Prizefighter [Sekah & Cypherz]

[Sekah]

He was coming today, and Karim was as excited as he was worried. He'd spent the entire afternoon awaiting his arrival cooking, his kitchen staff sitting back and watching him make dinners for the whole mansion with barely any help from anyone.

Karim's mansion was an unusual one, in the City. Its basement was a larder, not a catacomb for slaves. He didn't own any pleasure or fighting slaves personally, and had no real accommodations for them, honestly. At the strong encouragement of the procurer, concerned both for the young master's safety and what would be done to him if a slave he sold wrung the sweet boy's neck, he'd invested in a fine lock for the room he intended to be the gladiator's.

He didn't think he'd have to use it, though. There was no escape from the City—not for a slave. Surely the man knew that.

Oh, he did own slaves, of course. Hard not to, in the City. They were servants, all of them. None had ever been whipped or abused, nor shared Karim's bed, not even the pretty redhead Rose who had gone out of her way to let her master know she was interested and willing.

The fact that he could order her to do anything and she faced punishment if she disobeyed robbed him of any desire. He was saving himself for the right person, anyway.

All his slaves had guaranteed days off, and small stipends. A few had already bought their freedom. They'd stayed on, though, simply paid real wages instead. His slaves were well-fed and finely clothed. They wore no collars or chains.

He enjoyed it. Most houses the slaves dropped to a kowtow when you walked in. Nobody looked in your eyes, and you were lucky to get anything more than a, "Yes, milord." "Of course, milord." Or for a change, "I'll see, milord."

The laundrywomen and the kitchen staff talked to him and teased him in ways his sister, when visiting, thought most unbecoming.

"You're feeding them too much," she said. Sometimes, "You should whip them more. Slaves bite the hand that feeds them."

Karim just reminded her of the scars on his hand from that baby griffin he'd recovered from a merchant using him for his feathers. He'd nursed the fledgeling back to health until he could find its parents.

He'd found them, but the little terror had left lasting marks of its beak and claws on his hands for the privilege.

He was considered eccentric for his views—a bleeding heart. His parents tried to tell others that it was only because he was young—eighteen was an infant to immortals. But for all his sister and parents' wealth and prestige, he had nothing really expected of him, his wealth and status uniquely granted only by his family, and nothing of his own merits—he had the unlucky gift to have a rare but ultimately useless shifted form: a fennec fox. Not much good for anything but hugging, really. His sister was a hyena shifter, as was his mother. His father was a king cobra, massive in size, with deadly venom from his fangs.

In a city of gods and monsters, Karim was most stringently disadvantaged.

But Karim's newest slave and latest reclamation project was coming today.

Karim had seen him in his matches. He was breathtaking.

He also should have died last Thursday, and would have, if Karim hadn't stepped in and protected him, bought him up from under the executioner's axe.

Karim had laden a full dining table with the finest food and softest bread, trying to spend time until the man was delivered. He'd had so much time he'd finished the suckling pig and stuffed goose and built a castle out of marzipan.

"My lord," Abdul the doorman said, poking his head into the kitchens with a worried look on his heavy features, "he's here."

Karim practically skipped out to the front door. He waited impatiently for his footman to trot up behind him and open it, his mother's repeated screams throughout his childhood, You are a master of the Magdi house and will not preempt the footman like a common servant ringing in his ears.

He walked out, a smile on his handsome face. "Welcome!" he called. "I hope you're hungry."

 

[Cypherz]

Calahan Corvid's life had been turned on end five years ago when his tribal home had been raided by a nobleman's forces. Men were either subdued, or killed in the struggle. Women were raped, then caged. And children younger than five years outright murdered. The nobleman was slave hunting, and Calahan's log-built homestead had been the target. Log homes burned, people screamed, blood ran. At twenty years, Calahan, after much struggle, was pinned to the ground, armed tied behind his back, and forced to watch his young wife be raped and his six month old son's throat be slit. His wife fought back, and recieved a knife to the heart. Afterward, Calahan was rendered unconscious.

