By
PEJA
Disclaimer: the characters are not mine, I just take them out for fun and games. No $$$$ here, just the pleasure of their company.
Rated N-17, for m/m relations. Rape and Violence, no punches will be pulled for the squeamish. This is a tale of human ugliness. If this isn't to you're taste, don't come here.
You have been warned.
Players: A/Other A/T A/V
*****
His groggy senses sputtered to life, automatically identifying the dank, musky scent of the velvet ground cover.
What in the bloody hell was he doing sprawled nose down on the ground?
Wait. It was coming back. He'd been running.
Running?
Damn, what danger was he running from this time.
Did it even, for that, really matter? Whatever, whoever, was after him, he apparently had not run fast enough, or far enough. Something had hit him from behind....
A dart?
Yes, his arm still ached from the sharp penetration. He'd gone down quickly after that jab.
The dart must have been dipped.
But...in what? Not poison surely, or he'd be dead, not simply confused.
His fingers curled into the spongy undergrowth. Dug deeper into the powdery silt, releasing the earthy perfumes that he missed so desperately, and so privately, on Liberator.
It was the purest of pleasures to breathe in the delicious fragrances and he greedily gulped a huge draught of forest scented air. And a second.
Until, without warning, he choked against the biting agony that rippled down his spine, unleashing a low cry from between tight lips.
And the nightmares rushed in.
God in Heaven. He'd actually let himself be captured. Walked right in with his eyes wide open. Let them take him as if he were a green youth not yet past the first blush.
By the likes of these people. It was beyond acceptance. By god, he deserved death for this idiotic blunder. He deserved.…
Somewhere nearby a branch snapped, bringing his tumbling thoughts to an abrupt halt.
The hell with what he deserved. He wanted to live. But damn, the chances of that were fast diminishing.
Unless? Could it possibly be Blake? A surge of relief rippled though him.
And just as quickly, reality ground that dream to powder with a vengence.
Blake wouldn't be looking for him. Not this time. His abduction had been too carefully orchestrated. The scenario his torturers had played out, too realistic to discount.
Blake had, undoubtedly, been convinced he was dead.
Even if he hadn't believed the vidtape of the accident, chances were he would not bother trying to find his wayward, argumentative colleague. Better to sacrifice one troublesome man's blood to his unholy rebellion and wash his hands of the only one who opposed him all in one fell swoop.
Clear the way for an easier command.
It's what he would have done.
Avon restrained a bitter laugh. Imagine him, a martyr to the rebel cause? The prospect simply did not fit into his plans.
He sobered. But it might just fit in too damn well in Blake's mind.
The sounds of approaching feet reached his straining ears. Whoever it was out there, they moved too bloody close for comfort.
'Got to get away from here,' He coiled his supple body under him. 'Quiet, now. Don't make a sound, Kerr. Or they'll have you for sure.'
He pushed away from the ground, or at least he told himself to rise, but his traitorous body lie rigid, unmoving, in the dirt.
He could not move.
Paralysis? A cold sweat broke on his upper lip.
Bloody hell. This could not be happening. He wouldn't accept it. Not allow it.
Could not prevent it.
"He's over here," a voice came from just out of his field of vision, making him cringe inside his skin.
The horror was about to begin again. And this time, this time, there was no way he could stop them.
Not in command of his body, he'd be forced to watch, his mind rejecting what they did to him, but unable to prevent what that he knew, he knew, he would endure.
He wanted to rage against the injustice of it all. Wanted to melt into the wet ground below him, never to think, to fear, again.
But no sound came. The paralysis was advancing, claiming more and more of him with every heartbeat.
Would it end before reaching his heart? Before death stilled his body?
Did it even matter?
He almost begged for that death to enfold him, ending this torment before....
A black booted foot stopped near his head. Some illogical part of his mind marveled that he could see himself in the high gloss of the polished leather.
And then he was being lifted into a none to gentle embrace. He hung limply, unable to defend himself against the brutal shaking his captor dealt him.
A cruel hand tangled in his hair, wrenching his head up. "You have been a naughty boy, my dear Avon," the man, Valdar, said, his black eyes blazing. "But I will forgive you," he added, grinding a punishing kiss against Avon's slack lips. "This one time."
Tasting blood on the other man's mouth, his blood, Avon's stomach heaved. And the illogical part of his mind thanked god there was nothing left inside him. He couldn't remember when he'd last eaten more than the crust grudgingly tossed his way every few days, but this animal would not think twice about beating him in his present condition if he made the unfortunate mistake of vomiting all over him.
"You like that, Avon?" Valdar demanded. "You want Valdar to be nice to you"
Avon could not answer. He did not need to, blazing hatred flared from his eyes into the man's gloating gaze.
"Such passion," the man cooed, running his finger over Avon's hollow cheek. "I look forward to tasting that passion once more, Avon. And this time I will devour your rapture."
Avon closed his eyes, shutting out the nightmare the only way he could.
"Avon."
He ignored the man's coaxing tone.
"Avon."
He squeezed his eyes tighter.
And received another vicious shake for his trouble. "Look at me, Avon."
Stubborn beyond death, he didn't respond, earning himself a stinging, open handed slap against his cheek that rocked his head back. A trickle of blood dribbled down his chin.
Valdar cleaned up the blood with his tongue. "Open your eyes," he repeated, tracing the seeping cut with his tongue once more. "Open them, Avon."
Reluctantly, past exhaustion, he opened his eyes.
"There's a good boy," Valdar said, shifting his vulnerable burden against his side and digging in his shirt pocket. His hand moved before Avon's wavering vision, displaying a blue capsule in his slender fingers. "You want I should make it so you can talk?"
One finger wedged open Avon's lips. "Sure you do." He slid the pill between Avon's teeth, a relatively simple thing given his current condition.
"Why do you fight me, Avon?" Valdar tutted him, shaking his head. "I would not harm you now, you know?" The finger thrust deep into his mouth, following the pill deep down Avon's throat, giving him no choice but to swallow or choke.
"There's a good boy," Valdar murmured, easing the spit slicked finger into his own mouth. "You have an unusual taste, Avon. Spicy, earthy."
His tongue glided over Avon's throat, lapping up the sweat that had pooled there. "I like it."
Avon shuddered under his skin, willing his body to break the spell of whatever drug was incapacitating him.
Unsuccessfully.
"You are a fastidious man. I also like that," Valdar continued. "And soon you will learn to like much, too," he said, steadying Avon's wobbling head. "But first, you sleep," he added, slinging Avon's limp body over one shoulder as he slid into the twilight world of Morpheus.
******
Avon came back to himself with a jerk, taking in his situation in the blinking of an eye.
The stone bench where he lie, naked and spread-eagle, was the most uncomfortable bed he'd employed in a long time. Not at all what his protesting back would have preferred, but then nothing about his visit to this planet had been even remotely pleasing.
Shifting his weight, he tested the chains that held him immobile. There was very little slack in the bonds that held him. He was not going anywhere soon. Not unless someone offered him a lock pick. "Like that'll happen," he muttered, giving the chains a second jerk. "How the hell did I get myself into this?"
He shivered suddenly, the chill stone and metal permeating his very bones. "And now I'm probably going to end up with a proper dose of flu on top of it."
Yeah, right, worry about the little viruses floating around in here, Avon. Maybe then you won't think about what those delectable little clamps and leather whips lying on that table are used for.
Christ, just remembering how those things had been used on him before he'd made his foiled escape attempt had him breaking out in a cold sweat.
But he'd escaped once. By god, he could do it again.
Couldn't he?
A black fit convulsed him and he thrashed against the chains binding him, the blind panic threatening to drive him back into the darkness.
"You are eager for the games we played before?" Valdar spoke somewhere in the region of his head and Avon froze. A thin finger traced Avon's jawline, making him shudder. "The games we will play again?"
Avon ground his teeth refusing to give any outward show of fear.
The man's hot breath caressed Avon's ear as he leaned over, whispering, "Are you as anxious to begin once more as I am, Avon? Does the thought of my possession have your blood rushing in your veins just like mine is racing?"
Avon clamped his eyes shut, just barely managing to keep his tongue still, and instantly regretted it.
