Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Yes Master, My Master ❯ Chapter 1

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Disclaimer applies.


Warm pain that lanced up his arm into his shoulder like a thousand dagger brought Quatre back, with a moan. His eyes opened, squinting against the painful brightness that accosted them. Hovering just above his face was another-a pale, familiar face with black hair that brushed Quatre's collar bone.

The young arabian restrained a gasp as he recognized one of his tormentors-the silent one, that didn't laugh, that didn't speak, but stood in the shadows like an approving God. A small smile played across the man's thin lips, and he sat back slightly.

Looking past his captor, Quatre saw he was back in the room of torture and pain-he saw his blood dried on the walls, the all-too familiar instruments-knives, daggers, whips and chains-hung neatly on the wall, not high above the blood stains. By the only door, stood the other two men, staring at him with narrowed eyes.

Quatre wanted to shrink away, but couldn't.

Deceptivly gently hands drew Quatre to a sitting position, and then to his feet. Quatre's teath clenched against the pain that coursed through him as he was forced to stand.

Once the young man was on his feet, the black haired man released him. For a moment, Quatre wavered, unsure if he had the strength to stand, but he set his jaw and locked his knees. He would not show weakness-weakness could be exploited. He would not reveal his pain-pain could b exploited as well.

The tall man before him smiled once again at Quatre's display of detirmination. "So strong, little prince," he whispered, leaning forward and speaking directly in Quatre's ear so he could hear.

Quatre stiffened-there had been no speaking before. There had been little noise-Quatre's screams and sobs; the crack of a whip; the sound of flesh hitting flesh; bone breaking...there had been grunts during the rape, and laughter throughout, but no speaking.

Slim, cold fingers ran down Quatre's broken arm, gently but still with enough pressure to cause some pain. They ran over the bone that stuck sickeningly out of the skin, through the blood that dripped down his arm like a crimson river through light and dark. They paused at his hand, before heading back up.

"So strong, little prince," The words were repeated, as sharp nails suddenly cut into Quatre's skin, right by where the bone broke through.

Quatre bit down on his lip, hard enough so that it bled. He would not cry! He would not yell! The grip tightened agonizingly, and a hoarse shout broke from Quatre's lips. Immediatly, the other hand fell away, leaving Quatre barely standing, gasping for breath that he did not have.

"See?" Came the soft voice-not a whisper this time, but still close. The man held up his hand, which was red and slick with Quatre's blood. "Strong."

Behind him, the blond man reached up to pull down a weapon. Involentarily, Quatre's eyes hifted to him and his compainion, growing wide, despite his effort to keep expression off his face.

The man before Quatre turned and stepped away from the wavering boy. "No," the cold voice commanded, stopping the other sadist in his tracks. "Not now." With powerful strides the shadow deserted Quatre to talk to the others.

Quatre didn't watch-he knew they were deciding his fate. He didn't want to know. He knew he would die-slowly, painfully, with a great deal of torture. It didn't bother him. It was release now.....But how bad would he be tortured before he was allowed to die.

His blue eyes slip over to the wall with it's neatly hanging blades. He could kill himself easily, a dagger through the throat. Quick, simple, relativly painless...

Of it's own accord, his foot inched it's way towards the wall, but Quatre remained frozen, staring at them. Was he so weak to kill himself? Was it the right thing to do?

The group of men on the other side of the room broke apart, and the thought shattered. Two of them left-the bald one nad the blond one, while the shadow turned his attention back to Quatre.

"Little prince," the soft voice commanded Quatre's eyes, demanded his respect and attention. Quatre turned away from the daggers with difficulty as the other man stalked towards him, his boot making no sound on the hard floor, the sleeves of his loose black shirt ruffling with the wind of his movement.

He drew closer until he was standing just before Quatre, staring down into the blue pools of his eyes. "Come now, we leave here,"

A strong hand slipped around Quatre's back, pulling him forward, insisting he walk. Without concious thought, Quatre followed the silent order emitted from the shadowy man. They slowly made it across the room, Quatre's shuffling steps the only sound as they echoed off the barren walls and cieling.

As the neared the room's on exit, Quatre stumbled. He fell, darkness surrounding him like a cloud, and he was in a dreamless state of floating before he hit the floor.