My Man's a Mate [Goody + kizzy]

[Jericho Z. Barrons]

The sallow sun looked down on them from above, her gaze anemic through the ash and smoke graying the sky. Through the pounding in his ears, Rek could hear the muted screams of women and men, the rush of blood in his veins disconnecting him from the sounds of grief and despair around him. Blood stained sword in hand, face painted with charcoal and splattered with mud, the Gamatom warrior looked like Death come to reap the souls of the innocent. Which, per the reputation of the brutal race, was not far off from the truth.

Everything they had acquired, all the wealth, the women, and the technology, had been stolen from others. Piece by piece, the Gamatoms had made their way along the Umbra coastline, pillaging and raiding each sea village and isle they came across. If you had the might to take from others, then you used it to get yourself the best of the best.

Walking through the chaos of the village, on the northern-most side, Rek watched as his brothers charged after fleeing villagers, roars and bestial battle cries ripping from their throats as they chased down the defenseless people. Some would be killed here, brutally slaughtered and cut down without a thought. Others, like the most beautiful of the women, would be captured and dragged back to the Gamatoms waiting ships, to become slave wives for the conquering race. There was no hesitation with mixing the blood, in fact, it helped breed the Gamatoms to become the best of the best when they took the best other towns and villages had to offer. Stealing a town's resources and wealth was of course the main motivation for the attacks, but the ideal was finding a mate among the vanquished.

Burning farmhouses he passed, his eyes searching the chaos for his next foe, or his next prize, Rek's attention was drawn to a building conflict near the center of the village. A round building marked the hub of the village, their meeting house and ritual center, and around it, non-Gamatoms pushed back against the hoard of warriors, swords clanging like a clarion call in the smoke wreathed air. Defenders. With a gleam in his black encircled eyes and a sanguine grin touching his lips, Rek loped across the distance to engage in the tumultuous conflict. It was always exciting when they put up a fight. Always a futile and ultimately impotent effort but it made for good sport.

 

[Klanter]

Ashen air filled the heaving warrior’s lungs and the metallic aftertaste of dried blood lingered on his lips. A violet bruise decorated the underside of his jaw and crimson gashes across his cheek trickled down to his sodden neck. Umber locks of tousled hair blended perfectly with his begrimed skin. Yet in spite of his physical condition, Genn’s disheveled appearance paled in comparison to his internal turmoil. A vehement storm of anger, confusion, and despair brewed in the pit of his stomach, a momentary release only offered as the man charged forward and his blade met Gamatom flesh. He relished the howl of pain his foe roared, kicking the brute aside before his fading azure eyes darted to the next challenger.

He hadn’t expected to die today. Hell, he hadn’t expected anything of this caliber. Word of the seafaring ravagers was sparse in the past year, and many assumed their coast had been abandoned in favor of another. Only when a scout’s eye witnessed the Gamatom fleet did the men and women of the town begin to prepare for their defense, and by then most knew their fate had already been sealed. The militia was rallied and donned their armor. Women and children boarded themselves in the sanctuary of their homes. Only select messengers and those fortunate enough to grab a steed were able to ride away for refuge.

Genn drove his blade into the ground, leaning on the hilt of the sword for a brief moment of respite. An intensifying series of underfoot vibrations warned of an incoming attack, and he begrudgingly pulled the weapon from the trampled soil. A swift motion of the blade was all it required to slash at and send another barbarian to his knees. Yet another fleeting victory in an unwinnable war. It didn’t matter how many of the ruthless villains he could cut down. He saw the militia commander beaten beyond recognition not too long ago, and now the second-in-command drove his sword back into the worn earth, reverting to his previous position. He didn’t dare question the whereabouts of his family members in the moment, the bleak likelihoods sending the man into a fit of denial. He hadn’t even the time to bid them a proper farewell—instead using their final moments together to issue a stern warning, pleading with them to flee their ancestral home.

He inhaled as much air as physically possible in between strained breaths, his head panning to count the number of Gamatom men remaining. There were too many left. He could only watch from afar as his brethren fell, their once familiar voices devolving into shrill shrieks that echoed in the chambers of his eardrum. Genn's body pivoted as another one of the hulking monsters approached, this one’s imposing frame and pounding footsteps causing him to swivel his head in the new party’s direction. The approaching Gamatom’s face was clad in a menacing charcoal black, and his fiendish grin made for a vexing sight. Perhaps this one would be the one to finally do him in and bestow the privilege of not suffering any longer. But the defeated warrior acknowledged it was a selfish wish to make; every second he spent resisting the Gamatom’s aggression translated into time for the untrained villagers to escape. And so with family on the mind, he tightened his grip on the sword’s battered handle before bringing the blade level with his assailant. Genn glowered at the pillager, keeping his frame steady and posture kempt while he awaited the inevitable clash of steel.

 

[Jericho Z. Barrons]

Amidst the dying men and the roaring, savage Gamatom warriors, Rek zeroed in on the defender in the center of the conflict. A worthy foe by his assessment, bodies littered the ground at the man's feet, a haphazard trail of Gamatom corpses behind him, his face bruised and bloodied from the fight. Rek didn't hesitate, speeding up his thunderous charge, a laughing roar of malice dragging up ferociously from his throat as he bore down on the defender, sword drawing back for a powerful swing.

He could feel it, as their swords came together, screeching metal against metal, reverberating in his grip, tensing in his arms as he hit the warrior full force. There was a little give at first, the man's heels scraping backward through the boot-flattened mud and earth. But abruptly he stopped, holding firm against Rek's powerful push, like a stone wall erected spontaneously in the middle of the battle. Cocking his head, a roguish light brightening his eyes amidst the black staining his face, Rek gave the warrior a wicked grin, flashing teeth, delighted at the way the man strained, glaring balefully at him. The man intended to kill him. One false move, and this warrior would have his desire met, of that, Rek had no doubt, feeling the sheer strength in him, resisting the force of his own.

The swords hissed apart as Rek gave him an abrupt shove, hopping lightly back, spinning to the side as he lunged forward again, swiping his bloody blade low. Steel met steel again, the warrior quick and sure-footed. A triumphant bark came from Rek's throat when another lunging stab was blocked, exhilaration filling him to find an enemy with skill worthy of the kiss of his blade. The longer they danced and the longer the warrior lived, the more reluctant Rek became to end it. An odd feeling of respectful admiration was slowly overtaken by a baser desire within him, watching the way the warrior moved fluidly to avoid the sting of his sword, muscles rippling beneath his clothes. He was erect beneath the cloaking layers of his trousers and armored tunic, a reaction to the adrenaline and thrill of battle, he thought. But as the warrior grimaced at the Gamatom, snarling, sweat drawing lines through the grime and blood on his face and neck, Rek came to the realization that his arousal stemmed from quite a different source.

It wasn't usual for Gamatoms to take men as slaves. Unless there was some value to them. Almost always, the rare men they captured were skilled craftsmen or artisans. Weak men, untrained to fight, and soft of will. Any man who could pick up a sword and use it was not left alive if they could help it and certainly not taken and put upon their ships for home. But there weren't any rules against taking a man to bed, even though it wasn't spoken of or openly acknowledged in Gamatom society. What did it matter? Rek could choose his personal spoils, including the slaves he wished to capture. It didn't have to be anyone else's business what he plundered. And what he wanted was the skilled fighter, diverting yet another stab from his sword.

He could tell the warrior was exhausted, his wounds taking a toll, so, it was only a matter of time before his fatigue would be a lodestone around his collar. The light of avarice twinkling in his eyes, Rek feigned another lunge with his sword and as the warrior moved in anticipation, at the last second, he turned his blade, smacking the flat of it with the full force of his strike against the joint of the man's thumb. The sword dropped from loosened grip and Rek swiftly kicked it aside and in the same movement, hooked his boot at the back of the other man's ankle. A slap of his paw to the side of his head to stun him, followed by a quick, harsh jab of his fingers into the right side of the man's chest, should have been enough to knock off his center of balance.

 

[Klanter]

The Gamatom wasted little time in engaging, an uproarious stampede more than enough to alert Genn’s senses. The savage approached and swung his blade, prompting the defender to block the attack with his own weapon. His aggressor’s momentum and raw force pushed the warrior back, who dug his feet into the mud to stand ground. He fought back against the Gamatom’s reservoir of uninhibited strength, the muscle underneath his leather tunic pulsing from the exertion. As their bout of power continued, the monster’s lurid face slowly crept into view. The brief, but haunting flash of grisly Gamatom teeth was only met with trained brows and an amplified desire to slay his abhorrent foe.

The Gamatom retrieved his sword, only to be matched again as he struck at another angle. Genn’s eyes honed in on the pillager’s weapon. Though his instinct and mind remained sharp, his debilitated body lagged in response. Each exchange of steel was a blow to his vigor, mourning each critical opportunity to counterattack lost to his physical shortcomings. Forced to match his opponent’s unrelenting cadence, Genn continued to deflect the Gamatom’s advances. A sopping mixture of sweat and mud drenched his exposed skin as he grimaced from the sting of opening wounds. His grunts and pants grew louder with each movement, the diaphragm pounding against his gut. His ears rang with the abrasive clashes of metal. Weathered screams in the distance informed the man of the invaders’ progress, now having pierced into the heart of their once humble village.

The grimy fluid traveled down the length of Genn’s forehead, collecting even more dirt and blood by the time it trickled to the base of his neck. Understanding the faltering of his resistance was inevitable, he allowed his body to move on its own while his mind traveled elsewhere. His consciousness wandered to think back to his family, the tightly-knit group of women he vowed to protect since the passing of his father. They’d been a jovial bunch, though now all the man could recall were his empty promises of bringing them to the city. It was all his sisters had ever asked for—to walk on chiseled marble while gazing at the grand castles lost in the distance. Quite foolish and senseless desires, Genn believed at the time, though now the regret of his judgement began to swell in the pit of his stomach.

The innocent image of his expectant sisters lingered in his thoughts as the Gamatom knocked the blade out of his hand. His scramble to retrieve the weapon before it hit the ground was halted as his leg was forcefully grappled and the side of his skull bashed by a potent fist. Disoriented from the punch, his ears were deafened by a piercing ring, the outside world now a muted apocalypse of flames and smoke. The barbarian then struck at his chest, an impact powerful enough to send him stumbling to his knee.

The sequence of events seemingly passed within a blink of the eye, Genn releasing a cough into the ground as the Gamatom stood over him. The defeated warrior kept his head down, unable and unwilling to face the beast that trampled his life as if it were nothing but sport. He deployed a splintered hand to support his frame, coming into contact with the ashed earth below him. Wallowing in the nauseating filth that was his own perspiration, Genn savored the last inhalations of air in what would surely be his final moments. He bit his lip to withstand the overwhelming pain his body endured, refusing to grant his attacker the pleasure of seeing him suffer. Instead, he dragged his head up to meet the Gamatom’s soulless eyes, staring defiant daggers into the other man.

 

[Jericho Z. Barrons]

He was beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous, drenched in grime and blood and earth, hunched over in the throes of accepting his defeat. Even more so, watching the defender go down, Rek wanted him, lusted for him, blue eyes like the stormy skies filled with avarice, tracing over the man's shoulders and back. He thought he had his foe fully subdued, a pleasurable sight in the midst of the raid and slaughter around them, Rek eager to take home his prize. But then the man lifted his head, hate and fire blazing in his gaze as he turned his eyes up at the Gamatom looming above him. Fuck... That look... It both chilled and excited him. Even after his defeat, effortless at the hands of the trained and powerful savage warrior, he still had the strength left to defy Rek with a look. The passion raging inside the warrior, full of aggression and the will to live, Rek wanted to fucking taste it.

Fire blazed in his own cloudy eyes, his mouth a firm line of will and desire, and Rek raised his sword in both hands, high above his head. Slamming the pommel brutally down onto the sweet spot between the man's neck and shoulder, Rek smiled in satisfaction as the warrior flopped over, losing consciousness. Then, with the customary flare of a Gamatom taking his plunder, he lifted the man like a sack of wheat flour over his shoulder, a grunt of triumph leaving him as he stood and surveyed his surroundings.

The fight was dying down now. Half of the buildings in the village were burning and the bodies of the slain could be seen around every corner, their blood turning the muddy earth red with its thickness. Gamatoms were calming as well, rooting through houses for valuables, a line of them forming in front of the storehouses to steal the food the villagers had stocked up for their winter stores. Rek even spied a Gamatom or two, who, like himself, had a prospective mate tossed unconscious over their shoulder. They all had women, and he tried not to feel self-conscious as he gripped the back of the warrior's thighs where he draped over his own shoulder.

Heading back to the ships, Rek was approached by one of his dearest kin, Arly. They were like brothers but not by blood, sharing in the delight of battles together, sparring and training together, even sharing in a rape a time or two. Bearded and just as massively muscular as Rek, Arly had dark brown eyes and full lips; some women even considered him "pretty" when he shaved. With full face of beard, hair slicked with sweat, and his neck smeared with grime and the blood of his enemies, he looked every measure the bestial warrior that Gamatoms had a reputation for being. The wild, adrenaline fueled light in his eyes as well spoke to his love for the killing that had occurred on this day.

"Good haul, aye?" Rek hailed him as the other man sauntered near. "Surprise wins out again."

"They had no idea we were coming," Arly agreed with a nod, glancing around as more Gamatoms started to trail in scattered crowds back towards the ships, arms all full of something. "It's working out so far, waiting a bit, avoiding certain coasts. So far, none of them have been prepared when we come." It was a good strategy. Rumors came to the villages that Gamatom raiders were hitting towns and villages along one coastline, only to be taken themselves a half a year later. Not that there was anything they could do, even if they prepared.

"Oi! What you got there?" Arly asked with a cavalier smirk, jerking his chin at the man on Rek's shoulder.

Hefting the unconscious load slightly, Rek grinned proudly from ear to ear as he said, "My mate."

Arly paused, giving him a look like maybe he thought he hadn't heard right, then itched his bare shoulder, seemingly at a loss for a moment. "Looks like a man," he offered, not really a question but with a slightly hopeful note, like maybe Rek simply hadn't noticed. He had and a mild defensiveness rose up inside him at his friend's tone.

"Aye. And he's beautiful," Rek said, some of that defensive tone entering his own voice. "He's a warrior. I fought with him, bested him fairly easily, if you're worried I won't be able to control him. I will. He's not trained."

Holding up a hand, Arly shook his head mildly, "No. I'm sure you could." Arly continued to frown while looking at the warrior over Rek's shoulder and even though he said nothing, Rek felt pressured to offer further justification. Which pissed him off.

"There's nothing saying I can't take a man to bed if I want," Rek scowled. "Gamatom code says anything I want to take during a raid, it's mine if I can get it. I want him. I got him. And I intend to keep him." And that was the end of that. With a disgruntled huff, Rek stalked past Arly towards the nearest ship, with a low grumbling under his breath. As he went, he gave everyone he passed a murderous look, getting ahead of any criticisms of what he chose to do.

Putting a steel collar on his slave, he deposited him in the prisoner compartment in the hull of the ship, shackling him to the wall. He may or may not awaken during the 5 day voyage home, and if he did, there were at least a couple slaves below with him in the darkness to keep him company. For the first day or so, Arly gave him a wide berth, allowing him silence and space, but then things seemed to return to normal between them the second day.

Midday on the second day of the voyage, Rek entered the side door to the room, bringing with him ale and bread to tend to his slave. Others would feed and hydrate their own booty if they felt the need, maybe even take a little taste of them before they got them home. Here, Rek was mostly interested in reconnecting with the warrior he'd captured, wanting to see him again to reassure himself of his choice. Despite Arly talking to him, the other Gamatoms were still giving him odd looks. It was worth it. The warrior was still the mass of chorded muscle, eyes brimming with defiance from before, stirring Rek's loins to look upon him.

