The remainder of Shory's shirt peeled away as easily as the sleeve had. The hands holding him in place were now Ystav's, a deceptive, almost friendly weight upon his shoulders, with Ystav himself an inescapable presence behind Shory, keeping him still as Arix took the shirt off him, holding the shirt at arm's length as if daring Shory to try to take it back.

 

"No other marks," said Arix after staring for a moment at Shory's arms and chest. "Ystav, anything on his back?"

 

Ystav's hands slipped down from his shoulders, began to trace along his back slowly. "No. Nothing. No marks, no scars. Never saw anything before, either."

 

"So they never whip their slaves?" Arix lilted. "Or were you just a model of obedience and never needed it?"

 

"Stop," whispered Shory. He wasn't sure he'd have a voice much longer. He was drowning upon the noise in his head, the sick rush of it that constricted his breath, closed his throat.

 

"Were you allowed to say that?" Arix asked, running his thumb over Shory's lower lip, a touch which halted Shory's breathing entirely. "Did they like it when slaves fought? I'll bet they didn't. I'd bet--" now he was tracing Shory's mouth with his fingertips; Shory couldn't make himself close his mouth, fighting for air as he was-- "they were whipped if they did that. And since there aren't any scars--" his fingers crept below Shory's chin and suddenly Shory's face was pulled up staring into Arix's; air came to him in a sudden ragged gasp-- "I'm guessing you didn't tell them to stop, either."

 

He'd learned quickly not to. He'd spent the past two years trying to unlearn it.

 

Arix's conclusions about scars were wrong, though, and Shory found himself compelled to answer that. He wished outrage motivated him instead of the feeble indignation that was all he could dredge up. "They don't leave marks," he panted.

 

It was the wrong thing to protest. "Good at hurting you without leaving scars, were they?" Arix's hand circled Shory's tattooed bicep. "Just this pretty decoration. That means, I guess, that you can do a lot to keep a slave in line even without leaving marks. That's good to know." He leaned in. "Really good."

 

Shory tried to flinch away. Ystav was behind him; there was nowhere to go.

 

"I thought," Arix said, his hands moving to Shory's shoulders, "that I'd want to kiss you, first. Because if it was just about--" Arix was momentarily looking for the words, but he settled for the crudity of, "--about me wanting your ass, I don't think we'd ever have had that scene last night. I'd have shrugged you off like an unexpected itch. Not lain awake at night thinking about the shape of your goddamn face." His hand moved to cup Shory's cheekbone in reflex. Shory shut his eyes, but forced himself to open them. He had to see, had to face Arix with whatever he could, even if it was just the wretchedness in his own eyes.

 

"But I don't want to see how you respond to a kiss." Arix's hand dropped to Shory's chest, fingertips resting lightly upon it. "I think that was what I wanted last night. Not what I want tonight. Tonight you owe me something else."

 

"I don't owe you a thing," Shory rasped, meaning it, knowing the truth of it, knowing Arix wasn't listening and didn't care. He wanted to push Arix's hand away, but Ystav's hands had slid down to Shory's forearms, a warning that if he tried to lift them he wouldn't be successful.

 

"You owe us for lying," Arix said. "That's enough." His hand was still upon Shory's chest. "So you can start by educating us."

 

Shory dragged his eyes upwards to meet Arix's. Was there any hint of the pain that had been in Arix's face last night? Was this revenge? It would be less terrifying if that were the source. Shory was very much afraid that it wasn't.

 

"If they didn't leave marks, how did they keep you in line? Tell us." Arix leaned in, looking at Shory as if he would kiss him after all. Or as if the secret lay in the shape of Shory's mouth. Which was trembling so hard, Shory couldn't have answered him even if he'd wanted to. Not that he did want to. Hardly.

 

"They say," Arix said, not waiting any longer for Shory to answer, "slaves in Abasaril are bred for looks. Makes sense to me." Arix's breath could be felt, he was so near. "And that they don't waste them on labor. Well. Only one kind of labor."

 

"Did the trader tell you that?" Shory managed to get out.

 

A snort from Ystav. "Trader didn't have to tell us that. Told us other things, though." Ystav's hands still cupped around Shory's arms, did not tighten, but instead moved lightly up and down them, a caress that was no less a threat. It was the first time Ystav had indicated that he had a similar interest in touching Shory in more ways than just holding him still. "How docile they are. How shy. Kept in line by the same skills they're trained to have."

