waved off all of Otto's questions to be answered later and locked himself and the slave in his rooms.
Under the cloak, the slave wore only a ragged pair of pants and the silver colored band around his throat that marked his status. His sides and chest were purple with bruises, and Treize could only imagine his legs were as bad. The slave was sitting precariously on the edge of a couch in Treize's study as if he was afraid he would break it if he sat on it any more forcefully; or as if he felt he would be ordered to seat his filthy self on the floor. Treize watched him out of the corner of his eye as he prepared a tray with a basin of water, a cloth, and a few other necessities. Those cuts needed to be cleaned. He stood in front of the seated man and placed the tray on a small table next to him. The slave's face was cast down, looking at the floor, but Treize could feel those eyes watching him carefully. He knelt in front of the slave and took his chin gently in his hands. "You should see a doctor," he mumbled as he concentrated on washing a cut on the man's cheek.
He didn't miss the flicker of fear in the slave's eyes. "No," he said firmly. And as an afterthought, "Please no, Master. I am alright."
Treize snorted his disagreement with that statement, but privately he agreed that there was no way he could call a doctor. Not without having a lot of explaining to do. And any doctor would probably recognize the slave, know his true owner, know his name...
"What's your name?" The slave's eyes darted to meet Treize's, then sank to the floor again in sudden remembrance of his position. "You must have one."
The slave's mouth opened, as if he wanted to say something, but what he said was, "Zechs." Treize couldn't tell if that was what the man had been planning on saying or not.
"Zechs? How interesting." He dabbed alcohol on the cleaned cuts decorating the man's face to disinfect them. "Mine is Treize." Zechs hissed softly in pain as the alcohol worked on the cuts. Treize poured some into a glass and pressed it into the slave's hands; glancing quickly at his master, the slave drank it in one go. "Now," Treize said conversationally, "this is likely to be unpleasant, especially since you won't have a doctor, but it is necessary to determine whether you have broken anything. Lie back," he said, indicating the rest of the couch. Zechs eyed him again, but obeyed without a word.
Treize had decided, at one point in his younger years, that he wanted to be a doctor. While the career had never panned out, thank god, he vaguely remembered some of what he had learned. Zechs obviously thought something else was going to happen, at the way he stiffened when Treize's fingers touched his collarbone. Treize tried to ignore him, which proved harder than he would have liked, and methodically probed the man's chest for broken bones. Thankfully, there didn't appear to be any.
"While rather heavily bruised, I don't believe you've broken any ribs," he informed his patient, "which is good, considering. It'll hurt for awhile but should heal quickly." He frowned in concentration and probed the other man's wrist again. "And I'm worried about this. It's not quite a fracture, but I think I'll wrap it just to be safe." He laughed to himself. "Fifteen years... Who'd have though I remembered this much?" He was talking to himself, but he could feel Zechs' eyes on him and his ears drinking in every word. Truthfully, Treize was deliberately playing up his absentminded act, trying to put the other man at ease; reassuring him that this was a doctor's examination and nothing else. Not that Treize would mind something else... But he didn't rape injured young men. Even if they were beautiful. "Does it hurt anywhere else? Like your ankle maybe?" He hadn't paid much attention to Zechs' legs; obviously the man had been able to run after the horse and walk through the house, things he couldn't have done with a broken leg, no matter how much he wanted to. But if he'd fractured something in his ankle, he could have shunted that pain aside and kept using the appendage. But now Treize slid his hands down a felt the ankles in question, probing them for fractures. He didn't feel any and Zechs showed no pain at his actions; his skin was cool and soft to the touch. Treize liked the way it felt. But he pushed those thoughts aside. "Alright, now sit up and let's bind that wrist." Zechs obeyed, but sitting up brought his face close to Treize's; irresistibly close. Treize, however, had gotten good as resisting the irresistible. He turned his attention to the wrist, wrapping it tightly with a length of cloth.
"There." He sat back and observed his patient- his possession. Zechs' eyes were half closed, as if in weariness- after the day he'd had, he had every right to be weary. Treize made to slip away and leave him to his rest, but something brushed against his hand. He looked down, then up at the owner of the hand that held his.
"Don't..." Zechs licked his lips and turned his head away. "Don't leave me," he whispered, "please? I... Master..." He withdrew his hand, and Treize felt compelled to reached out his own and brush it along the man's face. Zechs responded beautifully, arching into the touch and gasping in sudden pleasure. His eyes met Treize's, and he turned and kissed the hand that rested on his cheek, then reached out his tongue and traced the contour of Treize's palm.
Treize smirked detachedly, trying to cover how much that simple touch attracted him. "Well, if you don't want to sleep on the couch," he suggested lightly, "maybe you'll find my bed more comfortable?" He rose from his seat on the edge of the couch and turned, opening a door and going into the next room. His suite consisted of several rooms, but the study was right next to the bedroom. He turned around to shut the door behind him, not really expecting Zechs to have followed him.
But he had.
He stood in the doorway, the late afternoon light from the windows that ran the length of one wall of the study fell over him from behind and cast his face in shadow. He stepped forward and reached out an arm hesitantly to Treize. His fingers touched the older man's shoulder and trailed their way lightly down across his chest to his abdomen. His touch was tentative, as if he expected Treize to stop him. But Treize stood, unmoving. A second hand joined the first one and Zechs took a step closer as his fingers nimbly unbuttoned the shirt and pushed it back to reveal the man's chest. He slipped his fingers under the cloth, stroking Treize's bare skin. He turned his head slightly, as if asking Treize if he wanted to kiss him. Treize narrowed his eyes slightly; he wasn't sure what game the slave was playing, but until he did he wasn't going to do anything. Rebuffed by Treize's apparent refusal, Zechs turned his attention elsewhere. He knelt, nuzzling against the bare stomach before him, and worked his hands lower, unfastening the man's pants and sliding them down over his hips.
Treize had the game figured now. He reached his hands forward and took Zechs' face between them and forced the man to stand up. Zechs regarded him wildly for a moment, as if wondering what he had done wrong, but Treize ignored his expression and kissed him.
Zechs' mouth opened willingly to him, submissively, as if the slave was saying, Well if this is what you wanted, why didn't you say so? Treize frowned mentally. There was something going on here, something under the surface, but he was fast approaching the point where he didn't care. Zechs was responding to the kiss as much as he had to the simple touch Treize had given his earlier. He pressed against his master, shivering and moaning when Treize touched him. Treize used his state of distraction to turn them around and then move forward a few paces. Suddenly he broke off the kiss and pushed Zechs down on the bed. The slave didn't look too surprised at his new position; either he had been a lot more aware of his surroundings and Treize's maneuvering than he had let on, or he was far more experienced in this area than Treize had thought. Treize shed his clothing, watching from the corner of his eye as Zechs paused a moment then followed suit. When he turned back to face the bed Zechs lay there in the most alluring position possible. One leg lay stretched out, the other held up bent at the knee so that his partially hardened length fell over one leg in a beautiful display. His abdomen was accented by well defined musculature and the look on his face would have called even the most chaste to ravish him in moments; his face was tilted down so that he looked up at Treize through his long eyelashes and his cheeks were flushed and his lips slightly parted. And his hair... That glorious hair tumbled over his shoulders in a brilliant mess, some falling down across his chest, some around his arms where he propped himself up on his elbows, and the rest hidden tantalizingly down his back. Taking it all in, Treize thought that at some point he should really analyze why Zechs seemed so determined to seduce him tonight. But at the moment, he really couldn't care less.
Treize crawled up onto the bed and lay down beside Zechs, just looking at him for a long moment. Zechs fidgeted under his gaze, and he moved to crouch over Treize, bending his head as if he thought what Treize wanted from him was a blow job. Treize reached out a hand and touched the slave's cheek, shaking his head gently. With just one finger on Zechs chin he guided the man's face up to his own and kissed him again. Afterward Zechs looked slightly confused, but Treize smiled. He turned them, so that Zechs lay under him, his golden hair spread over the pillows, and let his fingers trace the lines of Zechs' face. Zechs responded to the touch, but he seemed impatient. As if he couldn't wait to get down to business. Treize smirked. A little foreplay will do you good, you eager beautiful thing you... And you will learn just who is the master here. His fingers eventually moved downward and ghosted over Zechs' chest as they were replaced with Treize's mouth which seemed intent on tasting every part of the man. The fingers worked lower, and Zechs' weren't idle either; they moved over Treize's chest and abdomen, leaving fire in their wake as they traced over the man's skin.
Treize took a deep breath. Zechs' fingers were getting bold, drifting down to the area his mouth had already been warned off of twice. Treize turned his attention from the slave's mouth to his neck as his own fingers found their goal. He wrapped them around Zechs' length, already fairly hard, and began to stroke his thumb methodically over the sensitive tip.
Zechs' body arched beneath him as he gasped, his hands immediately flying to grip Treize's shoulders tightly. His head arched back with the sudden sensation of pleasure, baring his neck to Treize's tender ministrations. Treize grinned against the soft flesh as his thumb continued in its systematic movements. Zechs writhed under him, unable to escape the sensation, and not entirely sure he wanted to. He moaned heartily, shifting his grip from Treize's shoulders to the sheets beneath him, squeezing then into shreds as he twisted in ecstasy.
Grinning wildly, Treize moved his other hand, reaching out to dip his fingers in the bowl of oil that sat on the table beside the bed. Coating them liberally, he slipped them under his other hand, still busy, and pressed them against Zechs, pressed them into him. Familiar with the action, Zechs raised his hips slightly and spread his legs apart further almost unconsciously. Treize watched his face carefully as his fingers explored Zechs from the inside, until suddenly Zechs' eyes flew open and his whole body stiffened. Treize smirked; there it was. He thrust his fingers against the point again, timing it with a stroke from his thumb. Zechs' whole body went into a rigid arch and his face contorted, almost in pain with the strength of his pleasure. He screamed, a ragged sound, but in that wordless appeal Treize heard his name spoken. Almost before the sound had died away, he was inside of Zechs, feeling him pulsing with pleasure all around him.
It was enough to make Treize want to scream too. He had to release his hold on Zechs' length and used both his hands to brace himself. No longer under a double assault, Zechs seemed to regain some of his thought processing abilities. His hands came up and buried in Treize's hair; he pulled the other man's face down and kissed him forcefully. They rolled; Zechs on top thrust down against Treize, forcing him against that point inside him. His breath was ragged and he was shaking with pleasure. Treize took the opportunity to explore Zechs' chest with his fingers. Encountering the heavy bruising there, he frowned. He'd forgotten. He rolled them again; Zechs supporting his weight against his hands was not good for his wrist. Actually, as much fun as this was he should end it quick. That was a sad thought... but they could try it again later. That cheered him up, and he thrust into Zechs again as Zechs reached up his legs and wrapped them around Treize's waist, pulling the other man against him. They began to pick up a rhythm; unconsciously, because Treize was far too busy thinking about kissing the gorgeous man beneath him to think about anything else.
As they approached their climax, Zechs' expressions of passion grew more and more open. It was as if he wore a mask the rest of the time, and only now could he be truly who he was. It had to be the most arousing thing Treize had ever seen, and his hand drifted down to Zechs' length to coax another outburst from him.
This was the last. Throwing his head back with a sound that was half scream half moan, Zechs stiffened a moment then came, spilling into Treize's fingers. Zechs' body convulsing tightly around him, Treize reached his climax as well and came with a final thrust.
They lay gasping in the afterglow for long minutes, Zechs' fingers tracing through Treize's hair, their faces so close they were almost touching. Treize pulled himself free of Zechs' body, and this seemed to be a signal of some kind because the beautiful slave's face closed again, the ecstasy of passion he had expressed only moments ago barely a memory on the bland, pleasant face. Treize frowned slightly, but he lay himself down beside Zechs and pulled the other man, unresisting, into his embrace.
As his mind cleared from the fog of passion, he began to contemplate the mystery that was Zechs. The slave was running from his old master and would seek any haven offered to him. Apparently he thought Treize's would do just fine. Treize suspected that Zechs had attempted to seduce him tonight expecting Dermail to show up in the morning and not wanting Treize to even momentarily entertain the thought of returning the slave to his previous master. That was why he had kept trying to give Treize a blow job; it was a fast and easy way to give a man a great deal of pleasure, as well as a feeling of absolute control, and Treize did not doubt Zechs was very good at it. If Zechs gave him pleasure, Treize would be less willing to give him up. Or, Treize assumed, that was the slave's thought process. Well, it had worked, though not in the way that Zechs had probably been planning.
Treize was intrigued; deeply intrigued. When in the throws of his passion, Zechs seemed to forget who he was and think he was someone else. Someone used to having a great deal of power. The way that Zechs had kept trying to gain control in their encounter made him think that the slave used to be in a position where he had been the one issuing the orders. And then there was the way Zechs had attempted to manipulate the entire encounter right from the beginning. Yes, Treize frowned thoughtfully, his fingers stroking through that golden hair, there was far more to this young man than there first seemed.