"I gave you back your voice," Valdar said softly as the stinging bite of lead tipped leather raised three deep welts across his chest.
Blood seeped under his right nipple. And like before, Valdar sucked the salty-sweet liquid hungrily, drawing even more blood into his mouth. "I will not tolerate your not answering me."
Avon drew a harsh breath and remained stubbornly silent.
Valdar chuckled indulgently. "Always the stubborn ones, I get." He glided into Avon's sight, a mountain of a man, with glorious, golden hair covering his angelic face. "You think, perhaps, if you anger me enough I will bring you death?" He traced Avon's spasming jawline. "I won't, you know?" The finger moved to rub Avon's full lower lip. "There's a ritual that must be followed for your....sacrifice to be honored. It would be a great pity if you're life was wasted. Although your crewmates are an easy target. I think another would not be so hard to acquire if you proved unworthy, yes?"
"You will not find them so easy a target a second time," Avon snarled, thrashing ineffectively against his chains.
"Ah, so you are not completely without feelings for them," Valdar mocked him. "It was rumored that you considered no life beyond your own. I am pleased that is not quiet true."
"It's true enough," Avon spat. "Why don't you get on with it? I am growing weary of your threats."
"So eager for me?"
"More like to have this over and done with. Death will end your hold over me, if nothing else."
"First," Valdar said softly. "I will have your word."
"My word?" Avon demanded. "On what?"
"That you will not attempt another escape. The one I allowed to teach you that flight was useless, but a second, ah, that would interrupt what we are seeking to accomplish, would it not?" He grinned, running his fingers up the length of Avon's cringing thigh. "And make it necessary to look to another, less appealing...volunteer?"
Avon laughed, he just couldn't help it. "You want me to aid and abet my own assault and murder?"
"That is one way to look at it. I prefer to think I can give you some pleasure before the...end comes. I'd think you would like a pleasant send off to whatever afterlife your beliefs allow."
"My beliefs are few, and an afterlife does not figure into them," Avon hissed, closing his eyes. "Get on with it."
Valdar nails bite into Avon's face as he forced his head around. "Do not play games with me. It will not hurry my plans for you as you hope, but it would be wise for you to remember that I hold the power to make this as easy or as distasteful for you as you might wish. Just how much you suffer depends on you making me happy."
"Then I shall endeavor to make you as unhappy as I am able."
Valdar laughed outright. "You are an amusing man," he said, dragging a wheeled table into Avon's range of vision. "You see this," he added, dipping two fingers into an ornate, golden bowl and swirling the shimmering red viscous liquid. "This is something special," he said, scooping a glob up into his fingers. "Just for you."
Grinning evilly, he dribbled the goo onto Avon's chest. The iridescent globs fell in icy cold puddles on his chest, melted from his body heat, warmed until it burnt his skin, making him squirm against the restraints.
Valdar's fingers dipped into the slimy gel, slicking it over Avon's chest, igniting a burning itch under the skin. Raising an intense craving for that caressing hand.
The devious jerk was using chemical means to control him.
"Now you are not so adverse to Valdar's touch? It feels good to have my hands on you now, don't you think?"
Avon willed himself to ignore the burning need searing every inch of exposed skin the man trailed his slick fingers over. Resisted the urge to thrust into the hand that flicked over suddenly demanding nipples. "Go to hell."
"Your body tells me you want something entirely different. That you want me, Avon," Valdar said chuckling. "Tell me, Avon, is it true that Alpha's are not overly concerned about the sex of their partners? Have you lain with a man before? No? Were you virgin in the ways of men before you came here?"
Avon thrashed against his chains as the man's hand moved lower, dipping into Avon's navel. The craving to be touched was soaring through him, rushing through his veins.
The goo slicked fingers moved lower, lower.
"No-o-o-o."
"Oh, yes," Valdar sighed. "You're learning, aren't you. I can give you pleasure as well as pain." His hand dipped, making small, exploratory circles in the thick curls that protected Avon's weeping cock.
Avon groaned, gritting his teeth against the searing pleasure his body was finding at his enemy's hands. "Don't."
"Ah, but I must, my dear Avon," Valdar murmured, running his tongue over Avon's cock in a slow swirling motion. His teeth grazed the tender head, nipping just hard enough to force a ragged breath from his victim. His skilled mouth moved in nipping bites down the length of Avon's twitching cock, then back up again.
Lifting his head, Valdar met Avon's glazed gaze. A mocking smile curved his lips. "You want this as bad as it can get." His tongue grazed the head of Avon's twitching cock, lapped the glistening fluid and nudged the slit with gentle thrusts.
Avon groaned, gritting his teeth against the intense desires melting him from the inside out.
Tell me, slave. Beg me to suck you off."
Biting down hard on his lip against the compelling desire to obey, Avon held his tongue. Just barely.
"Say it," Valdar coaxed, rolling Avon's balls in a gentle hand as he took the very tip of his cock into the blazing, liquid furnace of his mouth for the briefest of moments.
Beyond his control, Avon's hips thrust up, following the wet warmth he craved, demanding what he would not, could not, beg for.
"Uh uh uh," Valdar chuckled, pressing his slick palm against Avon's groin, holding him in place. "Beg, Avon," His fingertips grazed and teased Avon's straining erection.
A long, slow moan wrenched from Avon's chest as the erotic blaze doubled in his cock. "Yes. Yes, damn you. I want it. Need it. Pleas......ahhhh."
Valdar swallowed his victim's cock in one falcon move, then slowing, agonizingly slow, he pulled back to tease the slit.
Avon bucked under the man's skilled mouth, twisting, thrusting, straining for the release that would end this seductive torture.
Eyes proclaiming that he knew and understood, Valdar played Avon's body, withholding the climax Avon sought like only a practicing sadist could, bringing him near the edge, then backing off, until Avon thought his mind would shatter and spill out on the stone floor.
Valdar suddenly moved away, leaving Avon hovering on the brink.
"No, God....Noooo" Avon groaned, squirming for the contact that would take him over the sexual edge.
"Patience, slave," Valdar murmured, motioning toward two burly men who Avon had not noticed before. The men moved forward swiftly, released Avon from the stone bed, and wrenched him to his feet.
Still too caught up in the drugged, sensual stupor, Avon hardly struggled at all as he was bent over a bench. His wrists were secured to rings embedded in the floor. His legs were kicked apart, ankles chained to a second set of rings, leaving him more vulnerable than he'd ever been in his life.
Valdar moved behind his exposed body, deeply scoring the tender ass cheeks with his nails. "Sweetmeat," Valdar commented, drawing a second strip of blood. "It is time, I think, to explore this....virgin territory." He moved around to Avon's head, grasping a handful of hair, and jerked his head up, forcing Avon to meet his curiously tender gaze. "These men are your trainers, Avon." His black gaze didn't waver from Avon's. "Use him, slaves. Teach him what is expected of him."
"May we hurt him, Sir?" one huge man asked.
Laughing darkly, Valdar studied Avon for a long moment then nodded. "You can do anything you desire, pet, as long as you do not kill him. If he dies, your own death will match his. Do you understand?"
"Yes, master."
And the nightmare began.
*****
Dazed from the drugs he'd been given daily, Avon dangled from chains suspended from the ceiling and listened to his latest rapist leave the room.
Something warm trickled down his sex-encrusted thighs. Semen? Or was he bleeding again? Very likely, from the feel of it....too heavy a stream.
Dark...Another day passed.
How many days had he been here now? How many times had he been beaten unconsciousness?
Drugged insensible.
Unbelievable how much a man could absorb in his quest to stay alive...even approaching insanity.....
A thin moan parted his lips at that inescapable thought. "I am not insane," he croaked in a voice rusty from disuse. "I am not insane. I am not insane. I am not....." The weakly repeated words became the mantra he cling to through the long, hungry hours of the night.
*****
Light.
Dark.
Light.
Dark....
An endless shifting of time, accompanied by constant pain.
The soul-destroying goo.
Hunger.
Blood.
More goo.
An endless stream of drug-induced rapes.
A river of blood washing away his sense of survival.
*****
"Clean him up."
