I thought I'd share Tigre and Palin's first meeting from Caged.
Palin leads a well-ordered life, needing peace and quiet after spending his days working as an information broker, reading minds for money. Which is why Tigre seems like such a strange choice for him as a lover.
When Palin sees vala Tigre in one of his mindreading forays, he knows he has to have him, despite the fact that the man has been created for two purposes; fighting and pleasure. Together they build a new life, one of pleasure and pain, of love and discipline. When life threatens to tear them apart, they fight to keep the home they’ve created, even if the obstacles they must overcome are within as much as without.
This Sean Michael Classic was originally published by Torquere Press.
It's available at Amazon and at All Romance Ebooks!
He hated this part most of all.
The fucking was all right, the hurting good and deep, the fighting fabulous. But this -- being trussed and gagged, oiled and gilt and displayed like some pointless fucking show pony?
He despised it.
He bit down into the gag, groaning as the Owner kicked his thighs further apart. His head and neck stretched painfully, anchored to the wall by his hair, plaited and gathered and twined around a shining hook, and he could only look up, see the naked, writhing bodies upon the invisi-tile above.
"You'd better get it up, vala, or I'll fry your balls off your body."
He tried not to roll his eyes -- really -- but the fact was that he wasn't old or common and he fucking knew his worth. Men paid well for the good fight, to subdue one who fought with true fury. Everyone knew anger grew from the balls.
Still, he didn't quite manage to swallow the look and the ring beneath his loincloth vibrated, sending a single, sharp warning shock through him. He felt his cock fill, press against the black vinyl draped over his hips.
"S-s-sahib F-f-f-avila?" The voice was soft, the stutter unmistakable. "I've c-c-come f-f-for your v-v-vala."
The Owner chuckled, he could see the lights shining off the jeweled earring as the man shook his head. "I believe you are in the wrong place, friend. This vala is not for one small as you. You're searching for Sahib Jalen."
Soft footsteps drew nearer and he could feel the weight of this one's eyes. "N-no. I w-w-w-want him."
"You want--" The Owner's laugh filled the room. "He'd eat you alive in three bites -- two if he's lucky. This vala is no cuddly bear, no gentle giant. He's a fighter, he has his balls, his will. You don't want him."
"You d-don't kn-n-now m-m-me. You m-make assump-assumptions. Y-you are w-w-wrong."
A gentle hand slid along his neck, fingertips following his stretched skin. Gooseflesh followed behind the touch, his body vibrating as he fought not to struggle against his bonds.
"Okay. No offense meant." The Owner sighed and the shock came to his balls again, sharp and short. "How about you try him out? Fight him, fuck him. Test his strength. He's an expensive piece of flesh."
"N-not t-try. B-b-buy." Despite the stammer, the voice was sure, and the soft touches never stopped.
"You want to... No one wants to buy him. No one will keep him."
He began to shiver, panic filling him. Buy him?
No one tried to buy him.
The stroking hand moved to his chest, touching his nipple ring very lightly before tracing his collarbones. "I w-will keep h-h-him."
"And when they find you beaten and bloody in your up-level rooms? This isn't a toy, not a 'bot or a holowhore at all."
"W-w-w-w-w-what d-d-do y-you c-c-c-care?" The fingers on his skin curled around his arm as the voice stuttered badly and then the hand was gone. "I'll c-call and have y-y-your license r-rem-moved."
"Now hold on! I just was worried about your well-being." The Owner's face appeared suddenly, cheeks crimson and eyes glinting. "Hate these silly rich uptowners. Don't get excited. He can't handle you. He won't buy you and he won't give you a name."
He forced his tension away, focusing only on the pull in his jaw, his neck, his thighs.
"Two hundred thousand commocreds and he's yours. The rate changes with rarer currency."
"D-d-done. Untie h-him."
"Untie him? You... you're serious?" Suddenly his hair was untied, his head falling forward. The world swam, blood throbbing as he fought to catch a glimpse of the owner of the broken voice and gentle hands.
Covered in a voluminous cloak, it appeared his soon to be new owner was a boy, certainly no more than twenty years, if that. The fine chin was stubbornly set, light glinting off of windows over his eyes. The boy was handing his Owner a money-card. "M-m-make the tr-tr-transaction."
The Owner was right. This boy could not take him, could not even hold his own for a single blow, much less a fight. No one had kept him. No one but the Owner.
The Owner took the card and the boy turned, coming over to him, blue eyes wide and curious behind the windows.
"W-what's y-y-your n-n-" The boy shook his head, a frown appearing, "n-name." The boy half-turned back toward the Owner. "W-w-what's his n-n-name?"
"Vala." The Owner came back into view, handing the boy his card. "Your money's good."
The frown was back. "Vala? N-n-no, that w-w-won't d-do." A sudden smile lit the overly serious face. "N-no w-w-wonder he is s-so g-grumpy -- w-w-with no name."