But it would have to wait for tomorrow. Sleep was creeping up on him, and was, this night, not to be denied.
Zechs lay there, watching a sleeping Treize in the moonlight.
Talk about a fortuitous meeting. Zechs had always known that his attempt to escape from Dermail was doomed to failure, but quite seriously any fate, any where, was preferable to staying. When the two officials had caught him trying to steal some bread he'd resigned himself to a short life as the prison plaything. But then...
Zechs remembered the strange man with the bright, hard eyes from earlier in the day. He'd noticed him at the market, buying something expensive. He's tried to evade the man; buying expensive things meant he was a peer of Dermail's and therefore not to be trusted. But when he'd looked up to see the same man looking down at him from the back of that great, black stallion he'd asked no questions and taken the opportunity handed to him. When the man looked at him, his eyes were far more bright than they were hard, and Zechs found that there was something growing deep inside of him that this time he could not crush: hope. But even hope had its strings and Zechs could never forget that.
The man had let Zechs ride his horse when he could have made the slave run behind him the whole way, invited him into his house when he could have directed him to the stable or pig yard, tended his wounds when he could have either ignored them or called for a doctor- there was only one doctor in the area who treated slaves, and he was bound to recognize Dermail's prize. Treize- he had given Zechs his name- had done none of the things he could have.
Zechs could see that the man was not used to having slaves. The few servants Zechs had met upon arrival all obeyed their lord without question, but that was different from owning another person. It was very different... and Zechs had the feeling that his new master didn't quite grasp the concept.
It was then he decided on his plan of seduction, though it wasn't just that. He would make himself so utterly indispensable to his new master that the man could not imagine living without him. Would not even contemplate giving him up. Zechs had no fantasies that Dermail was going to take his disappearance lying down. No, Dermail was going to come looking for him and if he didn't have someone willing to hide him from the man he was as good as dead. He would die before he went back to Dermail, he had decided that. Not his life, not even the hope of one day contacting his family and telling them what had happened to him, would allow him to suffer like that again.
So he set out to seduce Treize Kushrenada. He knew the man's name, from snatches of conversations overheard. He couldn't remember Treize ever being one of the ones who visited Dermail, but the ones who did visit talked about him a lot. That was what gave him part of his hope. Dermail did not like the man, and anyone Dermail didn't like usually turned out to be a decent human being. Zechs was good at his game of seduction; he'd played it too often and too long to be otherwise.
But something happened, and it didn't turn out like he thought it would. He was all ready to give the man the best blow job he'd ever had in his life, but apparently that wasn't what Treize wanted. He'd pulled Zechs' face away from his groin and forced him to take an equal part in the experience. It had been so long since Zechs had experiences pleasure during sex. He'd almost forgotten how it felt. But, dear god, now he remembered.
Zechs' eyes had drifted as his thoughts has, and now he turned them back to regard the man sleeping beside him. It made his heart contract just thinking about the pleasure he'd felt in this man's arms. Zechs didn't think he'd ever felt that good before. He wanted, worse than anything, to feel it again.
But there was a problem. Had Treize found it as pleasurable? Zechs' entire plan was ruined if Treize hadn't found him indispensable, if Treize wasn't prepared to hide him from Dermail. And that scared Zechs more than he wanted to admit. Going back would be even harder after this night... But he wasn't going back, he reminded himself firmly. There was no way he was going back. He'd die first. He set his jaw firmly and his gaze was like steel in the moonlight.
But it softened when he turned his eyes back on Treize.
He'd thought his new master intended to jump him while "seeing to his injuries." It was a good excuse to get Zechs to remove his clothes without protest, and it would not be the first time he'd seen the trick. But Treize had been very professional through the entire process, and hadn't even asked Zechs to remove his pants. Zechs had been the one to make the first move; he'd panicked slightly when Treize seemed like he was going to leave. And when he did leave, Zechs was right behind him taking at full value the invitation extended.
Leaving the room like that had been Treize's one last out for him, and his respect for the man had risen. He suspected Treize knew he was up to something, and by turning his back he gave Zechs one last chance to rethink what he was proposing. But Zechs knew exactly what he was doing. Or he thought he had.
He'd unbuttoned Treize's shirt, but then he'd been at a momentary loss. This man was not like the ones he'd blown before; did he want to kiss? But Treize's face had been cold, so Zechs had sunk to his knees, ready. Cool hands on his cheeks brought him to his feet and soft lips closed over his. He gave those lips whatever they wanted, and more. When Treize had pushed him onto the bed, he'd been ready and while his master divested himself of clothing Zechs' got rid of his own too. He presented himself to his master in a way he was sure would not gain him a refusal. And indeed, it had not. Zechs had been worried for a moment when Treize seemed more interested in just looking at him, but when he moved to try and give him pleasure Treize had stopped him again. And indeed, when the man's hands touched him, Zechs realized that he was not the one to be giving instructions on how to give pleasure.
The steady, firm pressure on what was probably the most sensitive part of his body, or near it, had driven him almost out of his mind. It felt so damn good... He couldn't think about anything else. And then those fingers, darting inside, had brushed against him in just the right way and Zechs' world exploded. He had shifted his hands to the sheets beneath him, gripping at them helplessly as he died in ecstasy a million times. He thought he was going to tear Treize to pieces from the sheer impact of the pleasure flowing through him; he wanted release, he wanted escape, he wanted it to go on and last forever.
It ended, as all things, both terrible and wonderful, must. As soon as Treize fell asleep he had pulled free from the man's arms and lay there looking at him, trying to see inside him, see how he thought, what he was thinking. Zechs sighed, weariness finally overcoming his paranoia and forcing him to acknowledge it. He gave Treize one last long look then laid himself down on the pillow. He lay there for a few moments in the silence. But soon he scooted over, closer to where Treize slept on, and lifted the arm that had been wrapped around him before, slipping in under it. Treize mumbled something in his sleep, but didn't wake, and his arms closed around Zechs like they had before, as if they had never done otherwise.
Zechs sighed softly against Treize's chest, inhaling the scent of the man, the steady beat of a heart under his ear. Closing his eyes, he fell asleep.
When Zechs woke, he was alone. Sunlight was falling in through the windows which were opened to catch the cool breeze that buffeted against the house and angle it inside to do the inhabitants some good.
But most importantly, Treize was nowhere to be seen. Zechs' heart leapt in his throat. Please don't let him be doing anything, he thought; though the thought was vague and unspecific, he knew exactly what he meant. Rising from the bed he grabbed his pants from where they had fallen the evening before and moved to the outer room, the study. The room was dark and empty and the door, that Zechs remembered lead to the hall and eventually down to the door they'd entered by, was firmly shut. Should he stay here? Or should he try to find Treize?
In the end paranoia won out over "probably should," and he opened the door and slipped out of the room. The hall was empty as well, and Zechs made his way quickly to the stairs. When he reached the bottom he paused, listening. He thought he'd heard... Yes, there it was. His master's voice raised in amused laughter. He moved toward it, but suddenly froze. His master was talking to someone, someone whose voice was familiar.
"Well it's all of the most damnable luck," Dorothy was saying, her tone humorous, her voice good-natured and friendly. Zechs shivered; he'd never met anyone whose voice was so different from their personality. "Uncle went and got him from a friend who'd had him from a real bastard who used to beat the hell out of him. But now the poor thing's gone and bolted. You understand how worried we are, don't you?" Her voice was convincing, but Zechs was shaking his head fiercely even though no one could see him. No, no... Don't listen to her lies...
"Well that is a sad story," Treize was saying. "I do hope you find the unfortunate fellow." No, no...
"Yes, thank you." A pause. "You haven't seen him then?"
"My dear girl, if I had laid eyes on the creature you just described to me I feel sure I would remember it, and feel unbelievably compelled to tell you all." No, no... "However, I haven't seen anyone who meets that description."
Zechs' head came up. What?
"Really? How strange." Dorothy's voice seemed to say that she knew otherwise. "You're absolutely sure?"
"Are you calling my memory faulty?" Treize asked her, humored.
She laughed lightly. "Of course not, dear Uncle. Though you are getting old," she teased. Her voice grew wistful. "It's just that, Mueller seemed certain that he'd seen you and the slave together. And we were so hoping to get the poor thing back before he hurt himself too bad."
"Mueller?" Treize questioned. "Oh, the boy who works for the city officials? Yes, I saw him yesterday. Silly boy was blubbering some nonsense about a slave, was he talking about the same one you are?"
"Yes," Dorothy insisted, her interest piqued now that the conversation seemed to be going her way. Zechs curled his hands into fists, his fingernails biting into his palms. "He said you took him with you."
"Really? Did he? Poor boy needs to get his eyes checked. Or his head. Really, he was in sad shape when I saw him. He hadn't even the sense to get out of Bucephalus' way, and you know how that stallion is, he practically ran the poor boy over. He is doing alright though, you said?"
"Yes, yes." Dorothy's voice was distracted, and not satisfied with what she was getting. Zechs dared to breathe again.
"Well, it has been a delight seeing you my dear, but I am a very busy man. Especially today," he added, almost as an afterthought. "Would you excuse me?"
"Of course Uncle," she said, her voice dripping with sugar now. "I really must be off too. Do keep in touch, will you? We hardly hear from you."
"Yes, yes," he heard Treize murmur distractedly as he ushered the girl out the front door to her waiting horse.
Zechs' knees went out form under him. That was too close... And he just about jumped out of his skin when the door he was leaning against opened.
He fell in his haste to back away from the door and sprawled across the floor as he looked up at Treize.
"Master," he croaked in a whisper, glancing behind the man to be sure she was really gone.
"She's gone, Zechs," Treize said, his eyes fixed on the slave, a soft frown fixed on his mouth.
Frowning? He's not happy? Was it something I did? Zechs pulled himself together and scrambled to kneel before his master. "Master, I..."
But Treize's fingers on his mouth halted him. He glanced up in surprise, meeting the man's eyes.
"Why did you come down here?" Treize asked, his fingers moving from Zechs' mouth to the back of his head to stroke through his hair.
"I... I was..." Dammit, spit it out! "When I woke I was alone." He hung his head and whispered, "I was worried about you, Master. Worried that I had displeased you somehow."
"Ah." Treize released him and leaned back, regarding him thoughtfully. "You knew she would come this morning."
Zechs' eyes opened wide and his head flew up. "No! I..." He saw, from Treize's expression, that the comment had been part test, part deliberate provocation. "No," he repeated dropping his head.
He couldn't have said what it was, but he could feel Treize losing interest in him. So he added, "I knew someone would come. Not her though. Or I would not have come down." He shuddered, unable to repress the reaction that any thought of her gave him.
It worked; he could feel Treize's eyes upon him again, watching him with that strange pensive look. "Indeed. You knew this last night? Did this have any... influence over your actions last night?"
He knew. Shit. But... "Yes," Zechs answered truthfully, still not looking at Treize.
"I see." Treize had retreated a few steps. He turned back to face where Zechs knelt. "Zechs, look at me."
Zechs obeyed, raising his eyes to meet those of his chosen master. Those eyes seemed especially bright this morning.
"Zechs," he said, "whatever happens I will not return you to Dermail. I would rather see the man shot than give into his influence any human life. Know this, and be secure in your safety here." His eyes seemed suddenly sad, and he continued, "If anything else troubles you, please feel free to discuss it with me. And don't grovel." He added the last as if it was an afterthought, but as if he couldn't help saying it. As if it hurt him to see Zechs bowing to him. Zechs remained where he was for a long moment, taking in what Treize had said. Then, slowly, he rose to his feet. Treize smiled at him encouragingly. Zechs searched his eyes, wondering if he could truly tell the man what troubled him. No, best not go there yet.
"If I am to stay here," Zechs asked, "is there anything I can do for you?" Besides the obvious, he thought. "Any tasks you would like for me to do?"
Treize frowned thoughtfully. "Ask Otto if there is anything you can do around the house. But today I'd rather you concentrated on resting those bones. Last night didn't help them any." No emotion crossed his face at the mention of the previous night, the face that had been so lived with passion. So, Zechs thought, I am not the only actor here. But, which was the act- the passionate lover or the cold businessman?
He'd rather not think too hard about that, and he went to find this Otto, but Treize called him back. "Have Otto draw you a bath and get you some clothes. I'm sure you'd like that," and the ghost of a smile traced his lips. Zechs nodded in acknowledgement.
Finding Otto was not hard. Keeping track of him, however... The man was everywhere. He darted into the front hall, slipped back into the kitchen, was momentarily in the ballroom, stopped off in the spare bedroom, and paused a moment in the Master's study. He pointed Zechs toward the bathing room. The Master's private bathing room was just through a door next to the bedroom. Otto assured Zechs that the Master wanted him to make use of it as well. Otto also gathered a pile of clothing together that Zechs was amazed to find actually fit. His lanky frame had always been hard to fit, but apparently not here.