Face cleaned of the charcoal battle markings, and looking human again, beard red in the dim light coming from the grating up above, Rek knelt beside the warrior in the hay strewn floor, holding the skin of ale for him to see it. Taking a sip himself, droplets clinging to his chin, he made it clear the warrior would get the next sip if he cooperated. "Name," he said in a soothing yet commanding baritone, clear and full of warmth. "What are you called?"

 

[Klanter]

The victorious Gamatom’s eyes studied him with an expression Genn could not discern, the smeared charcoal masking any indication of humanity left, if there was any. The brute’s gaze pierced into him with an extreme intensity, what the fallen warrior reasoned were the pangs of insatiable bloodlust. For but a second, he could sympathize with his opponent, recalling the blissful release he experienced for each Gamatom he cut down. In his final moments, Genn’s eyes stiffened to make his own deeds known, communicating that he too had procured his own form of pleasure from the tactless pillaging. He grit his teeth and clenched his stained jaw, assembling a final bastion for the final wave of pain to come.

His grasp on the earth grew stronger and his body held firm as the Gamatom drew his sword up. Never allowing his eyes nor his mind to stray, Genn remained trained on his executioner. The stare of his fading blue eyes only grew in strength as the weapon inched closer to his skin, his vision blurring only as the sword met his weathered form. His body, deciding it had endured enough for the day, collapsed to meet the ground as his consciousness followed soon after.

He hadn’t expected for his eyes to open again, to have had the chance to behold the waking world ever again. But as his eyelids crept open to witness his dim surroundings, Genn drew in a breath to confirm his doubt. Within seconds all of his senses bombarded him, as if to rectify his body’s previous shortcomings. Almost immediately the repugnant odor of bile and waste entered his nostrils, throwing his head back to alleviate the sensorial torment. He discovered that he was propped against a wooden board, stale stalks of hay strewn across the floor and on his legs. He felt a gentle sway rock his body from side to side, displacing the straw with every shift of the creaking floorboards.

His neck was furthermore bound by a glacial sting, the metal around his flesh searing the untreated wounds underneath. His hands remained staggered at his side, too feeble to even muster an attempt to remove himself from his shackles. Instead, his fingers merely traced over the blistering cold restraint with malice. Though his mind was still on the mend and now overloaded with more information than he cared to have, the man still had the mental resilience to decrypt the signs he was given. Biting down on his lip, he flailed about to turn his head. With as much of a squint as he could muster, he was able to ascertain the presence of other figures in the obscure darkness. Alas, too much distance separated the chained posts and his encrusted throat wasn’t able to carry a voice over three feet’s worth of it.

Unable to stand as his chain kept him on the floor, he groaned as he moved to stretch the shackle away from its post. The metal dug into his skin, proving that the steel links were too powerful for him to overcome. Pulled back down to bask in the pile of his own pity, he leaned against the board near his back, propping a defeated arm perpendicular across his knee.

The Gamatoms were widely infamous for their barbaric and nepotistic practices. Men and women across the continent shuddered only at the most vivid descriptions of their deeds, never believing they would ever be on the receiving end of their conquests. While Genn himself did not take the warnings lightly, he too may have underestimated the accuracy of the graphic tales. He recalled witnessing the mangled bodies of his former comrades and hearing the penetrating screeches of women and children that were discovered in their homes. A balled fist pounded the floor as his mind sauntered over to the forbidden zone—his family.

Would it have been better if they were killed or taken as slaves? The man grappled with the question as he tossed and turned, unable to ease away the discomfort that gnawed at him. He didn’t bother to culminate his thoughts into an answer, knowing that the blameless women didn’t deserve either. His lip nearly quivered as he came to the realization that he’d never see his family again, a grim consideration that escaped him in the heat of battle.

He’d never again look into their yearning eyes, and never again be able to lay a comforting palm on their troubled shoulders. And if he’d known ahead of time, he would’ve made an effort to steal time for a final embrace with each one of them.

Such was the ambience that Genn wallowed in, unable to rest his heavy eyelids no matter how hard he tried. The instant he shut his eyes, his brain fabricated crude fantasies of his sisters being raped by Gamatom men, their delicate skulls caved in immediately after the deed was done. His sense of time was distorted by the overwhelming darkness, the cavities of the overhead grating providing the only source of light in the chamber. Inquisitive ears picked up the hushed mumbling and footsteps of other men elsewhere, but their was speech unrefined and his senses too deprived to make heads or tails of the conversations.

He could not tell how long he spent amidst his own misery before he too was visited by his captor.

The Gamatom approached, revealing russet hair as he stepped under a pocket of light. Genn, hunched over and eyes warily following the other’s movements, locked gazes with the Gamatom as he knelt down to his level. The man’s striking appearance painted a stark contrast with the warlord he met in battle and had Genn not heard the other man’s voice, he would’ve mistaken them for two unique entities altogether. Yet now, devoid of the fuel of warfare, the man’s inflection was a steady one. Surely Genn's sanity had been faltering as well, for he detected no animosity and was alarmed by the lack of tactless boasts from the other party. Instead, the Gamatom only asked for a name before pointing a skin of ale in his direction.

The other man’s courtesy did little to impress the captive, who had so desperately wanted to spit in the brute’s drink. His attempt to do so proved quite unsuccessful, a grounding cough only confirming the sorry state he was in. But his eyes were still trained on the man, and Genn spoke for the first time since he had bellowed out orders to his men in the village. “What does it matter?” One hand wrapped around his collar, easing the pain of leaning forward as the other held the steel chain steady. As he peered into the Gamatom’s eyes and studied the remainder of his facial features, he found himself harboring more disdain for the man, particularly after employing the use of a condescending tone disguised as empathy. “What business do you have with me and my name?” Genn’s voice, though strained and hushed, still carried strength as he spoke with a reinvigorated, albeit mild purpose.

 

[Jericho Z. Barrons]

Captivated by the strength in the warrior, a ferocity and pride brimming under the surface, Rek knelt in silence as he marveled at the man's obstinance and challenge. Even laid low, chained, barely moving, like a beast of burden, under the feet of the men in the ship, surrounded by filth and squalor, he found the audacity to question his Gamatom captor. With a wolfish smirk, a breathy chuckle murmuring from his throat, Rek regarded his prisoner for a few moments more, before sudden action whipped out of him, like a viper snapping out.

As soon as he grabbed ahold of the chained warrior, like a chemical reaction, his emotions changed rapidly. He sought to punish the man, to exert dominance over him, fingers fisting tightly in his short, blonde hair, yanking his head back to look up as Rek loomed close, still and predatory over top of him. But this close to the warrior, Rek was overwhelmed by the odor of him. The days old sweat and blood, the masculine musk of him, smelling like death and violence, invigorating the Gamatom's heart beat, filling him with a rush of arousal and hyper awareness. Between his gripping fingers knotted hair matted with blood and grime, yet still soft to the touch, Rek resisted the urge to loosen his hold and run his long, slender fingers through it further.

Clinging to his anger, ignoring the erection pulsing with exhilarated interest in his trousers, Rek gave the man a cool appraisal as he muttered in low tones, "Not just your name. All of you is my business. I own you now. When we return to Valheru, you are mine to do with as I wish. A name is a convenience. Give it to me or not. Things will go a lot easier for you if you do as I ask." Raising an eyebrow, a small, puckish smirk touched his lips as he asked, "Are you thirsty, my gorgeous slave? Tell me what you are called."

 

[Klanter]

A static silence lingered in the air as Genn evaluated his opposition, his eyes narrowed in the dark to assess the Gamatom’s reaction. The brute’s commanding visage appeared to falter as his cheeks rose, a rasped chuckle accompanied by a ravenous smile that would send virtual shivers down the warrior’s arched spine had it not been for his summoned distaste. Catching the Gamatom’s piercing blue gaze, Genn stiffened as he felt a tug on his scalp, a powerful jerk upwards undoubtedly a display of the savage’s self-perceived authority. Eyes locked in an unspoken conflict for psychological dominance, the warrior challenged his captor while he spoke, a few choice words instigating further squints and movements of his jaw.

The implications of the Gamatom’s language were not lost upon the numbed man, lips pursing with rebellion. The brute, truly deprived of virtue, meant to shame him beyond besting him in battle, now dropping so low as to slander his slave shackled to a room teeming with waste and despair. The arch that lined the Gamatom’s roguish lips only served to rile Genn, eyes fierce while his mouth seethed with frequent puffs of freshly steamed air. As if the words had returned life to his body, he removed a palm from his chain, the pain of being restrained secondary to the pleasure he received from defying the other man.

With a movement that astonished his own being, Genn clasped the hem of the Gamatom’s tunic between his fingers. His grip on the fabric tightened, though still a relatively feeble clutch given the lack of physical sustenance his body was denied. “You’ll be owning my corpse before ever owning me or my name.” Genn’s voice fueled itself with the waning fear of any consequence, shifting from a pitiful croak to a more steady tone containing conviction. “I’ve nothing to lose,” he rebutted with a chuckle of his own, understanding that death would indeed be his victory to relish. “Even a brainless mutt like you should understand the futility of your bargaining.”

 

[Jericho Z. Barrons]

A brainless mutt?! The insolent bastard! Who did he think he was calling brainless? Rek was one of the Alphas on the Gamatom Council, having earned the respect and admiration of his brethren with his wit and his strength. His father had passed the position off to him but not because the man needed to retire, moreso for the fact that Rek had exceeded all expectations in battle, bringing home mountains of wealth for himself and his people. It would have been selfish to hold onto the position when it was more than clear his son was a born leader and skilled warrior. And Rek certainly wouldn't have accomplished all of that if he was brainless.

And a mutt? There was one thing the Gamatoms took pride in and it was the strength and virility of their stock, often blended with the best captives they could find. Very few Gamatoms were killed on raids, and very few of their sons were born weak or grew up to be meek or weak-willed. It was a matter of pride for Rek that his grandmother had been one of his grandfather's slave wives, bringing a ruddy tone to the hair of the bloodline, as well as giving both his father and himself the slender muscular form with broad shoulders, strong enough to swing a broadsword one-handed, all day.

It wasn't just that the insults was untrue but the fact that this dirty slave dared to speak to him in such a manner and touching him, like even now, he was fighting, prepared to attack. Gritting his teeth in a glowering grimace, his fist tightening in the warrior's hair, his other arm tensing to ready a blow, Rek was stopped as he processed the rest of the man's words. On the battlefield, amidst his burning village and the screams of the slaughtered as they were cut down around them; in that chaotic despair and futility...this warrior had been more than willing to take Rek's life, if it meant standing his ground and keeping at least one more Gamatom from winning. All that passion, all that vigor, now, here, in the dimness of the swaying ship's hold, it was channeled into a contemptuous defiance against his new master and mate. He would rather die than be a slave. He would rather die than give Rek his name.

Blinking as soft comprehension dawned within his eyes, it settled upon his shoulders the understanding that there was nothing physical Rek could do to compel this man to bend to his will. There were no threats big enough, no indignity or disgrace humiliating enough that he could suffer through, to make him yield. It was part of why Rek had chosen him, because in addition to being physically appealing, Rek was also attracted to that spirit within him.

Huffing a small breathy laugh, Rek gave him a look of appraisal before finally speaking in the quiet space between them, the cunning light flickering in his blue eyes, so very bright, even in the half-light of the chamber. "Nothing to lose?" he asked in flippant disbelief. "Hardly. From where I'm sitting...it appears there's so much more to take."

A compulsion overtook him then, a desire to seep beneath the skin of this warrior, to brave the seering fires in his gaze, to come through it unscathed. He likely wouldn't but his dominance and libido demanded relief. He wanted to touch the warrior, to reach into the hidden, vulnerable side of him. The grip of his fingers in the warrior's short locks had loosened during his moment of epiphany, and now, they tightened again, holding the warrior still as he lunged forward suddenly. Pressing his lips to the warrior's, he stole a savage, hungry kiss, his mouth aching as it grasped desperately at the other man. He tasted of pain and death and he fought back, Rek groaning in his throat as he firmed his hold on the man, tipping his head to force his mouth open. His other hand stroked at the warrior's scruffed chin, fingers combing over the smooth hair cloaking his iron-framed jawline.

 

[Klanter]

The corners of Genn’s parched lips perked at the sight of his captor’s bared teeth, swallowing down the pain of the Gamatom’s grip on his scalp. Detecting movement in the man’s free hand, balling to form a resentful fist, he tightened the muscles of his own body in preparation for the contact. There was little that the prisoner could do to remedy the situation at hand, yet it brought him satisfaction in knowing he could still defy the brute and make his life all the more difficult. And judging from the Gamatom’s strained posture and apparent readiness to strike, Genn considered this brief transaction his implicit victory.

He basked in the glory of melodious silence, wincing only at the relentless pressure that tugged on his hair. But as the ship’s sway shone a beam of light that fell on the other man’s face, he could discern a new countenance that the Gamatom had donned. Those scarlet brows furrowed as the gaze in his eyes grew weaker, replaced by a softly stare that Genn found perhaps even more unsettling. He watched as the brute studied him again with intense pupils that traversed the length of his face, a laugh escaping the Gamatom’s lips as he regained his composure and his voice disrupted the silence again.

Much more to… take?

Before the warrior could process and make sense of the words, the red-haired pillager strengthened his hold on him once again, pulling his head further back before he leaped forward to catch Genn’s mouth. What began as a brief contact of their lips transgressed into a much more hungered exchange, the Gamatom urging his mouth open with the uninhibited use of his own. Alarmed by the power and desire of his captor’s actions, Genn’s reaction merely consisted of a delayed grunt as he felt the other man’s repeated groans oscillate between them.

A remarkably gentle hand caressed his umber beard, Genn instinctively following as he loosened his grip on the Gamatom’s collar. But as his hand lay firmly wrapped around the brute’s stroking wrist, the warrior found himself unable to harness the strength required to pry the limb off his chin.

Back on the other front, his captor continued his onslaught on Genn’s pursed mouth, opening with recoil as his head was yanked back again. The chain on his neck grazed against a gash lining the tender skin underneath, again forcing a grimace that allowed for his opponent to make further progress in his savage conquest. And when the warrior’s mind was finally able to recuperate from the other man’s advances, his lips had already parted to welcome his aggressor into his own space. He felt the Gamatom’s sweltering tongue settle in against his own, Genn’s eyes strained as he released his own smoldering breath into the private chamber they created.

Only when the taste of fresh ale became too overwhelming did Genn’s consciousness snap back to reality, the captive twisting his head to the side while simultaneously pulling the Gamatom’s arm down to meet the floorboard. Their lips separated as Genn shot a sideway glare at the other man, his rhythmic panting filling the empty air that weighed heavy on his shoulders. He sensed his blood boiling and a pounding sensation against his chest, heaving deeper breaths to get some much needed oxygen into his airways.

Fierce eyes of judgement assessed the man knelt across from him as Genn could still taste him on his lips. The alcoholic aftertaste danced across his tongue, a burning heat demanding even more refreshing than it had before. But rather than seeking to alleviate his thirst, Genn continued to stare down his assailant, his senses aroused as he took note of the man’s suddenly striking features and the muscular frame he failed to regard previously. A calloused hand reached to rub his jawline loose, the chained warrior’s gaze minutely traveling upwards until it met the Gamatom’s pupils, penetrating into his eyes and silently demanding justification.

 

[Jericho Z. Barrons]

There were a lot of things Rek expected. He expected to be rejected, for the man to fight him, to struggle, to push back in defensive aggression. He expected to be bitten, to be headbutted, to be spit at, something, anything to challenge what was happening, to bring it to an abrupt stop. He thought surely that he was on borrowed time as soon as his lips pressed to the other man's, which was why the kiss turned so feverish and demanding, hoping to scrape as much contact and heat as he could from between them in the fleeting moments before he was stopped.