 

"That true, Shory?" Arix had that tiny lilt to his voice again. "I never thought I could imagine you shy as a mouse. But I'm starting to imagine it." The hand on Shory's chest became an exploration of five fingers, drifting to one side of his chest, finding a nipple to toy with. Once again Shory felt his breath choke off. "I mean, sure, you're always been the quiet type," Arix continued, as if he were not stroking Shory's nipple with interested fingers, "but, then, so is Ystav. I wouldn't have called either of you shy. I guess that's because I think of someone who's shy as someone who's afraid. And I never thought of you as afraid."

 

Arix could not know what the simple touch of his fingers was doing to Shory. He wouldn't know, unless Shory revealed it. But in a moment he wouldn't be able to hide his response. Some masters had wanted to hear every groan from a slave's throat; others had enjoyed the privilege of punishing him for the least sound or startle. So Shory had learned as well as he could, learned to resist the instinct of his body to react with voice or motion, learned not to squirm away or to protest, to keep still except for the unsuppressible reactions of his flesh, the solace of his breath, allowed to gasp when he would have otherwise begged.

 

But he'd been free of such constraints since his escape. Had spend all this time unlearning them. So no one would think he was afraid.

 

A hiss built from the back of his throat; he pulled at the sudden grip of Ystav's hands, twisted to get out from under Arix's exploring fingers. He was only successful in making Arix smile, but at least his hard-won new instincts--that he didn't have to stand and endure this--were intact. "Stop," he demanded.

 

He was so grateful it had emerged as a demand, he hadn't the strength to fight further. Which meant when Arix said, "Hold him," and Ystav's grip tightened further, Shory could hardly even shift his feet as Arix's hands returned to his chest, palms flat upon his skin, the fingers of both hands framing Shory's nipple, and then he bent his head to that raised spot of flesh, already teased to pebbled hardness by his fingers, and drew the flat of his tongue over it. Shory let voice the frantic whine of protest that he was no longer forbidden to utter. Arix acted as if he hadn't heard it, and Ystav only responded by pulling Shory's arms apart, forcing him forward into Arix's hands and mouth, which latched even more firmly upon his skin, sucking the nipple into his mouth with a wet, obscene noise.

 

"No," gasped Shory, beginning to panic again, feeling the uselessness of all the capability he thought he had won. No one was listening to him. Ystav and Arix were stronger than he was and that was the only power that counted here. He pulled again at Ystav's hands, unable to endure the touch of Arix's tongue without movement or noise.

 

It didn't work, not even to shift Arix away. Arix, his tongue still playing upon Shory's chest, was looking up into Shory's face. "You're really sensitive," he remarked, pausing. "Aren't you." He gave another slow lick to the nipple in front of him, and Shory, even prepared with such a warning, shuddered again, gasped. "You are," said Arix, and the pleasure on his face should have been a lover's pleasure, a young man's delight in an intimate discovery. What Shory saw written there instead was something feral, something Arix relished to have caught and wasn't going to let go until he'd wrung the resistance from it. "That's how they wanted you, isn't it? Not able to resist. Falling to pieces over a touch. Bored slaves wouldn't be any fun at all, would they." Arix's hand rose to slither over Shory's other nipple, was rewarded with another convulsion from Shory, seemingly out of proportion for so small a touch, but it had been so long, so long since he'd had hands on him like this. And this was no loving touch. He could hardly blame himself for the violence of his reaction.

 

Blame wouldn't help things, besides. Both Arix and Ystav were witnessing too many things Shory didn't want seen, too many puzzle pieces that would only lead them to hunt for more, seeking to complete the picture. If they did get the whole of it--and they already had too much--Shory would be at the mercy of more than their greater strength.

 

Right now he didn't think anyone would want to rely on Arix's mercy.

 

"So if I keep touching you--" Arix did, both hands stroking Shory's nipples now, leaving him writhing in Ystav's hands and hardly able to hear what Arix was saying-- "you react like this. I like that a lot. What happens if I don't stop, Shory? How can you make me?"

 

It was like ice, like heat, like the shock of needles upon his flesh. All of those literal attentions had been inflicted on Shory, more times than he could ever count, and they were not, in truth, much crueler than the deceptively simple touch Arix was inflicting upon him. Shory's responsiveness had kept him in demand for his services, and being a popular slave in Abarasil was never a good thing for the slave.

 

So, two years removed from his own self-discipline, any chance he'd had to steel himself to Arix's touch, endure it with eyes closed, lips pressed together against sound, as if in fear of a master's discipline...no, that simply hadn't been in Shory's capabilities today. "Don't," he stammered, equally frightened of the look on Arix's fascinated face as he was of the reminder of his helplessness.