"They're Master Treize's old clothes," Otto said. "They'll do splendidly for you for now."
Zechs took the clothing. He took the bath. And he tried not to think to hard about anything. He managed to put off thinking until, out of the bath and dressed, he took a seat on a corner of the newly made bed and worked a brush through his hair and his thoughts fell around last night, this morning, and what it all meant for the future. And for the past...
Treize said he wouldn't give Zechs up to Dermail. He'd proven this when he'd turned Dorothy away. Dorothy had called Treize "uncle." This made Zechs frown, but he reasoned that she called Dermail that as well and there was no proof of that relationship being physical; except in an entirely different way. He would ask Treize about it. It would help him sound the man out better. Next? Last night... Treize's manner this morning seemed to indicate that he did not want to repeat the actions of last night. Zechs wasn't sure why this was. Had Treize not enjoyed it? He didn't think that was the case. He was at a loss to explain why the man who had been so close to him last night, this morning seemed so distant.
And then it hit him between the eyes and he cursed himself for being stupid. Hadn't he said it himself- what an actor? Much like the game Zechs played... and that made him stop and think again. Zechs knew what he was hiding- why was Treize acting? And even more important, Treize had been put off by Zechs' act; in fact he'd more or less asked that Zechs stop it. Yet... somehow Treize knew it was an act and not the true person. How? Zechs had tried to be careful to not let anything slip... And his thoughts drifted back to last night- the unplanned part of his carefully laid out seduction. That part being that Zechs ended up being the one seduced. Had he forgotten himself? Had he... No, he hadn't said anything compromising. Treize would have mentioned it. Or would he have? But the more he thought about it the more Zechs thought that he hadn't betrayed his secret the previous night. Or at least, not the important part. Though... would that be such a bad idea if he did? Perhaps Treize would help him. He already had, more than he even knew.
Zechs frowned. No. He wouldn't speak, not yet.
"I don't think the brush appreciates being glared at."
Zechs looked up, startled, at the sound of the voice. Treize stood in the doorway to the study. He looked tired and worn, but he smiled at Zechs. "I think I'm going to take a bath." Listening, Zechs could hear the servants bringing in the water. "I'll have Otto show you a room if he hasn't yet," and then he was gone, disappeared into the next room.
Zechs was puzzled by the last remark, but he didn't have to wait long for Otto to show up.
"Master Treize says you'll be wanting your own room, young sir. If you like, I'll show you one or you can pick your own. We have several available."
"Otto," Zechs said cautiously, testing the water, "Did the... Master Treize say that he didn't want me to sleep here with him?"
Otto blinked. He must have known where and how Zechs and Treize had spent the previous night, but Zechs assumed he wasn't used to discussing it.
"No, young sir, he did not. He told me that you wished to have your own room. Those were his words."
Zechs glared at the hairbrush again in concentrated thought. "Otto, I think I would like to stay here... if Master Treize doesn't mind." He looked up at the other man.
Otto smiled at him. "If that's what you want, young sir." He glanced at Zechs. "I believe Master Treize will be pleased." This was said with a certain edge to it; that if it did not please the master, Otto would not be pleased either.
"I hope so," Zechs whispered, and finished brushing the last of the knots out of his hair.
He was lying in the bed, curled under the covers against the sudden chill of the night when Treize reentered the now darkened room. He heard Treize sigh softly when he glanced over at the bed; it struck Zechs that between the poor lighting and the way he was under the blankets that Treize hadn't seen him. His suspicion was confirmed when Treize came over to the side of the bed and lit a candle. Zechs watched the soft light illuminate his master's face; Treize looked tired. Keeping his eyes on Treize, Zechs moved, flicking his hair back over his shoulder and propping himself up on his elbows. The unexpected movement caught Treize by surprise. His startled eyes met Zechs'.
"You're here," he whispered.
Zechs smiled. "Where else would I be?" He dropped one elbow and lay his head down on his arm, still watching Treize. "Master," he whispered. Treize slipped into the bed, took Zechs' chin in his hands and raised it until their lips met.
Zechs had added that last word, in those sultry tones, in order to get exactly that reaction from Treize. However, he found he was enjoying the response far more than simply having everything going his way should account for. He pulled away from Treize and gave the man a long look. "Let me thank you," he whispered, his hands sliding down the other man's body until they found what they were looking for. He could see sudden doubt in Treize's eyes, and he worked quickly to dispel it. "Please. It's what I want. After what you showed me last night... I..." He ducked his head. "I want to show you something." He met Treize's eyes, hoping the other man could read his sincerity. Slowly, Treize nodded.
Zechs grinned. As Treize lay back, Zechs began trailing kisses down his chest. At the same time his fingers traced patterns over Treize's thighs; his hair fell over his shoulders and it tickled along Treize's sides as Zechs' mouth explored. He could hear Treize's breathing begin to quicken; he could feel the beating of the heart, that rested beneath the skin under his lips, start to pick up its pace and he smiled against that smooth skin. He left a trail of slow, wet kisses down to Treize's navel, meanwhile his fingers were keeping themselves busy. They ranged over the body that lay beneath them, exploring every nook and crevice. He timed his attacks carefully; as his tongue darted into the hollow of Treize's navel, his fingers stroked the backside of Treize's knees- it was a highly sensitive area that few ever thought about. He was rewarded as Treize gasped in surprise, his back arching and his hands burying themselves in Zechs' hair. "Dear god," he whispered.
Zechs couldn't help it- he grinned again. He repeated the maneuver, this time adding to the mix his other hand running a finger along the underside of Treize's length. This earned him another gasp; the hands in his hair clenched reflexively. At this rate, Treize would climax before Zechs' mouth ever got down to its goal. Not that Zechs really minded; he was just glad that he'd gotten the opportunity to show Treize this. He was a little more than somewhat proud of his skills; never mind how he'd been forced to acquire them. His tongue darted in for one last taste before moving on. His mouth moved over to one side, his tongue lightly tracing the crease of Treize's hip, where the leg joined the body. Treize moaned in frustration as his hands unconsciously tried to force Zechs head lower, his tongue closer to the skin. Zechs resisted; he knew that the very lightness of the touch was what made it so irresistible. His fingers worked a distraction, brushing over Treize's opposite side. Treize's skin shuddered in response, shivering and twitching all over.
Switching gears, Zechs nuzzled the inside of Treize's thigh, letting his fingers caress the outside of his hip. His other hand moved up underneath inside, tracing the inside curve of Treize's buttocks. Feeling his touch, Treize lifted his hips from the bed, allowing him better access. Accepting, Zechs licked his way down and followed the line of the cleft back to the opening, then lightly licked his way up till his tongue rested just behind where Treize's balls joined his body.
Treize's grip had long ago shifted to twisting his fingers in the sheet beneath him in helpless ecstasy. He cried out when Zechs' tongue flicked against the backside of his balls, exploring yet another hidden sensitive area. His cries dissolved into moaning as Zechs mouthed over those balls, granting that area the physical sensation of touch so desired as well as a gentle massage as his tongue pressed firmly against the skin.
Finally, as if taking a reward after a long journey, Zechs let his tongue slid against Treize's length. He was hard as a rock; not surprising, in fact if he hadn't been Zechs would have been disappointed. He licked playfully, but soon he had to take the flesh firmly in his mouth to keep it from twitching erratically. Treize moaned in bliss as Zechs' lips closed around the head, his hand once again finding its way to Zechs' hair where it stroked through the golden tangle. Taking a page from his master's book, Zechs let the length slide through his lips till he enclosed only just the head, then flicked his tongue rhythmically against that sensitive tip. Treize's hips bucked up reflexively, seeking more of the delicious contact. Zechs pinned him to the bed, his hands at the other man's hips. Treize actually growled in frustration, but Zechs just grinned more. Yes, this was exactly the way he'd planned it. A night too late, but that was just details... When Treize's abortive thrusts against Zechs' pinning hands started to become erratic, Zechs knew the man's release was close. Letting the hard flesh slid from his mouth, Zechs turned his head slightly and, dropping his jaw slightly, took in Treize's balls instead. His mouth full of this new flesh, he began to hum, softly then more intensely.
That was the final straw. With a muted scream, Treize's body arched into a bow and all his muscles went stiff as he climaxed. Zechs leaned back and watched him, smiling in satisfaction. He laid himself down alongside Treize as the other man panted for breath. After a moment, Treize reached out a hand to him and ran it through the bangs that hung down alongside his face. He regarded Zechs with wonder. "Where on earth did you learn to do that?"
Zechs eyes darkened, his gaze grew vacant. He opened his mouth, but said nothing. After a moment he dropped his gaze to his hand, resting on the sheet beneath him. Treize touched his cheek. "I'm sorry," he said. "I... forgot." He looked away for a moment, and Zechs glanced at him in amazement. Treize had forgotten that Zechs was a slave? He'd enjoyed himself that much? Well, I feel complimented... He decided, then, to return the favor.
"Actually," Zechs said into the silence, "I first learned it from a friend of mine. We were bored, and so... Though if I'd know how such a talent would get me used, I don't think now I would have learned it." He frowned, thoughtful. "Though, at times it had been the only thing that kept me alive."
Treize's gaze softened as he lifted a hand to brush hair out of Zechs' eyes. "I am honored that you would... confide in me such a thing."
Zechs smiled softly, then lay his head down on Treize's chest. The man's fingers were in his hair again and his heartbeat was returning to normal under Zechs' ear. "I," he whispered, "am the one who is honored."
When he woke after that first night, Zechs sleeping softly in his arms, Treize felt content for the first time in a long while. When it happened again the next night, he figured he must be in heaven.
He lay for awhile watching the man sleep and contemplated the inherent contradiction that was Zechs. He was a slave, but he carried himself with the air of someone who expected to be obeyed. He called Treize master, but proved to be the more aggressive of the pair in bed. He prostrate himself before Treize yet constantly defied him, brazenly so when he thought he could get away with it, yet apparently lived in abject fear of Dorothy Catalonia. Treize wondered what Dermail had done to Zechs. He couldn't even imagine something so horrible that it would cause such fear in another human being.
The body beside him began to stir, Zechs turning and smiling blearily up at him. Treize returned the smile; he'd wanted to wait until Zech woke up yesterday before he left the room, but the man had seemed intent on sleeping the day away. Finally Treize's fears that Zechs had only initiated the contact of the previous night out of fear, rather than attraction, had driven him out of the bedroom. It was just his rotten luck that that Catalonia woman had pounced on him practically the moment he got downstairs.
There was a soft knock at the door. Zechs glanced over apprehensively, but Treize squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "Come in, Otto," he said.
The door opened slightly and Otto's head popped into the room. "Breakfast is on the table sir," he said. Treize might have been hallucinating, but he thought he saw Otto wink at Zechs. He glanced at the man lying next to him, with his chin resting on Treize's chest shooting Otto a possessive glare, and managed to catch Zechs returning the wink. Was there some sort of conspiracy going on here? "Thank you Otto. That will be all."
"Yes sir." Otto left them, ducking back out the door.
Zechs made as if to rise from the bed, but Treize grabbed him by the chin and forced Zechs to look at him. Zechs expression went from surprise to subservience almost faster than he could drop his eyes from where they had automatically met Treize's gaze. "Master?" he asked quietly.
Treize shook him before releasing him. "Stop that," he said shortly, then pulled his robe up from beside the bed and went into the study without looking back.
What is his problem? What is he hiding? Why is he still hiding it from me? Treize picked up one of the cups of hot tea from the tray on the table and went to the window to look out. It bothered him that Zechs' apparent duplicity irked him so much. But he couldn't help the fact that he found the other man fascinating. The very deception that annoyed Treize drew him irresistibly. A sound behind him made him turn.
Zechs had entered the room; he wore the shirt and pants of the previous day, and though his eyes flickered regretfully over the breakfast tray they were set with determination, and he came and knelt before Treize.
"Stop that," Treize whispered, unable to bear it any longer. "I can't stand lies. Not from you..."
When Zechs spoke, his voice was strong, and not the least bit subservient. "I kneel before you not as a slave to a master, but in thanks to the man who saved my life." He looked up, meeting Treize's eyes, and stood. "I can't... I can't tell you," he glanced away, "what it means to me to be free of that hell. You," he looked back at Treize, "you gave me that chance. For that I will be forever grateful."
Treize's eyes widen in surprise at the beginning of Zechs speech, but he nodded in acknowledgement of Zechs statement. "If there is any way I can help you..." He whispered the words, trailing off, and he found that it hurt him to say them. To offer to help Zechs leave... Don't leave...
"Thank you," Zechs accepted the offer. He turned then, to leave the room, saying over his shoulder as he went out, "I will ask Otto if he has any duties for me today." And with that he was gone.