The sharp words barely nudged Avon from the dark place his mind had retreated. "Valdar is expecting him at the table in one hour."
As he struggled to get his mind around what was happening, his chains were removed none too gently.
White hot pain-razors scored muscles that had been held rigidly stretched for too long as his arms were taken down from the chains. What was a little more pain, anyway?
Forced to stand on legs that had lost the power of to support him, his knees buckled, and he would have fallen but for the two apemen who held him upright.
"He's in bad shape," the commanding voice snarled. "Has he been allowed any exercise?"
"We were instructed to keep him in chains, Sir."
Avon heard the disgusted grunt, but was too disconnected to even lift his head. "Valdar is not going to like this."
"We had our orders."
"Your orders included not letting this man die, as I recall."
"He's alive."
"When was his last meal?"
"We were told to withhold....
"When?"
"A crust four days ago."
"And before that?"
"Valdar instructed he be fed once a week."
"And the rations? Were those also directed by the master?"
A long silence.
"Answer."
"We were not instructed in what to give the man. Just to keep it minimal."
A mocking laugh rumbled in the dank air. "I should think you kept it well beyond minimal. Tell me, has this man done something that made you want him to suffer overmuch?"
"Nothing, Sir."
"Nothing, Sir. Yet you risked killing him knowing his death would be your own?"
"He is stronger than most sent here for training, Sir. I thought it called for extreme measures."
"Extreme? Yes, there is that." The man sniffed, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Clean him up. Give him a soma cocktail. Hopefully he will be strong enough for this evening's entertainment. You better hope he is."
*****
Mercenary/smuggler Del Tarrant watched as yet another near nude man was marched into the grand hall and shoved to his knees before the grandmaster. And his bored impatience vanished.
The men that had been displayed up until now were a callow lot. Milksop for a man such as he. But there was something different about the man who now knelt in the center of the room. An aura of command that his listless, disconnected gaze denied.
"Tell me about that one?" he demanded of the man beside him.
"Which one?"
"The man that was just brought in. The dark haired one kneeling before your master."
The man shrugged. "That one is not available. He is from Valdar's private stock, Sir. Or he will be once he has completed his training."
"Looks fairly well trained to me." Tarrant's glance slid over the slave, cataloging the ribs that showed so clearly through the clear material of his toga, the washed out color of his skin, the stiff way he held himself, as though...."Tell me, why is that one so wasted? The others you have paraded before me have the look of pigs for slaughter."
Even as Tarrant spoke, the bedslave swayed dangerously, as if he was about to collapse, then by some miracle regained his balance.
"He looks as if a light breeze could blow him over."
The man at his side scowled. "Training is not easy on a stubborn man, Sir. And that one is one of the most foul minded we have ever taken on."
That caught Tarrant's attention and he shifted his glance back to the man at his side. "I thought these males you are offering came here of their own accord."
The man shifted restlessly under Tarrant's dagger gaze. "Most are, Sir. This one was sold into the profession by his... family."
He's lying, Tarrant decided, keeping his expression blank. Why?
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but when I was commissioned for this job, I was promised the bedslave of my choice?"
The man beside him bit his lip. "I am not familiar with the terms of your arrangement with the master, Sir."
"Then what good are you in these dealings?" Tarrant demanded, dismissing the man with a turn of his shoulder. "Valdar," Tarrant said sharply, attracting his host's attention. "I have chosen...." He pointed toward the swaying man. "That one."
Smiling, Valdar shook his head. "That is not possible."
Tarrant bolted to his feet. "Make it possible, Valdar. He is the one I want."
Valdar curled his fingers in Avon's hair, forcing a soft grunt from the man. "Avon is being trained for me."
"Avon? Is that his name?" Tarrant demanded, the name striking a vaguely familiar chord in his mind. "It doesn't matter to me what he was being trained for. I want him."
The grip twisted in Avon's hair, causing a flicker of pain to cross the hollowed features. "Impossible."
Tarrant got a vicious grip on Valdar's wrist, forcing the man's hand away from his victim. "Make it possible."
His eyes narrowed dangerously. "If I leave here without him," His own hand raked through the disordered lank hair possessively, without causing undue pain. "I leave here with the weapons I was delivering."
His hand grasped Avon's chin, tipping the man's face toward him so he could study the classic beauty that remained in that gaunt face. "Do I make myself understood?"
A long pause.
Tarrant's brittle glare trapped Valdar. "I am very serious about this, Valdar. The man in exchange for the weapons."
Valdar sighed. "Take him."
Grinning, Tarrant said, "I knew we could come to an agreement. His strong fingers cupped Avon's elbow and he eased the weakened man to his feet. "I'm just gonna take him to my ship now. For safe keeping, you understand?"
"You don't trust me to keep my side of the bargain?"
Tarrant snorted. "Do I look stupid?"
*****
Tarrant set a steaming plate before his silent bedslave expectantly.
Avon, wasn't it? Where had he heard that name? Ah, it would come to him...sooner or later.
Under his watchful gaze, Avon never moved, not even an eyelash.
The food cooled on the plate.
God's mercy, what have they done to this beautiful man's spirit?
Tarrant hunkered down at his slave's side, cupped the man's chin and pulled his face around toward him. "Avon? That is your name, right?"
The man shuddered violently, keeping his eyes cast down.
"Avon, look at me."
Another shudder shook the wasted man, then slowly, slowly, lush, black lashes raised.
And Tarrant glimpsed the pits of hell in his slave's glazed eyes. "Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God," Tarrant muttered, unable to look away.
The lashes dropped again, concealing the devastated soul.
Free from the horror he'd seen in those dark, haunted eyes, Tarrant drew a shaky breath. "Avon. Eat that food."
Avon remained still, unresponsive.
"Do you understand, Avon? I want you to eat as much as you can, then get into that bunk and get some rest."
Nothing.
"Did you hear me, Avon?"
A slow shuddering breath rocked the man. "Yes, master."
Avon got to his feet. His hands undid the sash holding his cloths together. The sheer-fronted toga dropped to the floor.
Turning toward the bunk, his ripped and torn back was revealed to Tarrant's horrified gaze, shocking the young merc out of his stunned pose.
Avon froze as Tarrant's fingers circled his thin arm.
Tarrant turned his slave, leaning closer to examine the raw surface of this battered man's back and thighs. Recognizing the scabbed over welts and tears from whips, the slashing gashes from...what?...A razor?...Knife?
Bending over, he snatched up the discarded toga and thrust Avon's arms back into it. A firm hand placed the older man back in his chair with a fork in his hand.
"Eat."
Avon stared at the fork, then the food, but made no move to obey.
Sighing, Tarrant guided the man's hand in scooping up a morsel. He guided the food to the man's mouth. "Open."
Avon's lips parted and Tarrant guided Avon's hand to feed himself. "Dammit, man. Eat."
Slowly, Avon chewed, swallowed.
Tarrant guided a second morsel to those pale lips before gently asking, "Do you need me to feed you, Avon?"
"No, Master," Avon murmured, jerkily taking a third mouthful by himself.
Tarrant smiled, patting the man's bony shoulder. "Good man, that."
He moved across the cabin to the ship's com system and thumbed it open. "All hands, there has been a change of plans. Prepare for immediate lift-off."
"Captain Tarrant, we haven't off-loaded any of the weapons yet."
"No," Tarrant said grimly. "We are not going to make this delivery, Jojo. I'm canceling the order. Effective immediately."
"But...."
"No arguments, Jojo. Get us off this hellhole. Now. Then locate me another buyer for these damn weapons. I don't want a Federation patrol to overtake us and decide to make a surprise inspection of this particular cargo."
He cut the transmission and turned back to the man who would be his lover.
Avon sat, head lowered and motionless. The fork nestled in a hand that rested at the side of the plate that had not been touched. The food congealing into a right royal mess.
Putting a firm cap on his impatience, Tarrant snatched the nasty heap up and hurled it into the disposal, then dialed up a second warmed plate and set it before the blank-faced man.
Avon sat motionless through the entire thing. A living ghost, untouched by anything that went on around him.
"Avon."
A blink and nothing more.
Avon, look at me."
Avon turned his head slowly, as if the slightest movement was painful.
