Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Crawford's Slave ❯ a moment's freedom ( Chapter 1 )

The Slave

By Nix Winter

Disclaimers: I don't own Weiss Kreuz. …

Warnings: Slavery, some non con, or close to it. Probably not well lined up with the series.

Crawford stood in the door way of the cell. It was a special cell, that he'd created for this special prisoner. Marble floors, sky lights set so far up into the ceiling that no human could reach them. A single, almost altar like structure stood in the center. Polished oak, smooth, but hard. The person sleeping on that oak altar could have been some incarnation of the moonlight that sculpted him out of shadow and pale flesh. Kudou Youji had been the prisoner of Scwartz for six months now.

His hair was longer, laying in a pile at the back of neck, hiding the silk wrapped steel collar that only Brad had the key to. The body curved over the altar, clothed only in moonlight. It wasn't cold in the cell. Youji had cried because of the cold and Brad, standing there watching Youji sleep, remembered it so well, tears making those great green eyes look large, and so innocent.

It wasn't possible to be fucked daily by four or five different men and still be innocent. Yet, Brad found innocence in Youji. He stepped into the room, pulling the small tube of lube from his pocket as he shrugged out of his jacket. It was hard for him to explain how he felt for this captive, this feeling of comfort, of healing he felt when he came to this room.

Estet was powerful, more than Weiss would ever know. Crawford had asked them for a favor, after watching Farfarello enjoy Youji's company. He'd paid, and would continue to pay for this favor. It had been the first thing he'd asked of them, and would probably be the last. He left his jacket on the floor, polished white linen on cold black and white marble floor. He rolled up his sleeves, just a little, one, two turns on either side.

Youji slept still, unaware of his own immortality or the growing conflicting changes in Brad Crawford. The mark on Youji's shoulder was so small, a lavender fleur de lis, no bigger than an American dime. And yet the cost to Crawford was hard to imagine. He held his fingers above it, imagining it had heat to it, that it should make angels sing or something.

Swartz's slave bore the mark of Airith, an obscure goddess of Roman sex slaves. Youji would always heal from wounds gotten in service to his masters, always be virginal, even the memories of painful, violating sex attacks would fade and blur. It was even said that a slave that bore the mark of Airith would not age as long as s/he were held in servitude to someone that loved them. Crawford had started to suspect that Youji would not age.

He let his hand fall to the slight curve of Youji's hip, stroking the skin, so smooth and beautiful, so unaware of the price Crawford had paid for that. "Youji, wake up."

Even as he said it, he knew the slave was awake, could feel the very slight tension in his body. There was no submission in the blond, no matter how beautiful he was, there was no acceptance that he was nothing more than a slave. Crawford took a handful of blond hair and jerked him up right. Green eyes snapped open, sparking with pride. "Master."

A shiver of possessive … passion? Love? Rippled through Crawford. There wasn't anger in Youji's voice, or his eyes. Pride. Crawford could not presently stop other members of Swartz, or even Estet from using Youji, but he knew that Youji only responded to him, only gave himself to the Oracle. Hand still holding Youji's hair, Crawford leaned close and possessed his mouth, taking over his mouth, stealing his breath almost with a kiss so full of need, need Crawford had no other outlet for. Youji whimpered into the kiss and Crawford thought he could taste something neither of them had in that whimper, in Youji's own need. Freedom. This was where they both found their freedom.

Youji scooted closer, one naked leg wrapping around Brad's expensive linen covered let, fingers fumbled for the opening of Brad's pants. Brad broke the kiss then holding Youji's chin between strong fingers as he searched his eyes, his other arm pulling the slender slave close to him, too close for Youji to get his pants open. "You're a slave."

Brad watched those green eyes, searched them for the missing piece to this puzzle between them. Youji's tongue moved over his lips, moistening them, as if they'd been too dry to speak. "Not right now I'm not. I'm not a slave when I can touch you."

"It's just captor/prisoner," Brad said, explaining this elation he felt as Youji's voice vibrated into him. "It's just Stolkhom Syndrome. I can't be in love with you."

"Yeah," Youji agreed, tucking his head against Brad's shoulder, nearly purring as Brad kissed the back of his head, down to his neck, throat, over the collar, down a chest that bore no scared from rough use. "But I love you anyway."

Crawford cut off Youji's words with another kiss, biting his lips, rough now, his own fingers opening his pants, freeing the erection he'd never been able to get before Youji. He shoved Youji back on to the hard oak bed, hand on his chest to hold him down. "I'm going to fuck you."