 

"Make me stop," Arix said to him, still watching Shory's face, every unguarded wince of it, every twist of his mouth as Arix continued to torment him. The words struck at the dormant root of Shory's memories, the one which told him to obey a command spoken so directly, though Shory did not recall any master giving him an instruction at all resembling this. He did not have to obey. He didn't want to obey, but he did want what the words themselves instructed, and so, awash in painful confusion, he found himself wrenching at Ystav's grip yet again, hearing the chuckle from Ystav as it had no more success than any of his earlier tries.

 

His ability to think collapsed, and so did he; he sagged in Ystav's hands, whimpering as Arix continued to play with his nipples, the stabbing, icy burn of it betraying him just as it had every time, just as it was meant to. He panted, feeling the shocks of it pulse their way down his torso, feeding down to his groin, taking hold of him in a demand that could no more be brushed off than could a master's voice. Once that arousal had him, it was all over. No, once Arix noticed that, it was all over.

 

There was nothing he could do to hide it. The jelly that his legs had become might excuse the awkward twist of his hips, but his trousers weren't loose enough to give him enough concealment. Shory could feel the cloth tightening over his groin as his erection grew.

 

"That didn't take long," Arix laughed, giving the tent in Shory's trousers the same fascinated look. "Just from me touching you like this? With Ystav holding you pinned? Looks like some habits don't change."

 

Another snort from Ystav. "Maybe he does like it. Trader might have been stretching the truth."

 

Arix lifted his eyes back to Shory's face. "No," he said, sounding as if he'd come to the end of a long conclusion. "Shory doesn't like this. He wants us to stop. But it's like that trader said: he doesn't have any choice, does he." He dropped his gaze back to the bulge at Shory's groin. "Tease him and he responds. Let's see if the rest of the rumors are true."

 

Arix took a step back. His fingers went to the tie of cloth that belted Shory's trousers, undid the knot with a moment's fumbling. Shory knew what was coming next, but was more focused on what rumors Arix wanted to confirm in getting the rest of his clothing off him. Other tattoos? The size of his prick? Arix was going to be disappointed if he thought either of those would reveal any mysteries.

 

But once Arix had pulled Shory's trousers off, he did not seen to be looking for anything in particular. He gave Shory's lower body a glance that was simply appreciation, with no hint of calculation in it. Then he returned his gaze to Shory's face as he stepped close again.

 

He did not touch Shory's cock. It was what Shory was expecting, and when it did not happen, when Arix instead reached back to Shory's face and took his chin in his fingers again, it earned a fiercer startle from Shory than the other would have. "If I keep this up--" Arix's fingers returned to pluck at Shory's nipple, and Shory whimpered again, feeling the ache of his cock and his balls intensify as he did, "if I decided not to do anything about that--" a jerk of his head indicated Shory's groin-- "is it true that you'll be a good little slave? That you'll do anything you can think of to earn your reward?" Arix brought his face directly to Shory's, still not for anything as kind as a kiss, but his breath and the brush of his lashes and his wild hair sliding over Shory's skin as he spoke. "My hand on your cock? My mouth? No, probably not my mouth. A master wouldn't give you that, would he. Another slave's, maybe?" Now his lips did skim over Shory's cheekbone. "Pity we don't have any others here. Maybe you'd only get to earn your own hand to do the job. You'd know how to do that, wouldn't you. You'd do that really sweetly." The last words were a hiss of poison. At last Arix's mouth did touch Shory's, but not to kiss; instead he took Shory's lower lip between his teeth in a controlled bite, one that trembled to do worse, Shory could feel it. To draw blood, to bite straight through the flesh.

 

"You know what I think?" Arix gritted even as he bit. He released Shory's lip, licked the side of his face with an angry roughness that nearly equaled the bite. "I think no. You don't get to touch yourself." His lips were at Shory's ear, the words still hissing. "Yes, I think that's the first rule. You don't get to touch yourself ever again. Because I'm telling you you can't. You'll either," he snarled, "obey me because you have to, because I'm telling you and because that's how slaves work, or if that's not how it works--" this time the bite seized his ear, worried it for a long terrible moment during which Shory was waiting to feel it rip, and knew the choked cry the pain and fear of it dragged from him wouldn't stop Arix-- "then because I'll make you sorry you disobeyed me. I'll make you so sorry you won't be able to walk. You understand me?" His hands curled over Shory's shoulders, fingers digging in as if they would puncture. "Want to try me, Shory? Want to find out?"

 

"N-no," Shory gasped. In Abasaril, it was enough for a slave to believe a threat. But Shory knew to look deeper. And what he saw, what he had come to recognize after so many years, was when a master believed his own threats.

 

"Good boy," breathed Arix, and there was no room for untruth in that smile.