Against his will, Tarrant's heart warmed to the wounded soul before him. "Listen to me, Avon. I can't begin to know what they did to you on this planet. I am not going to lie to you."
A flicker of....something....of disbelief, darkened Avon's eyes and his lip curled.
Tarrant grinned. There was still some spirit there after all.
"Don't believe me, huh?" Tarrant chuckled grimly. "Can't say I blame you. But you are on my ship now. Payment for a shipment." Another chuckle, this time a little brighter. "Guess I kind of stole you since I didn't deliver the goods, did I? Ah, well, not the first time I took payment for a non-delivery.
Another flicker...this time...amusement?
"But that doesn't change the facts. Understand? I wanted you and I took you. You are mine for whatever purpose I chose."
The shutters began to fall before Avon's eyes. "Yes, sir."
Tarrant gave a curt nod. "Good. Now, what I want is to see you eat that food."
Avon eyed the plate, but made no move to eat.
"So that's how it is, is it?" Tarrant demanded. "You have chosen not to eat?"
Avon dipped his head lower.
"This is not going to happen, Avon. I realize you have gone through hell. You may even want to die right now, but I won't stand by and watch you kill yourself. You're just going to have to find some way to deal with what went on in that place I found you, because you are going to survive it, do you understand?"
A slight nod.
Tarrant smiled. "You had better. Now, you have a choice. Either feed yourself, or I will do it for you."
A stubborn jut of the jaw. "No."
Anger flared in Tarrant's blue eyes. "What did you say?"
Ah, Christ. I shut him down again.
"Avon, pay attention to me." Tarrant gently compelled Avon to lift his head. "I won't let you die. Understand? You are not going to die under my care."
Avon sighed, "Yes, sir."
"But you prefer death."
Without hesitation. "Yes."
Resigned to his enforced survival, Avon ate.
*****
Tarrant contemplated the yawning man seated in the second-in-command's chair. Avon hadn't spoken once unless Tarrant had addressed him first, and then only to say yes or no. And if he heard that slightly sarcastic 'sir' once more, Tarrant swore he was going to scream.
How could he have missed the sheer contempt that lie sheathed in velvet under Avon's soft spoken words?
What was he thinking? He hadn't missed it. He'd seen it, recognized it.....Hell, he'd craved the aura of danger that radiated from Avon even as he knelt, weak and defenseless, at Valdar's feet.
"I think it's time we got some sleep," Tarrant said softly.
There was a subtle stiffening in the man at his side, the breath of a soft sigh. Resignation, again. "Yes, sir."
He rose jerkily from his seat, the only sign of his internal distress, a slight stumble.
Tarrant was quick to steady him, and in his action felt the trembling that had the man in its grip.
"Avon," he murmured. "I have no intention of hurting you tonight."
Avon cut him a quick glance, then nodding once, led the way to the quarters he was to share with the man who owned him.
Once inside the cabin, Avon began to strip out of the shirt and pants Tarrant had commandeered from one of his crew.
A long-fingered hand stopped him and Avon looked up into desire-heated blue eyes. "Let me."
Avon couldn't contain the shudder that rippled through him as Tarrant quickly did away with the light blue shrt. Couldn't keep his eyes lowered as the hissing breath rushed out of the man before him.
The anger stamped across Tarrant's face had Avon struggling to stand his ground without cringing while he anticipated the punishing blows he knew would follow.
Tarrant swept Avon up in a comforting embrace, curling his long form around Avon's smaller frame. "How could they have done this to you, my beautiful love?" he murmured against Avon's neck.
Avon stood quietly, unresponsive, in the other man's arms.
After a moment, Tarrant pushed him away, his gaze running over Avon. "You don't want to make love with me, do you?"
Avon dropped his gaze and held his tongue.
"But you'd allow me to use your body whether you want it or not."
More silence.
Tarrant pressed a tender kiss on Avon's forehead and stepped away. "Go to bed, Avon."
Suprised, Avon stared at the man who claimed ownership of him.
Tarrant gave him a sad smile. "I won't touch you...At least not sexually. Just let me hold you. That won't be so bad, will it?"
Avon tilted his head, smiling just the tiniest bit. "No, si...Tarrant. Not so bad."
*****
Tarrant jerked awake at the first scream that ripped from his bedmate, his hand reaching for his gun before he realized Avon was caught in the throes of night terrors.
The second harsh cry was accompanied by thrashing as if the terrorized man were chained. And Tarrant knew instinctively, that the man in his bed had indeed been beaten under restraint.
Gathering the squirming man into his embrace, Tarrant smoothed a hand over Avon's brow, his hair, whispered comforting nonsense words, gentling the dream induced horrors away.
Avon relaxed under his ministrations, burrowing deeper into the younger man's arms, seeking the quiet reassurance. "Tarrant?" he asked in a child-like voice.
Tarrant pulled back to look down into the frightened features. "It's all right, Avon." He pressed a kiss on the sweat-beaded brow, then flicked his tongue out, tasting the salty skin below his lips. "No one will hurt you now."
Some bit of peace whispered across Avon's drawn features. "Tarrant," he purred, tipping his face up to the other man.
Tarrant brushed his lips over Avon's mouth, accepting the gift of his kiss. Avon's lips opened under Tarrant's. Groaning, Tarrant deepened the kiss. And Avon followed suit, their tongues dancing, dueling, sharing.
Tarrant moaned as Avon trailed wet, licking kisses down his chest, following the teasing hand that pinched his nipple to hardness. Avon's mouth closed over the sensitive bud, sharp teeth grazed Tarrant's nipple, sending molten heat to his rock hard cock.
Avon traced a finger the length of Tarrant's cock, making him buck hard on the bed.
"Ah, God, yes," Tarrant managed as his mind turned to mush.
Wanting to share the pleasure, Tarrant reached out and stroked Avon's cock, like silk enclosed steel, and Avon stiffen in his arms.
Tarrant heard the stifled whimper of protest and knew Avon was not riding the same crest of passion he was. Knew he could not let this go on, or he would lose the slight ground he may have won.
"Stop," Tarrant ground out, wondering if it was possible to die of sexual frustration. "Avon, stop."
Avon looked up over the expanse of Tarrant's broad chest. "I am doing it wrong?" he whispered.
"Yes...No...No, not wrong. Just for the wrong reason."
Confusion clouded Avon's gaze. "Wrong reason?"
"Avon, you aren't doing this because you want to make love with me. You are giving me sex, because....I don't know. Because that is how they programmed you, I suppose."
"You do not want to fuck me?"
Tarrant grimaced at his choice of words. "No, Avon. I do not want to fuck you. I want to make love with you." He brushed his lips back and forth over Avon's frown creased forehead. "Go to sleep, Avon. We'll talk about this when I have a little more control."
Avon lifted ever so slightly off Tarrant's chest, keeping his eyes downcast, but watching his master through thick lashes. "Sleep?"
"Yes, sleep," Tarrant ground out, then noticed how Avon discreetly watched him. The devious wretch was making eye contact that no properly trained bedslave would dare.
A quick twist had them in reversed positions, with Tarrant leaning over one very indignant Avon. The younger man, rested just enough of his considerable weight on the squirming man, pinning him effectively, and grinned. "Sleep, Avon."
Avon stilled. "Sleep?"
"Yeah, sleep. I'm not going to rape you," Tarrant murmured, rubbing his thumb over Avon's too obvious collarbone. "That's what you expected, though, isn't it?"
Avon swallowed hard, nodding.
"I told you I would not hurt you."
"Yes," Avon acknowledge that truth.
"But you still expected me to use you with brute force?"
"Yes," Avon responded softly.
"When are you going to trust me, Avon?"
A smile ghosted over Avon's pale lips. "Now," he whispered and tangling his fingers in Tarrant's riotous curls, drew Tarrant to him. "Good night, Tarrant," he murmured, brushing warm lips against the softness of Tarrant's mouth.
Then, without further words, he closed his eyes, his breathing slowing with sleep.
*****
Captain?"
Tarrent looked up from his command chair into the beaming face of his second in command. "Something to report, Jojo?"
"Aye, sir. I've located a buyer for the weapons."