He blinked, eyes moving, almost panicked, from the Owner to the boy. A name? For him? His own name?
"Name him what you will. He's yours. It's going to cost you a ten percent penalty when... I mean, if you have to return him."
"W-what d-do y-you think of Tigre?"
He realized the boy was looking straight at him, the question had not been directed at the Owner. The boy's next words, though, were imperious, despite the continuing stammer. "K-k-keys."
The Owner handed over a series of small key cards, all attached to the control to the ring around his cock and balls. He tensed, hands balling into fists behind his back.
"Here you go. You want him sedated or stunned? We don't let 'em just walk out, you know?"
The boy shook his head and held up the controller. "W-w-we're fine." Then his new owner began to unlock him.
He looked over to the Owner, a questioning moan leaving his throat. Walk out? But he hadn't left since he'd come. Even when they'd bought him, before they brought him back, they'd tried him, fought him, fucked him here.
This was where he was.
Warm hands, gentle but implacable, took his face and turned it back until he was looking into the boy's face. "I own y-y-you. M-me. N-n-not him."
His breath was coming quick, hands clenched, the temptation to strike out struggling with the urge to press back against the wall and feel the solid normalcy of it. He had been the Owner's forever, for years, from before he was even a man. No one kept him.
The hands stroked gently over his cheeks, the boy's blue eyes staring down into his own. "You will obey me."
His head was shaking, eyes searching for answers. Blue. The boy's eyes were blue.
His new Owner -- his Eiba? It couldn't be -- had blue eyes.
In a matter of moments he was released from his bonds and the boy stood back. "Stand and follow." Without another word or glance back, the boy turned and headed for the door.
He groaned, eyes fastened upon the Owner, who simply smiled and nodded. "Go on then, vala. You'll be back where you belong soon enough. No worries."
He stood slowly, getting his balance before taking a step forward, heading toward the door.
"B-b-belongs w-with me," the boy told the Owner as he walked by. Then the hood was pulled up over the boy's head, the dark silver concealing.
He followed the slight figure, steps slow and unsure, heart pounding in his chest. The temptation to attack the figure before him grew with each motion; whenever he left the room to move down this hall he was going to fight. To fuck. To battle.
"Stay close." The order was softly issued. "Espec-cially outs-s-side."
He stopped short. Outside. He remembered outside. They never went outside, the vala here. Never. He keened through the gag, head shaking.
The boy turned and made a noise. "S-stupid. F-f-forgot."
The gag was removed and the boy frowned up at him. "The c-c-car w-w-will t-take us home, b-b-but it is in the st-st-street."
"Street, Kelme?" He swallowed hard, clearing his throat. "Forgive, but they do not allow vala outside the building."
"Eiba. Y-y-you're n-not vala -- Tigre n-n-now." The boy turned again and began walking. "Follow me."
"Eiba." He stepped forward, and then again and again -- each step that he took without pain giving him confidence.
The doors swished open as his Eiba drew near and the boy stepped through them effortlessly, half-turning, waiting for him. He braced himself -- he had seen a vala step outside once, saw him writhe upon the ground as his balls and wrists and ankles fried -- frowning and growling low, and then he stepped outside, waiting for the worst.
"This w-w-way." His Eiba headed away from the building.
His eyes were huge, staring at the things he had only seen through windows, and he hugged the wall of the building, following slowly. The boy walked along, seemingly unconcerned by the people that thronged along. His Eiba seemed to almost float, his feet covered by the robe he wore. The boy turned suddenly and came back. Trying not to cringe, he waited for the pain, but instead, the boy took his hand in a small one and continued to walk.
He followed, dazed by the smells and colors that were everywhere and the solid warmth in his hand. It was surprisingly cold outside compared to the inside and the air was wet, too. So was the ground.
"H-here," said the boy, darting suddenly through the crowd, dragging him behind. He was pulled through a small, low door after the boy, who only let go of his hand once they were both seated.
He closed his eyes and then opened them again, alternating between not wanting to miss anything and not wanting to see anything at all.
The boy took his hood off and spoke softly to the man in the front of this car. They began to move when the boy sat back. The motion made his stomach spin and his eyes slammed shut. He could look later.
"Are y-y-you s-sick?" The boy's voice was soft and gentle, concerned. As was the hand that touched his arm.
Sick? No. He was unnerved and dizzy and completely disoriented and utterly unprepared for this. He was not where he belonged, in a car -- a car, what would the One whose Marks were Golden and the One with Only One Eye say when he got back and told them? -- with this very small, very confusing Kelme, and going somewhere he didn't know. He was angry and concerned and thirsty and more than a little scared. But sick? No.
The car made a motion and his stomach felt like it had been left behind, snagged on the corner of a passing building.
Okay, maybe a little sick.
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