Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Victims Anonymous ❯ Of Slaves and Mercenaries ( Chapter 5 )

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the boys.

 

Warnings: At the beginning of every other chapter.

 

This is the plan: This chapter gives Trowa and Quatre's stories. There's a reason they acted so odd in the last chapter. The next chapter will deal with Wufei and Zechs. After that, I'll get back into the main story line and tell more about Heero's past and how he and Duo will deal with it.

 

Duo is told about the other boys' pasts (the stories in the next couple of chapters), so that he doesn't get quite so upset when the others behave strangely.

 

Chapter 5: Of Slaves and Mercenaries

 

Slave

 

How to begin? Ah. Yes. Once there was a Prince of the Desert…

 

The diminutive blond followed his father constantly. He loved watching him attend his duties. He learned how to be an effective and wise negotiator, a kind ruler, a generous giver. He learned when to threaten and when to simply listen and formulate a calm response. His father was the best leader their tribe had ever had. Most people acknowledged this fact, but there were some who had “ambitions.”

 

Quatre was there when they assassinated his father. Blood splattered his face from the bullet exit wound in his father's back. He barely managed to step to the side to avoid getting hit by the falling body.

 

The normal rules of the tribe indicated that a child of the last leader would inherit the title, to be held in trust by another relative or a close personal friend if they were still minors. But this was not a normal change of leadership. This was a revolution.

 

A small group within the tribe had grown restless and hostile. They wanted to fight. They wanted to steal money and women from the other tribes. Quatre's father didn't think that this was a good idea, so they killed him. Now they were the leaders of the tribe. And they decided that it would be a good idea to get into the sex slave trade. And who better to train first than the son of the hated previous ruler?

 

Quatre was ten at the time. His `training' lasted three years. During that time, he was only touched (sexually and non-sexually) by himself or by the head of the `leadership council.' And the only time the `leader' touched him gently was during sex. Wouldn't want the slave to get too skittish now, would we?

 

Mercenary

 

He was a valued member of the group. Young enough that most people didn't think that he could possibly be an enemy. Still innocent enough that he could look at people and get that honest look in his eyes without too much artifice. Small enough to slip into military installations easily. Old enough that he could pass for a new recruit in their training programs. Sly enough to convince them that he was supposed to be there. Strong enough to break a man's neck.

 

But not strong enough to resist a brutal attack by his comrades.

 

Trowa's eyes widened as the leader of the group stalked toward him, the others following at a slower pace.

 

“We've come to a decision, kid. Ya see, we haven't had women in a while and since you're so small and young and all, we figure we can pretend that you're a girl easily enough.”

 

The fourteen year old looked at them curiously, not really understanding.

 

“Just come here, boy, and we'll be gentle.” The leader said with a leer, darting forward to grab the green-eyed boy. Trowa dodged, but barely. He was against a wall. The door was on the opposite side of the room. Behind his teammates.

 

His eyes darted this way and that, trying to figure out what he should do. These men had taken care of him for as long as he could remember, but now they were scaring him and he thought he knew what they wanted. He just didn't want to believe it.

 

The leader glared at him and growled. “If you don't want to be hurt, just do what I say!” He made another grab for Trowa, but pulled his hand back in a flash when the boy bit him. He screamed. “That's it, kid! No more playing nice for you! Come on, boys!”

 

And they all lunged for him.

 

Slave

 

The blond's head moved up and down while his tongue swirled around the head of the leader's cock. He knew by now to keep his eyes on the leader's if he didn't want to get beaten later. His master looked into the depths of the boy's aquamarine eyes. He groaned as he watched the boy's head bobbing, his tight little mouth sucking him hard. He closed his eyes. He didn't want to come too soon. Finally, he looked down into Quatre's eyes and came harder than he had in a long time.

 

He patted the boy on the head briefly, signaling that he had done a good job and could leave. But as the boy started to get up, he happened to look through the door to Quatre's room and saw that one of the boy's pillows was on the floor instead of on the bed where it belonged. Suddenly furious, he grabbed the boy by the arm and flung him back to the ground.

 

Quatre didn't move. He'd had the wind knocked out of him, but that wasn't why he was so still. He knew that if he moved, it would be interpreted as resistance and he would be hurt much worse than he was about to be.

 

His master never hurt him during sex; on the contrary, he was always very gentle and careful not to damage him. But that didn't stop him from beating Quatre senseless for imagined slights when he was done using his body. Quatre preferred the sex.

 

The leader's foot came down hard on Quatre's back. He didn't flinch and he didn't make a noise. He knew better. The foot twisted, pinching and breaking his bare skin. He didn't move. But when his master reached above his head to grab the whip, Quatre couldn't help the small whimper that escaped his lips.

 

His master grinned, knowing that Quatre hated this more than anything. He also knew that the boy wouldn't do or say anything to try to stop it. He was too well-trained for that.

 

He snapped the whip in the air, laughing when the boy flinched in anticipation. He surveyed the boy's bare back, liberally covered with scars from the past three years. He made sure to whip Quatre at least once a week so that he wouldn't get too spirited. He squinted, trying to find an area that wasn't too scarred over yet. When he couldn't find one, he shrugged and set about to teach the boy a lesson he apparently hadn't learned yet. Quatre just wished that he were getting fucked. Anything but this.

 

It was several hours later when his master was done and he was allowed to go back to his room. He picked the pillow up off of the ground and put it onto his bed before collapsing weakly to the ground, somehow managing to keep his bloodied back from touching the carpet. He didn't want to anger his master again in such a short amount of time.