Lips swollen, Youji breathed through his mouth, panting softly, as he drew his knees up, holding one with each hand, baring his genitals, anus, soul. "Master."

"God," Crawford snapped, hand gripping Youji's cock, holding it with the same need he'd held blond hair with. "God, Youji, slave, god, how do you make me feel like this?"

He hadn't removed his pants, but his own hardness was free, thrusting into his hands as he coated it with the lube. He got the last bit of it on his fingers and shoved them into Youji's asshole, hard, rough, not caring that Youji was magicked back to being a tight virgin each time. The cry that got from Youji's mouth, throat was rough, raw, venting, but not resisting. Crawford thrust deeply, two fingers into the ring of muscle that couldn't relax, couldn't accept, would hold tight by the magic of the goddess Airith. It was magic that would keep Youji alive, keep him sane, until.. until a time that Brad would not admit even to himself that he was working towards. It was a magic that Brad wanted in that moment to defeat, so that Youji could somehow be his, be destroyed and freed at the same time, to be crushed and Brad could hold him, never have to share him. It was this insane need, roaring jealousy that had him pressing the head of his cock to that tight circle, pressing forward, even has he had to reach up and grab Youji's shoulder, hold him in place as that ring expanded, dilated around Brad's cock.

"Oww," Brad's blond slave whimpered, and it took the burn of rage out of him.

He held still, the hand gripping Youji's shoulder becoming gentle, caressing as he held still between his legs, allowing some relaxing to happen, allowing Youji to accept him. "I'm sorry, Youji."

Youji turned and kissed the hand at his shoulder. "It's always like the first time," he whispered, confused. "Why are you angry?"

The passage opened, so slowly, letting Brad into heat that he thought could not be the way a normal man felt. Slowly, gently, he fucked, riding in and out, his fingers in Youji's hair again. He didn't want to tell Youji what had upset him, didn't want to share that upset yet. "Wrap your legs around me."

Long legs did as he was commanded, hooking his heels above the small of Brad's back. It wasn't as passionate as it could have been. It was more safe, comfortable, Brad moving within him, smooth and slickly, taking his passage in a way that had happened hundreds of times since his capture, and yet, different than ever before. They made love to each other then, Brad pulling Youji up so that he could wrap his arms around him, could pin the slave's erection between their belly's rubbing it against bare skin and silk shirt. Youji wrapped his arms around Brad's shoulders, face hidden against his chest, as Crawford fucked him. "I love you," he whispered.

Crawford made a harder thrust, lifting Youji just a little, a single attempt to aim towards that spot in the blond that would make this feel good for him too. It was just one attempt though, as Crawford wanted the connection, the slow in and out caressing to last for some time yet. He buried his fingers in Youji's hair, curls that were lazy and longer, combing through them as if that could comfort and make the captivity all better. He'd loved him before Youji had cried about the cold, he realized. He'd loved him even before his capture, loved him in some jealous care of his wounded wildness, loved him in no small part because he couldn't predict, hadn't been able to for some time, Youji's movements. That might have been a side effect of having fallen in love with him. "I don't want you to be afraid."

"I'm not," Youji said, squeezing his muscles even as he kissed Brad's throat.

"Will you go away with me," Brad asked softly, so softly, perhaps the only person in all of time who could have heard him was the man he held in his arms.

"Yes," Youji whispered back against Brad's skin. He said it like he was a free man, like he could come and go when he wanted, not as if he were a sex slave chained to an oak altar. "When?"

"Two weeks." Brad said, moving faster, signaling to them both that this moment was about over. "I will be back for you."

"You're leaving?" Fear showed in Youji's voice, fingers slipping around Brad's shirt collar, holding with fragile hope. "Take me with you."

"You can't leave this room. I have your key," Brad thrust, hard, holding Youji to him, lips holding him in a kiss, even as he spoke, so only Youji would hear, know. "Wait for me, don't give up. Don't fight them. I'll be back for you."

Youji's orgasm came with Brad's, warm and comfortable. He'd started crying though, silent tears. "I don't want you to go."

"It'll be better when I return, my beautiful slave. I'm going so I can make it better."

Neither of them spoke more than that. There was no way, no safe way to say with they felt, what the needed. Brad lay Youji back against the oak bed, left him laying there dripping cum and tears. The moment that they'd shared, when slavery was different between them was hidden deep with in each of them. Youji's fingers slipped under his collar, pulling it away from his skin. Slave. Youji remembered that there was a life before this room only when Brad held him. Two weeks was going to feel like forever.