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~To the Victor Goes the Spoils - (missedstations x Fading_Cards)

Curio could only let out an intelligible, deep moan that ripped from him at the sudden thrust. It hit that deceiving place deep inside him that his body feeling hot white. His body instinctually arched his back in to the floor, trying to force the hard heavy cock in to him again like THAT…

“Ohmylord,” face trying to flush white at the horror of what he just did. Didn’t help that his own motions made the column of heat stretching him wide stroke much more gently across that spot. “MMMmmmmnn… D..Damn you… DAMN YOU GET OFF OF ME!” he could not even describe the barrelling feeling that engulfed his words as hate. Hate was to weak for the thick, black mauling emotion that poured out of him in one deft swoop…

And then left him feeling empty.

Tired, worn thin, confused and lost in this… chaos.

His body went limp back on to the rug, tugging slightly at him captured hand. He still glared, but it seemed like he was more seething at himself as he looked up at the tent.

“Get off me. Just.. hurry up, soil me, and get off. You’ve made your POINT. I’m your slave, you can do with me as you like… enough.. please,” the begging still came out in a scornful hiss, but he was hoping ‘playing dead’ was his last resort. He couldn’t let this soldier take this last thing away from him… whatever it was.
 
Vitor didn't quite laugh, but he definitely made a sound of satisfaction at the way that Curio's body twitched, shifted, arched. What a lovely, lovely boy. This was enough of a victory for tonight: he did not want to push Curio too far, not yet.

He let go of Curio's hand now, accepting the momentary submission like he would accept tribute. He wanted to take his own physical pleasure now, rather than play more games. With Curio trying to be so passive, he didn't expect there to be that much fun to be had. He pulled Curio's legs up again, arranged him the way he wanted Curio to be. He certainly didn't fuck Curio as harshly as he did earlier than in that house. His thrusts were far slower and more leisurely, and he took more time to come.

There was a distinct smile of satisfaction when he finally pulled out, having spent another load inside the healer.

“I think you need to learn to be more polite,” he informed Curio. To add insult to the injury, or, well, insult to even more insult – he used Curio's pants to wipe himself clean before he pulled his own clothes into order.
 
Curio had shivered, panting and resisting to do more then that when the brutes thrusts would stroke against that spark inside him, sharply gasping in air to prevent himself from moaning. Luckily, if it could be considered that, there were no further direct spikes, just sparkling teases that made it impossible to will his own member to calm down. Instead it stayed insistent, dark pink against his stomach, dripping small bits of liquid on to his flushed skin. His hands fisted violently in the carpet, refusing to touch himself even as the soldier plunging in to him gave a start and he felt the disconcerting scalding warmth of more cum inside him.

As the mercenary pulled out, his rim gave a wet sucking noise as it was left empty. It made him flinch and grit his teeth in shame.

He must look like a whore.

That didn't stop him from shooting the man who had used him a dirty glare at being told to be more polite, though his usual fire was tempered by his exhaustion. He did let out an indignant sound as his last piece of clothing was used as a mess rag.

The blond, once a free man this morning, a slave as of the evening, closed his legs together, trying to ignore the burn behind his manhood of his abused rear, and rolled on to his side, away from the mercenary. Moments ago he had been worried about turning his back on the man. Now he simply just didn't care.

His hands gathered in his lap, fisting himself. He could leave his traitor to die out and suffer, but that would take some time and he simply didn't want to taunt the soldiers hands to touch him again with something like that. Instead, a few practiced tugs and he came quietly while biting his bottom lip until it bled.

Then... then he was simply a boneless exhausted mess on the tent floor.

He didn't say a word to the man that now owned him. He'd get the energy later to rip off his hide and bathe in the bastards blood.
 
There was a vague smile on Vitor's lips as he watched Curio. This was another battle he had won, and it was satisfying. No doubt Curio hated him, and no doubt Curio would hate him for a long, long time. But it wasn't something that bothered him. His people had a saying, after all. 'As many slaves, so many enemies.' Slaves were people to take pleasure in, a status symbol, but never trusted advisors.

He kicked the sullied pants into a corner and finished cleaning blood off his armour. Wouldn't want it to stain now, would he. A more thorough cleaning could wait for another time. For now though, he had to make at least some appearance at the increasingly rowdy party at the centre of the camp. He retied Curio, before leaving. There were plenty of men who were willing to stand guard instead of get drunk for extra payment, and it was an easy matter for Vitor to rope one of them to look after his things.

Curio would probably have peace for at least the evening, so long as he did not try to leave.

The boy came back somewhat after, annoyed at the fact that drunken singing seemed to be spooking the newly stolen horses, that were not yet used to the utter chaos of battle and noises of the camp. But then... Curio looked in as much need of patting as the horses did. A little awkwardly, he put a blanket on Curio, before doing other things such as cleaning up his pots, putting the tent in a bit more order, and then getting into Vitor's bed. Can't possibly let those lovely blankets go to waste.

Vitor came back good for nothing except kicking off his boots and going to bed. There was some nudging and kicking before the two of them ended up in their most common position – back to back, sharing body warmth in the night chill.
 
Curio had stayed huddled on the ground the whole night, turning away from the bed and its occupants. The night was chilly, but it had not quite tipped in to the more bitter temperatures of fall. The carpet beneath him at least absorbed and shared back his body heat far better then the bare unforgiving ground would have. Sleep though was in bursts, as he was first kept awake by the invading armies revelry, then woken at odd times by unfamiliar noises or his body demanding he shift position to ease its aches. It did not mater he felt like his bones were turning to ash he was so tired.