Treize stared after him. Taking the teacup he held, he set it down carefully on a table then sat himself down in a chair. His hands curled into fists. What the hell!? What was Zechs' game that he was still playing?
The rest of breakfast forgotten, he dressed hurriedly and went in search of Zechs. He found Otto, who told him a list of things that he had asked Zechs to do, but as much as he searched the house Treize couldn't seem to find the slave; he'd seemed to have picked up Otto's habit of being able to disappear and appear randomly about the house in his short time here. Treize's anger rose.
"Sir?" He glanced over to see Otto trying to get his attention.
"What is it?" he snapped. When Otto merely looked at him, he sighed and rubbed at his temples. I'm sorry Otto, I... I have something on my mind and its put me in a bad mood, but that's no reason to be snapping at you."
"Is there someone you would like to be snapping at sir?"
Treize glanced up in surprise; Otto's tone was downright frosty. "No, no." He narrowed his eyes a little; Otto knew who he was looking for. "Not snap. I... I want to talk to him." He frowned. "Preferably in a situation where he can't evade me again."
Otto's gaze softened. "Young Mister Zechs is in the dining room."
"Thank you Otto." And there was another piece to add to the mystery- Otto, stickler for propriety, had addressed Zechs as "Mister" or "Sir" the entire time he had been here. Otto was seeing something that the rest of the world was missing- the same thing that Treize had been seeing in his bed the past two nights.
He slipped in the kitchen side door of the dining room and quietly locked it behind him. Zechs was standing at the table polishing the silver. He had heard the noise behind him and tensed; gripping a table knife in his fist, he whirled to face Treize. Seeing who it was who had snuck up on him, he relaxed. Slightly. He didn't say anything, merely watched Treize warily.
"We need to talk." Zechs continued to watch him warily and backed away without thinking when Treize took a step toward him. Stunned, Treize halted. "No. I don't..." He shook his head and turned away from Zechs. "That's not what I want. I want to talk to you; to understand you. You are the most infuriating contradiction..." He trailed off.
"I'm sorry," Treize heard the younger man whisper. He turned back and looked at Zechs. The younger man was staring at the table, the knife still clenched in his hand, and for the first time he truly looked young. "I was... thinking while I worked, and... my thoughts are not pleasant company."
Treize reached out a hand toward him, his face a mask of sorrow. "Please, Zechs let me help you..." He touched Zechs' shoulder, unsure whether he should offer him comfort.
Zechs gave Treize a long, measured look. "Why did you lie to Dorothy?"
Treize blinked. That was a non sequitur... "What?"
"You told me you didn't like lies, but you lied to Dorothy about me."
"Ah." Treize smiled. "No I didn't."
Zechs shot him a look. "You lied to her. I was listening."
Treize shook his head. "I did not lie," he repeated, fixing his eyes on Zechs'. "She described a slave to me, a shivering, miserable wretch of a man. It was no one I had ever seen before." He touched a hand to Zechs' cheek. "Definitely not the man who's been sharing my bed these past nights."
Zechs blushed slightly; ducking his eyes for a moment he raised them to meet Treize's. He looked at Treize for a long moment. "You say that I am a contradiction, but it is you who are everything that you shouldn't be." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Everything about you makes me want you, want to give you everything of myself. It defies everything I've learned, every defense I've raised to keep myself from feeling what I feel now. I..." He tilted his head back slightly; he looked as if he wanted to kiss Treize, but still wasn't sure of taking the liberty. "I can't believe I'm saying this or that I feel this." He shook his head, though what he was denying Treize couldn't tell, and reached his hand up behind Treize's head and pulled the man close to him, kissing him forcefully. Treize sighed into the kiss; once again Zechs expressed a contradiction of dominance and submission.
"Well, well, well," said a voice.
Zechs' entire body went rigid. Treize pulled back; catching a glimpse of Zechs face he could see it frozen in a mask of fear. He glanced behind Zechs and his own lip curled in distaste. "Dermail. What are you doing in my house?"
"I've come to collect what is mine."
Zechs closed his eyes and started shaking uncontrollably. Treize scowled; grabbing Zechs' wrist he pulled the other man behind him so that Treize was between him and Dermail. "There is nothing here that is yours."
"Oh?" Dermail advanced on them. "I beg to differ, Kushrenada. That's my slave you have there behind you, and I want him back."
"No." Treize's grip tightened on Zechs' wrist.
Dermail's lips pulled back to bare his teeth as he took another step forward. "You will give him back. Right. Now."
Treize was about to make a reply when Zechs beat him to it.
Darting out from behind Treize, Zechs hefted the half-forgotten table knife, still clenched in his fist, and plunged it into Dermail's chest. With a feral snarl, Zechs twisted the knife, pushing it in to the hilt. Dermail's eyes went wide with shock; he grabbed feebly at Zechs, gasping for air. Zechs pulled the knife out and plunged it into Dermail's neck, neatly severing wind pipe and vocal chords. He pushed the quivering body to the ground and stood there, breathing heavily.
Treize could only stare at him. A detached part of his mind recognized another detail to add to the profile he was creating about who Zechs really was- he'd been instructed in killing. But the larger part of him was thinking about something else entirely. "Zechs," he called.
Zechs looked up at him, as if startled to see him standing there.
"Zechs, give me the knife." Treize held out his hand.
Zechs glanced at him, uncomprehending, and held the knife out to him. Suddenly he gasped, a hand flying to his throat, as he looked at the blood-covered knife in his other hand. Touching the metal band at his throat, he turned wide eyes on Treize.
Treize swallowed. If a slave killed someone, anyone, the penalty was death. No exceptions. "Give me the knife, Zechs."
Zechs handed the knife to him and fell to his knees before Treize. "I..." he stammered, but was interrupted.
The main door to the dining room, which Dermail had entered by, opened again. Zechs flinched at the noise, dropping his eyes to the floor and shivering.
Otto peered around the door, glancing in. "Oh my," he said, taking in the scene.
"Otto," Treize said, his voice calm, his eyes on Zechs' bowed head. "Please notify anyone who needs to know that Lord Dermail entered my house, I am assuming without invitation or you would have announced him to me, with intent to steal. I killed him." He raised his eyes and looked straight in Otto's face, but he heard Zechs gasp. "He attacked me and I responded; unfortunately, that resulted in his death. Please see to it that the body is disposed of properly and the room cleaned up."
"Yes sir," Otto responded crisply, nodding sharply.
Treize nodded to him. "I will be upstairs." He pulled Zechs to his feet. Zechs was still gazing at him, stunned. Gently, he led the other man from the room.
Once upstairs, he gently shook Zechs. "Zechs, snap out of it." He looked at him worriedly, but Zechs blinked and focused eyes on Treize's face.
"Why?" he asked. "Why did you lie for me?" He brushed Treize's hands away, jumping to his feet and pacing back and forth. "You're doing it again- being inconsistent. Why? What do you want from me!?"
Treize grabbed him by the shoulders. "Zechs, calm down! Sit." He pushed Zechs into a chair. "Zechs." The younger man looked up at him; still breathing heavily, he held his hands in front of him as if he could not bear to let them accidentally brush against anything or as if he could not tear his eyes from the redness that covered them. "Zechs, do you want to die?"
Zechs glanced at him sharply. "No." The syllable left his lips like a breath more than a word, a secret desire.
"Then why do you ask me these questions?" Treize's grip tightened on Zechs' shoulders. "You killed him. I don't know what the bastard did to you, but I know he deserved it. You do not deserve to die for it."
Zechs shuddered, the last of the adrenaline rush leaving his system, and sagged against Treize. Treize stroked his hair. "Come on then, let's get you cleaned up." He guided Zechs to his feet and led him slowly to the bathing room.
Treize expected to find some cold water left in one of the basins, but he was surprised to find fresh, warm water filling the tubs. Two of the servants ducked in with the last couple buckets. They bobbed their head at Treize, in a sort of half bow, half nod. "We thought you'd be wanting to clean up sir," the first one said.
Treize smiled. "Yes, thank you Howard." The pair both bobbed their heads again and slipped out, leaving him alone with Zechs.
Leading Zechs over to one of the smaller basins raised up on a pedestal, he pushed the younger man's hands into the water and rubbed them gently with his own. With the friction and the warm water, most of the blood came off. Treize used the bar of hard soap next to the basin to scrub Zechs' hands more thoroughly. Some time through the procedure, Zechs roused himself and, pulling his hands out from Treize's grip, washed them himself. Done, he looked down at them. Treize watched him carefully, but Zechs' face was blank. Slowly he raised his head and let his hands drop. A shudder ran through him.
"Zechs," Treize said softly. It took a moment for the younger man to respond. He turned to look at Treize, his face still blank. Disturbed, Treize reached out a hand and touched Zechs' face, trailing fingers across his brow and temple to cup his cheek. Zechs' expression softened, life returning to his features. He turned into the caress, his lips brushing across Treize's palm. "Mmm, that's better," Treize said, taking Zechs' face firmly between his hands and gazing into his eyes. "Are you alright?"
Zechs nodded, slowly but firmly. "Yes. I... It's something of a shock. To know he's dead." He stared into Treize's eyes. "There are things... but I'm not sure they've changed, even now. I... I'll have to think about it."
"Whatever you need," Treize whispered, touching his lips against Zechs' softly. He drew back slightly, then gasped for breath as Zechs suddenly pressed his own lips forward, fiercely griping Treize's shoulders to keep the other man still. Far from backing away, Treize leaned into the contact.
Zechs abruptly broke off the kiss. He took a step back from Treize, shaking uncontrollably. "I'm sorry. I..."
"Shhh." Treize stepped over to him and loosely held him on his feet. "Relax. Here, wash." His hands slipped under Zechs' shirt and pulled the garment from his body. Treize shivered with joy when the movement elicited no protest, or even an involuntary flinch, whatsoever from the younger man. He stripped Zechs' pants from him as well and, lifting the man up bodily, lowered him into the large basin for bathing.
Zechs sighed softly as he lay back in the warm water. Treize, shedding his own shirt, moved behind him and started working soap into his hair. Zechs' eyes slid closed and he leaned into Treize' kneading fingers. Treize smiled softly; this was the Zechs he loved. The one who acted as though he owned the world, as if Treize serving him was right and proper. The one who held up none of the barriers that usually came between him and everyone else.
Wait, had he just said love?
Well.
He supposed he had. Treize smiled again, down at the mess of gold his fingers worked through. Yes. I do believe I love him. How's that for a revelation? He wondered, briefly, how Zechs felt. Not that it would matter much. Treize was going to help him find whatever his life had been before he became a slave. If that was what Zechs wanted, that was what Zechs was going to get. And Treize would be damned if he was going to let some moronic bastard like Dermail ruin his plans.
Zechs' hair washed, Treize moved his hands lightly to the younger man's shoulders. Zechs tensed slightly at first, surprised, but soon relaxed into the touch as Treize massaged his shoulders and back.
His hands moved lower, across Zechs' back. Zechs leaned forward, allowing Treize to reach the lower part of his back, moaning in appreciation as his tense muscles relaxed. Having reached the bottom, No pun intended, Treize slipped his hands around to the front and worked them up over Zechs' chest causing the man to lean back again. Treize buried his face in the damp junction of Zechs' neck and shoulder and he felt Zechs reach hands up behind him and work them through Treize's hair. Treize's hands slid up over Zechs' chest, brushing over his nipples, one pausing and returning to caress that sensitive area while the other traced its way back down over Zechs' stomach and lower.
The fingers in Treize's hair tightened as Zechs' arched into the exploratory touches. Treize smiled against the younger man's neck as his own fingers flicked through the water to stroke against Zechs' length, the flesh hardening under his touch. Zechs turned his head, his breath ghosting over Treize's ear, and the older man shivered when he heard Zechs breathe his name. Zechs tried to pull him closer, seemed to realize that their positions weren't quite compatible with that action, and started to turn around. Treize stopped him. Standing, he shed the rest of his clothing and, coming around in front of Zechs, stepped into the basin and lowered himself into the water until he was straddling Zechs. Leaning forward, he kissed Zechs' mouth, smiling when Zechs kissed him back vigorously. His hand resumed its stroking of Zechs' length, but this time Zechs returned the favor, letting his own fingers explore Treize's body.
Zechs leaned up out of the water, almost unconsciously, to get closer to Treize, trying to also kneel so that he could press himself against Treize. However, the basin wasn't large enough for him to accomplish this the way he was situated, so he turned around, sliding his legs back alongside of Treize's and pressing his back against Treize's chest. He leaned his head on Treize's shoulder and reached his hands behind him to run fingers lightly over Treize's thighs.
Treize grinned, and kissed his way down Zechs' neck. Gathering Zechs' hair in his hand, he tossed it over his shoulder, so that it fell across both of them and down Treize's back as he pressed his chest against the man in front of him. His hands, on Zechs' thighs, pulled the other man closer against him, one hand slipping underneath Zechs' body in search of his opening. Finding it, he slid a finger inside. Zechs' shivered and leaned forward allowing Treize clearer access, his hair falling around his face as he bent forward and gripped the edge of the basin.