So, it wasn't without a little surprise and a thrill of internal delight that he realized not only was he kissing the man longer than he anticipated, but he fucking owned it and the unnamed warrior was submitting! Rek's entire body grew tight and melted at the same time as the warrior's mouth opened at his direction and Rek swept an eager, seductive tongue into his mouth, heat pouring into him, relishing the conquest. So unlike kissing a woman, the hard lines of the warrior's jaw nudging against Rek's, hairs gently scraping, and even the taste of him, hard and bitter, like steel and adrenaline. Everything Rek had hoped it would be.

It was an encouragement, the hand on his wrist, until the moment the other man decided to wake up, yanking Rek's arm down and breaking the kiss with a jerk of his head away. Swollen lips hung open as he dragged in and out deep, labored breaths, his bright eyes watching the warrior, assessing what had happened, reading the now mysterious man in front of him. There was a sweet vulnerability to him, shy and cagey as he gave Rek a sideways glare. Almost as if he could lay the blame solely at Rek's feet and retreat to some victimized space. But the Gamatom knew that wasn't true. Not entirely. There had been too long a delay before the warrior shoved him off, too much permission granted in gesture and movement, for the warrior to be afforded such safety. What Rek couldn't figure out was...why the hesitation?

Had he liked it? Was that what Rek sensed? Was there some latent desire, yet to be uncovered, inside this fierce, passionate warrior? What were the odds? Had the Gods seen fit to bless him with a choice of mate who could readily want him in the same manner in return? Or was it something else? Had he broken the man? Had the unnamed warrior simply given up the fight, given in to the easier way, simply to get along? Or had Rek simply shocked him that much with his own well-hidden desires?

Blue eyes narrowed in the dimness, clinging to every change in expression that crossed the man's face and as he felt himself scrutinized, his heart stopped. There was something of a consideration in the warrior's gaze as he traced over Rek's body and features, almost as if he were seeing him for the first time. Or, rather, that he was seeing something he hadn't seen previously. The wounded look he finally leveled Rek with meant nothing to him, the Gamatom watching as the facade was slipped back into place, already having witnessed the minute transformation occur in his expression.

Maybe Rek had read him wrong? Maybe this fierce warrior did share his particular affliction? Or at the very least, he could be coaxed into opening up to it. Steady eyes held the warrior's gaze as a smile curved on Rek's lips, knowing the question on the man's lips before he dared ask it. Rather than give him a direct answer, Rek reached down to where he'd set aside the ale skin, holding it up a moment before handing it to the other man. And the heel of bread they'd stolen from the village, stale now, two days gone but still edible, he placed into the man's hand as well. He didn't say anything or even directly make the association that these were a reward for the kiss. But having previously set up that the drink and even the food were conditional based on cooperation and his questions being answered, the connection between the two should have been obvious, even without the words. Rek held the man's gaze for a solid moment before it was broken with the voice from the holding doorway.

"Rekard," Arly said in a gruff, warning tone, Rek stiffening not only at the suddenness of it but also his full name being used. Rubbing a hand over his still reddened lips and down his beard, Rek shot a glance over his shoulder at his friend, reluctant to heed him, like a babe still nursing, called in by his mum from play. He couldn't determine when exactly Arly had stepped inside the chamber, not having heard the door open, but from his relaxed posture against the doorframe and the judgemental scowl he directed at his kin, Rek suspected he'd at least seen some of the kiss.

Rising fluidly to his feet with a silent exhalation from his nostrils, Rek turned from the chained warrior, leaving him with his meal as he dutifully went to meet his brother. Arly stepped back to let Rek leave the chamber, closing the door behind them with a screeching of hinges and a heavy clanging as bolts were latched into place on the outside. Hoping to avoid any misplaced discussions, Rek continued to walk through the narrow hall, back towards the ladder that led up to the deck. With a growl, Arly chided him, grabbing him by the shoulder and forcing him to face him in the cramped, swaying passage.

"Oi! What was that?" Arly hissed in Rek's face, lip curling and eyes blazing bright. When Rek remained silent, merely regarding his comrade stonily, Arly shot a glance back down the hall at the holding cell door before continuing in a more level, low tone. "Huddled in the dark, with your tongue halfway down another man's throat."

"I told you already," Rek said with a shrug, irritation lacing the words. "He's my slave. I'll do with him as I like."

"It's a disgrace," Arly said, making no bones about how such a display made him feel. "Plenty of women, both Gamatom and not that you have your pick of. And you're willfully choosing to make the double-backed beast with a man. Are you going to suck his twig? Do you fekkin' swallow? What would your father say?"

Rek surprised even himself over how quickly he reacted, the sudden rush of anger blazing through him and blinding him, until he blinked and had Arly shoved up against one of the walls of the narrow corridor, his leather jerkin bunched and gripped in Rek's hands. "How dare you!"

"You've lowered not just yourself but all Gamatoms by doing this," Arly said, unruffled by Rek's anger, giving him a steady, hard look. It cooled Rek's own temper as he realized Arly wasn't directly attacking him but making a point, as crude as it had been delivered. "That's what they'll say. They'll call you weak. They'll question you being an Alpha. So far no one else knows... But as soon as they find out, expect to be challenged."

"I'll deal with it when it happens," Rek said firmly, sounding more confident than he felt. When he saw the warrior and took him, he hadn't really thought about any opposition he might face. It had been a purely prideful, selfish endeavor, a desire to own and to possess this pretty, spirited thing, which was true to the Gamatom tradition when raiding. Take what you wanted. It was as simple as that. The more he thought about it, the more he wondered if he'd overestimated his position and how much he could get away with. Looking at Arly, he said, "I may have gotten this spot on the blessing of my father but I can bloody well keep it from anyone who dares to take it from me."

Arly shrugged breezily, shoving Rek's clenched fists off of his jerkin. "Maybe. If they can't unseat you rightly, I doubt the Council will simply accept it. There is no way they'll let a man who takes cock up the ass sit on the Council and lead us. They'll find a way to remove you."

That sent a chill of fear through him. It wasn't something that happened often but the Council, when they made a decision, were very good at effecting change they wished to see. If they didn't outright oppose Rek from the start, they would if others failed to depose him naturally. Rubbing a nervous hand over his lips, he gave Arly a frown and narrowed look of appraisal, asking curiously, "Why tell me this? How do you feel about it?"

Arly grimaced softly and shook his head, obviously uncomfortable with the question. Finally, he said, "I guess I don't like that you're forfeiting sons for some crazy, souldamned reason. I'm hoping you'll try it and dislike it, come to your senses and marry Verlyn someday. Until then...the likely candidates to take your place right now are Campion, Stek, and Horeh. And they're none of them Alpha material."

Rek thought a moment, then narrowed his eyes at his friend. "You just like being friends with an Alpha, you bloody bastard."

Arly huffed but didn't deny it as he shoved a finger in Rek's face and asserted, "You've got another 2 decades before your sword arm goes arthritic, you cock sucking fool. Don't ruin it!"

The absurdity of it was enough to lighten the mood at least somewhat as the men turned towards the ladder end of the hallway. But still, anxiety bit at his heels, troubled thoughts swirling in his mind as he attempted to rethink his strategy on what to do when they finally got home to Valheru.

 

[Klanter]

A rhythm of strained gasps echoed in the murked chamber, Genn unable to discern which raucous pants belonged to him and which belonged to the Gamatom animal. He replenished his lungs with bated breath as his gaze softened, both questioning why the other man had not responded and irked by the unsteady silence that surely would have turned heads among the other prisoners in the room. A steady wave of realization washed over him as he came to understand there was to be no answer awaiting his credulous being, a final huff of disgruntled air dispersing his misplaced optimism. The warrior’s vision eventually trekked downward, removing the ginger from his view as he caught a glimpse of that consummated smile.

Of course that bloody bastard had enjoyed the bestial display of hunger, Genn so desperately wanting to snicker at the other man’s submission to his revolting desire. Yet he couldn’t, the blond frustrated by the sluggish pace at which his arm moved to terminate the happening. It was merely the consequence of his alimental deprivation, he reasoned, though as he sat unnourished in his personal penitentiary, he realized he was feeling the most energized he had been since his consciousness was roused in the ship’s hold. Did the Gamatom rile up that much hatred within him, enough to forego even the most basic of physiological needs? That sounded about right, Genn possessing half a mind to strangle the man in the very instant for diverting his stream of thoughts into this disarrayed wreckage.

His captor shoved the ale skin against his puffed chest, a faded loaf of bread finding itself in his hand in addition. Genn grit his teeth as he made contact with the brute’s eyes again, refusing to become the equal of a lowly hound, rewarded with sustenance for heeding the commands of his master. He would have likely returned the items with a forceful shove or simply let them trickle to the grimy wooden boards had it not been for the introduction of another voice in the hold, though this one of a less arrogant flavor. Instead, the stern intonation carried itself across the room, making even the red-haired Gamatom stiffen.

Rekard.

Almost disappointed that their correspondence ended without another exchange, Genn was forced to watch as the two barbarians walked out the chamber, leaving him to sulk by his lonesome in the wretched holding space. Allowing his head to rest against the wooden post, he eyed the two parting gifts he was left with. Food and drink, just the minimal portions required to sustain him without granting him the gratification of a full stomach or the ability to enter a remorseless drunken stupor. What reason had he to extend this torturous life? He could only imagine the confounding miseries that would await him down this impossible line. He could have easily tossed the nourishments beyond his grasp and hoped to end his pathetic existence right then and there, but his eyes widened as they trailed down to the heel of bread in his clutches.

A fine texture that persisted even through the dismal days, Genn could have recognized the flaky crust in the darkest of spaces. Bringing the loaf up to his investigative gaze, he uttered a discorded chuckle. The Gamatoms didn’t even have the courtesy to supply their own food for the voyage, so it seemed.

He recognized the expired wheat as the shining work of a baker’s boy back in their modest village. A hearty teenager that went by the name Russel, he was but one of Genn’s many apprentices, another brazen adolescent who had wanted to learn the art of swordsmanship to impress the village’s reservoir of young dames. And as mediocre as the boy had been with his blade, he wasn’t without his own surplus of vigor that Genn had been eager to instruct week after week. By no means had the boy been his favorite student, yet always one that surfaced as he reminisced of each prior week’s training. Far from an affluent family, the boy could only manage to pay for his lessons with a basket’s worth of fresh pastries, a delicacy that his instructor would bring back to and distribute among his own kin.

And so he sat hunched over in the humid hold of the pirates’ ship, eyeing over the ironic artifact of his quaint, peaceful life that had been stolen away from him. It couldn’t have been more than a few days’ worth since the Gamatoms plundered the town, but his internal strife had amounted to years of age added to his grimed face. Genn’s chest grew heavy as he forced his eyes shut, the image of the innocent boy’s face and figure manifesting before him. It hadn’t been just Russel who possessed a roar befitting of a lion, but most of the lads he trained alongside were equally as eager to take up their weapons. They were all young, ambitious souls that had once made Genn proud of the legacy he was to leave behind, but now only served to remind him of his shortcomings as a mentor.

He fiddled with the bread in his hands, eyes nearly seeping with tears that he forced himself to bite back. The warrior understood well enough that most of the men in his village were surely slaughtered and rotting under the sun, his current status an anomaly among victims of the seafaring ravagers. It was an undeniable truth, yet a pill he could not bear to swallow without his spirit being subjugated by anguish. Once considered a well-respected fighter and teacher that was admirable in every sense of the word, Genn could now only regard himself with disgust, knowing that every fellow soldier who perished on the battlefield deserved to live more than he did. He, who had failed to prepare his men adequately and condemned them to a fate they did not deserve, and even went on to lock lips with the beast that finished them.

Bringing the bread to his mouth, Genn weakly nibbled at the wheat, knowing that although his actions did not merit any further indulgence, Russel was talented in his craft and the warrior would be remiss in disrespecting the boy any more than he had already done so. Although the flavor was thinned through the passage of time when it graced his lips, his memory was instantly roused as the youth’s savory workmanship entered his mouth. Tearing miniature pieces to prolong the loaf’s lifespan, Genn whispered a prayer to each fallen compatriot before swallowing the flaked food. And with each prayer completed and every name he uttered, the notion of dying in the literal shithole without exacting some degree of vengeance became all the more unappealing.

Once the final crumb had been ingested by the worn man, Genn reached for the skin of ale that rested against his side. Hoisting the pouch to his lips, the blond hesitated as the liquid trickled down his throat. While the bittersweet brew was a welcome refresher that brought life back to his parched mouth, the familiar taste of his Gamatom captor bled back into his mind, removing the skin as he forced the remainder of the drink down. Though now outside the heat of the moment, he nevertheless still could not appraise the situation, the act of so-called intimacy he shared with the brute followed by the man’s beguiling smile that he couldn’t comprehend. Just as if it were happening all over again, he could almost feel the sensation of their mouths pressed against one another again, a phantom tongue feverishly stroking against his own. He had difficulty pinpointing the cause of the warmth that arose in the depths of his stomach, a troubling thought given the diluted nature of the drink he just guzzled down.

Genn, fatigued and finished with entertaining the senseless equations in his head, tossed the skin aside as his body went limp with consumption. The past few turbulent minutes had finally caught up to his physical form, the roaring river of adrenaline in his veins now having faded into a mild stream at best. Eyes closed and skull pressed against stained planks, Genn steadied his breath as he severed the tracks below his agitated train of thought. He needed to compose himself—to have the advantage of a steady mind for the next encounter, a confrontation he presumed inevitable given the permeating, insatiable in Rekard’s eyes.

 

[Jericho Z. Barrons]

The next few days, Rek ruminated on the "slave" issue, trying to determine what he should say about the warrior he was bringing home. Not that he wanted to lie but Arly had been right enough about the repercussions if he were to admit to his desire to lay with the foreigner. He kept silent on it in front of the others, not committing to any one story until he had it figured out. There were only a couple reasons Rek could possibly have captured a man, if the slave was an artisan, a craftsman, or a builder of some kind. Knowing the man was a warrior, Rek immediately dismissed trying to pass him off as a craftsman, mostly because he didn't trust the passionate warrior to play to the lie for him, seeing as how he distrusted and rebelled against his enslavement so much. And also, Rek couldn't depend on the warrior to be able to deliver or perform to the lie, even if he were willing to do so.

So, to keep things as simple as possible, he decided to go with the story that he captured the man for the one skill Rek knew he had: his fighting abilities. It wasn't the norm... In fact, Rek couldn't remember any Gamatom ever admitting that a foreign warrior was good enough to be captured and their skills imparted. Here, the raiding race of brutal warriors, who killed more people than they ever lost in all their landings and invasions, they took pride in their fighting skills above all else they were able to accomplish. Their younglings started training at 10 years old and even their women knew how to defend their home with their fists and a sword. Bringing home a foreigner to glean his knowledge for such things... It felt almost as scandalous as just admitting he wanted to suck dick. But by the fifth day at sea, it was the best Rek had and what he was going to commit to.

Once each day Rek visited his unnamed warrior again, bringing him ale for drink and stale bread to eat. There was cheese from the raid that one of the men gave to Rek out of respect for an Alpha and Rek gifted it to the warrior below deck. He didn't linger any longer than necessary, his mind still lost to the trouble of what to tell his kin about the man. And aside from that, he didn't wish to be caught in an uncompromising situation, lest he give in to his lustful desires again. There was no guarantee Arly would be there to watch his back and it would be a terrible way for his men to find out the truth if one of them came looking for him at the wrong moment.

Midday on the fifth day, Valheru's coast came into sight on the horizon, a thunderous, bellowing chant echoing up from the Gamatoms on the deck, voices echoing between the three ships that glided over the water in a triad cluster. Home. Within a few hours of sighting the land, the cookfires could be smelled on the air, meat and fish like a siren's song, pulling the ships towards the comfort of a warm meal at home. An hour after that and the verdant green mountains around Valheru's coastal valley, came into focus. Looming around the settlement, they formed a natural shield from the mainland, crags and cliffs facing the other side of the jutting land formations. An hour after that, the wooden and stone houses of Valheru could be seen clearly from the shore. Rek took in a deep breath, his blue eyes shining with pride as he looked at his home, the beautiful land that surrounded it and the glittering water that kissed her shores.