At least there was the boon that the mercenary... Vitor he'd heard the horse boy and later the guards mention the name while speaking to others just outside the tent... had not been in the mood to partake of him again that night. Apparently twice defiling a man and drinking enough booze for three soldiers was enough for one day. That was fine as far as Curio was concerned. During a moment where it was just him in the tent he had taken the time to test his boundaries from his leash. It was not much, he was un-able to reach anything he could perhaps use as a weapon. At least this time when he had been re-tied his hands were in front of him, which was far less painful. It also allowed him to used them in some capacity... before the boy had come in he'd been able to grab some rag that Vitor had been using to clean his armour, and used it to clean himself up what he could. He did not feel comfortable allowing another man or his own seed stay smeared on his body until it crusted. No, that would be disgusting. So he'd wiped away the mess and tossed the rag in to a corner.

He had also been able to take some time and check himself for any further damage. Bent over himself, legs spread out again he'd flinched at the sight. He was clean, no longer bleeding or wounded, but the un-natural gape of his entrance un-nerved him. Though now he could see why the second time he'd been violated had been unfortunately easier with his co-operation. With a huff he'd snapped his legs shut, passing a searing glower across the entire tent as if he could set it on fire.

Otherwise there was not much for him to do but categorize the mercenaries belongings and conspire different ways to kill him in his mind until the boy came in. Then he'd watched him absently go about his duties, taking the offered blanket with a weak smile and thank you, but nothing else. It was probably understandable he wasn't feeling talkative. Though when the boy had crawled in to the mans bed, his stomach had gone cold. He was actually strangely relieved for the first time that day when the drunken Vitor stumbled in, got in to bed, and made it rather clear the sleeping arrangements were nothing intimate.

Not that, as a slave, anything he thought meant anything, he mused bitterly.

Eventually though he'd fallen in to the blackness of exhausted sleep, no dreams.

Morning came with pins and needles in his side and an awakening as if he'd merely blinked. He was slightly groggy, but he remembered everything clearly as he always did when he woke in th morning. It was perhaps a while past dawn and the camp was slowly waking up around them. At some point in the night he'd rolled over, facing towards the bed. Curio sat up, cradling the blanket around himself to keep in his body heat, as he absently studied his captor asleep, wondering what today would unfortunately have in store for him. He already knew, unless it included Vitors sudden death and his return to his town, he wasn't going to like it.
 
Luckily for them all, Vitor slept like a log when he was drunk. He didn't even snore. Somehow, during the night Vitor ended up sleeping on his stomach, with the boy draped over him, using him as a sort of a pillow. Vitor slept still, in one place, like men who are used to sleeping in dangerous places were wont to do, but the boy was the restless and shifting one. Once, a few months ago, Vitor had been awakened by being kicked in the head and he didn't even bother beating the boy. He was remarkably tolerant of this child.

The boy was the one who woke first, unwrapping himself from the man's warmth and getting up. His jaw cracked as he yawned. Chilly morning. He stepped carefully over Curio and went to relight the fire. The rest of the camp was waking slowly, dulled by last night's revelry. His fetching of water, feeding of horses... Was all done in relative solitude. By virtue of Vitor's rank, their tent was close to the stream.

Tea, first. Something herby, containing at least nettle and mint, sweetened with honey.

The boy had noticed that Curio was already awake, and placed a cup next to him. It was almost the same as looking after the horses, for him. He'd seen Vitor go through more slaves than horses, so maybe not.

“He'll be asleep another few hours,”the boy said, very quietly. “Drink that. What's you name?” That Vitor had no curiosity whatsoever on that subject didn't mean everyone felt the same way. He sat opposite Curio, obviously intent on conversation.
 
The blond captive had absently watched the boy move about to his chores. Just as any child would in the early hours of the morning. It was so normal it made Curio’s heart ache in a little way, but nothing at all crippling.

What rest he’d had returned some of his physical and mental strength. Oh he felt like a bag of skin and bones tethered together with bits of string, but instead of breaking or wearing thin the ties were hardening into sinewy leather. He may look more delicate as compared to a fire kilned soldier of fortune, especially without his signs of status and long pale hair down in his face from the loss of its binds. Looks though could be deceiving. He did not cleave men with great swords or pierce them with arrows, but as a healer he had cut them open, seen the beating of their hearts, the very fleshy parts that made them breath and eat. Sewn them up, peeled of infected or useless skin, sawn of limbs to damaged to save. Brought children in to the world covered in gore and ichors, cut the dead mothers open to rescue one that could still live, or pass still un-breathing bundles small bundles of arms and legs to a bereft woman denied a child. Watched anyone of any age or standing die, suffering or simply dropping gone in the street. Aided those willing to struggle to heal, felt the glee of returned health, or the cold comfort of surviving but hobbled in some way that they never would be what they once were.

So despite it all he could be stoic and strong despite not running towards enemies as most men saw as a sign of being built like a stone wall.

Even if it galled him that such a horrible thing could happen to him, to his people, and the world continued about as normal without a wit…. He would not pointlessly rage. He’d seen enough deaths and life’s to know that was what the world did. Continued on.