His other hand tracing a distracting pattern over Zechs' spine, Treize's fingers worked quickly to stretch Zechs' in preparation. He didn't want to wait any longer than he had to before he was inside of the beautiful man moaning in pleasure beneath him. Pressing a kiss to Zechs' shoulder, he snapped his hips against the other man, sheathing himself inside of him. Zechs' head came up as he moaned and his hands tightened their grip on the basin.
Running his hands along the planes of Zechs' body, Treize leaned forward until his body was perfectly aligned with Zechs'. Their bodies rested together, their legs lay parallel, his arms stretched alongside of Zechs' until his hands covered the younger man's, their fingers momentarily intertwining, and Treize breathed against Zechs' neck. But Treize's fingers could not remain motionless for long. One hand drifted underneath Zechs' body, brushing over his chest, and the other pushed his hair from where it hung around his face so that Treize could kiss his ear and trail more kisses down his jaw. Zechs turned toward him, his eyes half lidded. Treize's fingers traced lightly over Zechs' features as he began to move against him.
Treize's other hand, after toying with Zechs' nipples, drifted down and began to pull at his length. Slowly, languorously, Treize thrust into the man beneath him, feeling the warmth of Zechs' body, both from inside and rising from his skin as his muscles trembled with exertion and anticipation.
Starting out slow, Treize's motions soon began to pick up the pace as his desire rose within him. His weight shifted; rather than draping himself along Zechs' body, he took his weight onto one of his own hands. He kissed his way down Zechs' spine as the hand wrapped around Zechs' length began to pump more vigorously. Zechs moaned, rocking between Treize's touch and the feeling of Treize behind him, inside of him.
Ecstasy built inside of Treize, slowly- ever slowly, but ever growing- until it reached the point where his body could not contain it any longer and it had to come bursting out.
He gasped softly, breathing Zechs' name against the back of his neck, his face against Zechs' shoulder, as his body stiffened then relaxed. He felt Zechs' release take him as well as the smooth skin under his cheek tensed and quivered.
The water had gone tepid around them. Treize rose, pulling Zechs up with him, and they stepped out of the basin. Picking up a towel from where they lay in a pile, Treize threw it around Zechs and grabbed another one for himself. They dried themselves reasonably well, and Treize lead a tired Zechs into the bedroom by the hand. Pausing beside the bed, he looked up into Zechs' eyes and smiled softly. Zechs smiled back, kissing him lightly on the lips before slipping into the bed.
It had been a long day, though less emotionally distressing for him than for Zechs. Treize slid under the covers beside Zechs and was asleep almost before his arm went around the younger man.
He was dreaming, Zechs knew, but it felt so real.
He was back there, in the darkness, that hell, and she was standing over him, with her face twisted in the most revolting grimace of pleasure as he screamed. Her fingers were fire and death where she traced lines on his skin. It was the night she'd lost it, gone completely crazy, and he wasn't sure he would live to see the dawn. God, he wasn't even sure he wanted to. He thought he would go mad from the pain; he hadn't thought that one person could feel so much pain...
And then Dermail had come in, on fire himself and completely pissed. He'd smacked Dorothy around a bit, but it ended as it always did- with sex. She screamed too much- Zechs knew Dermail preferred a more subdued expression of despair- and more often than not Zechs would get pulled into their abusive passion. They both got off on hurting him, though for different reasons.
He hadn't thought that it could be so cold... He hadn't thought that a person could be so cold, and not be dead. But maybe he was dead...
He could hear her voice, taunting him. "Zechs," she called softly, but wait, his mind thought fuzzily, she never called me that...
"Zechs." Fingers traced his face gently then gripped his uppers arms and shook him. "Zechs, snap out of it." Lips, warm and pliant, brushed over his forehead. "I'm here, Zechs. It's all right."
His eyes snapped open, but it was a minute before he truly saw anything; before he registered the warmth all around him, beside him, with its arms wrapped around him. He exhaled, in one long, shuddering breath, and buried his face against Treize's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
Suddenly harsh fingers grabbed him by the chin and forced his head up until he met Treize's eyes, which glittered with fury. "You have nothing to apologize for. Zechs," those eyes softened, and Zechs realized that their angry fire was for someone else. "There is no excusing what they did to you. The fault is all their own." His hands clenched, as if he meant to do battle with some unseen foe, but he relaxed, and kissed Zechs again.
Zechs smiled at him, grateful for his words, his presence, but... He wouldn't say that if he knew what a rotten mess I've made of everything.
He hadn't realized he had dropped his gaze until Treize's fingers raised his chin again. "You don't believe me," he said flatly. Zechs' eyes flew open wide for a moment and he prepared to deny Treize's words, but a finger to his lips stopped him. "Don't lie to me," Treize whispered, his eyes searching Zechs' face intently.
Those eyes. Staring back into them, Zechs felt his unease begin to melt away. But his fears were deep seated; they'd had years to take root. He closed his eyes; he could feel Treize's fingers brushing soothingly over his cheek. "I've been lying for so long," Zechs whispered. "I don't remember what truth sounds like." He leaned into the hand that touched his face with such gentleness, knowing it could not last.
"I think you do." The motion of those fingers never stopped, brushing steadily over his cheek. "And it's time you stopped lying, especially to yourself. Tell yourself something true. Say it so I can hear it too."
Zechs' mouth opened, but no words came out. No. I can't say that... He opened his eyes. Not yet... He met Treize's encouraging gaze and took a deep breath. "Ten years," he said, looking in those eyes. "Ten years I've lived with Dermail. I... don't know how I lasted for that long." He honestly could not remember a good portion of the last decade, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. And before that... There had been life before Dermail, but he couldn't remember that either.
No more lies...
All right, so he did remember a bit.
"I have a sister." Yes. That was true; he remembered now.
He frowned. "Had. I... Dermail told me he killed her." Zechs' eyes grew dark as memories long suppressed returned with a vengeance. "He brought me proof. He said he didn't blame me for not recognizing her; his men had had some fun before he finished her off." His voice was black with a rage held in for ten years, but now that he had begun he could not stop.
"Dermail," he spat the name, "enjoyed having me around for his own pleasure, but he let Dorothy play with me sometimes. His only restraint on her was that she wasn't allowed to permanently scar me." Zechs' eyes were ice as he stared at nothing, at the past. "Other than that, she could have as much fun as she wanted. And of course Dorothy didn't like that Dermail did like me so much." He rubbed a hand over his arm distractedly, as if remembering an old pain. "That made her very... creative." He traced a finger over a scar low down on his stomach. "Of course, sometimes she got carried away." His finger shied away from the scar, as if suddenly burned. "I think she enjoyed it when he punished her," Zechs said, his voice full of loathing and yet a strange understanding. "But sometimes she didn't feel like risking his displeasure. So she wouldn't touch me." His jaw clenched. "She'd torture others, in front of me. Kill them, or, more often, leave them bleeding at my feet to die slowly. She knew that would affect me, go against everything I had been raised to believe in..." Zechs trailed off, lost in the memory.
Treize's lips on his forehead brought him back to the present. He realized absently that Treize's fingers had never stopped stroking his cheek. He scanned the older man's face, looking for the revulsion he was sure he would find there, and said, just so everything was clear, "I think that was the worst. I could handle what she did to me, what Dermail did to me. But when she hurt others... I can't even call them innocents; some were, but most were guilty of some horrible crime and had run afoul of Dermail somehow. And still when she cut them, it was like she cut me. I... dreaded being sent to her. I would..." he swallowed. "I would do anything to keep it from happening. So I sought to please Dermail. I pleasured him in any way he desired." Zechs gaze grew vacant. "That's why he liked me better than the others. I died every time he fucked me, and that's the way he liked it."
Silence spread throughout the room as Zechs stopped speaking. He closed his eyes against the faces that filled his mind and the darkness that surrounded the bed, and listened to Treize's breathing, hypnotized by the steady thrum of the fingers across his cheek. The silence stretched on for a long minute. And though he hated to press the point, hasten the words he was sure would hurt him- would shatter him this time, now that he'd let all his walls down- he said, desperately, "Say something."
The fingers stopped moving and rested against his cheek. "Zechs," Treize said softly. "It's not your fault. What they did to you. What you had to do to stay alive."
Zechs shuddered. "Better to be dead than to be what I am," he whispered.
Treize's fingers dropped from Zechs' face as if they had been burned. "Is that what you believe?"
He was silent for a long time. "It is what part of me believes," Zechs said finally. "The part of me raised by my father; raised to believe in holding ideals over personal wellbeing." He searched Treize's face, adding, "It is the same part of me that shies away from you and everything you try to give me. You offer me life, but... I am unsure as to whether I am even capable of accepting it from you."
Treize frowned thoughtfully and his hand started stroking soothingly along Zechs' arm. The gesture was almost unconscious, and something inside of Zechs thrilled at the touch. "But only a part of you feels this way?" Treize questioned. He looked at Zechs hopefully. "What does the rest of you feel?"
Zechs' eyes drifted closed, his head arched back, and a pleasant, sated smile spread across his features. Finally, an easy question... "Ecstasy," he said. "The past is a shadow, the future... golden." He leaned forward, burying his face against the curve of Treize's neck, inhaling the scent of the man.
Treize chuckled. "Well, that's something I can work with at least." He wrapped his arms around Zechs and let his hands trace small patterns across Zechs' back as he lay there, thinking over what the younger man had told him.
"You are afraid of life, because you feel you have disgraced yourself and your family beyond repair," Treize said finally, restating what Zechs had said. Zechs nodded assent. "But," Treize continued, "what if the life you lived was not this life you now feel unqualified for?" Zechs looked at him, puzzled. "I mean to say, who said you had to go back to that life? If you are not the same person who lived it, then perhaps it is better to think of yourself as dead, of that part of you as being dead, and begin again." His gaze was hopeful.
Zechs stared at him, his mouth dropping open. "I... I had not thought of that." His brows furrowed in thought. He felt an obligation to his family, as the eldest and only son, but... He was unworthy to even think of himself as a member of that family. Fortunately, or so it seemed now, Dorothy had already taken care of that- Zechs was not his real name; he wasn't even sure he would respond to his real name if he heard it again. His family would find someone to take his place. There were candidates, he could remember a few. They didn't need him... Not the way he was now.
He reached out a hand and ran his fingers tentatively down Treize's face, as if doing it for the first time. "I... all right," he said thoughtfully. "I'll try that." He grinned. "It shouldn't be too hard." He kissed the other man, forcefully. "Should it?"
Treize smiled back at him, his happiness at Zechs' decision evident. "Mmm, I should hope not." His expression grew serious. "Zechs, it could very well be difficult. But... let me help you? I..." He pressed his forehead to Zechs', their breath mingling and coming as one. "I want to be there for you."
Smiling broadly, Zechs wrapped his arms around Treize and buried his face in Treize's hair. His heart quickened, and his boldness almost surprised him, but, he thought, maybe this will work after all... And maybe with some time, Zechs would be able to admit more to himself, be able to accept what he had become. And maybe, then, he could try and find his family and apologize to them...
They had been talking a long time; dawn was visible through the windows with their drapes pulled back. Raising his head to look at Zechs, Treize caught sight of the rising sun. "Damn," he frowned, and sighed. He looked at Zechs. "Are you all right?"
Zechs nodded. "Yes. You have things to do?"
He rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I have a manor to run, and I've been neglecting it the past few days. Because I had something far more entertaining to occupy my time," he said, smiling as he raised a hand to cup Zechs' cheek. "Come out with me," he urged Zechs. "I'll show you around."
"I... Not today." Zechs dropped his eyes and pulled back from Treize slightly.
He could feel Treize's disappointment, but the older man tried not to show it as he rose and dressed, smiling as he said, "All right, I'll see you later then," and paused before he left, cupping Zechs' cheek in his hand before kissing him softly on the forehead.
Alone in the room, Zechs wanted to smack himself. After Treize had been so understanding, he had to go and throw it in his face like that. Truthfully, Zechs was still scared of life- a night of soul baring didn't change patterns of thought that had been ingrained in him over the past ten years. Going with Treize, observing daily life, being a part of this life... He couldn't. Not yet.
Zechs frowned at himself, suddenly angry. Bullshit, he thought. Abruptly galvanized into action, as if, if he didn't start now, he wouldn't, ever, he searched out and found some clothing that fit him and was reasonably clean. I can't let the past rule my life. That was the point of all the talking we did, wasn't it? He hurriedly pulled on shoes and ran downstairs.
He almost ran Otto over on his way into the kitchen. He paused, taking a moment to breathe before he gasped out, "Treize?"