Tarrant's eyes narrowed as a slow itch began at the back of his neck. "You've checked the buyer out?"
Jojo nodded, grinning widely. "He checks all the way down the line."
A frown puckered between Tarrant's eyes. There weren't all that many people who could be checked out this quickly. "Who?"
"Roj Blake, sir. The rebel."
Shock sledgehammered into Tarrant's stomach, cutting off his breath for a moment, until finally his heart started beating again and he drew a shaky breath. He knew now why Avon's name had struck the chord of memory.
Avon was one of Blake's infamous band.
"Find another buyer. There will be no further contact with this man."
A stunned look crossed the young man's face. "But, Tarr...."
Tarrant cut him off with a slashing of his hand. "I said no. We don't deal with Roj Blake, or any other member of his party. Got that, Jojo. No contact."
Jojo looked thoroughly confused, but he nodded. "I'll do what I can." He turned sharply on his heel and started toward the communications station.
Jojo."
The man glanced back over his shoulder. "Sir?"
"Do you know where Avon is?"
He nodded. "I escorted him to the mess about five minutes ago. Sat him down to the contraband steak and eggs we managed to come across, like you instructed, and left him on his own."
Tarrant crooked a brow. "You saw him eating?"
"Aye. Stood over him for a couple minutes, like you requested, then did a fade."
Frowning, Tarrant got to his feet. "If anything comes up, I'll be in the mess."
*****
I do not believe this, Avon thought, staring at the blood that covered his palm. Knives just do not slip in his hands. Not at the table.
But it had, hadn't it? Slipped and gashed his hand wide open.
And by god, the pain, the thrum of blood pumping from his hand, felt good. He could control this pain.
The devil take him, he needed to feel that control.
His hand moved seemingly of it's own accord and a second wound bubbled blood into his curled palm. And another.
Pain vibrated through Avon's wrist, alerting him to the fact that he was no longer alone. The knife skittered across the tiled floor, spattering blood as it went.
Tarrant's long fingers dug cruelly into the throbbing wrist he'd hit. "What the hell are you doing?"
Avon's gaze never left his hand, watching the blood pool in his palm.
"Avon, answer me. Why were you hurting yourself?"
Blood over-filled his palm, dribbling onto the gleaming white surface of the table and he shrugged. "The knife slipped."
Tarrant snorted. "In a pig's eye. I saw you, Avon. It was deliberate. Why did you do it?"
Sighing, Avon slumped in on himself. "The first was an accident," he whispered.
Tarrant went down on his hunches, cupped Avon's chin in a gentle hand and drew Avon's gaze. "And the rest? Avon, tell me why."
Another shuddering sigh shook the wasted body. "Because I could," he said so softly Tarrant had to lean close to catch the words. "Because I could control it." He wrenched out of Tarrant's gentle grasp. "Because it is the only thing that I can control."
"Oh, God, Avon," Tarrant murmured, gathering the struggling man into a comforting embrace. "Avon, I'm sorry. So sorry you've had to go through this hell." His long fingers traced caressing circles over Avon's back, easing the tight muscles under thin skin, until he felt the tension slowly drain away and the stiff body sag against him for support.
"Avon," he whispered, fear tingling his voice. "Do you want me to take you back where you came from? Would that...."
"No," Avon rasped, burrowing for a tighter hold on the younger man. "No, I'll be good." His voice rose with panic. "Don't send me away, sir. I swear, I...."
Tarrant silenced him with a firm kiss, then smiling into the anguished eyes, he backed the man to arm's length.
"You don't want to go back?"
Avon shook his head vigorously.
"Thank the gods." Tarrant swept the man back into his tender embrace, peppering his brow with sweet kisses. "Then you won't."
Avon murmured something to soft to be understood.
"But," Tarrant eased the man back so he could catch his gaze. "I would like to know why you are so afraid to return to the people you knew."
Avon made a choked sound in the back of his throat, then a tiny gesture at himself, dropping his eyes.
"Avon, you are not blaming yourself for what was done to you, are you?" Tarrant demanded. "You don't think you brought this on, do you?"
Dropping his gaze to the blood-spattered table, Avon said, "My master sold me to the slave-traders because I was not good enough."
A scowl pinched Tarrant's high brow. "What? Avon, where did you hear that? Blake was not your master. He was your friend."
Avon tilted his head, slanting Tarrant a curious glance. "Who is Blake?"
*****
Leaning back in the overstuffed chair he'd pulled close to the bed where Avon slept, Tarrant briskly scrubbed at his face, wishing he could erase the words running through his mind just as easily.
Who is Blake?
The cuts and gashes along his back and thighs. Injuries deliberately inflicted on a helpless man.
Who is Blake?
The body that had wasted to skeletal proportions, weak from malnutrition and abuse.
Who is Blake?
The control that had been viciously beaten from a man who, from the stories circulated about Avon, would die to retain his control.
Who is Blake?
A man driven to self-mutilation in a desperate need to purge a demon-spawned nightmare his mind could no longer contain.
Who is Blake?
Whose very past had been stolen from him, and replaced with false memories.
Who is Blake?
Unable to sit still any longer, Tarrant threw himself from the chair and across the room.
Who is Blake?
The dark mantra pursued him from one end of the room to another and back again.
Who is Blake?
God, would it never stop?
He came to a jerking halt over the man who had intruded into his life so suddenly and so absolutely and he knew. There was only one way to stop the words whispering through his mind.
Gliding to his desk, he opened the com. "Jojo."
"Speaking."
"Re-establish contact with Blake. Arrange a meet in the Zed Quadrant. As quickly as it can be done."
"But...."
From the confusion in his officer's voice, Tarrant imagined the man was wondering if their captain had taken leave of his senses. "Just do it, Jojo," he said through a broken sigh.
"Aye, Sir."
*****
Ca-chunk.The sound of a knife hitting wood spun Tarrant away from the observation window where he had been silently contemplating the stars and what he had to say.The knife slammed down again, this time slicing a small nick in Avon's middle finger as it passed to close to the wide spread hand. The blade glittered, gaining speed as Avon pounded the knife repeatedly between the fingers.
Tarrant restrained himself from making a mad dash across the room, instead sauntering over as if he had no cares in the universe. As if the bloody streaks discoloring already scared fingers were of no concern to him.
And inside he died a little bit.
"Have you finished the diagnostics on the mainframe yet, Avon?"
"Yes, sir," Avon murmured not looking up from the blur that was threatening to choke Tarrant's heart from his chest.
"Although why you insist on treating me like an ordinary member of this crew when we both know why I am here, is beyond me."
"You are a real member of this crew, Avon."
Avon snorted and the knife moved even faster. "You once told me you wouldn't lie to me. So why are you lying now?"
"How am I lying?"
"How?" Avon gave a short, bitter laugh. "By pretending I am something more than I know myself to be. By pretending I am important to the ship. By pretending you don't desire me on any terms you can get me." Avon hurled him a quick sneering glance. "You want me. I feel your eyes on me whenever we are in the same room together, smell your arousal when you get close. So why pretend you don't? Why not just use me and make your purchase worth what I cost you?"
Tarrant sat down opposite Avon, hypnotized by the blood blooming along those delicate fingers. "Yes, I do want you, Avon. That part of what you say is true, but I want more than what you are willing to give. I want you to want me. Until then, there will be no change in our arrangement."
Avon shrugged. "I will never want you, master. I doubt if I will ever want sex in a personal way. Emotionally based sex is not to be wasted on one of my station. It's best you take what I can give."
Tarrant shook his head. "Not good enough, my lovely man. And highly unacceptable." He stared at the man before him thoughtfully for a long moment, then added, "I have arranged to meet with a buyer here tomorrow."
The knife wavered, cutting a deep gash through to bone. "A buyer?"
Tarrant winced in sympathetic pain, but held himself firmly in the chair, knowing Avon would become more agitated if he tried to help him. More self-destructive. "Christ, Avon, you can't keep doing this to yourself."
Avon tilted him a glance. "What difference does it make?" he asked, his eyes bright. "I know my value. I would never deface my body so much as to not bring you a decent price."
