limb from limb if he struggled too much. He lay still, trembling from the strain on his arms and legs, and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to concentrate on breathing.
Treize sauntered back towards them, eyes feasting on the lovely form spread out before him. The ragged clothing had hid it very well, but Maxwell was actually quite clean, under his clothing; his form was lithe and toned from years of hard living in the woods, and firm with the beauty of his youth. His smooth, pale, flawless skin made Treize’s eyes spark, already seeing the art which could be painted on that canvas. The riding crop shivered in his hands, and he forced himself back into control. There would be time for that, yes, there would be time. But he could not allow himself to rush, for this boy might yet become his masterpiece.
He stopped when he was standing right over the boy, and casually squatted between his wide-spread legs. “You hid that knife quite well,” he said in a deceptively smooth tone. “Are you hiding anything else from us, I wonder?” he asked. Casually, he prodded the boy’s exposed entrance with the handle of the riding crop, watching the exquisite emotions that played out on the boy’s face. The little cry that escaped his throat, and the desperate, useless clenching of the muscles in those creamy thighs as he struggled to close his legs only confirmed what Treize had suspected. The boy was a virgin, there could be no doubt; had he even lain with a woman before? With the last seven years of his short life spent hiding in the bush, Treize was willing to bet not. He pressed a little harder.
“Get your... get your dirty hands off me!” Maxwell panted, his tone still filled with fury and hatred. Treize considered for a moment, then rose back to his feet, not without regret. But he could think of better ways to spend that virginity than here.
Instead, he calmly placed one booted foot in the center of Maxwell’s chest, and leaned forward. “Perhaps there is something you do not understand,” he said condescendingly. “I own you, slave. From this day forth, you will address me as Master.”
Violet eyes shot open, and glared into his. “Nobody owns me,” he snarled. “I’m not a thing for you to own!”
“Is that so?” Treize leaned a little further, putting more of his weight into that leg, slowly driving the breath from Maxwell’s lungs. “Perhaps not before, boy, but that changed when you were defeated. To the victor, go the spoils, and ownership of you passes to me. And mine.”
“Bastard...” The word leaked from the boy’s mouth, but he was struggling for air now.
“Now say it.” Treize shifted his weight slightly, so that his boot was pressing to the ribs on one side of the breastbone.
“No!” Duo gasped, clinging stubbornly to the last of his resistance.
Re: To the Victor
Date: 2006-02-27 11:11 pm (UTC)Treize sauntered back towards them, eyes feasting on the lovely form spread out before him. The ragged clothing had hid it very well, but Maxwell was actually quite clean, under his clothing; his form was lithe and toned from years of hard living in the woods, and firm with the beauty of his youth. His smooth, pale, flawless skin made Treize’s eyes spark, already seeing the art which could be painted on that canvas. The riding crop shivered in his hands, and he forced himself back into control. There would be time for that, yes, there would be time. But he could not allow himself to rush, for this boy might yet become his masterpiece.
He stopped when he was standing right over the boy, and casually squatted between his wide-spread legs. “You hid that knife quite well,” he said in a deceptively smooth tone. “Are you hiding anything else from us, I wonder?” he asked. Casually, he prodded the boy’s exposed entrance with the handle of the riding crop, watching the exquisite emotions that played out on the boy’s face. The little cry that escaped his throat, and the desperate, useless clenching of the muscles in those creamy thighs as he struggled to close his legs only confirmed what Treize had suspected. The boy was a virgin, there could be no doubt; had he even lain with a woman before? With the last seven years of his short life spent hiding in the bush, Treize was willing to bet not. He pressed a little harder.
“Get your... get your dirty hands off me!” Maxwell panted, his tone still filled with fury and hatred. Treize considered for a moment, then rose back to his feet, not without regret. But he could think of better ways to spend that virginity than here.
Instead, he calmly placed one booted foot in the center of Maxwell’s chest, and leaned forward. “Perhaps there is something you do not understand,” he said condescendingly. “I own you, slave. From this day forth, you will address me as Master.”
Violet eyes shot open, and glared into his. “Nobody owns me,” he snarled. “I’m not a thing for you to own!”
“Is that so?” Treize leaned a little further, putting more of his weight into that leg, slowly driving the breath from Maxwell’s lungs. “Perhaps not before, boy, but that changed when you were defeated. To the victor, go the spoils, and ownership of you passes to me. And mine.”
“Bastard...” The word leaked from the boy’s mouth, but he was struggling for air now.
“Now say it.” Treize shifted his weight slightly, so that his boot was pressing to the ribs on one side of the breastbone.
“No!” Duo gasped, clinging stubbornly to the last of his resistance.