The fortress town wasn't much larger than the villages they often raided, guarded from the mainland by towering wooden fortifications, long enough to encompass even the farmlands. The houses were well built, the Gamatoms taking notice of the nicer villages and towns they raided and bringing home the captives able to impart their knowledge to the warriors so that such styles of building could be replicated and incorporated into their own culture. Currently, only the Alphas and a select few of the wealthiest and strongest men had houses with stone walls. The rest were still wood and thatch designs.

As they put out anchor and the slaves were brought up from holding, Rek took his unnamed warrior in hand, escorting him to the smaller boats that would take them to shore. Being an Alpha, of course, Rek was one of the first that got to go back, along with Arly and two other Alphas, Frye and Johen. Johen had a slave with him as well, a demure woman who looked like she could have been blonde, but her stay in the ship hold had dirtied her hair so much, it was hard to determine what color it was exactly. Her teal, red-rimmed eyes were vacant with despair, Johen having visited her down in the hold the night before to get an early taste of his new slave wife. Bruises hid with the grime on her neck and arms; a present from her new husband to teach her about cooperation.

Arly gave the blonde warrior sitting in chains beside Rek a baleful and grim frown for a long while as he helped row with Frye to the shore. Finally, he seemed to tire of his silent criticism, swaying with the row, muscles bunching and tensing in his arms as he exhaled and turned to the others in the boat. "That's a pretty one," he said finally, jerking his chin at the woman. "You'll have lovely daughters by her."

"Aye," Johen said with an eager and ready smile, reaching over to tip her chin up, letting her glassy, doe eyes catch the light of the afternoon sun, bright green-blue color swimming in her irises. She didn't fight him, docile and passive, like she no longer lived within her body. "It's the eyes. As soon as I saw those, I knew it'd be a shame to the Gods to slay her."

"Indeed," Rek agreed with a smirk of admiration at the pretty thing. In the water beside them, 5 other boats made their way to shore, carrying the other 2 Alphas on the Council and the loot they'd acquired. "Very fresh faced."

"She wasn't a virgin when I had her but she's still plenty good," Johen gloated, rubbing a possessive hand on her thigh, her dirty, greyed skirts rustling as she reflexively shied from his touch.

"You got a pretty one too, aye?" Frye snickered at Rek, nodding at the blonde, collared and shackled warrior. "Is he gonna bear you some lovely sons?"

Arly tensed beside Frye, shooting a silent look at Rek but the redbearded Alpha scoffed with a derisive chuckle. "Fuck off," he shook his head dismissively, shifting in his seat awkwardly. "I told you lot already. I got him for his fighting skill."

"Pffft! What a disgrace!" Johen huffed in disgust, spitting off the side of the boat over it. "Like we need any training from filthy savages."

"You didn't see the bodies at his feet," Rek said. "Nor did you cross blades with him."

"You captured him, didn't you?" Arly challenged with a breezy snort. Rek cast him a level look and a small, haughty smirk curved the rowing man's lips, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Arly was such a good friend, he'd help Rek come up against the common challenges to his story, even if it was shit no one else was planning to actually question.

"I did. I had the advantage of coming upon him injured and weary," Rek explained. "No doubt, in full rest, he would have presented me with some difficulty. I'm confident enough to admit that I was impressed and I'm interested in gathering that knowledge for myself. There's no shame in gathering training from other warriors. Especially if we end up more formidable for it." No one could disagree with that, Frye even nodding and thoughtful over such an idea.

 

[Klanter]

The following days were nothing short of a harrowing experience, Genn condemned to acknowledge his failures as he was subject to the wails of female captives, former villagers and friends now widowed and certainly childless. For each Gamatom that strode past his post with the intent of acquiring a taste of their earnings, the defiant warrior projected his own threatening gaze at the tactless assailants. Yet more often than not his objections were conducted in vain, the immoral pirates too proud and exhilarated off savoring their reapings to ever take notice of the captive in the corner. The few who did manage to keep their brains intact after their activities met the chained warrior’s eyes with an intrusive stare of their own, as if he was a caged breed never to have been witnessed before by the human eye.

He could only imagine what he looked like, time and time again reminded of how the Gamatom had placed him under such intense scrutiny. Undoubtedly disheveled in his image, Genn sneered at the thought of devolving into such a raw being, converted to the spitting image of the primitive people that he found himself surrounded by. The thought of becoming the likeness of the red-headed raider made his stomach churn, the lingering afterimage of the man’s wolfish smirk never seeming to exit his cognition. Reminded of the vulgar lunge of the Gamatom's carnal lips and understanding that he was trapped in a room of women who were subject to an abominable fate, Genn too had anticipated the worst.

Alas, only a number of brief and wordless encounters comprised the entirety of Genn’s interactions with the one called Rekard, quite lacking of the explanation he believed he was due and completely void of additional commentary. Day after day, the Gamatom would make his return, somehow donning a more pensive expression with each subsequent visit. Genn didn’t yearn for the other man’s ceaseless companionship, yet each second they spent in shared silence had the prisoner wanting to demand more from his captor. The Gamatom would merely hand him the next meal before uttering a chain of obscure cautions, only to disappear in darkness after the deed was done. Their exchanges never escalated to the level of their first, Genn’s dwindling dignity still boisterous enough to keep him from acknowledging the crude event with his own lips.

He was attended to in what he assumed to be day-long intervals, counting approximately four or five days at sea, depending on how long he had been knocked out for. The days were but a blur, his only sense of time gifted to him by the periodic presence of his captor. Perpetually drifting in and out of his consciousness, Genn’s mistimed biological clock robbed him hours of sleep. His fatigued expression blended with the grimed and bloodied wounds lining his skin, and by the time the ship anchored down his hair was a somber brown, murked by the dirt and filth of the chamber. He possessed a considerable length of scruff, a wandering hand confirming that the beard still managed to maintain a smooth texture.

He had suspected that some digression from his little routine with the Gamatom would be inevitable, the abrupt anchoring of the ship shifting Genn wide awake. He lay waiting as the familiar swaying of the floor subsided into a foreboding stillness, perhaps a precursor for the life that awaited him. As per his expectations, a sequence of commanding footsteps alerted him of an imminent reunion, ginger strands and blue eyes poised across him before he knew it. The former soldier remained obedient with the other’s orders, though not without a stern gaze and a stiff stature, establishing that his cooperation was not to be interpreted as an act of submission or subjugation. But regardless of his terms, Genn was convinced that there would be no convincing the man, attempting to avoid catching glimpses of his face and the hideous jeering that would await him.

The dirtied blonde followed Rekard as he traversed the ship’s interior for the first time, hands steady by his side as the Gamatom pulled him by the chain on his neck. As the pair emerged from the vessel’s hold and the foreign settlement drifted into view, Genn scoffed at the unsightly display. The Gamatom establishment had been nothing more than a gated community of poorly constructed houses, barely a notch above the architectural peak of his own home, or what still remained of it. Eyes fixated on the village in disdain, the warrior only budged when his handler pulled on his neck to elicit some movement.

They settled into a smaller boat, accompanied by what must have been a handful of his captor’s compatriots, judging by their shared camaraderie that Genn could discern with his own familiarity. Instantaneously he could feel the pressure of multiple sets of eyes directed at his person, deflecting their penetrative beams to the best of his ability. He allowed his own eyes to meander about until it landed on the sole non-Gamatom in the wooden vessel—whom he recognized as the fair Alaine, the wife to a longtime friend of his in the militia. He knew her as the quintessential prim and proper lady that many aspired to be, a dutiful wife and doting mother that was a beloved presence in their community. But looking up and down her lifeless figure in the present, Genn shone his sympathetic eyes in her direction only to be met by barren pupils lacking the passion to convey the slightest of emotion.

He swallowed down on his remorse as he urged his ears away from the crude conversation at hand, only to have his jaw tighten and body shift as the other Gamatom laid a hand on the female's body. Only reclining as he felt the restraint pull against his throat, Genn was urged back to his previous position as he released a heated breath and flashed an apology to the blank woman, too far gone to have returned the gesture with any of her own.

The shift in subject matter was a welcome one, Genn more than willing to divert the barbarians’ attention from the innocent woman with a forum of his own. His eyes meticulously gauged his competition as he noted their comments, provoked by the manner in which they were conversing—as if he had not been sitting there with them. How defeated did they think he was, to have been willing to train a new generation of Gamatom filth? Even still, his interest was well-piqued as Rekard communicated his intentions for his new slave, commending his competence as a fighter that he supposed was some off-handed compliment in their primitive culture. But mulling the comments over an already enraged environment, he moved to face his titular owner, rocking the boat as he clutched the wooden railing to steady himself.

“I didn’t know you needed training to slaughter women and children,” Genn sneered, gritting his teeth and shuffling in his seat. “How formidable of you.” He inched closer to the red-haired brute with a gaze that implied a physical skirmish was on the horizon, the veins in his neck and fists throbbing with an intensity he would’ve thought to be impossible in his current state. But the time he spent on the receiving end of his degrading taunts among other perverse acts left him bitter and frustrated, seeking any form of relief and satisfaction from harming the bastard in spite of what his judgement ultimately ruled. He could practically feel the gratifying release of tension as his fist would collide against the Gamatom’s unguarded cheekbone, envisioning the bloodied bruise that would cover the dislocated—

“Genn...”

The frail, but poignant female voice caused the warrior’s to turn and his frame to collapse, tremors traveling down the man’s spine as he froze in place.

“It’s no use. Rory and Alder are already dead because of them,” Alaine choked, the light in her eyes fading as she was taken back to her darkest hour. “No more of this, I beg you.”

Haunted by the words that reverberated in his ears, the blonde too was brought back to the day of the pillaging, his head throbbing from the horrors of the bloodstained retrospection. More and more he wished he had died on the battlefield, now realizing that the aftermath would be far more trying than the battle was itself. A momentous weakness afflicted him as all desire for justice was replaced by a desperate plea to halt the burdened sorrow on his shoulders, unable to rid his mind of the mutilated faces of all his fallen friends—everyone he had ever known and loved in his life. Disengaging from his speech and begrudgingly turning over to rest on his side, Genn set his stare out to the distant fortress town, eyes narrowing to catch a better glimpse of the despicable place.

 

[Jericho Z. Barrons]

The boat was silent a moment after everything stilled but then abruptly erupted in laughter. Frye and Johen and even Arly found the little outburst between the two slaves incredibly hilarious, guffawing in deep chortles over it. Rek, however, found himself still captivated, frozen by the revelation the woman provided when she addressed the warrior from the same village.

Genn.

Finally, a name. Although not provided by Genn himself, Rek doubted the man was going to submit anytime soon. So, he silently thanked the Gods for providing him with this token. He might not get the warrior to respond to it but he at least had something to humanize him with. Blue eyes, still lost in pensive consideration, stroked over the demure warrior, Genn having lost a bit of the initial spark that had caused him to talk back in the first place. Again, something else they'd need to see eye to eye on if this was going to work.

"Got yer hands full there!" Johen snickered playfully, even as he stroked a pawing hand through the dirty hair of the apathetic maiden at his feet.

Blinking, Rek looked around at the rest of the boat, glancing at the nod and smug eyebrow arch from Arly before tipping his head in reluctant agreement with the point. Here was why Gamatoms didn't take male slaves; their insolence and stubborn willpower was hard to break, let alone the violence they promised in disobedience. Not that Rek was worried about Genn overpowering him but it definitely presented its own difficulty expecting a physical altercation at any interaction. At least until he was able to make some inroads to connecting with the warrior.

On shore, the Alphas went their own ways, hauling the loot out of the boat, Rek lifting Genn to his feet to slosh through the muddy water towards the beach. Arly took the boat back to their ship to continue helping transport the goods and slaves to shore but not before calling after Rek, "I'll stop by after we've got everything unloaded." The implication was clear: You have a limited amount of time; I better not walk in on any compromising situations.

With a beleaguered sigh, Rek took Genn by the chain and led him through the town, his demeanor a bit sulking for a homecoming. On the one hand, he knew Arly was merely looking out for him; on the other, it rankled him to be forced to hide what he truly wanted from his slave. The prize he'd been holding off on partaking the entire journey home which he'd hoped to indulge as soon as he was sequestered in the safety of his own house. He likely wouldn't have anyway, whether the slave was male or female, since his kin would be eager to see him returned. Taking in heavy breaths through his nose, Rek reminded himself that in just a few hours, the town would be settling in for sleep, the cookfires simmering low, lanterns put out, and he would have the space and privacy in the darkness to dedicate to the warrior slave.

In a cleared patch of land, they approached a cluster of stone houses, Rek's home, his father's, and Arly's. Rek's brother, Opie, was not much of a warrior himself, weak willed and easily bested in combat, so, he had a bed in their father's home, not having acquired enough wealth or kills to get one of his own. 25 years old and none of the Gamatom women considered him a suitable mate, further lowering his options of ever leaving their family home.

Rek's house had healthy, thick thatch roofing going to a gentle peak on top, the walls and column supports made of light gray stone, cut in smooth, clean angles and blocks. The door and frame were carved with bas relief depictions of beautiful long lines and spirals, representing the waves and the tentacle bearing old Gods that came from the ocean trenches, their blessing and fortune gracing his house and his name. Leading Genn through the front door, Rek took him around the main hall where the cook fire and dining table sat, the pit for the fire set and burning at a low crackle, instantly chasing away the damp cold in their bones from the trip to shore. In the next room, his private chambers, the fire there was burning as well, flames dancing low and sedately, having warmed the room for a while, the smell of herbs and hearty earth filling their lungs with a pleasant aroma. Rek glanced at the fire as he hooked Genn's shackled wrists to the wall, realizing as he did so, that it had likely been Verlyn who'd lit them. Having seen the ships coming, she'd probably set his fires a little bit ago to warm up his house for him. On the one hand, he was grateful for the thoughtful gesture, not having to scramble to get his slave situated at the same time as prepping his house for renewed habitation. On the other...it meant that she would surely stop by before the evening was out and he felt put upon already at the thought of her visit.

Facing into the room, Genn was shackled to two supports on the wall, his arms spread just wide enough that he wouldn't be able to use them adequately and his back pressed lightly against the stone wall. Tossing another log onto the fire, sparks like disturbed fireflies flittering up from the pit, Rek went in search for a bucket to go retrieve some water. Seemingly, the considerate Gamatom woman was taking her courtship of him seriously, Rek finding the bucket beside his fur piled bed, already filled with fresh water, a rag and bar of soap, that Verlyn had made, sitting on the rim. And it had been sitting in the room almost as long as the fires had been burning, so, the water no longer held the harsh, biting chill from the pump outside.

With a faint smirk down at it, Rek set about undressing from his armor, layer by layer, peeling out of the metal woven leather jerkin and his thick, woolen tunic. Broad shouldered and slim of waist, Rek was less imposing without his layers on, his slender physique and wiry muscles taking away some from the brutal animal he became on the battlefield. He made up for it with his wide shoulders and towering height, at least, still looking like a man who could strike someone down with a broadsword one-handed. Down to just his leather trousers, Rek glanced at the chained warrior on the wall, his skin prickling with goosebumps to meet the glowering, intense stare of his dirty captive. Fierce as ever, the layers of bilge grime and mud did nothing to take away from all the things that had originally drawn Rek's notice. He could do with a bit of cleaning, though.