"What are you on about?" Tarrant demanded, grabbing the knife and flinging it across the room. "You think I am worried about how much you could bring in a sale?"
Avon ducked his head, suddenly subdued. "Your pardon, master. I have no right to question your decision."
*****
Lifting the glass of iced tea to his lips, Tarrant's lazy gaze roamed over the tremendous girth of the man standing at the door, legs braced under him, and arms like logs folded over a barrel chest. Big, hulking and dangerous looking enough to back a sumo wrestler into a corner. He understood why Blake brought that one.
His glance wandered to the woman picking delicately at the buffet of contraband food laid out on a long table against the far wall. She seemed harmless enough, at first glance. But Tarrant had looked deeper into her eyes and saw a killer staring back at him. This sleek tawny haired woman would have been a leopard if she'd been born into the animal kingdom.
And the great man himself, Blake. Hell, he had a head of curls that rivaled Tarrant's own, and just the tiniest glint of madness in his eyes that all fanatics wore like a badge of honor. Secure that what they believed was best was indeed the only way.
Tarrant laid aside his glass and met Blake full in the eye. "You have seen what I have to offer. Does the shipment meet with your approval?"
Blake cast a glance toward his two companions. The big man gave the slightest of nods, while the woman drifted toward them.
"The weapons are....satisfactory, yes," Blake said softly. "What form would you like payment to...."
Tarrant held up a hand, silencing him. "I have a.... favor to ask."
Frowning, Blake sat straighter in his chair. "Ask."
"A fortnight ago I delivered those same armaments to a man who was hoping to use them to overthrow his local government....At least that was the statement he made to me. I suspect it was a little less civic minded, what he had planned."
"You objected to what you think he meant to use the weapons for, then," Blake said knowingly.
"No-o-o-o, not exactly," Tarrant said. "I objected to his treatment of the people who..... served under him. One in particular person."
Confusion darkened Blake's rugged features. "What has this to do with our arrangements?"
Tarrant got to his feet and glided toward the observation window. "While I was there, I came across someone who has since come to mean a great deal to me. Someone who is slowly dying because of what this person suffered at their hands."
"I'm not sure I understand what all this has to do with me."
Tarrant turned, his hands clasped behind his back. "It is rumored that you have an incredible store of medical knowledge on your ship. Knowledge that could put human technology to shame."
"Yes, that's true, but..."
"I want you to treat my.... passenger. I want this person returned to full mental health. And then returned to me."
"You don't ask a lot, do you?" Jenna demanded.
"Those are the terms for delivery of those weapons."
Blake rose to his full height. "Now, just a min...."
Tarrant stopped him with an up-raised hand. "No room for discussion here, Blake. I know you need the weapons. I know just how much you want them. What you need to know is that I want what I have asked just as much, if not more."
"And if we refuse?" Gan asked in his quiet way.
Tarrant didn't answer. He didn't need to. "You love this woman very much," Blake said with a firm nod. "Very well, we will try to help her, but we make no promises."
Jojo slipped from the room at Tarrant's glance. "This person we are talking of is not a woman, but you are right. I do love him. More than I love my own life, or anyone elses."
*****
Jojo breezed into Avon's room and came to a dead stop, staring at the man in stunned amazement for a second before rage returned his voice. "What the hell are you playing at?"
Avon, wearing a billowing white shirt tucked into skin tight pants in such a way as to reveal his heavily oiled chest and bare midriff, uncurled from the overstuffed chair and slinked toward the angry man.
"My master said I was to meet his buyer. I wanted to make as good an impression as I can." He waved a hand toward himself. "Show the wares in as good a light as possible."
Jojo shook his head. "You really are a fool, Avon. You know that?" He grabbed Avon's arm and headed for the door. "Nothing to do about it now. Tarrant wants you there now."
*****
Tarrant watched the door slide shut behind Jojo, then turned back to Blake. "Before Jojo gets back there are some things you should know. Things I will not have discussed in his presence."
Blake slanted a curious glance his way. "His condition is quite serious in your opinion?"
Tarrant stared out the observation window for a long moment, then sighed, saying, "He refuses to speak about what was done to him on that planet, Blake. I do know he was brutalized though. Both physically and mentally. When I found him, he was suffering from malnutrition. He'd been beaten, whipped, his body was covered with numerous cuts and punctures, by the look of them, from razors and knives."
Tarrant rubbed a shaking hand over his mouth as if he might stop the words by the action. "He sleeps very little even now, only when he can't avoid it any longer. And then his rest is disturbed by the worst nightmares I have ever seen."
"What kind of place did you take him from?" Gan asked.
"You don't want to know, friend. And he won't want you to know either."
"Is there anything else, Tarrant?" Blake prompted.
Tarrant turned back into the room. "What do you think? I could have handled that without bringing you into the picture, couldn't I then?"
"If I'm to help him I need to know, Tarrant."
Tarrant nodded. "Over the last few days, he's been inflicting wounds on himself. At first without my knowledge, but now he has come out in the open, cutting himself right in front of me. And if I try to prevent him doing so, he retreats somewhere private and rips holy hell out of himself. I'm scared for him, Blake." He snorted a bitter laugh. "Scared? Hell. I'm terrified out of my skin. He becomes more and more self-destructive all the time. I can't help him, Blake. I believe he will die at his own hand if he is not stopped."
"And you think I can help with this?"
"I think you will give him the best chance."
"Why?" Blake, demanded. "Why come to me? Why not simply take him to one of the rehab centers. They are very good."
""Because if I take him to a rehab, he would be killed once his identity were discovered, Blake," Tarrant said softly. "Like you, he is wanted by the Federation. For treason."
"He told you this?"
Tarrant shook his head. "He has no memory of his past before he arrived in the hands of the Grandmaster. He believes he was sold to the brothel by an unsatisfied master."
Blake frowned. "But you know who he is?"
A slow nod. "The Grandmaster let his name slip. I didn't place it at first, just knew I'd heard the name before. It wasn't until later that I remembered, and realized who he really was."
"Oh, my god," Jenna gasped as the door slid open and Jojo escorted Avon into the room. "Blake...."
"Avon," Gan shouted, taking a step toward the too thin man.
Avon ignored him, gliding to Tarrant's side and drifting to his knees, his head lowered in supplication.
Tarrant stared in stunned amazement at the man kneeling at his feet. "Avon?"
"He thinks he is the merchandise up for sale, Tarrant," Jojo informed his commanding officer. "Wanted to make a good impression, bring you a high price, apparently."
Blake reached for the man who was his friend, the man he believed dead for these long three months, but was too slow.
Tarrant had scooped Avon into his arms, forcing the smaller man to meet his eyes. "What is this, my love?" he demanded, cupping Avon's pale cheek in his hand. "You said you trusted me, Avon. Is this how you trust?"
Avon shuddered. "You said you had arranged a buyer," he whispered, his lashes dropping over disillusioned gaze.
"For my cargo, Avon," Tarrant assured him, peppering his love's brow with butterfly kisses. "Not for you. Never for you."
"Just a goddamn minute," Blake roared, jerking Avon out of Tarrant's embrace. "This is my man. Where in the hell did you find him?"
Avon wrestled frantically in the bigger man's grasp. "Tarrant," he cried, his rusty voice thick with desperation.
Tarrant grabbed Blake's wrist with harsh fingers. "Release him, Blake," he snarled. "You're frightening him."
Blake let his angry glance sweep the struggling man and realized the truth in Tarrant's words.
"Blake, he doesn't know who you are."
"Listen to him, Blake," Jenna said softly. "Let Avon go."
"Avon?" Blake said softly, cupping his former tech's face in a gentle hand. "Avon, I didn't mean to frighten you." He released Avon's arm.
Avon darted back into Tarrant's protective embrace. "Don't give me to him, master. I'll be what you want. I'll be good. I promise, sir. I will love you, I swear, I will."
Tarrant caressed his back with small circles. "It's all right, Avon." His furious gaze lashed Blake. "I ought to kill you for that, Blake. I warned you he was fragile."
Blake nodded, staring at the trembling man. "I didn't think...."
"No, I should say not," Tarrant raged. "This was a mistake, letting you come in contact with him. Take the weapons and leave before you can do any more damage."