Continue on and plan his escape, or at least revenge.

Long silver scared fingers wrapped around the offered cup what they could tied at the wrist. He allowed himself a sigh as the warmth soaked through and the scents cleared his senses and the boy spoke.

Eyes flickered darkly at the lump in the sheets at the information… so he’d have a few more hours of peace? Good. He tried not to think about the slight relaxing of his spine.

As for his name…. no, he should not bark why it mattered, this was just a boy. He didn’t deserve his ire. That would be pointless and perhaps damaging if this might be his only ali, for whatever he would need one for.

“Curio,” he said simply before taking a sip of the tea. It felt blessedly warm down his throat. His stomach, dry and empty, unfortunately took it as a sign to wake up. The healer dutifully ignored the angry knawing. “I’ll not bore you with all the other bits tacked on to it,” a slight smile at the uselessness of them now that he was a slave. “As for you? I would hope amongst your journeys you have figured one for yourself?” He did not see Vitor as the naming type, and Curio knew from the gypsies that would pass through that boys that saw more then their mothers had the tendency to take something else to be called by.
 
Curio had no right to names so long as he was under Vitor's power, of course. The only reason that the boy had asked was that he might want something to call the healer – knowing that Vitor would never lower himself to use anything else but 'slave'. It was somewhat awkward when Vitor had two, but only to the slaves.

“Jehan,” the boy said. He didn't need any other names, after all. His mother had called him that, and very occasionally Vitor called him that too, though most of the time the mercenary seemed as if he did not know it at all.

The boy settled into a cross-legged position, sipping at his own tea. Mornings like this were his own private time, before he really had anything he needed to do. He cared for the horses and the donkey because he liked to take care of the animals, but anything else? No need. He wasn't going to clean anything until Vitor woke up and gave him a look. He had no compulsion to make breakfast before their master stirred and actually wanted some.

Maybe Vitor kept him around because he could spot a good horse from a mile off. He was handy with a bow too, and not a bad hunter. Those had been lessons from Vitor, of course. He had never had a father, and it was not a mother's place to teach those skills.

“D'you want to know anything?” While they had the time, Curio could ask questions, if he wanted to. Vitor wasn't exactly the conversational type. And just because of youthful curiosity, the boy added, “What do your scars mean?”

This was the first time he had travelled so far North with Vitor, and the landscapes, the buildings, the way the people looked and dressed was all new to him. The actual methodology of battle and taking of plunder... That he already knew. He knew what Curio's position was now and how the healer would be treated. But there was no need, in his opinion, to be cruel to someone just because they were a slave. Especially not since he wasn't their master.
 
The blond man native to the raided land was thinking about what to ask when the second question was fielded. One eyebrow rose for a moment, confused, before he remembered. Curio wasn’t used to people not knowing what his scars meant. The town and the others around it knew already. People asked to SEE, yes, people were always fascinated with scars, natural or self inflicted. His wife had…. Dammit… she had the habit of tracing the lines with her fingers lazily when they were together, absent curiosity. As if seeing if they would change from the first time she’d traced them to the next like the fables they were based off of.

He should not think about her right now.

Whether she was alive or dead he wouldn’t know until he either escaped, or ransom was offered. The more he thought of her the more he would… he’d seen depression in many forms before, and it would do him no good here. Rage was better. It was fuel. If he didn’t think of her he could wrap himself up in that and ….

… that was not here and now. His neck was still tied to one of the poles of the tent, and he was in the middle of an enemy camp. Morning and sleep aside, it would be stupid to try anything right now. So instead… drink tea, keep his body heat close inside the blanket, and make small talk with the damn mercenaries… stable boy?

He allowed his lips to turn upwards in the gentle smile he usually used on much younger children when they were in his care. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Well Jehan, there is a long answer and a short answer to that. I’m sure you don’t want to be bored with all the myths and the like, so the short is it means, to everyone automatically, that I’m a healer. A good one. With my people the more detailed, farther up the arm, and well healed the storylines made by the scars are, the better healer you are,” he looked down at his own arms, only the lower halves poking out of the blankets. One scared up to his wrist, the other blank and smooth. Rather jarring differences. “It’s a bit of ritual, and bit of a way to stop a fake healer from trotting in to town to hoodwinking people. No one would do this and be able to heal it well enough to look right if they didn’t HAVE to.” That was part of it… but it was more of a pleasant after affect. Mostly it was ritual and training. To someone who didn’t share the same beliefs though it was best to go with the most logical across cultures. Hell, most of Curio’s own people didn’t know near half of what it actually meant, most no longer praying to the old gods at all.

That said though… he’d answered a question, now it was time for Jehan to answer his. The pale blond chose carefully. The lad looked happy, healthy. Not one to be angry enough with his master to help a slave kill him in his sleep or allow him to leave peacefully. Asking anything along those lines, at least right now, would be a waste of breath. So instead he simply chose the basics of his fears that rose with the knowledge he would have to WAIT…..

“As to what I’d like to know…. Many things, but I think the main thing would be, am I going to survive your master? I’m sure you can understand I don’t have the best idea of his… person,” his face looked as if he had tasted something sour, saying the man who had defiled him and made him a slave was anything close to an actul man. It was childish to imagine him as those large dark shadows of men that feasted on the insides of the pure from childhood stories, but it did make him feel better in that small corner of his mind where he let himself tremble.