Briefly giving himself a quick refreshing, lathering up the rag with the fatty soap, leaving his skin lightly damp and quickly drying in the warm room, Rek finally brought the bucket and soap over to the wall where Genn was held immobile. Setting the bucket down, Rek quietly let his eyes wander over the warrior he'd caught, for a long while enjoying his silent inspection. Eventually, slender hands came up to unlatch the iron collar around Genn's neck, revealing rings of congealed sweat and foul smelling grime under his jaw and just above his collar bones. And where the metal had rested and rubbed against his skin, it was raw, reddened and sore.

With rag dripping with water, Rek began to softly dab and stroke at Genn's throat, cleaning him of the filth he'd accumulated from the ship's hold and the battlefield, and cleaning the inflamed skin from where the collar had worn at him. It was hypnotic, losing himself to the task, Genn's skin coming clean and looking smooth and tanned from being outdoors. It was so lulling in fact, that stopping to survey his work, having cleansed Genn from chin to collar, Rek felt that familiar, tempting pull towards the robust, physicality of the other man. Before he could really stop himself, he was leaning in close, nuzzling at Genn's throat, breathing deeply of his scents, both the good and the bad, his thick, ginger whiskers stroking at his skin. Pressing his lips against the other man's scorching hot flesh, Rek indulged himself with this one illicit pleasure, even keeping everything below their chests from touching, lest he get carried away obeying the will of the swollen Master within his trousers. Lips smacking on skin married with the crackling of the fire as his mouth opened to deeply suck at Genn's neck, abusing the sensitive spot under his ear before finally capturing the lobe between his lips.

Pulling back, blue eyes glazed with barely restrained desire, Rek's hands pushing and stroked at Genn's head and face, rubbing at him with the lathered rag, redrenched with water. Like a treasure hunter, passionate for discovery, swiping away layers of sediment from an unearthed token, water spilling down Genn's face as Rek squeezed the rag over his hair. Pulling back to regard his work, Genn's face was normal colored again, his blonde hair brightened and spiking wetly. He wasn't entirely clean, grit still clinging to the corners, in his sideburns and on his scalp but he looked at least human again.

"There you are, Genn," Rek breathed with reverence, his lustful eyes taking in the masculine beauty he'd uncovered. Wet hand sweeping to clutch the back of Genn's head, he lunged forward, lips desperate for another taste of his fierce warrior, searching for that willingness he'd sensed the first time they'd kissed. Nothing would feel better in that moment than getting swept away in the depths of the other man's mouth, not even sorry to reveal his lie about why he'd captured Genn. After all, if he couldn't at least be honest with Genn about why he was here, then all was for nought anyway.

 

[Klanter]

Had his mind still been in the boat, Genn suspected his temper and harbored malice against the Gamatoms may have overruled any semblance of self-restraint he had left. But his thoughts were misplaced and quite outside the confines of his own body, incapable of even a stifled response as the senseless bastards erupted into their needlessly crass roar of laughter. He watched as Lady Alaine’s soiled hair was sloppily stroked by her respective proprietor, his consciousness hearkening back to the degrading days they spent back in the slaves’ hold. The ill-fated maiden was transparent in her despondency, but Genn whispered silent prayers and vows to one day restore the spirit of their home. The warrior then shifted slightly to meet Rekard, the challenge still present in his eyes and candid in his disinterest to give in as easily as his female counterparts had. Once the uproar had subsided, the remainder of the trip to the shore was spent in silence on the warrior’s end, lacking reason to entertain his captors any further than he already had.

Hiking through the Gamatom village itself proved a trying occasion for the exasperated man, drained from the episode on the boat and attention diverted elsewhere for the duration of his journey. Onlookers battered him with a barrage of unrefined looks, forcing him to filter out the uncivil gawking of the barbarian people. It was no longer a threat to his dignity but his patience, Genn already accustomed to the Gamatoms’ vulgar conventions yet nevertheless irked by the lack of etiquette. The way the brutes regarded one another, whether in speech or gesture, had painted an all too primeval picture of the foreign pillagers for the man's liking. Each step he took further into the heart of the Gamatom town bred more scorn on his end, a crooked brow the only response to their buildings’ alien facades.

Wooden constructions were erected in unorganized clusters, a singular stone structure or two standing amidst the scattered mess. Some homes sported thatched roofs of straw whereas others were topped off with a mineral finish, a fine seal that he imagined could stand even against the most precarious of the unavoidable maritime storms. Engravings and motifs that his untrained eye were unable to recognize dawdled in his memory, prompting Genn to wonder just what cruel and wicked Gods these people chose to worship. And yet, the artistry and workmanship was palpable in the ominous designs, the warrior striking a balance between awe and appreciation for an artisan’s work—many of which he assumed were captured slaves themselves.

The pair arrived at another unsightly clump of formidable houses, a fair assumption that the tentacle-laden dwelling belonged to his captor as Rekard entered the residence with Genn begrudgingly trailing in tow. Greeted by the gentle crackle of a modest fire and a surprisingly homely scene, the warrior’s shoulders sagged as he inhaled a breath full of some alien fragrance that somehow tranquilized the irritation in his muscles. Studying the components of the Gamatom’s home, Genn’s expression dissolved into one of conflicted admiration, finding it difficult to believe that the savages could find pleasure amidst such an ambience after returning from their recent grisly activities.

Feeling the omnipresent tug on his neck, Rekard urged him into the neighboring chamber where he was met with more of the same furnishings. Caught gazing again at the decor scattered about, Genn soon accepted that the Gamatom’s private quarters were vastly more lavish than any home he ever laid eyes on. His vigilance was reduced to a simple simmer by the time his captor pinned his wrists against the wall, effectively eliminating any hopes of a physical retaliation against the man. Yet, the moment of speechless respite was a welcome intermission from the deafening hubbub that was a crew of Gamatom raiders, though Genn pondered if he much preferred the intimate company of the untamed ginger over his brethren. A cursory glance alone was more than enough to confirm the presence of the man’s feverish countenance, to which Genn mounted his own accusing glare.

No sooner had the smoldering resentment in his gut flared to a full flame did Rekard slowly edge to his bed, undoing the straps of leather keeping him concealed. Barely in the corner of his vision, Genn scavenged a glimpse of the Gamatom’s bare figure as the man’s coarse muscles were involuntarily admitted into his memory. Their eyes locked in a contentious clash as Rekard ran a moist towel over his chest, a few drops of liquid clinging onto his toned form. Genn's pupils meandering down the other man’s body without his conscious consent, he noted the male’s surprisingly slender figure, resembling nothing of the dominant warmonger that bested him on the battlefield. The observation only continued to degrade the warrior’s dignity, another blow to his authority as his eyes finally escaped the male’s body to dissect the Gamatom’s expression.

Mere moments afterwards, the russet-haired ravager rose from his perch as he ambled along the wall with a bucket and towel in hand, halting once he stood inches away from his captive. With compressed eyes and a tensed frame, Genn was searing from the room’s mounting heat and whatever sentiment the Gamatom had inspired within him. His jaw tightened as he felt a touch upon his neck, eyes wandering up as Rekard moved himself up to fidget with the metal collar. Genn's body grew increasingly rigid with each passing second in preparation for whatever morbid scheme the brute had devised, but the taut muscles ultimately loosened as he felt the gentle dab of a damp cloth against his tender skin. Releasing a staggered breath, the blonde attempted to conceal his wince as Rekard continued to stroke at his marred flesh with an unanticipated care. Watching over the man who attended to his stains, Genn noted the lulled trance that the brute appeared to be in, speechless with the sheer determination that was prominent in those striking azure orbs. Between the controlled, sensual movements of his hand and the sluggish breaths that the man drew, Genn’s inflamed demeanor seethed as he leaned back, his spine pressing against the chilled stone surface behind him. His gaze rested on the Gamatom, firmly closing his mouth in hopes of communicating his rancorous compliance as a temporary truce for the sake of his own benefit: he could feel the weight of days’ worth of dried blood and sweat peel from his skin, a cool air enveloping his person as the wet fabric vanquished grime from his collar.

Eyes closed to pass the time, Genn eased his breaths and settled into as comfortable of a position he could manage. For a moment he had lost himself in the rhythmic movements against his swollen frame, reminded of how his youngest sister once tended to the unsightly wounds that opened following a day of onerous training. Meeting the benign touch, he was transported back to those simpler times as his memory overlooked the past week and instead chose to scavenge for expired peace. But when Rekard's motions paused, so too did his Genn's fraudulent fantasies as he blinked open to acknowledge the Gamatom’s mouth pressed against his being.

Lukewarm lips traveled over the skin that was just scrubbed clean, the warrior’s own mouth hanging open from the sudden contact. While not entirely unexpected given the one sensuous occasion they shared on the ship, Genn’s immediate reaction was still one of awe at the Gamatom’s self-assured advances. But sure enough, Rekard nuzzled the nape of his neck with an unprecedented fragility that would have made the blonde shudder had it not been for his strengthened resolve to stand the precarious ground he was treading. As the man traveled up his neck, the light kisses grew into profound yearnings for his jaw and neck that rendered Genn’s judgement barren. Genn felt his skin boil with each set of longing pecks, breath hitching as the Gamatom took his earlobe in mouth to besiege the flesh with an ardent tasting. After the incident had passed, his ear was released into a brisk breeze as the beast pulled back from his movement.

As if nothing had happened, the male returned to his duties as he mopped the dirt off Genn's face, guiding a firm hand over the warrior’s sullen cheekbones and jawline. Even as the water dripped down from his drenched array of blonde strands and down the length of his neck, Genn reminded himself that there was little reason to combat the cleanse he was acquiring in spite of the inexplicable chagrin he concealed in his facade. Yet gritting his teeth as he felt Rekard’s eyes marveling at his prize, Genn bit down on as the Gamatom referred to him by name. Utterly revolted by the line, the blonde projected his chest as an aggressive act to illustrate his disapproval, though his chained wrists had made it an uncomfortably restrained gesture at best.

The Gamatom's clamp around the back of his head settled within the blink of an eye, Genn’s head pulled again under a near-identical set of circumstances he could seldom forget. Grimacing as sturdy fingers dug past his bronze filaments and against his scalp, Rekard’s carnivorous lips came seeking to conquer his space yet again, though this time around Genn had managed to orchestrate a resolute response of his own. Parting his mouth as the man closed in, the warrior captured the Gamatom’s lips between his own. Having rehearsed the maneuver in his thoughts time and time again since their initial exchange, Genn was all but prepared to nip down on the man... had he not been struck by the current reality.

Rather than allowing his teeth to sink into the other man, Genn caught himself holding Rekard’s lips a second longer than he had intended, indulging in a few light sucks of his own. Though once he could distinguish the bittersweet flavor profile of the savage scampering across his taste buds, the blonde acted to rectify his mistake by bringing his jaw down, flicking his head to the side to pull away from the contact. A heavy assortment of pants filled the open air as Genn felt a contrite fever creep below his torso. Catching his breath from the brief yet demanding act, he rested his head against the stone-studded wall, averting his infuriated gaze from the other male’s reaction. Instead, his honed eyes were fixated on the fire in the distant corner of the room, Genn’s mouth stretching to open after it had gone rigid.

“You're playing the wrong game with me, mutt—your friends were right,” he spoke after clearing his throat, allowing his words to hang in the air. “You’re a fool if you think I’ll be bearing you any sons.” With a huff of disgruntled air, Genn’s jaw grew stiff again as he watched the Gamatom in an overbearing form, hoping the man too agitated and imperceptive to appraise his own misgivings.

 

[Jericho Z. Barrons]

A soft, eager moan left him as Genn suckled on his lip, Rek thirsty for it, for any response or encouragement from this man. It wasn't beyond him to rape but as a long-term plan or goal, Rek was more scrupulous than his fellows. During a raid, it was fine to blow off steam in a sudden, fitful, violent passion, especially if the victim was not someone he intended to take home. But a slave wife? Or rather...male mate? He wasn't going to win Genn over if he ever forced the warrior down and got brutal with him and he would try to avoid it as best he could. So, these slivers and cracks in the other man's armor and rebellious facade were what Rek hunted for, emboldened that he was on the right track for finally breaking through.

There was a breathy sound of complaint from his chest, his lips wetly smacking to fall open in a panting, gaping expression of loss when Genn pulled away. As he watched, anger contorted the other man's features, even as Rek searched his turned profile for some glimmer of the desire he'd sensed between them just a mere second ago. It was frustrating and he wanted to laugh as Genn finally rebuked him, as if Rekard were some insensible blockhead who never figured out how sons were acquired.

Huffing a gentle laugh, a tempered curve teasing at his lips, eyes bright and clear as a lough, Rek countered, "It's only the wrong game if I sought sons from you. Sometimes, you do things just for the pleasure of it. And in that case..."

Stepping close, fully invading Genn's personal space, his bare chest rubbing against the warrior's battle leathers, Rek pressed his engorged groin against the other man's. Thick, hardened bulges rubbed against each other through their trousers as Rek fluidly rolled his hips, his breathing deepening in obvious arousal, trying to stop himself but unable to now that he'd begun. Exactly as he feared, the barest contact between them below the belt and he was drunken on the need for more, his restraint and caution abandoned in favor of how blissful and right this felt.

His muscular thigh slid between Genn's to get even closer, angling to dry hump him deeper as the hand on the back of his neck tightened his grip, leaning in for another kiss as he muttered in a hoarse, damaged voice, warm breath ghosting on the warrior's lips and cheeks as he finished his thought, "...we're playing exactly the right game."

"Rekard! You son of a whore!"

Instantly, distance spilled between them, like a gushing wound, the Gamatom tensing in cold-sweat fear and frustration as he whipped his head around to look at the doorway to his private chamber. No one was there, the feminine growl having come from outside the room, yet still, his breathing didn't calm, his pupils mere pinpricks like a startled and enraged predator whose den had been invaded. It took a few moments longer but as soon as its owner appeared in the doorway, all contact between the two men vanished, Rek swiftly dropping his hand from where it had rested on Genn's neck during their interruption.

Short of stature, the woman who had appeared suddenly filled the room with an imposing, firey presence. Hair, the color of rich, freshly-turned earth, wild and fluffed in untamed waves about her shoulders, paired with her stormy, verdant moss green eyes, made her look like some fierce, gorgeous creature come to slay them both. As she stomped across the distance that separated them, her well crafted, skins and leather dress flapping about her well-toned legs, Rek drifted from the wall to meet her beside the fire pit.

"Verlyn," Rek said in a feigned, warm greeting. "Thank you for setting my hearths. And for the soap--" abruptly, he was cut off in a grunt when she swiftly swatted his cheek as soon as she was close enough to reach it.

It didn't look like she was going to hit him again but in his irritation, Rek grabbed her wrist and twisted her arm behind her back, pulling her in against his bare chest, his face inches from hers as he stared her down dominantly. As a Gamatom woman, high-ranking for her beauty and her fighting skills - all she needed was a husband and she'd be part of the quorum of Homestead - she was not even a little bit scared of Rek, staring back at him just as aggressively and not backing down.

Wrenching her arm free from him, she finally stepped back and faced off against him, gesturing her frustration with a flick of her fingers from her elbow. "You bastard! I hate you! The ships have landed for 30 minutes! You have to pass my abode to get to yours! Yet you did not stop in to see me?"

"Well, I figured, since you hate me..."

"All the jokes," she huffed in agitation, flopping her hands against her hips, her bone and metal bracelets clattering prettily with the movement. "I am a joke to you."

"Honestly, Verlyn, I would have visited you first thing," he said, his tone softening as he lied to placate her. "But I had to bring home my new slave."

He motioned at the man chained to the wall and Verlyn boldly stepped around Rek to regard the male. Pride and passion burned glittering in her eyes as she looked at the warrior and finally met his gaze from a couple feet away. She was not impressed, as evidenced by the sneer curling her lip, a hiss dragging from her throat as she turned sideways to include Rek in her derision.

"What is this? Why did you bring this home? Is he a craftsman?"

"He's a warrior."

