if it was death, but just as he could almost touch it, his ankle was jerked to a stop by the chain
that bound him, and he fell hard upon one knee.
For long moments he stayed there, shaking; then he rose and turned to face the Nazarian.
They were both silent; then slowly Vanyae rose to his feet, and Anyar clenched his hands
into fists as the prince approached. When they were face-to-face, Anyar realized with rising fear
how very large this man was; his own head just barely reached Vanyae's shoulder. Vanyae had
the experienced muscles of a true warrior, whereas Anyar's were sleek with youth, not yet to
their full power. He felt small and threatened in a way he had never thought of before.
A long-fingered hand reached out to touch the young guard's cheek, and he jerked away,
beginning to breathe in the quickened gasps of panic.
The fingers paused.
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“It is your decision to make, Anyar. If you find me repulsive, you may choose another, but
you will not be leaving this place, and I cannot promise that anyone else will see the beauty of
your wings the way I do.”
Vanyae stepped back and away, seating himself once more at the table, not wanting to
pressure the boy any more than he already had. He put one hand on his forehead and massaged
his suddenly aching brow. If only he did not seem almost to
need
Anyar. That, he could not
comprehend, and for a wild moment, he almost wanted to give Anyar away, rid himself of these
feelings he did not understand.
The room was silent for long moments, only the faint sounds of Vanyae continuing to eat,
his thoughts turned inward. He almost startled when Anyar came to stand before him.
He looked up in the golden eyes, seeing the fear there, yet also a certain strength beyond
his years.
“You will not take my wings?” The words held the merest tremble.
“I will not, by my word.” Vanyae's tone held a fervent vow. He could not imagine the
atrocity of destroying so beautiful a thing as those wings.
“You will see that my surrender keeps my commander safe? You will not hurt him?” The
young voice shook further, then firmed with determination to see his leader protected.
“I will.” Vanyae's tone held truth.
Anyar stood silently then, searching the prince's eyes. He had so little choice and yet…this
man had at least saved his wings.
He shuddered. His anger at his own taking warred with his fear of the unknown. He stood
his ground as Vanyae rose from his seat. Their eyes met and held.
Anyar thought of Tanyan, of how he could keep him safe, and the reminder held him still
when the fingers returned. He trembled under the light touch, no matter how hard he tried to
think of bravery. He closed his eyes and remembered Tanyan's touch and how much he had
yearned for it. He gathered his courage and stilled his body. No matter what this enemy did to
him, he would hold that precious memory dear and close to his heart. This was only his body; it
could be used and tormented, but no one could touch his heart and soul unless he let them. They
were Tanyan's. He only had to endure.
“Open your eyes.”
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He did so, calmer in himself, meeting the intent eyes with no expression.
The light touch trailed down his throat, whisper soft.
“Good boy, Anyar. My brave one. I will not give you hurt unless you rebel. That I will not
tolerate any more than your commander would. As you were under his command, now you are
under mine. You would have been disciplined there if you disobeyed, so will it be here. It is not
so very different. You only fear what you do not know.”
The touch slowly traveled down to his chest, pausing to let a thumb gently circle a nipple.
It woke, rose to a hard point, and Anyar flushed, trying desperately to control his body's
involuntary response.
Vanyae watched with avid eyes. “So responsive, so beautiful.”
Anyar wanted to sink into the floor. It took everything in him not to push the prince away.
Green eyes met his. “Is this your choice, Anyar? Do you give yourself to me?”
Anyar jerked at the words. Golden eyes glared with hatred, but there was no real choice—
he knew that; his captor knew that.
With contempt, he turned his back on Vanyae and strode to the bed, angrily untying his
pants, and flung himself facedown and spread his legs, suddenly just wanting to get this over
with. Give the bastard what he wanted; then maybe he would leave him alone for a while.
Gentle hands unclipped the delicate yet strong chain that had held his wings together above
his head, and he could not restrain a heartfelt sigh of relief as he could finally spread them,
easing the ache. He stretched them wide with a faint moan at the pain, then let them touch the
floor on either side of the bed.
The bed dipped as Vanyae knelt on it, looming over Anyar like a predator. Anyar
swallowed hard, his hands slowly clenching into the sheets, eyes staring blindly.
I can do this. It
is only my body. The body does not matter…
He repeated the silent words like a mantra but could
not control the small gasp that left his lips at the first touch upon the skin of his back, just above
his wings. The fingers were light, almost tickling, and then they went to his wings, stroking the
smaller feathers at the base, then following along as they grew larger. The touch returned to the
extremely sensitive area just below where his wings emerged from his back, and he twitched,
almost holding his breath.
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Those fingers trailed down his spine, circling in the hollow just above his buttocks; then
Anyar froze utterly as hands stroked downward and explored every curve and hollow. He closed
his eyes tightly as fingers parted his buttocks, and he could feel the avid eyes like fire upon his
skin. He could not control a shudder of revulsion at this intimate exposure, and his breath failed
entirely as a finger touched his opening, the first touch of another there.
His entire body tensed, protested silently, as he awaited the invasion, but to his surprise,
the finger merely traced over the surface and then retreated, continuing down his thighs lightly.