When Calahan awoke, he found himself in a cell meant for gladiators of the arena. He was told his position, his purpose, and outfitted with a collar, a slave's wrist shackles, and left alone. Then next day, outfitted in armor, Calahan faced his first opponent and killed him. The death of his family had made him bitter, had hardened his once caring heart. He won the following match, and the next, and the next. And very quickly became the undefeated champion. This carried on for five years, with Calahan becoming increasingly angry and violent. Gone was the happy, laughing man that lead his tribe's hunting parties and encouraged evening fire dances. Here is a man turned beast by rage and brutality. Several times, a guard has been killed by Calahan's anger; a step too close, a loss of attention. Calahan bears a back full of whipping scars, along with his scars from the arena.

Then, finally, came the day Calahan had enough. He threw the fight, purposefully chose not to avoid a fatal swing, and dropped his two-hand claymore. That action alone made it obvious, and his opponent faltered. The fight was called, Calahan's opponent won by forfeit. Calahan's master was angry and demanded Calahan executed on the spot. But a voice called out, purchased him in an instant. Calahan felt cheated of death, but there was nothing he could do.

Today, Calahan is delivered in heavy chains, barefoot and wearing a thin white shirt and brown trousers, to his new master's door. He'd been cleaned up and clean-shaven, given a short haircut instead of having his hair left long. A guard had been injured on the way here; he'd gotten too close, and Calahan had literally bitten off his ear. Blood still smears his lips and chin. This is the sight that meets the young master as he walks out his front door. The greeting makes Calahan growl, baring bloodied teeth.

One of the guards flinched, tightening his grip on one of the two lead chains connected to the steel collar around Calahan's throat. "My master had business elsewhere today, so could not be present. However, he bade me warn you this slave is more beast than man, and to take necessary precautions."

 

[Sekah]

Karim faltered, seeing him covered with blood. It smeared his teeth and lips, and dripped down his chin in savage lines. The guard who'd been attacked stumbled out with a bloody stump, and Karim beelined to him. "Oh, you're hurt!" he cried, astounded.

"Come inside, let the healer look at you—Abdul, call the healer."

"Yes, Master," Abdul said, bowing shortly and taking off at a run. Lyle, the healer on-site, would be there shortly.

Karim looked at Calahan, and hesitantly walked up to him. Not close enough to bite, but close enough to talk. Karim sat down on the ground in front of him cross-legged, already shorter and slimmer than Calahan, and now far below his height.

"Why did you bite him, sir?" he asked Calahan. He held the front of his shoes, as his manor guards walked out, apparently called to the commotion by Abdul.

"I won't be able to let you off your chains if you act like that," Karim said sadly. "I don't want to chain you. Nobody else is. It's a bad way to treat someone, even a slave."

 

[Cypherz]

The quick movement of the new master makes Calahan jerk in his chains, causing them to rattle. Five years of arena combat ingrained the instincts to attack those that move fast; usually quick motions meant an incoming attack. The two guards on his lead chains pulled hard on them to keep Calahan from lunging at his new master.

When the young man, a boy, really, came up to Calahan and sat, the gladiator spat bloody saliva on the ground in front of him. Clearly, this man holds no respect for anyone. His anger and bitterness rules his life.

"Fuck.. You.." Calahan's voice is rough, and the words are a struggle, coming from a throat that did little more than growl for the better part of five years. If the chains didn't connect his wrists and ankles together, allowing little more than shuffling steps, Calahan would have been tempted to kick the boy seated before him in the face.

"Sir, we don't advise removing his chains. This one is wild, and won't hesitate to take life." One of the chain guards speaks up, narrowing his eyes at Calahan. The gladiators own bright amber eyes burn with hatred, staring down at the young master.

 

[Sekah]

"Okay," Karim said, a little amazed. "That's going to make dinner awkward though."

His guards stepped forward, looking green around the gills, and took the chains over from the procurers. The procurer pressed the key to the chains into Karim's hands, and Karim stood confused and bewildered, holding the key while everyone stared at him and the wild beast he'd brought home and waited for his orders.