“I’m not daft enough to try escaping now. Most of our soldiers are dead or captured, these men could just razz the whole place to the ground with an absent toss of a torch. I also made a…” he paused. Curio didn’t know if the boy would understand a blood oath, “…a important promise to my family to live. So that is priority to me. Will I survive the bastard… and do I even want to?” They didn’t have many slaves in his town, it was mostly for foreigners and the upper dignitaries. Curio did know well enough though that a piece of furniture could be treated better then a slave. He knew he was apparently the mans…. Toy, but did that mean he was going to be a bit tattered, or missing pieces by the end of this?
 
“Huh, really?” Jehan responded to the explanation. “Maybe you sometime you tell me a story or two.” It was that gypsy blood in him, that gave him the love of stories and the wonderful skill at stealing horses. He was pretty good at lifting purses too, but when you travelled with Vitor that really wasn't necessary. Vitor must have had a stash somewhere, because he never actually seemed to worry about money, whatever the season, whether there was war or no. He spent freely, stayed in best rooms in inns, got invited to nobles' manors... Jehan liked Vitor. The mercenary was the closest to a father he could ever have.

It was wise of Curio to hide at least some of the distaste he felt for Vitor, because he would have lost a potential ally faster than he could open his mouth.

“Hmm,” Jehan considered. “He worships the God of the Crossroads, so... He does not treat slaves badly.” Certainly Curio was unlikely to lose any of his parts, unlikely to be tortured purely for amusement, and definitely not sacrificed to any deity. Some places treated slaves worse than dogs, in some they were worked to death... Vitor just liked to use his for sexual purposes and then, when he was bored, either sell them on or release them. “If you obey him, you have nothing to fear.”

Perhaps, in his way, Jehan was a little naïve. He did not know the ties of home and family, and he certainly did not fear Vitor nearly as much as he should. He was still young enough that people tried to shelter him from the realities of the world.

“I have never seen him kill a slave,” the boy finished, with a little shrug. “He is not a bad man,” he continued earnestly. “He could have sold or killed me when my mam left me with him.”
 
Curio took a long drink from his cup as he absorbed what the boy said, hot tea sending tendrils of heat to curl around his belly in a pleasant, calming feeling. Ah, to be so young and… flexibly naïve. Then again for the stable boy someone being kind enough to not make him money or meat after his actual family gave him up… well… the healer could understand his higher opinion of the soldier.

It was, indeed, good news to hear he was not a walking death sentence though. Obey him… it made the blonds guts clench, but again, he was not daft. Oh he perhaps would not let it be EASY… but he would be wary enough to try and gauge when the dragons teeth actually would come out. He didn’t understand what the boy meant about the mercenaries gods though.

“Well, that is perhaps the first … somewhat good news I have learned then. As for stories, I am sure we can share at another time if fates allow,” he had told many stories in his time. They were an ideal way to distract those during treatment, or listen to them lable off their own lifes trials. He had much practice in telling tales to the sick to be proficient in settling his own children, when he had them, to bed when that time came. Curio was also sure the boy had his own overblown stories in the way only children could spin.

It gave him something else to think about other then the smouldering remains of his town just over the hill, and the large man still asleep steps away. “You may be a boy, but somehow I think you have seen places I never have and have your own tales to tell,” he did not comment on the child’s mother giving him up. The dark skin, similar to Vitor’s … well… moor folk didn’t have the best tales telling of them. Abandoning an unwanted child to whomever would take them he could easily see. The troupe of gypsy that camped outside the town walls every second summer always seemed to have teams of wandering youngsters with nary an adult in sight.

Refused to be healed by their trained magics also. Suspicion about its purity being tainted by the new gods and ways… silly.

That was no the here and now though. He didn’t know exactly when Vitor would wake, or what, if anything, he would want his new slave to get up to once that happened. So any questions to be asked should be done so now. What else could he….?

“…. And the men? Does he… share?” the blond was strangely proud he did not twitch at the thought. “… and… and duties. Though I am guessing that is different each slave, and the logic for me would be patching men up. I may not use my magic though… it is only really a small part of healing anyway, and it takes a lot of rest, food, and concentration to keep from burning out,” not that the Jehan needed to know. Still it was better to explain then to let someone think it was simply out of pettiness. Most people who did not practice magic did not understand how much it took in kind from ones body, that it simply was simply THERE… ah, if only. If it was like that, well… Curio would not still feel rather light in the head as he did now. Yes, it was easier to heal himself then someone else, but it still prayed upon his energy. If he were to need to heal as much as he had yesterday to soon, he would end up dropping in to the black. If he had to use it far to much… well.. he wouldn’t come back. It wasn’t like a moving army he was now, literally, tied to could give him the rest and large amounts of food he would need for upkeep, so medicines, herbs, needles and thread were a better constant tool.

“Still… mm… forewarning of any… particularly strange habits would be nice?” again he resisted asking directly about weaknesses and the like. The boy liked the soldier… Curio would simply have to have the knowledge fall in his lap through more congenial means.

It was worn to thin threads, but he did indeed have patience.
 
Jehan frowned at the expression that Curio made when he mentioned the God of the Crossroads. Maybe it was right when his mother used to curse that these Northerners were forgetting everything important in the world. It was not, however, the time or the place to educate anyone, and well, there was no need for a slave to worship the same gods as a master.