"Master Treize has left; he did not appear to be in the mood for breakfast." Otto scanned Zechs' face briefly, then turned to the back door of the kitchen and pointed out of the doorway toward a squat building several yards away. "That's the main stable. He should be there." Zechs thanked him; Otto smiled and offered him a cloak from beside the door. "It's a bit chilly out there, sir." Zechs took the cloak with a smile, and took a deep breath before setting out at a run for the stable.
It was farther than he had thought, or he was in far worse shape than he had thought. He'd barely made it to the edge of the back paddock before he had to stop and walk the rest of the way. He was walking along the fence when someone on the other side of it recognized him. Running up to the fence, head up and tail flagged, Bucephalus snorted a greeting to Zechs then bugled and kicked up dirt as he turned abruptly and started running along the fence line.
Zech smiled at the stallion. Suddenly, an idea struck him. Sliding between the bars of the fence, he eased into the paddock. Catching sight of him, Bucephalus stopped short and snorted at him. He advanced on Zechs, neck arched and nostrils flaring. Zechs stood calmly and held out his hands to the approaching stallion. "Hello there," he murmured. "I think I remember you better than you remember me, hmm? I just want a little favor old man, and then you can go back to eating grass and chasing mares." A youth spent among horses came back to him as he approached the stallion and stroked him easily on the neck, allowing the horse to smell him. After a few minutes he took a handful of his mane and led him over to the fence. Climbing onto one of the lower crossbars, Zechs mounted the stallion. Bucephalus' ears shot back and his muscles tensed as he prepared to remove this irritant, but Zechs, recalling how Treize had handled the animal, wrapped his legs securely around the stallion's barrel. "None of that," he added in a forceful voice as he smacked the horse lightly on the neck, and nudged Bucephalus into a walk and then a full canter.
The wind felt good on his face and a feeling of self confidence filled Zechs, the likes of which he hadn't felt in a decade. He felt so good that he stopped really paying attention to where they were going, until the muscles under his legs tensed. Glancing in front of them, he saw Bucephalus had reached the gate to the pasture, where the fence was slightly lower, and was preparing to jump it. Sudden panic filled Zechs, but he overcame it almost instantaneously. Bucephalus was already prepared to jump the fence; If Zechs tried to pull him out of it now one- or probably both- of them was going to get hurt. So he leaned forward over the stallion's neck as the supple body rose with a ripple of muscle to clear the fence, with plenty of room to spare. Bucephalus landed with an almost contemptuous air, as if the fence was barely worth the effort he expended to jump it, and trotted forward a few steps, tail still flagged and neck arched pompously. Zechs had leaned back as the horse came down, and he felt the slight jarring as they reconnected with the earth; he looked up to see Treize watching them.
He stood a few yards away, and Bucephalus went to him without any urging. With a soft whicker, the horse shoved his head against his master's chest. Treize automatically raised his hands and started stroking the stallion's ears. He looked at Zechs, his face impassive, revealing nothing.
Zechs took a deep breath. He almost blurted out an apology; the stallion could have been seriously injured by Zechs' antics. But something about Treize's face stopped him; Treize was watching him too carefully. It was a test, Zechs realized, and he had every intention of passing with flying colors.
"I changed my mind," he said, his voice firm. "Bucephalus offered to help me find you." Zechs met Treize's eyes, watching as they suddenly softened and the older man's face broke into a smile.
He came forward and touched Zechs' ankle. "That was uncharacteristically kind of him."
Insanely reminded of the day they met, Zechs swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat that was making it hard for him to breathe, and said nonchalantly, "Well, I was very persuasive." Treize looked up at him and Zechs immediately brought his leg over the horse's back and slid down his side to stand in front of Treize. "I..." He wanted to say ‘I'm sorry,' but changed it to, "I was scared earlier, when you asked me. I didn't mean to hurt you." He touched Treize's face. "Thank you for being patient with me."
Treize smiled and turned to kiss the hand Zechs had rested on his cheek. "Thank you for being honest with me."
Zechs returned the smile, and thought, Now. Now I can say it... But, as he opened his mouth, Bucephalus suddenly bugled a challenge.
An answering bugle drifted back toward them on the wind, and Zechs glanced in the direction it came from. When he did, his heart fell to his feet.
A small group of horsemen was coming toward them, their trappings in the sunlight glittered with a military flair. Bucephalus moved around the pair standing next to him and prepared to charge the horses coming toward them, but Treize held a fist out in front of the stallion's nose. "Hold," he said in a terse voice that brokered no argument. Bucephalus whickered and bowed his head.
The group of horsemen slowed as they came closer, until the leader brought her mare to a halt in front of the pair of men. Her eyes were fixed on Zechs, and their violet depths trembled with emotion. From the corner of his eye, Zechs could see Treize glancing at him questioningly, but his gaze was as drawn to the woman in from of him as hers was to him. She was, at once, both the most welcoming sight and the most horrific thing he could imagine.
"Lucrezia," Zechs murmured.
She almost fell off her horse in her haste, and she flung herself at him, her arms going around his neck desperately. He returned the embrace automatically, too stunned to actually think.
"Oh Milliardo," she whispered. "At last. I found you at last."
At least the cell was dry. And relatively warm. Treize sighed as he leaned back against the stone wall of his prison.
He supposed he should have seen this coming. He'd always known Zechs was more than what he pretended to be, and Treize had never thought of him as just a slave. But the Crown Prince? Treize hadn't been expecting that.
He hadn't seen Zechs at all since the patrol had ridden up to them earlier today. Since that woman had thrown her arms around him; held him like a lost long brother... or a lover.
Maybe that was what was bothering him the most. More than being arrested, more than his pending execution...
The late afternoon sun was filtering in through the narrow window, and Treize realized that tomorrow might very well be his last day alive. He was under arrest, for abduction, contributing unlawfully to the slave trade, and a hundred other charges pertaining to the misconception the guards seemed to have that he was the one who had stolen the prince from his room that night ten years ago.
Treize knew the story. The whole country knew the story, though the government had tried to repress it. The story of how the young prince, the pride of his country, his family, had mysteriously vanished from his room one night; had vanished from the palace. The official story was that he had been called away to the bedside of an ill relative who lived far off in the country. He'd stayed with this relative for several months, and then met with a fatal accident on his return journey. That was the story, but those who actually believed it could be counted on one hand. There was speculation- where had he been taken?- and rumor- who had done it?- but the country mourned, and soon forgot all about their shining prince. They accepted the princess, his younger sister, as their new heir.
His sister. If she was the same sister he had spoken of, Zechs was probably glad to find that she hadn't been harmed by Dermail. Treize's expression darkened. Dermail. That man had done so much, worked so hard, to make Zechs' life a hell. Why? Because he could, Treize answered himself surprisingly easily. Treize had been fourteen when the prince had disappeared. He remembered it. He remembered how everyone forgot, moved on with their lives. His hands curled into fists. While they had been forgetting, Dermail had been torturing the hell out of a nine-year-old boy.
Oh, Zechs...
Wait. No, Treize frowned. That's not his name. He was going to have to stop thinking of him as that. Milliardo. His name was Milliardo. It was a lovely name, maybe even nicer than Zechs. But Treize wasn't quite sure it had sunk in yet that the slave he'd stolen, had in his bed the past nights, was the Crown Prince of Sanq.
A prince. With princely duties, and the like. With a fiancée, no doubt. That woman... Lucrezia, Zechs- no, Milliardo- had called her. She was obviously a close friend. Perhaps, more than a friend... Treize dismissed that last thought.
Or tried to. It was hard to think of Zechs as having a life and people who cared for him; a life that did not include Treize.
Dammit, Milliardo. Milliardo had a life, not Zechs. And Treize wondered if the man he's known even existed at all.
Yes, he thought to himself. It's Milliardo- Milliardo is the one I've been seeing in Zechs' passion. He smiled to himself.
"What are you grinning about, scum?"
Treize's eyes shot up to the small window in the door. The guard leered at him. He could hear the key jangling in the door, and he tensed. His eyes narrowed as a group of four guards entered the cell, all with the same dark expression on their faces as they looked at him. Treize stood, keeping his back against the wall behind him; the wall farthest from the door, not that there was much room in the cramped cell. He kept his eyes on the group, but when a pair of them moved toward him they moved so fast, and completely in sync with each other, that he barely saw them. The first one slammed him back against the wall, cracking his head against the stone, and before his head cleared they had his arms pinned behind him.
"Well there scum, we heard about how nice you treated His Highness while he was staying with you," the leader of the group was holding an empty bottle and looking at it thoughtfully. "So, we decided we should show you some of the same hospitality." He gripped the bottle firmly by the neck and smacked the bottom of it against the wall so that it shattered into ragged edges.
Treize clenched his jaw as the man advanced on him. He could have fought them... if he didn't empathize so strongly with what they wanted to do. He would have loved to take a bottle to the man who had hurt Zechs, and do a thousand other things to him as well. But Dermail had met his end at Zechs' hands, which was the most appropriate. Treize could have told them that. Not that they would have believed him; and he would never betray Zechs that way. He wasn't sure what the laws were concerning princes who went after their subjects with table knives, but he wasn't about to try to find out. Treize closed his eyes and turned his head away as he felt the sharp edge of glass against his cheek.
Zechs...
The door flew open. "What do you think you are doing, Sergeant?"
Treize opened his eyes. The woman, Lucrezia, was standing in the doorway glaring daggers at the man with the bottle.
"Captain Noin," he said, his voice harsh with emotion. "After what he did," he gestured at Treize, "would you stop us?!"
She fixed her steely gaze on him. "Sergeant, return to your post." She flicked her eyes over the others. "Now." The sergeant growled, but he went, the group trailing after him as they had entered. Noin spoke with the tone of someone who was not used to being disobeyed.
She entered the cell, not bothering to close the door behind her. Her eyes held Treize's, and he stood waiting for her. Standing before him, she whipped out her dagger and held it to him throat. "Well?" she said, her voice steel. "After what you did, what do you think I should do?"
Treize closed his eyes. "I never hurt Zechs. I would never. But do what you must."
He felt the dagger leave his throat. He opened his eyes and met the fierce purple ones of the woman standing in front of him. "Come with me," she said, and she turned sharply on her heels and left the cell without looking back.
Treize paused a moment, looking at the open door. And then he followed her.
She lead him to what he assumed was her office, and when he entered she motioned for him to close the door behind him. It was a large room, full of chaos in the form of books and paperwork in various stages of completion. Weapons decorated the far wall behind the desk, and observing the woman who sat in the desk chair eyeing him, he had no doubt that she was an expert with each and every one of them.
"Zechs," she said to him, a slight question in her voice.
Treize was momentarily puzzled, but them remembered, "Dammit, Milliardo!" He put a hand to his forehead and then ran it viciously through his hair. "I'm sorry, I keep forgetting."
She was watching him. "You never knew that was his name before today," she said, a statement with something of a question behind it.
"No," Treize responded, not looking at her.
"You killed Duke Dermail."
Treize looked at her. He folded his arms over his chest. "Yes."
She leaned forward. "Why?"
"Because he entered my house uninvited with intent to steal."
"How do you know his intent?"
Treize's eyes narrowed as he gazed at her. This was not the interrogation he expected. Actually, he had expected that he would be sentenced without having to open his mouth. Did she know something that she wasn't saying, something more than her compatriots? Had she been talking to Zechs?
"Because," he said, "I stole it from him in the first place."
Her eyes widened slightly. "Oh?" She leaned back in her chair, her expression thoughtful. She glanced at him suddenly. "The reason we came to your estate this morning, is that we received information from a woman who would not name herself that you had a slave you were violently mistreating, and that your actions worried her."
While he had been surprised at first, Treize was suddenly suspicious. "This woman, she wasn't by any chance slightly shorter than you with long blonde hair was she?"
"Yes," Noin confirmed.
"Dorothy Catalonia," Treize said. "I can well imagine that the way I was treating Zechs worried her. She was pissed as hell when I refused to give him back to her."
"I see." Noin's eyes pierced him, looking through him, and he wondered what she saw. She glanced out the window suddenly. "I have an appointment," she said as she rose from her chair. "Stay here. If you leave, I will find you," he did not doubt her, "though perhaps not before someone far more unpleasant does."
He nodded, but his hands clenched suddenly against the inaction. "Ze... Milliardo," he corrected himself. "How is he?"
She paused, hand on the door, and looked at him. "I haven't spoken with him. He appears to be well."
Treize nodded his thanks, and she left, locking the door behind her. He went around the desk and sat in her chair. It was the only one in the room, besides a pair of stools shoved under a table, and he felt he was going to be here for awhile. Treize sighed. While his situation was looking up for the moment, there were still many things to consider.
First and foremost, was Zechs...
"Dammit," he mumbled to himself, and decided right there that he was going to learn the name of the man he loved, before anything else.