Karim beckoned them all inside and told a runner boy to tell all the slaves and servants not to get in range of Calahan's teeth. This caused quite a stir, and by the time they had made it to the dining room, nearly the whole manor was up in arms at a slave like that being allowed on the premises. Before the whole forcible entourage made it into the dining hall, Karim had already been waylaid by a laundrywoman, the stablemaster, and two of his favorite cooks. He got tired of trying to convince them all even dogs can be gentled trained not to bite, let alone a man, and looked around the room and his terrified guards helplessly.

He sent off a steward to town to see even at this late hour if he could find a magic shop open that would sell some spells of restraint.

All the while, Calahan had been in front of the celebratory welcome-home meal he hadn't had his hands free to eat. The table was laden with food, an entire feast that could feed forty. Meat pies fresh from the oven with flakey crusts, heavy sausages crisp and hot on a bed of sautéed spinach, the stuffed goose and suckling pig stiff and tender, vegetables baked spoon-soft in savory sauces and tagines of lamb, chicken legs so soft and buttery the meat would fall off the bone, soft bread and sauces to dip it in, a thick soup of lentil and crab in a communal pot, sweetbreads studded with dates, a few small cakes and a bowl of berries in cream, and the marzipan castle, finely crafted. The good thing about having so many servants and guards and their families in the house was food was almost never wasted. Calahan was meant to have the first pick.

"Um, sir?" he asked Calahan, finally disentangled from worried slaves and servants. A nearby free-born steward visibly reacted to that. A master calling a slave sir. "Really do you have to be threatening violence so? I want you to be able to eat, but I don't want you to bite anybody. Don't you want to eat like a normal person?"

 

[Cypherz]

Calahan didn't resist being lead into the manor, not that he had much choice. His glaring eyes landed on every nearby person more than once, and his very presence warned against approach. In the dining hall, the overbearing scents of rich food hits the gladiator's nose. After five years of the most scant of plain meals, made mostly of bread, cheap dried meats, half wilted vegetables, and water, it's all Calahan can do to avoid gagging. The rich smells of sweet, savory, and spiced dishes makes the man's stomach roll.

His head snaps around when his young master addresses him as sir. Too fast, he has to adjust his footing to keep from unbalanced. He's bewildered, but there's only permanent anger showing on his face. Is the boy mocking him, calling him sir? When questioned, Calahan chooses to growl again. He's not going to waste effort speaking to this boy that stole death from him.

As an additional response, Calahan yanks at his chains. One of the wrist shackles makes a squeaking sound; the link attaching the chain to the shackle has twisted. Another yank and the link would break, freeing one hand. Calahan is trying to ignore the overpowering smells.

 

[Sekah]

Karim sighed. "This is a circus," he said, and felt bad, because everyone was treating the man like a dancing bear.

"Let's go to your room instead," the master said, reluctantly. He had a sad, miserable look about him like a kicked puppy, sorry that the slave was a threat to anyone, sorry the slave felt so rotten (in Karim's own words) he was acting like a threat. So, Karim had a tray made up for the slave and brought up to his room. It was piled high with the delicious food and plenty of soft bread and ripened cheese. He finished ladling things onto it and carried it himself, despite the steward's mild protest, intending to beckon the man and his uncomfortable entourage of guards towards the stairs, and take him to his room, a brightly furnished place with big bay windows and a queen sized bed down the hall from Karim's.

He hadn't put the keys to the chains deep in his back pocket, and they poked out of the back of his pocket. There was a moment as he reached to grab a fresh, ripe peach for the man his motion poked the keys to Calahan's shackles out of his back pocket, and Karim's long doublet for a moment brushed his wrist, obscuring movement of Calahan's hand from view.

 

[Cypherz]

Again, Calahan follows where he's lead. The tension hasn't left his frame, though, muscles strung tight and ready to bolt or attack at a moment's notice. Watching his young master pile the tray of food high, the only thing he makes note of is the bread. The rest of it could spoil for all he cared. His stomach wouldn't handle it well.

In the bedroom, Calahan's eyes sweep around, searching for exits. The bay window doesn't open, and unless he breaks furniture, there's nothing that can be used to smash the thick glass. He doesn't miss the glint of the chains key in the boy's back pocket. A subtle movement and the key is palmer. Neither of the guards noticed.