Verlyn's smile turned saccharine as she crept back to him, her back to Genn, with energy bursting within her. "I know! You're a stupid baby!" the flat of her palm savagely swiped out to smack Rek on his naked chest with a harsh resounding clap of flesh on flesh. "What do you need a blasted warrior slave for? If you had come back down to see me, you would have realized that I have been cooking a roast and stew for you all day! But no! You make me wait and when you don't come I have to lug the hot pot up the hill to your castle to deliver you dinner--!"

"Oh. Thank you."

"--Like a bloody slave! Am I your slave wife??"

"Hardly even that," Rek muttered on a sigh, growing fatigued by her overbearing anger.

She didn't miss a thing, however, and with her teeth on edge in a ferocious grimace, her shoulders tensing, she started to reach back to ready her hand to slap him again, no doubt harder this time. Growing impatient with her challenges to his authority, being Alpha and only allowing for her to push him around so much, Rekard grabbed her wrist again before she could land the blow, shoving her arm down against her side. She hissed at him and he frowned down at her, at a loss for how to tame her ire without losing his pride and dominance.

When it occurred to him, he didn't dare look towards the warrior on the wall, his glare softening in resignation a second before he put his other arm around her, pulling her body to crush against his as he swept her up into a passionate kiss. In a way, giving her what she truly wanted but at least he felt her relax, melting into the granite of his form. As he deepened the kiss, stroking a tongue deep into her mouth, Verlyn responded, the tigress transforming into a sill cat as she mewled into him longingly.

Her fingers were petite yet coarse from working hard at constructing weapons and Homestead work, running through his hair and gasping for him as she tightened, raising up to press them closer together. When she felt him aroused - runoff from humping Genn, kept alive with the responsiveness of the woman in his arms - she quickly drew away, pushing his chest as she separated completely.

"Make me your wife already if it is so tempting then," she huffed at his ridiculous state, unsympathetic as Rek rubbed a frustrated, tense hand over his features.

They'd fooled around before, pleasuring each other with their mouths and hands but Verlyn still retained her virtue as all unmarried Gamatom women did. It was a powerful status, ensuring that a man's sons were only his, giving her word weight and truth once she became a part of the Homestead quorum of Gamatom wives. Rek said nothing in response to her cajoling him to marry her in order to satiate his obvious desire for her. His mind was a blank, truly thinking nothing of her except desiring that she would leave so he could deal with it in the way that he truly wished to. His gaze couldn't help dragging to Genn still clinging to the wall, his eyes glazed with lust and his cheeks filled with heat.

Verlyn snorted at him, thinking him merely a coward, turning to wave at the warrior chained on the wall. "Get that down. Come eat the food your pretend slave wife has made for you and feed your silly pet."

As she stomped from the room, most of her anger gone now, Rek approached Genn, frowning in turmoil over the fact that she'd given him orders that he couldn't necessarily disobey in a reasonable manner. It was always like this with Rekard and Verlyn, the two opposing sides of him aching to remove his own invisible bonds, yet feeling impotent to do so. Maybe that had been his intent all along? Maybe he'd seen Genn and wanted him but also saw within him a sense of freedom that he didn't currently enjoy. The fact that he was home now with his prize and still unable to be open to rebuff a perfectly desirable mate nor change the status quo, adding just another layer of captivity to his life, it had him ever more restive and miserable.

Unhooking Genn's hands from the wall, removing the shackles in the process, he murmured through gritted teeth, "Go eat," not able to look at the warrior.

Turning from him, he retrieved for himself a fresh linen shirt among his things, pulling it on, leaving it loose and open at the neck, tucking the bottom edges into his waistband. In the main room, Verlyn was like a coiled serpent, mollified for now but still spitting curses and murmured arguments under her breath as she served the stew she had made. The fire had been brought back to life, crackling high, smoke drifting out of the vent above in the ceiling. The pot, made of a gorgeous white clay, its curved belly smooth and silken to the touch, sat on the stone edge of the pit, staying warm by the heat of the flames. Ladeling stew into bowls, making sure to get chunks of roast in with the thick, spiced gravy-water, along with hearty root vegetables and herbs, Verlyn set one of them on the long, solid wooden table for Genn before turning to finish serving for her precious Gamatom Lord.

 

[Klanter]

The burdened creases on Genn’s forehead revealed themselves as he observed the crass Gamatom’s incandescent stare. Never in his life had he been the recipient of such profound scrutiny, the illuminated pair of blue eyes intrusively staring into his being at a depth unbeknownst to even his closest companions. More than just a foolhardy warlord who was toying with his prisoner, this one Rekard was now extracting more vulnerability from Genn than he ever thought possible. Whatever discipline he learned and directed on the battlegrounds seemed all for naught as his subduer chided him with voracious words and pressed a bare chest against his, rendering the warrior aghast and unrehearsed in such a position. Though deflecting something as elementary as a kiss presented its own challenges, the Gamatom’s docket surpassed his expectations in terms of tone and approach—the trained warrior was adapted and willing to defend himself in the case of a physical engagement, but knew not what to do in the face of simple intimacy and tenderness.

Had he possessed the fortitude for the moment, there may have been a chance for Genn to rebut the man’s predation. But as the Gamatom coercively joined their groins together and urged Genn with the hand around his neck, the blonde found his breath further aggravated as well. The visceral physicality of having the entire length of the brute’s body resting atop his own forced him into a state of disbelief, the disorientation of his senses only propelled as Rekard began to roll his hips forward. Contending with the libidinous movement while feeling the other male's pulse against his was a sensation too much for Genn to appraise with a sound mind, much less one he was able to procure a dignified response for.

The savage spoke of pleasure, something Genn assuredly called into question once he acknowledged the intermingling of their waists. With nowhere to retreat to and consequently subject to Rekard’s motions, the suggestive agitation in his garments caused the man to part his thighs in response to the Gamatom’s intrusion. Gritting his teeth as the brute’s face inched closer, the blonde preserved his glower of objection as evidence of the disparity between his noble intellect and the primeval body that failed him. Arms bound and the remainder of his body averse to rejecting the tasteless contact, Genn could hardly even muster the appropriate words to mount a final line of defense. Instead, he remained silent as Rekard’s hips moved deeper between his loins, his body forcibly rocking along with the Gamatom’s crude movements.

The redhead’s lips loomed over Genn’s own once again, the remnants of that inviting whisper settling on the rim of his mouth. Panicked pupils scanned the Gamatom’s profile once again, committing into memory what the man looked of in their intimate space. He would’ve been considered quite the alluring character back home with his strong and groomed features, a sickening but legitimate possibility that his sisters would have swooned to have such a man as their husband. An onslaught of inquiries overwhelmed the warrior, considering the consequences of reciprocating the tactless pursuit. Perhaps engaging in the impassioned kiss would do well to curb Rekard’s fractious libido and buy Genn some much-needed reprieve, yet the notion of encouraging the man any further was also a precarious line to follow. Then there was the question of his own interests and how susceptible his reactions had been to the extraneous influences and his undisciplined spirit.

Genn pursed his lips in anticipation for the Gamatom, a mere mite’s width away from another fervent collision he had no control over this time around. But just as a single breath separated them from another heated rerun, the biting shout of a new entry in the warrior’s Gamatom register severed the sound of their smoldered pants. As if he was provoked by the penetrating voice, Rekard’s head whipped to meet the hollow doorway as his frame peeled away from the warrior’s. Genn’s body shifted back as the brute removed himself, yet still tense from the apprehension of encountering whoever it was that made the Gamatom so skittish in demeanor.

Only moments following the initial cry did the female pounce into the chamber, an unruly and striking lass who looked and acted nothing of the prim maidens his village proudly manufactured. Sinking into the shadows, Genn watched Rekard greet Verlyn, stifling any response of his own as he witnessed the woman striking his captor. Had it not been for his disdain of the barbarian people and Rekard in particular, the former commander would have chided the act of utter impudence. And perchance he would’ve found the humiliation on Rekard's end more engrossing, but the male’s returned aggression only reconfirmed the unrefined nature of these undeserving beasts.

Concealing the indignant scowl that materialized on his face, Genn wallowed in independent silence as he listened to the unkempt mongrels quarrel, assembling as much context that was available from their rudimental altercation. But the inevitable shift in subject matter forced Genn to provide some form of acknowledgement, jaw stiffening as Verlyn challenged his presence in her to-be husband’s space. Indecisively caught between resolute agreement and some vexed malice by her outburst, the warrior knew not of what he would be permitted to say and ruled it wisest to allow Rekard as his mouthpiece for the time being.

He continued to watch the exchange with resentment as he endured another series of drunken fists and hisses. Fearing no end to the frivolous bout of Gamatom fidelity, the blonde retreated back to his mental corner in hopes of dodging any further discussion. Yet in spite of his apathetic will, their hasty kiss magnetized the warrior’s attention as he followed the flow of their complementary acts, her hand grazing sunburnt strands of loose hair while he pushed his burly physique onto an accepting body. Already acclimated to Rekard’s imprudent means of persuasion, it made the matter all the more fruitless to study as he internally belittled the brutish race.

But still, the sordid act was all he could process whenever he dared to look away, a bitter distaste dawdling about his thoughts as if he was witnessing a weaker form of himself crumble before his eyes. That thought alone was enough to reignite a familiar flame within his fibers that Genn met Rekard’s gaze with, much of his concentration allocated to deciphering the momentary look of disturbance in those lust-laden eyes. The animosity that had just kindled continued to burn as he found himself with more and more disgustingly incomprehensible signs, the warrior uncertain on who to hold accountable for the contempt that tainted him.

As Verlyn made her final snide remarks and took her leave, it was a diverting silence that lingered in the crackling chamber while Rekard approached. Wordlessly released from his shackles, Genn took the initiative to stretch his limbs back to comfort as he brushed down his leathers. Still, he remained adjacent to his post as his gaze trailed over to the slumped man perusing through the various linens he owned, only taking attentive steps as the Gamatom was turned away: Was it shame? Annoyance? Or perhaps exhaustion? Whatever the reason for the brute’s sudden reservation, a spiteful Genn derived some trace contentment from whatever it had been that censored Rekard so. How ironic it had been that his first voluntary steps as a slave were made in the direction of the sullen Gamatom, Genn conjuring an intoxicated mix of complacency and irritation on his face.

He began with a vengeful chuckle, spoiled with the diseased thoughts that fermented all through his silence. “My apologies. I didn’t think you really needed training to best women and children.” Genn paced around to Rekard’s side with assured footsteps, taking in the muted profile of what he never would have guessed possible of the boisterous craven. Eyes fixed on the expressionless visage of his captor, the blonde approached with an enlivened frame as he extended a first to grasp the Gamatom’s collar. With an assertive hold of his own, Genn tugged on the freshly-donned fabric and pulled him to a whisper’s length. “I don’t know if I should despise or pity the whole lot of you dogs,” he hissed, keeping his gruff voice out of Verlyn’s earshot but deafening enough for Rekard’s own. The warrior twisted the cloth in his fist, words barely capable of traveling through his grit teeth. “Don’t make me tell you again—these are the wrong games. Unless you’d like to inform your precious wife what you have a blasted warrior slave for.”

Rediscovering Rekard’s lineaments and worn eyes across the nonexistent distance between their facades, Genn recognized the beginnings of faded stirrings that had since subsided over the past few moments, ultimately releasing the hold he had over the Gamatom's framework and shoving him away. Swallowing down any of his illicit intentions with a backwards step, he ambled along the wall to arrive at the woolen and fur sheets resting upon the other man’s bed before perching on the mattress without so much as giving its owner a glance.

Senses restored, the appetizing aroma of spiced meat and vegetables wafted through the Gamatom’s cabin as the domestic sound of clanging spoons and bowls carried over from the neighboring room. Biting back the obsolete memories of homespun suppers, Genn cleared his throat as he shifted in stature and rested war-worn palms on his taxed thighs. “Go on,” he retorted, finding obscure sets of furniture and decor to detract attention from the other sensations that overwhelmed him. He motioned to the doorway with a nod of his head, as if he had pretended to know the encampment more intricately than its resident. “I’m not some sickly pet you need to feed,” he spoke in a single imposing breath, an effort to deflect the despondence that had just settled as another instance of his defiant deeds. Genn's faded blues would eventually settle for one of the rounded window holes carved into the stone and wooden structure’s flank, absorbing the despairingly beautiful tint of violet in the day's final hours of coral-shaded light.

 

[Jericho Z. Barrons]

A soft, breezy exhalation left him over Genn's joke but otherwise he didn't react, instead, focused on straightening his trousers overtop of his shirt. He was still grappling with the inner turmoil of forced convention and propriety standards and the selfish, surly ego that had him internally brooding about the status quo. He was a fucking Alpha and he'd earned that place among his people. Why did he have to suffer a woman he didn't care for, or hold back and lie about the prize he'd captured?

When the warrior grabbed him, he had Rek's sudden attention, a fatigued grimace flashing into being on his features. Instantly, he was defensive over the harsh touch of the other man, his ire ignited by the disrespectful tone from his slave. But he was stopped, his throat closed off from any hissed reply when as he watched, Genn seemed to lose some of his momentum. It was a second and gone but for just a couple moments, Genn's words seemed at odds with the look in his eyes. As the warrior gruffly discarded Rek with a shove that barely swayed the Gamatom on his feet, he hid a knowing grin at his back, the expression tucked neatly away by the time Genn had plopped to sit upon his bed.

For all his frustrations to keep things hidden from his people, it seemed Genn was struggling with some frustrations of his own...aside from those imposed by his captive state. It emboldened Rek, even in the current stress of his circumstances and his commitments, at least this one thing could eventually be his. Although, as the warrior refused food, it did stump the Gamatom a little bit, wondering how to get past the wall between them. Noticing the independence and choices that had come to the captive warrior after being freed, Rek surmised that a little less aggressive authority might go a long way.

"No. You're not."

The nod he gave was pensive and slight, admitting that truthfully, he didn't want a pet. He'd grabbed Genn for his passion and ferocity and he hardly expected that from a caged bird. So, he agreed; Verlyn was wrong to call the warrior that, even if at the moment, he was basically in the position of a slave "wife."

"Am I feeding ghosts!? Get your asses out here!"

A shiver ran up Rek's form at the shrill sound of Verlyn's voice calling them from the front room but his ice blue eyes were bright, a grin of amusement tugging at his lips. When his voice came, it was a low murmur, barely above a whisper.

"She's not my wife."

A finality pervaded his tone. There was also a cold sadness about it, the admission deep and conflicted in all the things he didn't say, lingering around the words as they hung on the air between them. He didn't say that he didn't want her to be, nor that he didn't have any true interest in a wife period. If he had his way, he would have the sons and leave the domestic feminine presence out of his life. He didn't say how real Genn's threat was, what he could destroy if he made good on the implication to tell someone. Likely as not, being a slave, no one would believe him...but they might. It'd be an ugly, damaging rumor to start. He didn't say that it scared him or even worried him, although that fear was exactly what kept him from rejecting Verlyn altogether.

Rek lingered just a moment longer, staring at the warrior on his bed before walking from the room to join Verlyn at his dinner table. The room he left Genn in was typical of Gamatom warrior's private spaces. With four walls, it looked longer than it was wide, with only a few decorations upon the walls, consisting of deer skins, old retired weapons - from his boyhood trainings and first raids; a stone axe blade still sported dried blood from a raid he'd been on at 16 - and shields. The fire pit was built into the middle of the floor, thick stone bordering its edges, a long, dark chimney vent above it catching the smoke that drifted from it. The bed, piled high with lush skins and woven blankets, the bedding stuffed with feathers and straw as they'd learned to do from captured slaves, was up against one wall near the back wall where Genn had been chained. Nearby, a chest, sporting tentacles and ocean waves, was filled with clothes. An extra pair of boots and battle leathers were set on the floor beside it.