Settling back comfortably in the chair, Treize leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He called up memories and played them out on the inside of his eyelids; golden hair falling around him, hot breath in his face, hands on his chest suddenly gripping his arms accompanied by a wondering gasp, soft skin under his fingers and lips.
"Milliardo," he named these sensations, branding them such in his mind.
Zechs sighed as he threw himself down on the bed, relaxing in the first moment he'd had to himself all day. They wouldn't leave him alone, afraid he'd disappear again...
He rolled over on the bed, onto his stomach, and looked around the room. It was his room. Had been his room. He rose from the enormous bed and went to the desk, a child's desk, and picked up the framed photograph sitting there. It was small, his hand seemed to engulf it, as he looked at the pair of children looking back out at him from behind the glass. A girl, her dark blonde hair pulled up, out of her face. A boy, his brilliant blue eyes laughing at something.
Zechs hurriedly put the frame down. He went to the bed quickly and picked up his cloak from where he'd dropped it, and left the room. This was not his room. Not any more. He was no longer the boy who had lived there.
He almost ran over Lucrezia standing waiting for him in the hall. She took one look at him and said, "Come with me."
He didn't question. He followed her. Even before, when he'd never listened to anyone, he'd listened to Noin.
She lead him through the palace, through the gardens, to the orchard, to the tree in the corner that only gave sour apples; to the place where he had first met her years ago.
He put his hands on the rough bark of the tree and breathed in the scent of earth and life. "This old thing's still here? I thought they would have cut it down long ago."
"I wouldn't let them."
He looked at her. The sun was setting just beyond the orchard wall, and it cast red shadows in her black hair. "Lucrezia." He wanted to say he was sorry, but Treize's words kept ringing in his head- It's not your fault.
But he could talk to Noin. Hadn't they always been able to talk? Ten years... a lifetime ago. "Lu," he started, but she held up a hand.
"Don't try." She looked at him, looked up from where she'd been tracing patterns in the bark of the tree. "Don't try to pretend you're the same- that nothing's happened. I saw you doing it for them, and they needed it but I don't." She took a step toward him. "Be Zechs."
He took a deep breath, and when he let it out it was almost a sob. He gripped the tree, holding onto it as if it was the last lifeline to sanity. "I never thought I would come back here. I never thought I would get out. I... I don't know why I fought so hard to stay alive, if I never thought I would ever leave... I wanted to leave, but I never thought I would make it. I ran away five times before I found Treize. Five times, and they always brought me back, but then..." He closed his eyes. "Treize gave me something. I barely recognize it I hadn't seen it in so long. He gave me hope." Zechs looked at Noin. "He said he would help me. Give me whatever I wanted. God, Lu, I didn't even know what to say to him. He scared me, at first, still does a bit I suppose." His eyes were distant, and a smile played around his lips. "He knows what he wants, he's so sure of himself, oh Lu..." He trailed off, then looked at her. "I guess I thought he was too good to be true. That he would leave..." Zechs frowned slightly. "I guess he has, in a way."
"He's in the guardhouse, under arrest," Noin said mildly.
"What?" Zechs' eyes went wide in astonishment, then narrowed. "What did he do?"
"Abducted, enslaved, and tortured you," she replied.
"What!?" Zechs repeated. "No!" He shook his head vehemently. "No! Lu, He didn't... You don't believe that do you?"
She looked at him carefully. "No," she said. After a moment's pause, she explained. "He didn't know your name." Zechs frowned at her in confusion, and she elaborated. "The one who would have abducted you, would have known you by your name- Milliardo. Treize thinks of you as Zechs."
Zechs nodded, the looked at her sharply. "When did you talk to him?" His eyes flew wide as he suddenly realized what Noin had said he stood accused of, and where she said he was at the moment. "What have you done to him? Oh god, Treize!" Zechs turned away and set out at a dead run for the guardhouse.
Noin tackled him, bringing them both down on the soft ground. "Relax! He's all right. I interrupted some enlisted men about to teach him a lesson with a bottle and hid him in my office. No one goes in there without my permission." She pushed herself onto her hands and knees and moved over to sit next to Zechs. "He's fine just waiting, so talk to me."
Zechs sat up too, and when he looked up their faces were inches apart. "Lu," he said hoarsely. "I..." He touched her cheek. "I know you... you thought we... we were going to..."
She smiled at him and reached up herself to pat his cheek. "Lio," she said, "I was nine. Of course I wanted to marry a prince. Doesn't everyone? I loved you; still do. You were my best friend in the world. But Lio..." She smiled awkwardly. "I never wanted to sleep with you."
They sat there for a long minute, taking each other in. "Well," Zechs said. "That's one load off my back. I thought you were going to be mad at me."
"For getting abducted and falling in love? Though," she scowled, "I'd love to get my hands on the shit who thought that making you a slave was a good idea. Apparently, your Treize beat me to it."
"What?" Zechs looked at her, puzzled. "He said...?"
"Yeah," Noin responded. "Why? Didn't he? Cause even if he didn't steal you away, murder's no light charge."
Zechs shook his head. "No. It was me. I killed him."
Noin's eyes were piercing as she looked at him. "Lio, I know you love him, but you can't take the fall for him. Even you... though in the circumstances..." she trailed off, deep in thought.
"No," Zechs put a hand to her cheek to catch her attention. "I killed Dermail." He took a deep breath. "With a table knife. Treize lied about it; because I was a slave they'd kill me, so he said it was him. I didn't think he'd still be saying that, now that I..." He took another breath and turned his head to look over the palace, glittering in the last shreds of sunlight.
"Well, he's still saying it." She frowned. "Maybe he's the one I should give my ‘don't take the fall' speech to."
Zechs laughed. It felt good; like old times, him and Lu hiding in the orchard.
"So." Noin glanced at him, a sparkle in her eye. "Since I wasn't ever planning on sleeping with you, aren't you the least bit interested in who I'm seeing?"
"Seeing as you already know about me, it's only fair that you tell," he responded.
She grinned. "She's a colonel, in the house guard."
Zechs' eyes widened. "Well. Congratulations." Noin's grin became infectious, and he felt his mouth spreading in the unfamiliar shape. He thought of Treize. Perhaps not so unfamiliar...
"Well that does it," Noin said as she stood. "I can tell you're thinking about him, and we seem to have cleared up the main issue lying between us, so..." Zechs smiled up at her, an overdone expression of hopefulness on his face. "God, you look like a puppy," she complained. "Fine! I'll take you to him!"
Leaping to his feet, Zechs picked her up bodily and swung her around. Yelping in surprise, Noin smacked him playfully in the head to tell him to let her down. He lowered her body, slowly, all along his until their faces were almost touching. He hovered over her mouth, looking into her eyes. Even at nine he'd understood his place in the world; that he would marry and his wife would be the queen when he was king. A rebellious child, he'd picked Noin- his friend- over any of the girls in the court. He'd vaguely understood what the process of having children entailed, and he'd thought that Noin loved him; that Noin would want that. But now as he looked into her eyes there was nothing, no shred or trace, to tell him that that was indeed what she wanted. In fact...
She leaned toward him and whispered in his ear, "You know the Crimson Room in the East Wing?"
His eyes widened. He remembered it as being one of the finest of the guest rooms in the palace. "Yes."
She pulled back and grinned at him. "It's open. I thought I'd put your Duke there." She touched the tip of his nose. "If you don't want him in your room, that is."
Zechs smiled at her and set her on her feet. She took his arm in hers and led the way to her office. "Thanks Lu," he said. "I think we'll both stay there. I don't want to stay in my room." He frowned.
She squeezed his arm encouragingly.
He grinned at her. "So, tell me about the Colonel." She swatted his arm, but complied with a smile on her face.
It took Noin a moment to find the key to her office on the ring of them she had, and Zechs' impatience beside her didn't help. But she unlocked and opened the door, and Zechs pushed past her to go in.
"Treize?" he called, urgently. The room was dark until Noin, beside the door, lit a candle. Its light revealed Treize seated in Noin's chair; he blinked at them and his clothes were rumpled as if he had been sleeping in them.
Zechs' heart caught in his throat when he looked at Treize. The older man met his eyes easily and when he did he said, "Hello." He hesitated slightly, and added, "Milliardo." Zechs thought that he had never heard that name sound so beautiful. Treize stood and came around the desk to kneel before Zechs. "My prince," he said.
Zechs reached out a trembling hand and touched Treize's hair. "Rise," he said hoarsely, and as Treize stood in front of him, Zechs let his hand slide down from his hair, down across his face, until his thumb rested against the man's lips. Treize glanced at Noin and then back at Zechs, a question, or a warning, in his eyes. Zechs didn't care about Noin, not right now. He leaned forward, sliding his hand back into Treize's hair, and touched his lips against the other man's questioningly.
Treize leaned forward, into the contact, eagerly. But when they broke the kiss, he glanced again at Noin and said in a soft voice, "I thought that... you two..."
"No," Zechs said in the same soft voice, almost before Treize could finish speaking. "No." He raised his voice and stepped back to take her hand. "Captain Lucrezia Noin, Duke Treize Kushrenada. Lu is, was, my best friend." He didn't say what Treize was to him. He figured it was obvious, and he reached out to take Treize's hand. "Come."
He felt Treize's fingers twine with his as Treize followed him out of the guardhouse up to the palace. Zechs lead him through the halls with their arched doorways and vaulted ceilings, pausing to summon a page and request food to be sent to their room. He'd missed dinner talking with Noin, and he suspected Treize hadn't eaten all day.
He paused before a set of double doors and smiled at Treize. "This is your room, for tonight."
Treize eyed the doors. "It looks much bigger than the one I was expecting," he said, eyebrow raised sardonically.
Zechs smirked and threw the doors open.
The room was dark; the sun had set, the moon had yet to rise. And the main problem, Zechs saw, was that the curtains were pulled shut. Slipping into the room, he moved by memory through it until he came to the far wall and pulled on the rope that lifted the heavy brocade curtains from the window. More like door; the far wall was almost completely filled with another set of huge double doors, this time of wrought iron and glass panes that when opened lead out onto the balcony.
Zechs opened the doors and stepped out. Soft starlight fell over him; the same filtered in and outlined the room behind him. A canopied bed filled the majority of the space while a pair of wardrobes and accompanying dressing tables as well as a sitting table and a pair of chairs occupied the rest of the room. There were two other doors to the room that they had not explored yet; Zechs knew that one lead to a common sitting room shared between this bedroom and the next one over, and the other lead to a bathing room.
Treize came up behind him and moved past him to the edge of the balcony to take in the view. Zechs came up beside him and together they looked out over the palace grounds and further, over the city that spread around the palace, where many lights flickered as the people celebrated their prince's return. Zechs didn't know what they thought; his father had told him that they had thought he was dead, and had told the country so. So now, here he was, back from the dead, and expected to take up right where he'd left off.
Zechs turned away from the view abruptly, but Treize's voice called him back.
"Milliardo," he said softly.
Zechs turned to look at him, but Treize's eyes were still turned toward the people below them, and Zechs said, almost bitterly, "That's not my name. Not anymore."
Treize looked at him, and Zechs wanted to fall into those eyes, and fall forever. Treize was so confident, so certain...
"I can see why you felt that you were no longer fit for this life," Treize said. His voice carried easily in the still night. "But I think, perhaps, you are more fit than you were before. Does not your experience help you to govern your people more justly?"
"I..." Zechs had never thought of that. "I suppose it would. But..." He turned away from Treize, gripped the railing of the balcony harshly. "But it would take a stronger man than I to be able to make use of such experiences." He raised his head, looking at the stars instead of the people- the stars that had no kings. "I spoke with my father. I told him that I don't want it. Relena can keep it. She'll be a much better ruler than I would."
"You are strong."
Zechs looked up sharply at Treize's words and almost laughed. "Me? No. I've been three steps from falling apart for the last ten years, and even before that I was never any good at governing people. I don't have the patience for it."
Treize did not appear to hear his words. He stepped forward and took Zechs by the arm. "You, Milliardo, are strong." And he touched Zechs' face softly and said, as he had not that long ago, "You don't believe me."
Zechs' breathing quickened as he leaned into that touch. "No," he breathed, his eyes full of doubt. "I can't." Treize's hands cupped his face and Zechs rested against them, breathing in slowly, letting his eyes drift closed as he took in the scent of the man next to him. Fingers stroked his cheeks, his temples, brushing back his hair.
"Oh Milliardo," Treize whispered.
"That's not my name," Zechs whispered back, but without any force to his denial and when he looked up he saw Treize's eyes narrowed at him. He sighed. "All right. I suppose... it is. I just... I can't remember what it was like. To be called that. Not without..." and he flinched.
Treize kissed him. "Shhh," he murmured against Zechs' lips. "Slowly, slowly. You'll remember, but not all at once." He smiled. "That was the first step. Your first victory."
Zechs smiled back. It was, he thought. Milliardo was always what Dorothy had called him, when they were alone together; he'd come to associate that name with pain- with shame. He'd barely been able to look at his father all day, full as he was of the things he'd done- the things that had been done to him.