“We will,” the boy said authoritatively, “There will be plenty of time when he is busy or, well.” He made a vague motion that might have just implied drunkenness.

Had Curio been a proper man, of course Jehan would have been more respectful with his tone and his actions. A slave, however, he outranked. He was a nice child, seeing as he did not think that he needed to be cruel to people just because he could. (Probably one of Vitor's more valuable life lessons. If you cannot beat them into submission without help, be polite. If you can beat them into submission, well, be polite until they try insulting you. That Vitor did not always follow his own advice – especially the latter part – was neither here nor there.)

“He travels a lot,” Jehan said happily. He could not wait for Vitor's steps to turn south again, towards the Caliphates. “I want to see the cities in the desert... I heard stories about them.” Probably about impossibly beautiful princesses and emeralds the size of his head, or something equally ridiculous.

“Er.” The boy did go bright red when asked that sort of question. “I don't think so, I never saw him share... He usually gets girls, so I dunno.” Usually pretty ones that ended up trying to mother him, at least a little, and that had taught him to cook. “I think you'll have to ask him about your duties,” Jehan added with a wince, knowing that it wasn't going to go well if that happened. “Or just wait for him to order you around.”

Particularly strange habits? What was that supposed to mean?

“Er, what sort of strange habits?”
 
Curio turned a little pink along the cheeks along with the boy, though more from hearing Vitor normally took women. That said something damning to him about himself he refused to think about.

/“Aren't you pretty.” Dark voice and the feeling of rough hands on his…/

His ears went pink and he blinked madly for a moment as if that would erase the memory from his mind.

Still… by the sounds of it he would at least only have to deal with one man… he… he didn’t want to, didn’t know if he he COULD deal with that, but the thought of more then one and… well… no. NO.

If the chuckle that came out at the boys question of what exactly he meant by ‘strange habits’ sounded a little more nervous then it should… well.. no one here at least was going to point it out.

“Well… like… say particular morning rituals he might do that doesn’t include the eat, shit, and usual variety. Or particular words that most people would use without worry but might send him in to a rage. Seemingly unfounded ridiculous fears of things like say… the Papal priests watching him from the shadowed corners of the room, or crowing like a rooster at sunset, all the way down to just perhaps a minor tick you wouldn’t really notice at first,” he explained, a strained but slightly playful smile on his face. “I’m a healer, I’ve seen all KINDS of crazy, and I’m sure I’ll see more. It’s not just the body that needs aid sometimes, and even harmless but strange habits can become troublesome or dangerous under the right circumstances.”

Joking aside though he sobered. “Mainly though just the slightly awkward things that might not be common sense to the average man that would keep me from having a strip ripped off of me.”
 
“He likes to be, you know... Pleasured-” Jehan went a slightly darker shade of red. “- before he gets up. Then he likes breakfast, then he gets dressed.” It was embarrassing to talk about his master's habits in that way. He couldn't quite make himself say that Vitor was mostly interested in his slaves for sex, that his slaves usually ended up doing less work that Vitor did himself.

“Just... Do what he tells you, and you'll be fine.” How was Jehan to know exactly how difficult it was for Curio to do that? “And uh, make sure don't ever disobey him in public, he'll have you whipped.” Naked, too, but seeing as Vitor already seemed to have disposed of most of Curio's clothes... As far as Jehan understood it, Vitor enjoyed to have his slaves play up a little in private, but to do so in public was an offence he did not tolerate in any way. Jehan didn't really get it.

“S'only time I saw him do something like that,” Jehan said finally. “Usually he just whacks me round the head when I do something stupid...”

“What is the craziest thing you've seen?” he had to ask, his curiosity irrepressible.

But then the third voice said, “Chattering like women...” Vitor didn't seem to be terribly upset, and only half awake, not even rising from his blankets.

Jehan immediately jumped up, finishing his cup quickly and running outside to refill it for his master, and placing it near Vitor's hand. “Sorry, sorry, boss.” He didn't seem terribly sorry.

“You could talk a god to death, boy,” Vitor said almost affectionately, as if it was a thing he said often.
 
“Most children seem to have that power,” Curio blurted before he remembered himself, morning calm broken by his own personal nightmares wake.

His jaw audibly clacked together and he looked down at his nearly empty cup like it had the answer’s of the sky.

Jehan’s nervous blush and ‘pleasured’ as far as a morning ritual clamoured about his head. The blond captured slave new his calm morning had more then likely come to an end. His body was still horribly sore from the night before between his legs and from sleeping on the ground. He could at least only hope that Vitor hadn’t drank so much the night before he would suffer from spirit induced desensitivity… or more crudely put, ‘whisky dick’.

Curio tried not to twitch just thinking about it.

Instead he went back to being quite, hoping maybe in the morning haze the soldier would temporarily forget about him. Not that he hadn’t already blown his chance of not being noticed by talking, but the boy had him at ease and it had tumbled out. Bedside manner for bantering with parents like a knee jerk reaction.

Gritting his teeth and hunching down in to his only cover of a blanket he distracted himself with taking the basic rules the stable boy had told him to note in his head.
 
Apparently this was the real beginning of the day for Jehan, because he was a flurry of activity, beginning to prepare breakfast. Not that it would take long, since he had already set the things he needed to the side, but if Vitor was awake, then there were things to do.

“What were you talking about, hm?” Vitor asked as Jehan came back inside.

