Chapter Text
The air inside is stale, full of the stench of unwashed bodies, quiet despair, and exhaustion.
A buzzing fly circles around a wooden bowl of fruit before landing on an overripe apple.
A thick hand reaches for the fruit, it’s owner yawning, forced to watch for far too long as a particularly picky customer inspects his “goods.”
— Sir, perhaps I can help you with something, hm?
Half-lidded eyes lazily follow a young man moving along the line of slaves.
— At least tell me who it is you’re interested in: women…or perhaps men…
A greasy look sweeps over the client, draped in wild-animal hides; the heavy game slung over his back immediately stands out. The carcass is in excellent condition—this guy clearly knows what he’s doing, and he definitely has the money to buy another human being…
At last, the buyer shifts his wolfish gaze toward him.
…A somewhat maidenly beautiful face, a taut bow in his hand, and painted lips tell the “owner” everything he needs to know about this person.
The slave trader narrows his already small eyes with satisfaction.
— Men…
With a huff, he spreads his arms.
— You’re in luck: I’ve got boys for every taste…
Several seconds of drawn-out silence pass—enough time for the stranger to engage with him, but alas…
It seems this man doesn’t know what he wants; or perhaps he just came to gawk at what’s being sold here; or both.
Ignored by his own client, the “seller” sighs, idly rocking an empty goblet in his hand.
— Xeno, pour me some wine…
Silence again—only the buzzing of the fly and the faint clinking of chains can be heard.
The copper cup trembles slightly in his brown hand, and, unable to hold back any longer, the slave trader finally snaps.
— Xeno! You’re not a noble anymore! Pour me the wine, immediately…!
— I will not be doing that.
A voice.
Pleasant, stern, cold.
It feels as though the room itself has grown a little cooler from it alone.
Stanley can’t help but turn toward it.
“Xeno.”
That’s what the “owner” called him.
He stands to the right, arms crossed over his chest in an unyielding gesture, trying to hold himself—no, holding himself—with a certain pride and ease.
He doesn’t look like the local “goods” at all. He looks cleaner than the others, dressed just a little better.
Tall and stately, he stands out among others, his entire appearance declaring that he does not belong here…
…How had Stan not noticed such a striking man when he walked in? Was he hiding in the shadows or something…?
Slowly turning on his heavy boots, Stanley strides toward him, stopping right in front of his face and fixing him with a predatory gaze.
White skin. White hair. Black eyes.
He looks like an owl—one Stanley rarely sees, and never quite dares to shoot.
The well-bred man doesn’t even glance at him, instead directing his obsidian gaze somewhere past him—through him, even through his “master,” whom he had just answered.
— We both know there are far more effective and reasonable uses for me and my knowledge than keeping your cup full.
The slave trader grits his teeth in anger, digging his nails into the armrest—he clearly wants to punish the disobedient slave, yet for some reason holds back…?
In a sudden motion, he raises his hand and—strikes the servant girl who rushed in to fill his cup.
She gasps and falls to the floor, spilling wine and clutching her cheek.
Shaking his hairy hand, he huffs irritably, turning away from the consequences of his uncontrolled anger.
Xeno stands, unflinching, now ignoring them both.
Stanley, too, freezes for a moment, blinking in surprise, long eyelashes fluttering, —then smiles with admiration.
“…This man… he’s like a predator lying in wait…”
His gloved hand rises and points straight at Xeno.
— How much for him?
…It seems like someone has taken an interest in him. Xeno flinches in surprise, now forced to meet the stranger’s gaze with his own, a tense one.
— Him?
The “owner” shrugs indifferently, wiping sweat from his brow.
— He’s a former aristocrat, as you’ve probably noticed. I’d feel sorry for him, if not for his terrible temper… — He clicks his tongue in annoyance. — He can read and write, knows astronomy and alchemy, but he’s not fit for hard labor—good for nothing except becoming a bed warmer…
Stanley listens, still watching the otherworldly man before him.
— I bought him for ten silvers. He’s pretty, but not my type… I was planning to sell him in the east to some pervert—they like their whores fair-skinned and light-haired there… Hey, you hear me, Xeno?!
Xeno heard him, but showed no sign, choosing instead to bravely endure the curious gaze of the stranger with painted lips rather than react to the cheap provocation.
The man smiles at him mysteriously and steps closer, face to face.
Xeno instinctively retreats, awkward and unaccustomed. Then, glancing around furtively to make sure no one is watching, he meets the stranger’s burning gaze with his own—silent, pleading.
For a moment, Stanley’s amber eyes widen and shine in understanding.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
The corners of his violet lips twitch again, his honey eyes turning almost mocking.
“Sorry, but I’m not the one who came to save you.”
Stanley steps back and turns to the slave trader.
— I want to try him.
Xeno freezes. It feels as though even his blood runs cold.
The trader sighs tiredly and rolls his eyes.