"You knew," he said to Treize, wonderingly. "How did you know?"
"I've had not a lot to do all day but think." He grinned at Zechs. "And I guessed a little."
Zechs hit him on the arm in mock anger, then pulled the other man close against him. "Treize," he murmured against his ear. Now, he thought, Now I'll say it...
There was a knock at the door to the room and it opened to reveal a page with a tray full of food gleaned from dinner's leftovers. The young man didn't see the pair on the balcony at first and looked around him puzzled.
Zechs gritted his teeth. Dammit. Not again... Treize turned toward the smell of food, but Zechs grabbed his arm and, kissing him fiercely, said, "I love you." He closed his eyes and rested his head on Treize's shoulder, adding, "Don't leave me. I couldn't... I don't know what I'd do if you left."
They stood that way for what seemed like forever to Zechs' beating heart, but was really only a matter of seconds. Then Treize's arms came up around him and Treize's lips were on his hair and Treize's voice was saying, "And whyever would I want to do something like that?"
echs smiled, content for what was probably the first time since he'd learned the meaning of the word.
He watched the moon. It was huge tonight, full but for some reason even bigger than he remembered it being. He supposed that was because this was the first time in ten years he'd really looked at it, and not from behind a barred window.
Treize was in the bathing room, removing the stress of the day. A fire flickered animatedly in the hearth along the side wall lending light as well as warmth to the night, and casting red shadows all through the room that well deserved its name. They'd eaten already; the food had been delicious- the first real food all day for either of them. And now here he was watching the moon...
"Milliardo," a voice said behind him. He turned and looked at Treize, still damp from his bath and wrapped in a robe.
"Say it again," he whispered.
"Milliardo," Treize repeated as he came up to the man standing by the window and touched his arm. "Milliardo."
"Milliardo," the man repeated. "That's my name." He took a deep breath.
Treize smiled as he took Milliardo's face in his hands. "You are Milliardo." He kissed him on the forehead. "And you are beautiful." Another kiss, on the lips. Milliardo blushed, ducking his head down so that his hair fell over his face, but Treize took him by the chin and raised his face so that the older man could observe it in the dancing firelight. "Beautiful," he repeated.
"You're one to talk," Milliardo shot back at him, and Treize smiled at him approvingly when he reached out a hand to trace the line of the robe that Treize wore.
His eyes narrowed in amusement, Milliardo pushed Treize to the side and then shoved him backwards so that he fell on the bed. Before he could rise, Milliardo was crouched over him kissing him forcefully. Treize's hands came up and twined in Milliardo's hair, pulling the younger man closer to him. The sheets of the bed were dark red, and Milliardo kicked them aside as they got in his way, kicking off his shoes as well as he crawled further into the enormous bed, Treize's body warm underneath him.
Breaking off a kiss to catch a breath, he paused a moment and just looked down at Treize. Extending a finger, Milliardo traced the lines of his lover's face, letting the finger travel down Treize's neck and along the edge of his robe, pushing the robe open as he explored. Treize lay still beneath him, until Milliardo's hand stopped, resting flat on Treize's stomach. The older man raised a hand to touch Milliardo's face, his fingers going back into Milliardo's hair. "What is it?" he asked.
Milliardo shook his head slightly, dismissing what he was thinking, but Treize's fingers tightened in his hair. He remembered Treize's words- Don't lie to me... He leaned forward and kissed Treize's throat, feeling the life, the warmth of the man under his lips. "I want you to stay," he said, "but not because you feel that you have to." He looked Treize in the eye. "Stay for me, not for your prince."
Treize smiled softly, secretly. "I loved you before I knew you were a prince," he said, propping himself up on his elbows and kissing Milliardo. "When I thought you were impudent for challenging me."
Milliardo evaded another kiss. "And now?" he said, his eyes serious. "I lied to you."
"Milliardo," Treize said, and the younger man shivered at the sound of his name on Treize's lips. "You had no reason to trust me with such a secret. After what you had experienced, I feel flattered that you gave me as much as you did." He twined a couple strands of Milliardo's golden hair around his fingers. "You said it yourself. The past is a shadow." Blue eyes met blue eyes. "Let's not let it darken the golden future you spoke of."
Their lips met, but Milliardo wasn't finished. "It will take time, as you said." He searched Treize's face, as if he wasn't sure that the other man fully understood the importance of what he was trying to say. "And it will be difficult. But... with your help, I think I can do it." He swallowed. "Just keep reminding me."
"Oh Milliardo," Treize murmured against his lips then pulled the younger man down beside him. "I'll stay, with you. For you. I'll help you rebuild, help you reconcile your life of before with what you have now. And you will be even stronger for it."
He lay for a long time in Treize's arms, feeling the warmth of the other man surround him. But soon his joy could not let him be still, and his hands were on Treize's body, pushing the soft robe away as he trailed kisses across his stomach. Treize growled softly and rolled over on top of Milliardo, his hands clasped with the prince's kept them pinned down beside his head.
Milliardo arched his back, bringing his body up and in contact with Treize's. He moaned lustily and threw his head back. The motion caused his hair to shimmer all around his head and exposed his neck; Treize couldn't resist, as he'd known the man wouldn't be able to. He grinned as he felt Treize's lips on his throat and the man's hands release his to busily unbutton the loose shirt Milliardo wore and push it away from his skin. Treize's lips fluttered all across his chest and stomach, causing the fire of desire within him to grow. Milliardo tried to sit up, to pull the shirt off completely, but Treize pushed him back down after pulling the garment off Milliardo's back himself and up over his raised arms.
To Milliardo's surprise, Treize stopped while the sleeves of the shirt were still caught around the prince's wrists and twisted the garment into a knot which he temporarily secured to one of the posts that supported the canopy. His hands trapped, Milliardo tensed momentarily, struggling against the restraint, but Treize breathed on his face, "Shh, love."
He relaxed. Treize wouldn't hurt him. He trusted Treize. A hard tug with one wrist assured him that he could free himself if he should choose. Not that he had a lot of time to sit and think about it; he'd barely adjusted himself to his new position when Treize whipped his pants off. Completely exposed, he looked up at Treize, hunger in his eyes. Treize knelt over him and shed his robe, the only clothing he wore. He leaned forward, his weight on one hand while the other ghosted over Milliardo's body, along his leg, up across his stomach to his chest, and following the length of his arm up over his head.
Milliardo's eyes drifted shut as he mentally followed the touch, but when it left him his eyes snapped open. He looked up at Treize only to see the man grinning as he pulled something out from among the rumpled sheets that the pair had pushed to the side of them. The pillows were goose down, and the feather Treize had trapped between his fingers was an escapee. It was no longer that Treize's thumb, but the barbs waved loosely in the air and as he lowered it and brushed it over Milliardo's stomach the prince's skin shuddered and twitched. Treize grinned.
The feather touched every inch of Milliardo's skin, working from less sensitive areas to more sensitive ones then darting back out before Milliardo could do anything more than gasp. He shuddered and moaned under the assault, his hands gripping tightly at the post they were allegedly bound to as his body writhed in its effort to avoid the teasing feather.
After what felt like an eternity, the feather retreated, leaving Milliardo gasping for breath as he relaxed. His head was tilted back, his eyes closed, but he felt Treize's lips soft against his stomach. Without looking, he reached a hand down and ran it through Treize's hair. Treize chuckled quietly to see that Milliardo had freed himself from his supposed bonds, and without warning Milliardo seized him and reversed their positions, himself kneeling over Treize with the older man's hands trapped in his grasp, just above Treize's head. He looked down into Treize's eyes and saw in that approving gaze that they understood each other; just as he shouldn't be afraid to take initiative, Milliardo shouldn't be afraid to submit. In either scenario, he placed his trust in Treize, as Treize placed his own trust in Milliardo. Milliardo did trust him. He opened his mouth, to vocalize the sentiment, but shut it again, deciding that actions spoke louder.
Treize rolled them over again and impatiently kissed his way down Milliardo's chest and stomach until he could take the younger man's hardening length in his mouth. Milliardo moaned under his ministrations, but he trailed fingers along the side of Treize's face until the older man looked at him and Milliardo guided his attention elsewhere.
"Not tonight," he said, spreading his legs slightly and bending one up to rub his knee against the outside of Treize's hip. "I want to hear you."
Treize smiled in understanding and whispered, "Milliardo," before he again kissed the man beneath him.
Milliardo shivered. Yes, he needed Treize to talk to him, or else he was going to forget...
"Milliardo," Treize said sharply, and the prince nodded fiercely, twining his fingers together behind Treize's head and holding his face close as he memorized the way Treize's lips formed that word, his name. "Milliardo," Treize said again, holding the younger man's gaze as he slowly, deliberately licked two fingers and lowered them, inserting them in Milliardo's body.
His eyes slid shut as he focused on feeling that touch inside of him and hearing the voice that whispered "Milliardo," and soon those fingers found that spot that they had been to before and his world exploded around that word in his ear. Pleasure surrounded him, filling him, fingers touching inside him, a hand outside brushing over his length, lips and teeth on his nipples pausing only momentarily to murmur a word, "Milliardo," that was a puff of breath over the sensitive skin that caused him to shiver.
Soon something larger than fingers found its way inside of him and he moaned at the feeling of fullness it gave him. He reached his legs up to wrap them around Treize's waist and pull the man closer against him.
"Milliardo." Treize's lips were next to his ear and, eyes still closed, he turned toward the sound and pressed his own lips against the side of Treize's neck.
They lay like that for a long minute, Treize's breathing harsh in Milliardo's ear, the pulse of his blood strong under Milliardo's lips. Then Treize moved, rocking slowly against Milliardo's body, continuing the motion smoothly. Thinking stopped; Milliardo just moved with Treize, just breathed. His hands were on the other man's shoulders, and he could feel his own body responding to Treize's touch. He could feel his mind responding to Treize's voice as it ghosted over his face and his lips and incessantly whispered one word, over and over like a prayer. And each time Milliardo heard that word, it took on another meaning; something deeper. Something even less definable than the meaning it had had only moments before.
"Milliardo," he heard again, and he gasped, and his back arched as his body was filled with pleasure, and suddenly he knew something else- something more- about the man whose name that was. Something more about himself.
And something he knew about himself was that he wanted to hear this man, who knelt over him and touched him with strong, sure fingers, saying his name for the rest of his life. Milliardo rolled them over and gazed down at Treize's face, bright with passion in the moonlight and the dancing firelight, and thrust himself down against Treize inside of him. Treize groaned in pleasure, his fingers tightening reflexively in the light grip they held on Milliardo's upper arms. Milliardo did it again, leaning down to kiss the man beneath him as he did so.
He felt Treize's hands released their hold on his arms; one danced teasingly up over his collarbone, up his neck, and behind his head to tangle itself in his hair while the other trailed fingers lightly down over his chest, down further to wrap them firmly around his hardened length. He shivered at the touch and thrust against the hand, causing a strangely pleasurable chain reaction of sensations. His sensitive length was pressed against the hand and the motion of his body pressed Treize inside of him against him so hard that he could only gasp in surprise and pleasure, and immediately repeat the action.
A fire was growing in him; in the pit of his stomach, and all over his skin. Treize groaned and pulled Milliardo's face down close to his and Milliardo lost himself in the motion of thrusting against Treize's hand, kissing Treize's lips, his eyelids, his cheeks, listening to Treize's voice as he gasped out "Milliardo," in wonder and ecstasy... He lost himself, going faster and faster, until the blaze grew too hot, and his skin was on fire, and he thought he screamed as he spilled his seed over Treize's hand.
Beneath him, Treize stiffened, his other hand clutching at Milliardo's hair, his neck arching back as his mouth opened in a silent cry and he came, deep inside of Milliardo's body.
Milliardo sighed, his breath leaving his body in a long exhalation of contentment, as he lowered himself down on top of Treize, resting his head on the other man's chest so that his heart was beating under Milliardo's ear; Treize's hand at the back of Milliardo's head moving to stroke down his back and coming back up to repeat the motion.
"Milliardo," he said, and the prince heard the sound of his name under his ear before it ever touched the air, and when it was on the air he breathed it in, taking it into himself.
"Treize," he responded, and, turning his head to smile up at him, said, "Thank you."
Treize laughed outright and, throwing his arms around the younger man, held him close. "No, my dear Milliardo, thank you." His eyes were bright as he touched the prince's cheek. "Thank you. I have never felt this wonderful." He hid his face against Milliardo's throat. "Never, my love. My Milliardo."
Milliardo smiled. Slowly, he separated his body from Treize's and lay himself down on the sheets beside his lover, reaching to pull the top sheet over them. He lay on his side, turned toward Treize, and Treize turned toward him, and Treize's arms went around him and he settled against the other man's body as comfortably as if this was how they had slept every day, all the years of their lives.