“Eh, nothing,” the boy replied. It was a true enough answer – the conversation hadn't been terribly important. Jehan untied Curio at a word from Vitor, and then sat down to polish and clean his master's armour fully. Vitor had only got some of the biggest stains last night... There was blood, mud, and splatters of gods-knew-what. The boy had watched the battles, and seen the utter chaos that they often ended up as. He used a brush to get the worst of the stuff off.

Vitor sat up to drink his tea. Could have been worse – he did not recall vomiting or fornicating, which was always good. Never knew what you were putting your cock into at parties like that. His head hurt, but no more than he expected. Breakfast and a bit of rest would no doubt fix that. His men had no such luxury – today would be the time to pack up camp and their spoils, ready to leave tomorrow. There was no real hurry, but many of those he employed were merely farmers with some skill with a sword, and they always resented being too long away from their hearths. Some were merely brigands for the rest of the year, preying on travellers and merchants when they did not have paying work. Most of his company did not have this as a profession... Those that did, would take a few lesser jobs, maybe guarding caravans and castles. The irony was not lost in Vitor, that a bigger payment would make them sack those exactly identical castles.

Vitor would probably go to the biggest town in the area and live like a king on his spoils, until once again the messengers came, asking for his sword. His name was made a long ago, and so long as he did not lose a battle, there it would stay, whispered and feared.

“Slave, why are you concealing yourself?” Vitor asked eventually, watching Curio as he sipped the tea. “Come here.”
 
“Because it’s morning and it’s cold,” if the reply came off as icier then the morning air, well, it was better then the load of heated curses that wanted to spill from his lips. Curio wasn’t about to start bitching about his clothes or the like… Vitor’s treatment of them pretty much told him what kind of answer he would get.

Still, he finished the last strong dregs at the bottom of his cup, luke warm now, and stood up. Now untied he took the blanket, folded it, and placed it near where the rope that had been around his neck was secured to a poll. He would like to keep that rather then have it messed and thrown to the corners of the tent like his pants. Cold air hit his skin, giving him a final wake up call. There were still pink scratches on the insides of his arms from his first attack the day before, and his back was rubbed with a slightly sensitive rash from the carpet during the second round.

He ignored Jehan in the corner, working away. As if not giving him notice meant he simply wasn’t there, though the boy obviously had already seen him naked and knew what his master did to the new slave. Still, it didn’t sit well with Curio at all yet.

His eyes were cold and bitter as he sat down on the edge of Vitor’s bed, within arms reach of the groggily waking man. Arms crossed over his chest, legs tightly pressed together. He could hear the camp coming more alive outside of the tent, sounds dulled but still there. The smell of various breakfasts in the air and the clattering of things being picked up and moved around. Packing, slowly, but still.

“I do hope at least your not going to drag me across the farmlands to your next burn and slash like this,” if it was anyone else that might have been a joke. Curio suspected the mercenary might just do that to watch him squirm. At least part of the way. “I may be a healer, but the common cold can fell anyone if the fates so desire,” again, replacing his own personal fears with something that made a little more common sense. He was good at that. Most of his town had absolutely NO idea how superstitious and frightened Curio really was most of the time.

Not that here that would help him much.

A sniff and his nose wrinkled this close to the other man. “You smell foul,” which was true, “did you eat pig shit with your drinks last night?” and that was just an insult. Curio knew he didn’t smell like daisies either, but no man was anywhere near sweet in continence or cleanliness after a night of drinking.
 
Vitor looked at least a little pleased that there was evidence of his previous assaults on Curio's skin. There was nothing quite so satisfying as seeing the evidence of what you did, the exact damage you could cause. And with this boy, this healer, he could go a little further. He would probably need to, because it really did seem that this slave had more spirit than was strictly good for him.

“Hm, well, how many clothes you have depends on how quickly you learn...” Vitor paused, and grinned. “And how nicely you ask. So it will all be your fault, I suppose, if you become ill.” He did enjoy twisting things around.

“You do look lovely this morning,” Vitor added – a little flattery. “Considering.” A few more sips of tea. “I am more used to crying and begging. It's very dull, this is much of an improvement.” It really was. Most of the girls he took ended up whimpering all the way through the night, even though he probably treated them nicer than he had been treating Curio. Maybe because they were female, he was a little bit gentler, and a little more tolerant of their lack of self restraint.

At Curio's little insult, he aimed a back-handed blow at Curio's face. “If I smell like pig shit, you should enjoy it – you won't be smelling the local variety again. Maybe you should take a good sniff.” All the drinks had been from the town's cellar. It was an opportunity to enjoy the food and the ale that they wouldn't bother carrying. Why leave it to rot?
 
The blond slaves face stung hotly here he’d been struck, but kept his face turned where it had been forced. Curio madly sucked on his bottom lip to not snap something wicked in reply about sniffing or other things Vitor might have done with pig shit the night before. A smaller bruise would develop along his cheek bone later to add to the mottled decorations about his body. Pale peach skin could tell you exactly what hit was from when, the larger, angrier looking marks from his short escape, fight, and capture. The smaller indents all focused on his hips and thighs telling a the second story. If Dionatchy could see him now… the youngest son of the clan wondered if the man would have made him swear that oath. His eldest brother had seen war and what sometimes happened after it, so he wasn’t entirely sure what the man would have decided.