Calahan's amber eyes look around again, before snapping back to the young master as he straightens from setting down the tray of food. His lips pull back to bare his teeth, a warning.

 

[Sekah]

"Okay, well, um, goodnight," Karim says, and the guards follow him out, hands on weapons. They manage to get the door closed, despite any attempts by Calahan, and then his guards stare at him accusatorially, bathed in sweat.

"I'm sorry," Karim told them miserably, "I'll talk to him tomorrow, and see if we can y'know—persuade him not to—threaten everybody."

The man was new. He'd suffered far too much. People had come here untrusting before. Karim had been able to help them; he would help Calahan. Time would make the difference.

His manservant helped him through his toilette, the teenager impatient and absent minded. Karim kept humming a song he'd heard from a troubadour in the market. The words never came, but it had a lively rhythm. He felt exhausted, not listening at all to his manservant telling him what time his tutor would be here tomorrow, nor his fencing instructor, nor his riding instructor.

It was a hot night in summer, and the sheets on the bed were too much for Karim, as was his nightgown, which ended up hitched above his waist, almost over his head. In his sleep, he'd shifted partially, two ears the color of sand, far too large for his head, lax above his head, a tail like spun cotton behind him, soft as kitten's fluff.

He hugged a pillow with his head rested on more, the back of his ribs gently rising and falling, his eyes and face soft and guileless with sleep.

 

[Cypherz]

The moment Calahan hears his new master and the guards walk away from the door, he makes quick work of unlocking his chains. Freed, he walks over to the tray of food, sniffing it. But as before in the dining hall, it makes his stomach turn. At least the bread is plain, so he picks up that. Sniffing it again and hoping it's not laced with poison or sedative, Calahan takes a bite. He sets it down again and wanders the room, waiting five minutes for any potential drug effects. When none come, he returns to the tray and eats all the bread. He can appreciate that it's fresh, at least.

After two hours of just staring out the bay window, Calahan looks to the bedroom door. No way would it be unlocked, but he tries it anyway. Much to his surprise, the door pulls open readily. A plan starts to form in his mind. Calahan just wanted to die in the arena. Perhaps he could still make that happen. If he harmed this new master enough, maybe, just maybe, the government would deem him too dangerous and put him to death. Then he could join his family in the afterlife.

Calahan leaves his appointed room and turns down the hall in the direction he had heard his master's footsteps go. Ever so quietly, he tries the doors, peeking in until he finds the room that belongs to his master. He shuts the door behind him, turning the lock. No need for anyone to foil his plans. As he approaches the bed, though, Calahan is met with another surprise. This young boy master is not human. Rather, a shifter of some kind lays half naked on the bed. Calahan is no stranger to the attraction of a male body; free time between fights in the slave cells are spent sleeping, thinking, or fucking with other slaves. Seeing the soft, smooth, unmarked skin of this boy sends heat straight to Calahan's groin.

The plan in Calahan's head changes, urged by the sudden rush of hormones and lust. The man runs on instincts, so he doesn't think twice about acting on his growing lust. Master or not, Calahan, in this moment, wants to dominate the boy. Perhaps this would still label him as dangerous. Calahan reaches out and runs his fingers down the boy's spine, careful enough not to wake him, yet. Then his fingers stroke the fur of his tail. Shifters aren't that common, but they're not rare. However, there's a sort of prestige that comes with being one.

 

[Sekah]

Karim murmured in his sleep as he was touched. "Bananas are fed to goat," he said aloud, locked in an innocent dream, too deep in REM to talk anything but nonsense. He lightly rolled over, tail tucking between his legs. Karim whimpered, soft and lightly, as his tail was stroked.

He rolled over, one hand flopping on top of Calahan's, nudging his forehead into Calahan's nearby chest. He did it without thinking, without knowledge, innocently. His chestnut curls were stiff with sweat from the hot, languorous night as they poked into Calahan's skin.

Karim muttered more meaningless mish-mosh of words, failing to awaken, calmed by the sound fo Calahan's racing heart beneath his shirt and skin.