"And leave Avon here with you?" Blake demanded. "I don't agree. That man belongs back on Liberator. With me."
"So, you're telling me that the great freedom fighter keeps his own slaves? Is what he told me, what he believes, also true? Did you sell him to the Grandmaster? How about it, Blake, was Avon telling me straight? Were you his master and not his friend as the stories pretend?"
"Don't be stupid."
Tarrant smiled evilly. "Excellent. Then as a free man, Avon can decide where he wants to be, can't he? You can't force him to leave here with you?"
"Don't send me away, Tarrant," Avon said, casting a quick glance over his shoulder at Blake.
"No," Tarrant murmured. "Never. Jojo, take him back to our quarters."
"No," Blake said. "Avon's my man, Tarrant. Not my slave, but a key man in my operation. I won't let you keep him."
"I don't give a damn about your operation, Blake. Avon wants to stay with me."
"You said it yourself," Blake snapped. "He doesn't remember who he was. He doesn't know what is best for him." He laid a hand on Avon's shoulder, urging him round gently. "Avon, you belong on Liberator. You are needed there."
"He is needed here," Tarrant argued. "And more importantly, he wants to be here."
"He doesn't know what he wants," Blake's dark eyes flashed. "He doesn't remember his past. How can he possibly decide what he wants."
"Blake, just a minute," Jenna said softly, then turned to Tarrant. "Is Avon your lover, Tarrant?" she asked, bringing silence with the question.
"That's none of your bloody business," Tarrant finally broke the silence.
"Yes," Avon said quickly. "He loves me. I love him. Go away. Leave us in peace."
"Avon, no." Tarrant said, tipping his head up to catch his eyes. "The truth, love. You do not love me. I won't have you lie about that even to keep you." He glanced at the curious woman. "Avon sleeps in my bed, but we have not shared our bodies intimately. And we won't until he comes to me out of desire, not programming."
"So you do love him?"
"I already admitted that."
Jenna smiled a little sadly. "You asked us here knowing we would take him away because you wanted him to get the treatment you can not get for him any place else. Has that changed?"
Tarrant went white as death. "No."
"You have to let him go, Tarrant. You have no other choice. You have to trust us to do what we can for him."
Tarrant's arms tightened around Avon for a moment. He dropped his forehead to Avon's. "I know."
Avon stiffened in his arms. "Nonononono," he babbled, pushing away. "You promised. You said you would never send me away. You said you would protect me from another brutal master. You promised, Sir."
"Blake won't hurt you, Avon. He's your friend, remember?"
Avon snorted. "I don't know that man. I don't." The knife was suddenly in his hand. "I can't go through it again, Sir."
"Avon, don't," Tarrant said quickly. "Listen to me."
Avon gave a soft breathy laugh. "I can't."
The glittering blade slashed through soft flesh with the precision of a surgeon. Blood erupted from deep lacerations....deadly lacerations across his wrists.
Dark eyes lifted to meet Tarrant's. "Forgive me, master," he whispered, slumping to his knees as his blood pooled around him.
Precious moments were lost as four stunned by-standers struggled to get their minds around what had happened, then Blake recovered his senses and tossed a spare teleport bracelet to Gan. "Get him to the medical unit. Now."
Gan responded without a word, snapping the bracelet around one bloody wrist as carefully as possible and lifting the fast weakening man high in his arms. "Hang in there, Avon," he said softly. "We'll get you fixed up right quick."
Avon turned pleading eyes on Tarrant. "Don't let them, Tarrant?"
The young merc shook his head, tears glazing his eyes. "I can't save you from yourself, Avon. They can. At least I hope to God they can." He cut a nod to Blake. "Take him."
Jenna spoke into her bracelet. "Vila, lock onto Gan's signal and the one nearest his. Direct transport to the medical unit. Now, Vila."
"The medical unit?" Vila's voice squeaked back. "What's happened, Jenna?"
"Now, Vila. Avon has been hurt."
"Avon?" the disembodied voice rose several octives. "But how? Avon's dead."
"Not yet, he isn't, but he will be if you don't transport now. Now, Vila. Now."
Tarrant slumped into his chair as the man he loved blinked from sight. A dry sob ripped from his throat and he dropped his face into trembling hands.
"Tarrant?" Jenna murmured, gently tugging his hands down. "Tarrant, you had to do this. You know you did."
"Get off my ship," Tarrant rasped. "Take the blasted weapons and get the hell off my ship."
*****
Blake entered the flight deck and stopped, his dark gaze fastening on Avon, full of concern. Since his return to Liberator, Avon had grown even more reclusive than before. The man seemed sculpted from ice as he went through his assigned tasks.
Avon had always been impossible. But now, he was overly mindful of his personal space, not allowing anyone within touching range. And god forbid anyone actually make contact.
More disturbing, was the way he cringed when anyone said anything to him, as if the human voice, even his own, was repulsive.
Watching this valued tech, Blake realized that he was well and truly afraid for the man. Avon was close to a complete break down. Too damn close. As if he might break under the softest of breezes.
Blake simply could not, would not, lose this irritating man.
Striding across the flight deck on silent feet, he made his way to Jenna. "Any change?"
Jenna cast a quick glance in Avon's direction. "None."
"Then it's been quiet?"
"Unsettlingly so."
Avon flung himself from his seat, sending the chair clattering across the flight deck and glared at them accusingly, then, without uttering a single sound, he turned on his heel and stormed through the exit.
"Well, that didn't fool him for a minute, did it?" Vila said softly before he, too, hurried out.
****
Stepping out of the steamy bathroom, Avon stopped dead, staring at the man who had made himself at home in the darkened corner of his quarters. "How did you get in here?" he raged, tightening the black bathrobe around his waist with what had to be a painful jerk.
Vila shrugged, grinning. "You really think any lock can keep me out if I want in?"
A dark scowl cut deep slashes in his high forehead. "Vila, I am really not in the mood for...."
"Christ, man...." Vila cut him short, his eyes widening suddenly as the grin faded. "You're bleeding. You've been cutting yourself again."
Avon lifted his arm, watching the blood trickle down the sleeve of his robe with disinterest. "Just a couple slices. Nothing to fret about."
Understanding washed the color out of his face. "My god, you never stopped, did you? You've been mutilating yourself all along."
Avon lifted glittering eyes toward his unwelcome visitor. "Go away, Vila. You should never have come here."
"I don't suppose you would think so." Vila rose out of his chair. "Here, let me take a look at that arm."
Avon jerked away, putting his arm out of reach. "Get out, Vila. Leave me alone."
"You've been alone. It hasn't made you any easier to live with."
"And you think you can help?" he jeered, temper burning in his midnight eyes. "I'd be touched, if I didn't know how much you hate me."
"Ah, now see. You have it all wrong. I don't hate you," he denied, edging up on Avon as if he feared the man would suddenly dart away. "I have never hated you."
Avon's eyes narrowed. "What are you up to, Vila? What's going on?"
The lazy shrug again. "I think you've been pouting too damn long."
Avon pulled himself stiffly erect. "I do not pout."
"Yeah? Well, what do you call it? You've got the entire crew walking around on eggshells, afraid to breach your space. The others think you're about to go all loopy on us." His gaze fell on the bloody sleeve. "Maybe do something stupid again."
Avon had the grace to blush. "I...."
Vila held up a hand. "Don't deny it, man. You've been pouting cause the big nasty thug kidnapped you and did naughty things on your handsome self."
Avon shuddered, slumping into a chair. "Shut the hell up, Vila," he whispered, closing vacant eyes. "Just...shut the hell up."
"He made you respond, didn't he?"
Another shudder raked the pale man. "You bloody bastard," he croaked, bolting toward the bathroom.
Reacting on instinct, Vila intercepted the dash for escape and clutched Avon's uninjured arm, hanging on like a bull terrier, not allowing his escape. "No you don't, friend." he said sharply. "I don't have a mind to watch you slash yourself up anymore."
"Get off me, damn you. Get the hell out of here and leave me alone."
"What? Do I look stupid? I sure as hell am not going to let you be on your own right now. That leaves us with you hearing me out."