Sucking on his lip until the spike of anger passed, when he released it he forced his shoulders to relax in to a position of calm. He had better things to think about, and a better plan then to simply hit the man back like some enraged little brat.

“The camp is slowly packing up,” just an casual observation from sound, “where exactly are you planning on dragging me to my death by cold then?” he fought to keep his face impassive. The hint that he probably wasn’t going to be behaving well enough any time soon to supposedly ‘earn’ those clothes. It wasn’t like the final destination was all that important to him either. It would be good to know where they were headed though so he could plan in advance where or when along the road might be a good point to plan a coup and vanish. “I should plan in advance a nice spot for my grave,” he covered his true wants with dark humour a a bit of a pout in his voice. ‘Oh woe is me, I shall silently angst at my predicament’. About as close to those sobbing girls the mercenary had mentioned as he would ever allow himself to get.

Supposedly.

… But good god the man really did reek. Not that Curio himself was a bed of roses. He was trying to ignore the obvious smell of rank sex coming from his skin. At least the cold air kept it from floating about in to some kind of tangent musk.

He’d have been sure to make sick all over those pieces of armour the stable boy seemed fully engrossed in scrubbing if it had. Or maybe all over the mans face. If he was going to get a beating, he was damn well going to earn it.

It was probably best for his rattled frame he didn't have to worry about that just yet.
 
“You need not worry about things that don't concern you,” Vitor said, probably as elegantly as he lied to the nobles that employed him. ('Oh, no. I will not consider the offers from your enemies.' A man with very little politics, he was.) “You will not die unless I want you to.” It was almost a threat.

Vitor was, perhaps, too subtle a man to be the common mercenary. Maybe what he really aimed for was to be a warlord, making his name by plunder and seizing territory purely by force. Or perhaps one day someone would try to appease him with offers of land for him to rule and hope that defending it might keep him busy. He chose his employers and his lieutenants far too well for it to be chance. He certainly had skill in choosing what men he could trust and which battles to fight. But still, some battles were just too much fun not to be fought. Like this foolish healer – it would have been far easier to just run him through, but this was... Enjoyable. He could feel his lust stir again.

He laid aside his morning tea.

“You shouldn't sulk. Your face isn't as pretty when you do.” He tangled his fingers into Curio's hair and pulled him closer, a harsh gesture of possession, without any gentleness.

“You smell of me, my pretty whore. Perhaps I'll let you wash if you please me this morning.” He was intending to throw Curio in the river later, but how much force was going to be involved in that was still open to debate. Vitor was a reasonable man. He treated well behaved slaves better. “Should I find out how good you are with your mouth, hm?”
 
The captured healers frown from being in any way or form being called ‘pretty’, especially as anyone’s whore, only pulled in to a violent grimace at the suggestion. Being hauled around by his hair was as bad as the backhand to him, throwing in his face exactly who had the power in this situation, and thus the power over him.

That didn’t mean he had in any form really learned his place yet.

Upper lip curled back despite trying to hold back the sneer as intense blue eyes glared at his handler. “Normally the argument is that one does not know where you have been, but in this situation it’s because I know exactly where you’ve been putting.. that!” he wasn’t going to give the man’s parts between his legs an actual name or acknowledgment of any sort. He had to deal with it when it ws pressed to him but otherwise he wanted nothing to do with it, even in his head. Not that any of Curio’s mind was truly listening to him. “I’m a healer, don’t insult me like that. No, I am NOT putting that in my mouth considering where it was last put… and goodness only knows where you’ve shoved that thing since.”

Oh that nervous, terrified curl in his belly knew that he absolutly no say in any of this. his pride on the other hand despite the battering it had been receiving didn’t care.

"You really do want me to get sick all over you..."
 
Vitor gave a long-suffering sigh, and then hit Curio again, in the same way that he had just minutes before, just as hard. (Jehan, in his corner, winced in sympathy. Those blows of Vitor's always made his ears ring, though he hadn't needed to suffer any for a while. A person learned very fast with the right incentives.)

“You are only a healer when I permit you to be,” Vitor informed Curio. “And right now I want you to be a nice hole for my cock. You are mine now, until the time I may choose to release you.” Apparently Curio needed to be constantly reminded of that. He stroked Curio's cheek now, the reddened part. Another bruise that the healer would have. Eventually, Curio would be obedient. It might take a while, but it would be done. And it would be absolutely lovely.

“I thought your kind were not so spineless. Can you really endure so little?” he teased. “All you need to do is to suck my cock. It's not so terribly difficult a task.” He tugged Curio's head down a little. “I am sure you can do it.” If Curio wasn't going to be good quite yet, maybe another day of hunger and indignity would help. Or perhaps another rape.
 
Curio’s lips pursed as he seethed up at the man the best he could from where his head was being shoved violently down. He didn’t bother sniping that one was never NOT a healer once they started their first magic in the art, the sting of his face reminding him the man did not care about anything but his own needs and satisfactions.

“I don’t know about what kind of people you come from, but mine do not consider being treated like a whore a show of turpitude,” a vicious frown of teeth between the straggles of long, blond unwashed hair in his face. He did not like being talked down to in such a way, but it was sadly one of MANY grievances he obviously was going to have to suffer through. Like… THIS…

As sharp as his mouth was coughing up vitriol, Curio did not want to be hit again, or whatever else was becoming thin in the mercenaries eyes. He could tell by the tightening fist in his hair he was close to some line, and his cowardly gut won over him for just long enough. His face stung, heat coming off the cheek as if it was coals. He quickly dropped his glare after saying his piece, looking at the still partly soft morning wood that demanded his attention. A tiny shred of submission he was never going to admit to out loud.