— You wish. He may not be that young anymore, but he’s still a virgin. No one will buy him tampered.
A silver coin tossed deftly by Stanley is caught by the “owner.” He rolls it between his fingers, smirking, then gestures to a large dark-skinned brute nearby.
In an instant, the startled Xeno is lifted by the knees, his shackled hands pulled up, the chain looped over the man’s thick neck.
Shock robs him of speech; he can’t even move as his legs are forced apart.
Stanley lets the rope slide off his shoulder, and the game falls to the floor with a dull thud.
He removes his hunting gloves slowly, presses his fingertips against the soft calves on either side, and drags two fingers downward.
White skin gets covered in goosebumps under his touch, trembling slightly as rough palms settle on vulnerable thighs.
Smooth. Very smooth.
Even with the tense, almost stone-like muscles beneath.
Reaching the hem of the long shirt, Stan throws Xeno one last mischievous glance and hooks his fingers into the fabric—
— S-stop…
Xeno shakes his head, but he must sound utterly unconvincing, because in the next moment the linen shirt is lifted, exposing his “shame” completely.
His owner snickers nastily, watching as the particularly troublesome slave finally gets what’s “coming” to him.
And Xeno himself looks as though he might die of shame at any moment.
His ears burn. His cheeks burn. Even his eyes burn…
Not knowing where to look, he lowers his head.
From below, warm—almost too gentle—eyes look up at him.
Painted lips narrow, then press against the inside of his thigh, only to pull away again with a soft, audible smack.
The stranger repeats it, in different places, dirtying pale skin with sticky saliva
Xeno’s body flinches each time under the touch.
A tongue slips between purple lips like a snake and, ignoring incoherent pleas to stop, presses against a hardening member—
Xeno throws his head back, startled by the moan that escapes his chest.
He struggles as best he can, writhing in the firm grip, kicking his legs, mumbling something desperately in a shocked, breaking voice.
But the imposed lover is unwavering in his intent to pleasure him—now with lips, mouth, and…tongue?...
His body jerks each time the man takes him deeper—tighter, hotter…
Through the softness of smooth lips and the narrow line of teeth, straight inside a tight throat.
— Enough…!
His brows knit together as he shakes his head rapidly.
Stanley only grins, not even considering stopping. He’s beginning to understand why everyone seems so eager to have their way with aristocrats.
All he did was take him in his mouth, and Xeno is already going insane from pleasure.
— Hunter, if you’d be so kind… — the slave trader drawls lazily, swirling the now-filled copper cup in his hand. — Don’t put anything inside him.
He smirks, clearly enjoying the show. For him, the situation has turned out perfectly: not only has he gotten revenge on a difficult slave, but he also gets to watch one beautiful man pleasure another.
Stan pulls back reluctantly, arching a light brow.
— Even tongue…?
A satisfied chuckle answers him, along with the faint slosh of wine.
— Tongue’s fine.
At that, Xeno thrashes even more violently in the man’s grip.
— Don’t you dare…!
The already firm grip tightens, forcing him into an even more uncomfortable position.
The stranger leans in again, his tongue trailing lower, rolling over his balls before he sucks on them, while his thumbs spread white buttocks.
Xeno nearly chokes on shame and outrage as he feels the bold touch to his anus.
— There?!
He struggles wildly again in a firm hold.
— That’s enough…!
He freezes as he feels persistent pressure on his sphincter, then lets out a languid whimper; his body goes slack as a nimble tongue starts wiggling its way forward.
He doesn’t know how long it lasts—by the end, he manages to shut his mind off entirely. His head spins and the room blurs: the owner’s ugly grin, the sympathetic faces of the other slaves, the stranger’s head between his legs—all merging into something indistinct.
And then he cums.
Semen hits Stanley right in the back of his throat. He scrunches up his nose a little and chokes a little bit, but doesn’t pull back, just swallows it up fully and licks the cock clean.
He straightens, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looks into Xeno’s now-empty black eyes and reads…full satisfaction.
Slowly, Xeno is lowered to the floor, where he sits for a while, head bowed in shame.
As he comes back to himself, he catches fragments of a conversation—he’s been sold for a mere ten silver coins… eleven, if you count the one paid to “try” him.
“…Fine, then.”
To his former master, he had been nothing but trouble, so it’s no surprise he was disposed of so quickly and easily.
…After a while, a warm fur cloak is draped over his shoulders heavily, and a calloused open hand appears in his field of vision.
Xeno raises his own hand in a firm gesture, refusing the help, and stands up on his own.
Dusting himself off, he walks away with dignity. Only once does he glance back quickly at his “new master” before fixing his gaze on the exit.
Strangely enough, the aristocrat recovers from his “humiliation” rather quickly.
Stanley even lets out a low whistle as he watches him—and the moment he finishes paying, he moves to walk alongside him.
“…An astonishing man, this Xeno. He definitely made the right choice, coming to a place like this…”