Against the opposite wall was a long table cluttered with weaponry in various stages of construction. Being battle oriented as a people, Gamatom pastimes included sparring, training, and making weapons and armor. A deconstructed hilt of labradorite sat among metal pieces and leather twine. A section of wood with a bas relief of similar designs that marked the door frame to the building, sat amongst all of the other personal effects, the carving sloppy and a little crude, obviously a practice. And in the corner by the bed, near where Rek had undressed to wash himself, were leaning 3 hilted swords, an unstrung bow, and a metal-bladded axe.

"Where is the dog?"

It was Verlyn's first question to him as he left his private chambers and instantly, it threatened to squash his restored mood. He shook it off as he came to sit at his table in front of one of the bowls she'd set out.

"Don't call him that. He'll be eating later."

"He's filthy. And soft. Why have you brought him here?"

Rek paused, carved spoon in his hand, halted poised above the bowl. "I wanted someone to train with."

Verlyn snorted derisively, folding her arms across her bosom. "As if you don't have plenty of warriors to train with. You can spar with me."

He glanced up at her, amused over the offer, scooping up some of the hearty stew she'd cooked for him, talking between chewing mouthfuls of succulent meat and roots. "I always beat you, though. Besides, I'll learn nothing new if I always fight the same people. I know all of Arly's moves and the way the other Alphas fight. Other than them, there's nobody in the clan who can present a challenge for me. Who knows? Maybe I've gotten stale too? The warrior was hard to take down...he surprised me. I took him on a whim. He might help me improve my own skills, get some new moves."

"Pfft! As if you can learn anything new from conquered people's."

Rekard shook his head, huffing softly as he stirred the thick stew idly. "If that were true, we wouldn't have stone houses now, would we?"

"Speaking of...when are you going to move me into your stone castle?" she asked, lowering her arms as she gave him an expectant look.

She seemed to soften a bit with the inquiry, a vulnerability and yearning entering her manner. It occurred to him, as it had many times before during their more intimate moments, how unfair it was for her. Verlyn did all of these things, pursuing him aggressively, and he never really gave her any indication that he didn't intend to marry her, except for his silence when asked the big questions. As it was now, his lips forming a grim line as he looked away from her, the silence drawing out.

And just like that, her walls were up again, the fire flaring up inside her, her presence suddenly full of the promise of violence. Rather than taking it out on him further, seemingly feeling like he wasn't worth it, Verlyn turned with a whip of her wild hair over her shoulders, her bone and metal bracelets clinking as she stomped to his front door. As she neared it, the door opened and Arly stepped through, the other male Gamatom stepping aside with raised eyebrows when he saw her.

"Oi, Verlyn," he muttered in a mild, friendly greeting.

"Oi," she said through gritted teeth, obviously not mad at him, but with too much on her mind to make much more of an attempt to be nice.

She left with the door thumping heavily shut behind her. When Arly turned to Rekard, the other Gamatom shook his head with a beleaguered sigh, returning to his meal rather than comment on it further. It was the same old thing anyway, Arly figured, coming over to the table and the other bowl set out there. As he sat down getting ready to dig into the delicious, fragrant food, he glanced up at his friend who sat at his right at the head of the table.

"Warm homecoming, aye? I saw your brother as we were unloading. Pesterin' Aoife again."

That gave Rekard pause. His younger brother...Opie. A bit of a disappointment, Opie neither had the physique nor the strength of will to make a good Gamatom warrior. Timidity and lack of discipline were his faults, keeping him from besting even elderly savages in the towns they raided. At best, he didn't get killed; at worst, he ran from battle. After half a dozen times found retreating conflict, hiding until most of the enemy was dead or defeated, Opie had been banned from going on raids. He was tasked with staying at Homestead and training to better his combat skills and build muscle. He spent that time annoying their father and his slave wives by being a shiftless lazabout in his house, tending animals, and chasing women. As of late, pretty Aoife had his attentions and it was unfortunate and embarrassing because she wouldn't give him the time of day. Rightfully so. Opie might have been the brother of an Alpha but he couldn't be further from it, simpering and insecure, albeit persistent in his dogged coaxings. There was nothing more unattractive than a Gamatom man following after a woman like a pup at her heels.

"I'll have to do something about it sooner or later," Rek sighed. "He didn't pick up a sword at all while we were home last and I doubt he did so while we were gone."

Arly sneered breezily and shrugged, slurping down spoonfuls of stew. "Just leave him. 25 fuckin' suns. Men his age have at least one good raid under their belts, if not more. He's a hopeless disgrace."

Rek wanted to agree but he couldn't. Most men would just leave Opie to wallow in his shame, to grow old in it. But being brothers and being a leader of the clan, Rekard felt some measure of responsibility to lift the other man up from his state of dishonor, if only to relieve the burden he was upon the community. There was still time, Opie was a youngish man and could still rise up to at least mediocre status among the Gamatoms if he simply trained and got a few kills under his belt. At least it would lift up his prospects for a wife from zero.

Chewing lightly, Arly glanced around, his eyes finally settling on the doorway to the back room, jerking his chin at it. "How's...your mate?" Rek huffed over that, which Arly smirked at, covering the expression with his spoonful going into his mouth. "You called him that. Is it everythin' you dreamed about on the shipride home? I assumed you'd be getting into it as soon as you had him through the door."

"He's..." Rek paused, shooting a glance back at the doorway, uncertain if Genn would even bother listening if he could hear them. "...willful."

"Pffft! Aye! I saw that! Fricking tongue in his head and bold as shite. Five Gamatoms in a small boat with him and he still mouths off like we might not just kill him if it gets too troublesome."

"I wouldn't do that," Rek clicked his tongue, talk of Genn and his stubbornness bringing a bit of melancholy to his manner.

"Say it fuckin' louder," Arly sneered. "I'm sure he'd like to know that there are zero consequences if he were ever to defy you."

"He's not scared to die."

Arly rolled his eyes over that as he rose from his seat, holding his empty bowl in one hand, getting ready to go to the pot for a second helping. "Is that why he's not eating?"

Rek shook his head. "Verlyn called him my pet, so, I think he's refusing, to make a point."

Arly snorted over that, asking, "Does he drink at least?"

Wandering over to the bedroom doorway, Arly leaned to glance in, giving the room a quick scan to make sure everything was alright, while also making note of the brooding warrior. Meanwhile, Rek frowned to himself, thinking over the question. He liked ale well enough but it had been the watered down version they brought on voyages and raids, since water soured in the ship's hull unless alcohol was present to keep it clean. The Gamatoms had regular ale of course, paired well with meals, but also a much more potent liquor that they called Fire Water. Probably the one thing they hadn't stolen from anyone else, coming up with their own fermentation techniques and using sweet and spicy herbs that grew only in their secluded valley. A couple shots of it were sure to get any massive, muscular Gamatom inebriated enough for a night of bad decisions. It might be worth it to see if Genn could be coaxed into playing those wrong sort of games he kept denying he wanted to play.

"I don't know," Rek said thoughtfully as Arly returned, serving himself another bowl from the pot and sat back at the table.

They finished off the pot, Arly sharing in Rek's company for just a bit longer before finally retiring to his own house next door. Once he was gone, Rekard took the empty, dirty pot and rinsed it with water, leaving it to soak overnight. Locking his front door and bolting it shut, another innovation courtesy of slaves, Rekard pulled a bottle of Fire Water from one of his shelves, hefting the bottle as he looked it over with a puckish grin. Holding it by the neck, he wandered into his bedroom, holding up the liquor in friendly offering as he stepped through the door.

Full night had fallen by then, blackness consuming the sky outside the windows, the light inside the room dimmed, even with the fire still going. Ambling over to the bed, Rek sat down upon beside his slave, not touching but close enough that they could feel the warmth of each other's presence without looking. Uncorking the bottle with a soft grunt, the rosy, brick colored liquid sloshing prettily against the inside of the bottle, Rek took a quick swig from it. A hiss left his teeth as he grimaced over the heated bite of the drink, warmth swimming in his head and chest as it flowed down his throat. Handing it to Genn in offering, Rek sniffed softly as he started up a murmured conversation.

"First day done. Now, I just gotta keep going, balancing everything so no one ever finds out. You're almost more trouble than your worth."

That made Rek laugh because so far, Genn wasn't worth anything. Other than a bit of dry humping and forced kissing, the warrior had been unwilling to give him anything in regards to what he wanted and there was no telling if he ever would. All the stress and trouble might end up being for naught unless he wanted to break Genn's spirit and just rape him every night. Rubbing fingers into his eyes, massaging them in a momentary flash of distress and tension, Rek released a heavy sigh and rested his cheek on his hand.

"I know. Not your game. And if that's the case, then I need you to forget about..."

Briefly, licking his lips, he met Genn's gaze, and waved a vague hand indicating all of the advances he'd made upon the man. Sniffing stoutly, he looked away before he continued.

"I figure, tomorrow, we can start training. At least that wasn't a lie. I was impressed by you on the battlefield." Rek's gaze grew distant, a soft, wistful grin touching his lips as he remembered. "When I saw you...I wanted you... So fucking fierce...covered in grime, deadly and gorgeous. The feel of you...your power every time my sword struck yours... And no fear whatsoever. A shame you were fatigued when we found each other. When you've rested...I'm certain you will be fucking amazing fun to play with."

Even at that moment, Rek's heartbeat quickened, his Gamatom nature making him almost as excited for a fight with the warrior as he was about the prospect of sex with him. Shifting on his spot on the bed, adjusting the interested movement at his groin, Rek held his hand out for a return of the Fire Water, waiting for Genn to get his fill of it before passing it back.

 

[Klanter]

It perturbed Genn as his captor lingered in the room, speaking in frail whispers accompanied by their owner’s subdued gestures. The blonde sat in muted silence as he felt the Gamatom’s invading stare on him, attentively waiting for the man to leave the chamber and thus allowing the tension to dissolve with his exit. In the extended seconds that followed, the warrior shifted to eliminate Rekard from his vision entirely as he attempted to assess the other man’s atypically docile words, wanting to scoff at the attempt of falsified humanity. Eventually, it was Verlyn’s shriek that made the brute finally budge and once the Gamatom did take his leave, Genn rested his head in his palm, calloused fingers rubbing along the bridge of his nose to relieve the bottled-up pressure. The warrior released his breath as he normalized his inhalations, standing up from the bed to stretch and alleviate the sores between his joints.

A cursory lap around the sizeable bedchamber had done enough to stimulate Genn’s interest as he examined the alien forms of Gamatom weapons and art, menacing patterns lining wooden carvings and weapon handles. But the more he investigated their designs, the more he tired of their culture and what these people permitted in their lands. As much as he had tried to cleanse his mind of the innocent blood these pillagers shed, no matter where the warrior looked rested a reminder of the brutish people and what their creed stood for. Disgruntled and disheartened by his own incompetence, Genn strolled over back to the bed, his head sinking back into his hands as he rested his eyes and ears from the appalling Gamatoms.

Even when left to his own devices the persisting afterimage of Rekard’s glare rest in his thoughts, the boorish Gamatom becoming the source of his increasingly uncontrollable turmoil. Confusion and hostility severed all logic on how to regard his opponent, the few confidential moments they had together an enigmatic mess that left the warrior without response, as he had demonstrated on several occasions already. He reasoned that it wasn’t so much as having another man exert his will over him that gnawed at his being, but the powerlessness he suffered in the hands of the one who had destroyed and murdered all remnants of the life he had.

Such beliefs merely spiraled into brief remembrances of his former family, another image that would continue to haunt him with every breath he drew. A looming fear of forgetting his mother’s affectionate tone or his sisters’ benevolent faces drew a pain unlike any other he’d ever experienced, reminding himself of the happier days in an effort to honor their memories as long as he lived—a term he covertly wished would only span so much longer for his sanity's sake. It was with these musings and flashes back in time that he spent the waning hours of daylight in, at this stage desiring nothing more than to live in his own thoughts and memories.

Night had settled in by the time Genn heard the shutting of the front door, the hearty exchange between the Gamatoms subsiding into a weary silence as the sky grew an ominous black. He recognized the rhythmical clangs of wooden bowls and miscellaneous tableware in the neighboring room, another relic of the bloodless life he used to live. Gazing out the window and into the barren night, the blonde was left with only the quiet flames to accompany his person, the ambience and circumstances too surreal for him to fully process. He grabbed at the silky furs beneath and gulped down on the heinous thoughts that breached his mind, the inevitable question of what his captor would resort to next dawdling in his cognition. The fatigued warrior racked his brain for any possible line of action to follow, yet ultimately unable to procure any reasonable counteraction by the time Rekard had retreated back into the room.

The other male too looked spent from the day’s tribulations, a sentiment that Genn would’ve empathized with had it not been for the ill will he harbored against the Gamatom. Instead, the warrior retained his sullen expression as he affixed his gaze on the matted floorboards, an obvious attempt to avoid contact with Rekard’s own eyes. The presence of another body made him tense with anticipation, conceding that he could no longer read the brute as transparently as he once believed the task to be. It didn’t surprise him to discover the other man drinking, hearing the redhead’s breathy recoil from some foreign-scented liquor. Yet just as the sound settled, it piqued Genn’s curiosity as he found the vial of amber red liquid extended into his vision. Instinctively accepting the glass bottle into his own hand, he looked up to meet Rekard visibly trying to ease away the strain from his own body.

Genn idly swirled the container around in his hand, watching the alcohol slosh about as the Gamatom spoke. The warrior nearly chuckled himself out of the absurdity of it all, being too troublesome for the damned bastard and asked to forget all the torture he had endured over the past week. He would’ve raised an objection of his own or launched yet another movement of defiance in preparation for another clash had he not been as fervidly drained as he had been.

Deadly and gorgeous? A fierce and grimed thing to be played with? As if watching his lifelong friends and acquaintances being massacred wasn’t enough, now he was being ridiculed by the man who struck his life into ruin. Just as the Gamatom finished speaking and held out his hand for the liquor’s return, Genn forced himself to bring the drink to his lips before reacting, surmising that getting some of the fluid into his system would make the night bearable at the very least. Urging the fiery liquid down his throat, the blonde winced as the fevered substance traveled down his chest before settling in his stomach, the intensity of the shot catching the warrior off guard as he took an additional second to recuperate from the hit. Shoving the glass back into Rekard’s hands as he turned to his captor, Genn’s despondent gaze fell down to the murked shadows as a combination of his frustrations and the alcohol’s runoff produced an aggravated breath on his end.

“What makes you think I’ll do it?” Genn murmured, feeling more betrayed by the sentiment than outright offended by the words. “You took everything I’ve ever had and now you expect me to… train with you—just so you can butcher more innocent families?” This time around, the warrior couldn’t hold back a grim laugh as he glared at the man, the threat in his eyes real but not without a fragment of persistent hope that sought some genuity from the tactless beast. He should’ve known it to be a futile task to extract even an ounce of culpability and to reason with the monster, but held out for the unlikely chance the Gamatom chose to listen. “Either way, you wouldn’t learn a thing from me. We were taught to protect, not slaughter.”

Genn’s stare softened as he swallowed the weight of his own words, slinking back in his seat and scanning around for something to else to rest his eyes on. The brief lull in their speech provided him the opportunity to once again relocate his pulse and inflamed exhalations, the lingering flames in the room reminiscent of the charred remains of his village. Still, the overpowering darkness would only lead to the nagging thought of what else the Gamatom had in store for the remainder of the day. Rekard had been rather blunt and unrestrained in his advances, those pursuits Genn believed too insistent to have been merely some demeaning act. If it had been so, it would’ve appeared that his captor succeeded in more ways than one, but the alternative left the warrior even more distraught.