"This is nothing I want to hear."
"I wouldn't expect it to be," Vila said softly, dragging Avon back toward him. "But you do need to hear what I have to say. Or, if it makes it any easier to hear, I need to say it. So, consider it a favor to me? For keeping you alive."
Avon shook his head, not meeting the smaller man's eyes. "I'm all right, Vila. Just leave me to it. I don't want to talk."
"Believe me, I would if I could, but I can't do that." Vila leaned closer, brushing a soft kiss against Avon's cheek.
Avon recoiled from the caress. "What in the hell are you doing?"
"If you have to ask, I must be doing it wrong." Vila smiled a gentle, little smile. "I'm giving you a choice, Avon. I won't force the issue, but I want you to give this a chance. Accept what I am offering. Let me take away the pain."
A trembling shook him and Avon jerked away from the smaller man. "You're crazy. I most assuredly don't want any part of this."
"Don't you, Avon? Don't you honestly want someone to hold onto you? Someone who knows what you are going through. I do know, Avon. Truth. I've been where you are. You didn't know that, did you? Didn't even suspect that I might have my own ghosts to banish?"
Avon's dark head swung back and forth, rejecting Vila's words. "I don't...."
Vila caressed Avon's arms in a gentling way. "Let me touch you, Avon. Let me hold you. Do all the things I haven't even dared dream about before." He paused as Avon met his pleading gaze. "Avon, let me love you."
Avon trembled. "Leave me alone. I can't...."
"Hush," Vila whispered, gathering the man to him. "I know. You hurt bad."
"No...."
Vila's hand traced Avon's spine gently. "You're scared."
"No. Nononnononono....." The words flowed into one and he shook his head violently, his beautiful dark eyes glazed with past terror.
Vila clutched his head between gentle hands and forced Avon to meet his eyes. "I'm your friend, Avon. Remember?"
"No-o-o-," Avon moaned, far away in his mind.
"Avon, it's Vila. Vila, do you understand?"
Something flickered in the tortured gaze. "Vila?"
"Yes. That's right. Vila. I won't hurt you."
"Why?" A broken sob forced its way through Avon's quivering lips before he could choke it back. "Why did Tarrant send me away?"
Vila stumbled under the full weight of the man in his arms, regaining his balance by sheer determination. "He didn't want to let you go, Avon. Surely you know that by now. He was afraid you'd harm yourself. When you did what scared him the most, he had no choice."
"My fault," Avon mumbled. "My fault.
"No, Avon. No."
"Valdar was planning to kill me," Avon droned, trapped between memory and reality. "I never knew when I was brought before him which perverted pleasure he planned to inflict on me." His laugh was a dark, dead thing. "After awhile," He lifted a lethargic shoulder. "After awhile, I quit fighting him. It just didn't concern me anymore. That's when I knew....I knew he had taken what he wanted from me and he would soon be finished with me." He paused, his lips curling into a tight, grim smile. "But then Tarrant came for me. A pity, that."
Vila realized that if he didn't break through Avon's depression this beautiful, wounded man would not survive. He had to break the despondency or Blake was going to lose one damn fine man.
And so was Vila.
"Avon, when we were in the prison, you weren't in the general population, were you?"
The man stiffened, as if bracing for a blow and thrust himself away. "You know I was not."
Vila nodded. "There was talk...."
"There is always talk," Avon said harshly, his voice barely above a whisper.
"...About a man. An Alpha. The rumors were the man was in with the Crimos."
Avon seemed to shrink in on himself.
"It was you, wasn't it?" Vila whispered, not quite able to keep the horror out of his voice. "Avon, wasn't it?"
"Yes."
"Gods," Vila croaked. "They kept you in with those animals."
Avon turned his back on the smaller man. "I was not expected to live through the... experience."
"My god, that explains so very much."
Avon spun around, his blue-black eyes flashing fire. "It explains nothing. Nothing, do you understand? And if you speak of it to anyone, to anyone, I will kill them while you watch. Do you understand that? I will kill them, and then I will kill you too. That is what my imprisonment taught me"
"This must have been like it was happening all over again."
Avon's laughter was bitter. "Not quite the same. This time I broke. Crumbled like rice paper."
"I need a drink," Vila mumbled, gliding toward the food replicator. "Wine, sweet. Two flutes. Large ones."
Vila turned back, his chocolate gaze roaming the slumped figure before him. How could he have ever wanted to see this elegant man defeated? It was too much to bear.
Moving back to Avon's side, he thrust the brimming glass at the brooding man.
"I don't want a drink, Vila."
"But you're gonna drink it anyway, Avon,"
Avon arched a sardonic brow.
"For medicinal reasons."
Tillting his head slightly, Avon met the smaller man's eyes. "Why do you care?"
Vila shrugged, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "That would be telling. Come on, man. The wine will do you good."
An answering smile ghosted over Avon's full lips. "You should know, Vila."
Vila cut him an amused look. "Yeah, I should at that. Drink up, my man, 'cause I'm gonna kiss you senseless in about a minute."
Avon crooked an amused brow. "You think I'll let you?"
"Let me? Yeah. In fact, I think you’re dying to let me crawl all over that glorious body of yours." He grinned. "I definitely know I'm dying to do just that."
Avon tipped his head, laughing one of the few real honest laughs Vila had ever heard from him. A relaxed, pleasant sound that rippled all the way to Vila's groin.
"You are really serious about this?" Avon chuckled through the question. "You are willing to make the supreme sacrifice to save me?"
Vila cupped Avon's cheek, stealing a tentative, testing kiss. "No sacrifice, Avon," he whispered against the warming lips. "I've wanted you since I first set eyes on you. Just haven't had the nerve to tell you."
Passion flamed in Avon’s dark eyes His tongue plunged past Vila’s parted lips, tasting the sweet honey wine and even sweeter natural essence that was Vila. A soft purr of the purest pleasure rumbled deep in his chest and he locked the smaller thief in a hungry embrace.
Avon’s fierceness ignited an equal hunger in Vila and he responded in kind, curling his fingers in Avon's black hair and tugging his head back to expose the sleek column of his neck. Starving lips latched onto tender flesh, sharp teeth grazed the skin.
Avon growled deep in his throat, yanking the cloths off Vila before the man knew what was happening.
"Easy, darlin'" Vila cooed, nuzzling Avon's neck. "We're not running any races here."
Avon laughed darkly. "Have all night, do we?"
Vila leaned back in his embrace. "All our lives, Avon. I'm not looking for a one timer here."
Avon stilled, staring at the smaller man.
Vila was suddenly scared. "You...you have a problem with that, Avon?"
Avon commanded the lights dimmed to twilight as he shrugged out of his robe and tipped Vila onto the nearby bed. "No problem, wily thief." He buried his lips against Vila's neck, kissing a sultry path down the man's heaving chest to suckle hungrily on one hard nipple. "No problem at all."
He eased back into the pillows, drawing Vila after him by the mere pull of his kiss. His hands caressed the muscular surface of the thief’s back, drawing tiny patterns of sensual pleasure along the nerve endings.
Vila shuddered under his attention, murmuring his lover’s name and devouring his mouth with a need that rivaled the desire to survive.
Avon’s delicate fingers curled around Vila’s silky cock, sliding up and down the shaft once, as if measuring the other man’s need. An index finger circled the crown, then brushed over the top, spreading pre-cum over the surface. Vila groaned, thrusting into the hand that held him and Avon complied with gently squeezing movements as the rocked the other man’s world just that little bit more.
"Can I touch you, Avon?" Vila whispered, tracing the tech’s darkened nipples. "I want to touch you the way you’re touching me."
"Oh, yes," Avon gasped then gasped again as Vila enclosed him in a gentle hand. "Touch me, Vila. Love me," he murmured.
The need behind those soft spoken words whirled in and around the two lovers, sparking their rush to bliss. Moments later, they fell off the end of the universe together, shattered in the truth that was their love.
It took several moments for the lovers to gather their sensibilities, and when they did, Vila smiled deep into Avon’s eyes. "I do, you know, Avon. I do love you."
Tears brimmed and slipped from Avon’s dark eyes.
And the healing began.
-30-