Resisting moving down farther he stared at the bulbous head that had violated him twice with ire. It seemed to be hardening, growing with blood as he despised it, taunting the young healer that this damnable BODY PART had even more power over him and his well-being then Curio did. Air closer to it thick with fetid sweat and musk, making him want to gag if there had been anything in him other then boiled leaves in water.

The hand at the back of his head pushed harder, he’d been fighting back. Perhaps just as if he could sense the cusp of the mercenaries patience waning completely though he made a suffering whine he could not hold back in his chest. Then stopped fighting back against the shoving and dropped his head down in to Vitor’s lap. Body squirmed, twisting to get himself fully facing toward the man and folded on his knees on the bed, arms splaying out on either side of the soldiers massive body to help control how his upper body dropped. Assuming the position, with the broad slap of Vitor’s meaty shaft insistently rubbing against the blond captives sensitive bruising cheek.

He just wanted to turn his head and bite the damn thing off. Blood and meat thrashing between his teeth like a stray dog with a rat.

Curio stole himself and instead was able to force his shoulders and head up enough to get the reddening, thick head of Vitor’s cock bumping his lips. He didn’t allow himself the time to pause, to hesitate and balk, and dove his mouth over the shaft. The blond didn’t need to taste test or tease the damn thing, this was no lover (as if he would have ever taken a male lover at any point anyway). As he predicted the thick cord of muscles, veins, blood and skin nestling up along the length of his tongue tasted FOUL. He could even taste the horrid taint of himself, mixing and bastardizing itself over the night, amongst the pungent saltiness of sleep sweat and the musk of a drunken man.

The crinkling of his nose in distaste told it all, as his body instinctually tried to lift himself back up off of the offending taste.
 
Vitor was slowly losing his patience, and he was just about to hit Curio again when the healer finally let himself be put in place. He ignored the words, pulling hard on Curio's hair to get him exactly where he wanted his slave.

He could see the disgust on the slave's face, and it amused him. It was disgusting, Vitor knew that – to take a cock into one's mouth that had been in one's arse, not only once, but twice. But the knowledge that Curio would submit anyway sent warm pleasure to coil at the bottom of his spine. Sucking cock or more pain... He could almost see Curio trying to make that decision. (Should even Curio actually throw up, well... Was there anything for him to throw up?) The whine made him grin like a demon, a smile that Curio had probably just missed and wouldn't get to see.

“That's it...” he said, almost soothingly, as Curio finally took Vitor's cock into his mouth. Technique – astoundingly poor, but hey, what could a person expect from a new slave? There would be plenty of time for Curio to learn.

His hold on the slave's hair tightened as soon as Curio tried to move away. Whether instinct or no, it was not acceptable. “No, boy,” he growled. His other hand was at Curio's jaw, placing fingers in between Curio's teeth to force the healer to keep his mouth open. Vitor was making it almost impossible for Curio to pull back.

He shifted his hips a little, forcing more of his shaft into Curio's mouth without any concern for the slave's well-being or comfort. There was an irony here. If Curio had put some effort into pleasing him, he wouldn't have Vitor's cock being shoved down his throat now. But oh well. Such was the way of the world.
 
Curio gagged, body jerking as the broad scalding head of Vitor’s dick shoved insistently at the back of hi throat. It refused to go away even as extra spit actively tried to loosen the agitation away, and finally he was able to struggle around the instinct and instead swallow. Mouth forced apart, head bared down, hips thrusting up, there was no way to make this easier on himself. The blond slave struggled in a shaky breath what he could, then tightened his lips around the shaft plunging in to his face. He minded his teeth, not wanting to get hit while committing this sick act on top of it all.

This would only end when the mercenary got off.

The thought made Curio shiver in revulsion, putrid taste getting swallowed down in to his stomach as he stole himself and sucked. His jaw couldn’t close snugly around the mans cock because of the fingers jamming it open, but the healer did hollow and suck with his tongue, roof of his mouth and cheeks. Just as he remembered his wife would.

/Don’t think about her now. That should never be tainted like this./

He valiantly attempted to turn his higher thoughts off as he tried to appease he beast. Whether he meant Vitor or just his dick, he wasn’t sure.

Both.

He used what little leverage he could to rise his head up just a fraction, still keeping suction. Then started bobbing, going down far enough to have to swallow, desperately try not to gag, as the soldiers cock slide a ways down his throat. The stretching, tightness of his neck wrapping around the leaking shaft felt foreign and uncomfortable. Eating to big of a piece of food without chewing, lodged in your throat and needing water to struggle it down. Instead he could only relieve the sensation by drawing his head up what the fist sharply pulling at blond strands would let him. Only to force it down again. If anything the smell of thick musk caught in the wiry hairs at the base of Vitor’s cock was even worse then the taste. Sweat, dirt, bitter semen, oil, all of it overpowering the closer his nose came to having to burry in it.

Curio only hoped this humiliation didn’t last. Morning wood normally didn’t last long, but if the mercenary was still affected by getting steeped in stolen booze… he had a brief thought at least if the man spat his vile load when it was thrust deep violating his face he wouldn’t have to taste much of it.
 
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