 

Mercenary

 

They crowded around him, making him nervous and jumpy. And for good reason. They weren't planning to be gentle. Hands grabbed at him, ripping his clothes to expose his slender form. He tried to cover himself, but the leader just laughed and grabbed one of his arms, twisting it behind Trowa's back. Another man stepped in to take his other arm, giving it the same treatment. They pushed him forward until he was further into the room, in the middle of the group of twenty rough, hardened mercenaries.

 

The leader got one of the other guys to take Trowa's arm and keep it twisted like he had. Then he walked in front of the boy, grabbed him by the chin, and kissed him roughly, causing the boy's hair to fall into his face, obscuring one eye. The other eye was narrowed in hatred. The leader looked up into the boy's eye, grinned and walked back behind Trowa.

 

Trowa screamed when the first thick, dry finger entered him. He didn't scream again until he was pushed to the ground and a cock was roughly thrust into his backside. He felt like he was being split open. He wished he was on the battlefield. Anything but this.

 

After everyone had taken their turn, he was left on the dirty floor of the warehouse. They didn't bother to lock the door. They knew that he wouldn't be moving for a while. Or at least … that's what they thought. He waited until everyone was asleep to carefully get up, trying to ignore the blood and semen dripping down his legs.

 

He went back to his room slowly, careful not to stumble and make noise. He grabbed the knife he'd bought for his pretend birthday a year ago. He walked to the leader's room. The leader never woke up again. Neither did any of the other nineteen mercenaries.

 

A few days later, he was healed enough to travel, slowly. He gathered up any of the mercenaries' valuables he could find and brought them with him. He estimated that it was enough to live off of for about a year. He picked a random direction and started walking.

 

Market Day…

 

The master was ready to sell him. He didn't know whether he should laugh or cry. Who knew who would buy him. Maybe they would be nice to their new little sex slave. Probably not.

 

But Quatre put on a brave face, not wanting to anger his master and cause himself any more pain. He'd just been beaten a few days ago and it hurt to stand - the bloody stripes pulled when he straightened his back.

 

He stood straight and tall, though. His blond hair was neatly brushed, his clothes were clean and new, and the master hadn't busted his lip recently. He looked like a little blond sex god. A thirteen year old blond sex god.

 

He tried not to shake as old men from surrounding tribes came to inspect him. Some just looked at his face. Some wouldn't be satisfied until he stripped and showed them everything he had. Some looked like they wanted to lick the blood from his back and whip him again. Some looked at him with pity. None of them were buying.

 

He was really starting to get nervous; the way his master kept glaring at him made him understand that if he wasn't bought today, he was in for a night of pain. He closed his eyes and hoped someone, anyone would buy him. His master must have seen him, because when he opened his eyes, he was there, hand pulled back to slap him as hard as he could. It stung worse than he was expecting, but what caused him to fall forward was the sudden punch to his gut.

 

He fell into the street, sand getting into his hair and on his clothes. His master was just starting to yell at him when a stranger, obviously not from nearby, reached out a hand to help him up.

 

The boy looked hardly older than Quatre. His brown hair obscured half of his face. His one visible eye was a vibrant, sympathetic green. Quatre took his hand, entranced. The boy smiled at him and Quatre wanted to say something worthy of causing that smile.

 

His master was silent behind him. When Quatre had regained his feet, he stepped forward and slapped the stranger. Quatre was astonished and angered. The green-eyed boy seemed to take it in stride. His master was livid.

 

“Do you know how much this boy costs? Do you? He is a premium slave. He will do whatever his master desires, if you take my meaning. He is worth more than your filthy life. Only his owner can touch him.”

 

The boy surprised both Quatre and his master when he calmly asked, “how much?”

 

Quatre's master named a price, far more than he was actually worth. The boy merely shrugged, digged through his pockets, and handed the leader the money. Both slave and master didn't say a word.

 

Trowa grabbed Quatre's hand before the leader could say anything and took off running down the street. Quatre's ex-master just watched them leave, then set about to count his money. It was the exact amount he had asked for. Enough money for someone to live off of for a year.

 

“I guess I'll have to get a job now, instead of wandering.” Trowa said when they reached the edge of town. “Oh. By the way, you're free. I didn't buy you for… what you were intended to be sold for. I just didn't like the way he treated you. But I'd get going if I were you. Before he changes his mind and decides he wants you back.”

 

Quatre just looked into his savior's eyes for a second before pulling the boy's head down to kiss him deeply. Trowa almost panicked, but relaxed when he felt the gentle pressure of the other boy's lips.

 

“What is your name?” The blond asked. “My name is Quatre. My father was the leader of this tribe before that man” he gestured back toward the market, “caused a revolution.”

 

“My name is Trowa. I was a mercenary.” The green-eyed boy said as he brought a finger to his lips.

 

“Well, Trowa. If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to wander with you.” Quatre smiled up at the taller boy, his first genuine smile in a long time.

 

Trowa just looked down at the blond and smiled. Without another word being spoken, they turned as one and started walking towards the sunset.

 

TBC…

 

Author's Note: Please read and review. I appreciate everyone who takes the time to tell me how I'm doing.

 

In case you didn't get it, the only way to calm Quatre down is to have sex with him - sex is one of the few things that he doesn't associate with pain, so Trowa uses it to calm him. He hates using sex for that, but he knows that it helps. Trowa is the dominant one in the relationship.