Even now, it was impossibly difficult to wrap his head around the cruel fate he had been sentenced to: sitting on the bed of an warmonger who was inexplicably enamored with him. Though wary of Rekard’s potential movements, Genn was nevertheless attentive to how the other man had spoken. “How can you expect me to forget?” His voice was barely above a whisper, a restless hand mimicking the Gamatom’s earlier gestures in reference to the aforementioned deeds. Ever since their initial encounter in the ship’s hold had the indecent experience loitered in his thoughts, the memory a vile disease he couldn’t cure himself of. And now that the two were finally unaccompanied and sharing a space on the Gamatom’s bed, he found his expectations subverted by the man’s sudden restraint, barring the obvious booze he nevertheless willfully accepted.

Genn rose from the furs, stumbling to his feet as he paced a few steps away from his company. The blonde was utterly intentionless as he strode toward the fire, wanting only some distance from Rekard, feeling that now he was the intruder, sitting himself on the bed of a man he had no business further enticing. He was lost, wondering if it had been the brute’s intention to take him to bed or leave him chained for the coming nights, each option equally unpleasant in his consideration.

There furthermore remained the displaced weapons scattered about the room, an alluring means of hacking off the bastard’s head right then and there. A simple swing of an axe and his captor would be dead, and Genn would’ve been appropriately armed for his own single-man rampage against the Gamatom village. Alas, committing the act would make him no better than the scum he vowed to dismantle, a defeated sigh as he meandered over the stone wall. His hand ran over the familiar chains that he had resentfully become accustomed to, the woeful and remorseful visions he associated with the shortcomings reappearing before his very eyes. “Just chain me up if you don’t want any more trouble,” Genn croaked in a disgusted mutter, braced for a candid struggle if there was to be any further conflict for the day. “They’re more bearable than some others.”

 

[Jericho Z. Barrons]

How frustrating. Just the entirety of it. Rekard listened carefully, even watching the body language of the precious warrior he had captured, with the keen eyes of a predator searching for his opening and once again, he found himself different shades of titilated and achingly disappointed. One minute, Genn was sneering at him, mildly defiant in regards to his plans to keep his original motives hidden from his village. The next, Genn was whispering sorrowfully, as if the kindness of a clean slate were too much to ask at this point and almost painful. Like Genn had anticipated a robust seduction and was now conflicted about his disappointed expectations. Oh, but then right back again to denial and sulking, as if chains were not only an option but necessary because he was "too rebellious" to be left to wander free. Rek wanted to laugh.

The guilt tripping meant nothing to him and he felt no remorse in regards to the people he had killed, some of them women even. It was the Gamatom way and his favorite thing in the world other than spilling blood was the collection and construction of weapons, offering new, beautiful, and creative ways to spill it. He was affected however by the warrior's teasing hints that so far, what had transpired between them was unforgettable. What about that look he'd given Rek before he felt compelled to put distance between them? Was Genn trying to let him know that he wanted the same thing he did? Was he asking for a more forceful seduction? Was Genn giving him permission to ravish him?

....he could always ask.

Setting aside the bottle of Fire Water, Rekard leaned back on his hands on the bed, tipping his head lazily as he watched Genn mess with the shackles bolted to the wall. Even just the two sips he'd had, warmth sizzling through his limbs, his head and thoughts loosened with the punch of the alcohol. Not only that, but talk of fighting had gotten him hard, and further, anticipating Genn's receptiveness now that he too swayed with drink, his cock was bulging in thick outline in the left leg of his trousers.

"We've hardly done anything... What if...I sucked your cock?" he asked, the emphasis sharp on the last consonants, lazily dragging his tongue along his bottom lip and scraping his teeth at it, in eager pondering. "Got real deep on it. Leave you thrusting and gasping. What you think? Would it be easier or harder to forget than rutting against the wall for a few seconds before that bitch arrived?" Again, his tongue idly played but he looked away from Genn, smirking softly as he muttered, "I really want to."

Sniffing stoutly, he shook his head and gave the warrior a firm look. "You're not going into the chains again, Genn. We're past that. If you don't think you can be civilized without them and you don't want to spar with me, or at least pretend to train me, then I'll take you out back right now and...you can join your family in the Deep Trenches." The Gamatom version of the punishing Underworld, where savages, traitors, and lost souls went to be hunted by the Trench Gods as prey. Good warriors at the end of their lives, took voyage on spirit ships, sailing on far reaching adventures across the neverending sea, eventually reaching the island of Moro, their paradise.

"I have been killing men since I was 16. Spilling blood is what I am made of. So, if you do not cooperate...I'll take you out back and gut you." He shrugged, his lips a grim line. "I'll just find a different man on the next raid. I don't want to. I want you. And I want to suck your bloody cock."

He flashed a crooked grin over that, his own dick throbbing in aching urgency at the thought but he once again shook his head and rubbed a hand at his neck in chagrin. "I know. Not your game. But you will train me tomorrow or pray to your gods and prepare for death. You belong to me, Genn and those are the choices."

 

[Klanter]

Fiddling with the chain in the palm of his hand, Genn had to take the extra second to discern the Gamatom’s addled speech, the scorching swigs of Fire Water now meddling with his own cognitive ability—a thought equally terrifying as it was... comforting. The Gamatom voiced a frank desire to suckle on his cock, only then to immediately pivot and express the necessity of gutting the owner of said cock. The blonde stole a glance out of disgruntled disbelief, a few huffs of broiled air the only audible response that emanated from the man. While the warrior had anticipated the threats on his life ever since his capture, hearing the words aloud made him strangely distraught with unease, as if dying now with the past few days in consideration would be far too unsatisfying of an end.

With his mind now numbed beyond his intent, ascertaining the origin of the fervent blood running in his veins became a near impossible ordeal. Whether it had been Rekard’s remark on the morbid fate of his family or his casual use of the warrior’s name, Genn found all the more reason to let his blood boil in the sudden heat of the room. The blonde’s dilated pupils snapped to the unruly masses of weapons stacked on the nearby table, unknowingly releasing a scoff at the Gamatom’s naiveté. Just because he had been bested on the battlefield after vanquishing a miniature army with his own blade, the fool already believed himself capable of gutting him as if he was some unarmed animal? Genn wanted to laugh.

Shaking his head as he staggered over to the Gamatom, the warrior halted once he hit the solid frame of the bed he just left. “You don’t get to talk about my family,” Genn asserted, mustering the balance needed to stand firmly between Rekard’s parted legs, his eyes only brushing past the bulky silhouette wrinkled in his trousers for a split second. “Or the blasted games you want to play.” He let the words echo in his head, looking down upon the redhead beneath him as he sought to ridicule the man who had done nothing but humiliate him—to make the brute regret each and every one of his tasteless advances before he’d ever drown in one of their fanciful Deep Trenches.

Growing only more impatient as he spied the smirk and expectant eyes of the man underneath, Genn reached to grab Rekard by the collar, uprooting the Gamatom from his previously arrogant lean. The warrior’s free hand wrapped around to clamp his fingers around the ginger strands, tugging at them after he had established an adequately strong hold. The blonde returned a fulfilled stare of his own, admiring the sight of the beast below him as delectable retribution for the Gamatom’s prior sins. Upon catching sight of the persisting flicker in the man’s eyes, Genn’s gaze defaulted lower as they hovered over the growing bulge resting against Rekard’s leg, the same unbearably stiff swell he felt rubbing between his thighs not too long ago. Memories of being subject to his captor’s forceful humping resurfaced as the warrior gnawed at his lower lip and his jaw tightened, the entirety of his body growing rigid the more he reminisced.

“How many other men have you butchered… all because they wouldn’t let some dog slobber over them?” Genn tightened his fingers in Rekard’s hair, twisting the russet strands as he demanded an appropriate response. “You and that bitch deserve each other,” the warrior snarled, breathing deep pants of air as he released his grip on the Gamatom’s collar only to solidify his hold on the man’s head with the freed fist. He allowed his unoccupied digits to sweep across Rekard’s face, tracing his jawline and stroking the hot skin before settling a thumb on the other male’s scruffed chin. The blonde shifted in place, adjusting to accommodate the arousal surging under his own garments as he affixed his assertive gaze back on the pair of awaiting eyes. “I’m not dying to you,” he affirmed with a growl, pulling back on the Gamatom’s head just as the brute had done to him so many times before. “Not to some filthy cocksucker.”

 

[Jericho Z. Barrons]

Satisfaction indeed burned in his gaze as Rek watched Genn stumble back to the bedside, slurring growled defenses. He even passively allowed himself to be grabbed and yanked upright by the inebriated warrior, unable to help the brightness in his oceanic eyes as he was forced to look up at the blonde.

"None. I thought that was obvious. You're the only man I've captured. ...The only one I wanted badly enough to risk everything to have. ...Verlyn has no claim to me."

He hid nothing from Genn, grimacing softly as the grip in his short, wavy locks tightened, craning his neck back further, his eyes unashamed and full of lustful longing. And for all his bluster and posturing, Genn had lost the ability to refuse himself, to fight or deny the desires Rek had sensed lurking there under the surface all along. His heart thundered like a herd of wild horses in his chest as Genn stroked his face, as if confused or having found a fondness for it for the first time. A quick glance at the crotch of Genn's trousers, the lewd bulge within mirroring his own, filled Rek with an exhilarating current of triumph and passion, the fire of determination burning within him as he finally found his opening.

A gentle smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, his gaze cool and smug as he looked up at his drunken captor. "Not yet I'm not," he muttered boldly, in defiance of the "cocksucker" title.

Suddenly, he surged upward to his feet, crowding Genn's space at the bedside edge as he effortlessly shook off the man's restraining grip. His right arm swept around Genn's side, his hand cradling the warrior's back, pulling him against Rek's chest as his lips crashed like turbulent waves against Genn's. The kiss was just as luscious and rugged as the ones that had come before it, Rek ever more demanding and forceful as he worked his dark magic of seduction upon the drunk, defenseless warrior. The other hand buried itself in Genn's golden locks, not fierce or dominating but stroking through the short strands, like a lover, palm finally resting at the nape of Genn's neck as he hummed a low sound of pleasure, continuing his onslaught.

Breaking the kiss with a panting hiss, fire still burned in his gaze as he gripped Genn by the front of his leather jerkin, wheeling him around violently and shoving him to fall back onto the bed. Rek joined him there, straddling his thighs and putting weight upon the warrior's hips and chest as he hovered above him. The heated thickness in Rek's trousers found a good bit of pressure against Genn's muscular thigh and he smirked lewdly as he rocked brazenly against the other man, jolts of pleasure shooting through him from the arousing friction.

"Agreed. You'll not die by my hand," Rek panted huskily as he knelt overtop of Genn, fingers roughly undoing the warrior's belt, eager and forceful as he wrenched the notch free and shoved the leather and buckle aside. "I'll be damned if I have to try again with someone ugly or weak. You're the one I want and need."

Leaning down over his precious warrior, holding his shoulders down, Rek kissed Genn sweetly on the lips, teeth grazing the plush flesh teasingly. A stray hand drifted down below, unlacing the leather of Genn's trousers, working it loose enough to splay it open. With room enough to reach inside, Rek broke the kiss to groan in desire against Genn's scorching hot throat as his hand found its prize. Slender, masculine fingers wrapped around the velvet skinned muscle, engorged and excited as he worked it free of Genn's trousers, sucking loudly at the flesh of Genn's neck just above his jugular.

"My will, my devotion are yours if you let me claim you," he murmured between labored breaths, leaving Genn's throat as he scooted down the man's legs, drifting down to the thick rod in his hand. "Submit to me...and I will be your slave, Genn..." A final promise uttered, blue eyes like the sky reflected in sunny waters, close enough now that he could stroke a tongue out at the rose-colored, swollen head of Genn's cock.

 

[Klanter]

It was a sight for Genn to behold—having the Gamatom writhe and grimace under his control as if it had indeed been that painless to overwhelm his captor. But whatever foreign drink he ingested moments ago now rendered him slow and unresponsive to Rekard’s disobedience, ultimately allowing himself to get swept into the man’s constricting hold without the time needed to arrange a defense. The churning heat that swelled within his being was amplified as his chest crashed into his Gamatom counterpart’s robust frame and his lips were mercilessly seized. As he shifted his legs and his hands fumbled around for sufficient support, Genn recognized the situation he was caught in as his memory drifted back to the wailing bitch Rekard spoke of, now understanding why Verlyn had surrendered so readily to his touch.

Rekard's mouth was sweltering against Genn, the Gamatom's tongue fierce and invasive as the muscle wriggled into his own sacred space. The stimulation of the frantic movement in his mouth had become too much to bear, the intoxicated warrior helpless in ignoring the latent pleasure of reciprocating the kiss. Having endured enough of the brute’s domineering advances thus far, the blonde welcomed the opportunity for retribution with open arms. His lips parted to receive the invasion, Genn’s hand ultimately settling on the Gamatom’s protruding chest, his other resting between Rekard’s neck and broad shoulders. The warrior mounted an assault of his own and just as if they were sparring on the battlefield once again, his tongue lunged forward to collide with the Gamatom’s in a frenzied clash.

The bout for supremacy sparked as Genn pressed his attack, pulling Rekard forward as he gripped at the cloth concealing the man’s chest. Boiled blood rushed into the confined space of Genn’s trousers, urging him to rock and thrust against the beast whenever he gained ground on the Gamatom, consequently releasing labored groans whenever his partner would retaliate with a strike of his own. Amidst the passion, what little conscience Genn still had access to was inevitably chipped away with every rock of his body, the persisting apprehension and disdain he held for the pirating race depreciated by all the ground he conceded and sensations that overwhelmed his rationality.

He gasped as the Gamatom broke the kiss, the split second of vulnerability taken advantage of by his aggressor as the warrior found himself immediately disoriented. By the time he caught up with the present, Genn already found himself pushed onto the bed, grunting from the slight pain as his back collided with the furs underneath. Almost instantaneously he felt Rekard atop of him, biting through the added pressure and penetrating aches of his untreated bruises. The downed warrior discharged hitched breaths of pain and pleasure as the red-headed brute started to feverishly rub against him, Genn’s head tossing back and forth from the intrusion on his thighs. Feeling Rekard’s hands over his loins, who was stumbling about to undo the belt that was his sole security, Genn grew increasingly aroused, yet combative, as the strap was unfastened and tossed to the side.

“How ironic you say that,” he huffed in between breathy pants. “When you’re the ugliest and weakest of them all.”

In spite of the demeaning words, Genn was quick to meet the Gamatom’s lips, nibbling at the flesh and pining for another heated match between them. Ultimately left unfulfilled as Rekard pulled away, his head fell flat on the bed as the other male’s meticulous fingers unearthed and constricted around him like a serpent seizing its prey. The mounting presence and pressure of the firm hand wrapped around his cock had him harder with every passing second, the muscle throbbing and leaking pooling currents of precum as it remained caught in his captor’s unrelenting grasp. “Fuck your bloody will and devotion.” Genn mustered the little vigor he still had left to lift his head, meeting the man’s handsomely lustrous eyes with a sneer. “It looks and sounds to me you’d much rather be the one to submit.”

Fully intending to rise on his hands and wrassle with the Gamatom for a more favorable position, Genn’s agenda was nevertheless thwarted as Rekard touched the tip of his head with an adventurous tongue, the sheer bliss of the contact shocking the warrior down to his elbow. The blonde’s groin twitched from the brief lick, his head flinging back again in utter satisfaction as he kept himself from erupting into an unsalvageable state right then and there. But containing himself with a series of urgent breaths, he reached his free hand downwards to palm for his supposed new lover’s scalp. Once located, he tugged at the crimson strands to pry Rekard off his manhood, instead pushing and diverting the eager mouth to the base of his shaft. “How about you submit to me… and I’ll fuck the will and devotion straight out of you instead,” Genn growled, jerking his hips upwards to thrust aimlessly into the biting chill of the eve’s air. His fingers uncurled to massage the Gamatom’s head, simultaneously guiding the hungering lips about the length of his pulsing rod of muscle. “Thrusting and gasping, just like you wanted me…” Genn whispered, his coarse voice trailing off as his breathless gasps took its place.