He sighed at the utter relief he felt at this momentary reprieve. The hands traced upward
again and began to knead his back right where the pain was worst from his hard landing.
He yelped, then gradually eased as the talented touch worked into the muscles, forcing
them to unknot, unclench. He could not prevent a huff of relief escaping his lips when the knots
finally gave way and there was only a tingling sensation, utter bliss.
That same relaxation disappeared the moment Vanyae told him to turn onto his back,
though he knew he would feel safer that way. After all, slaves were taken on their knees—
weren't they?
He folded his wings, then rolled over. He refused to meet his captor's eyes even when
Vanyae leaned over him, his tongue coming out to lick Anyar's lips, then force its way into his
mouth, sweeping the inside, touching every part of him, claiming.
Anyar stayed limp, unresponsive. He may have to do this, but damned if he would give the
bastard the slightest satisfaction of a response.
Vanyae did not seem to demand one. He did not seem angered by Anyar's defiance; he
simply continued with his light touches and kisses, gradually moving his hands down until he
grasped Anyar's limp shaft.
He began to press and squeeze, rubbing his thumb deeply at the base. To Anyar's horror,
his shaft began to harden despite his utter disgust at the situation, and in his innocence, he could
not conceive of the reason. He did not think of it being an automatic response of the body; he
only saw it as some sickness in himself that he could respond in such a manner to this man, his
captor.
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Anyar watched with fear-filled eyes as the prince paused, then reached to the bedside table
and retrieved a small vial of oil. He dipped one finger into it, and then that finger disappeared
from Anyar's view, only to press against his most intimate entrance.
He bucked his hips, then gave a grunt of pain as the finger pushed into him without
warning, deeply.
It was not terribly painful once it was seated, but acutely humiliating, and he froze in place
and closed his eyes as the finger began gently moving in and out in a parody of what was to
come.
When a second finger began its penetration, he tried uselessly to avoid its touch, making a
sound in his throat as he felt them delve deeply, then begin to scissor, stretching him.
He bit his lip until it bled, squeezing his eyes shut more tightly as a third finger slid in,
intensifying the pain. Dear gods, this was what he had wanted with Tanyan? How could he have
been so foolish? Why would anyone want this horror?
Gradually he seemed to stretch enough that the pain ebbed to a bearable level. The fingers
kept up their movement in steady rhythm, and he stared to the side and tried desperately to give
no reaction. He could feel Vanyae's eyes upon his face, watching every nuance of expression.
The fingers curled, and his hips shot into the air in reflex at the intensity of sensation that
burst over his consciousness. Despite his best resolve, a shocked cry left his lips and was cut off
as Vanyae swallowed the sound in a deep kiss.
He writhed in disbelief as the sensations continued, the fingers rubbing without mercy over
some point in his body that he had never known, never conceived of.
His hips moved of their own volition, no matter how hard he tried to control them; they
thrust in time with Vanyae's movements, and he felt himself tightening, hardening, ready.
The fingers pulled out, and he collapsed, panting, wide-eyed, unable to move when Vanyae
came over him and lowered his hips into the cradle of Anyar's trembling thighs.
Something nudged at his body, then began to push inside, and he arched with the pain,
fighting.
Vanyae was patient; he held there until Anyar's muscles shook with strain, relaxed that tiny
amount. Then he thrust just within.
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The young guard screamed, began to fight like a wild thing, thrashing and writhing
beneath his captor's body.
Vanyae rode it out, watching, waiting…
When total exhaustion claimed Anyar, when he collapsed back to the bed, then Vanyae
patiently began pushing in farther, a bit at a time.
Anyar bit his lip until blood ran down his chin, the pain too shocking to even move against.
He fought the whimpers that wanted release, fought the urge to beg for mercy.
At last the movement stopped, Vanyae seated totally, and Anyar could feel his tormenter's
very heartbeat through the spear of flesh that lay within him.
Vanyae did not move but commenced kissing gently over Anyar's face and neck, his hands
stroking Anyar's hair and smoothing down over his chest, tongue bathing away blood from the
bitten lip.
“Ssh, it will ease, young one. Just breathe. Breathe.”
Anyar shook with pain, trembling with shock.
Vanyae stroked his cheek, made him meet his eyes. “You make it worse, Anyar. Breathe. It
will ease. This I swear to you.”
Desperation fueled Anyar's obedience, anything to make the pain stop. He drew in a
quivering breath, let it out in a rush.
“Deep and slow. Deep and slow,” Vanyae whispered.
Anyar obeyed; golden eyes locked with green.
“Gently. Breathe for me. The pain will lessen.”
Anyar found himself obeying the power in those eyes, and to his amazement and relief, it
worked. The throbbing was still there, but the sharp, stabbing pain stopped, as did his
involuntary spasming against the intruder.
Only then did Vanyae begin to move, slow, gentle, short movements, rocking.
Anyar's mind whirled, his body shook with sensations he could not interpret nor stop. It
hurt, but it was also strange, a fullness, a stretching. Then the prince changed his angle, and the
Anyar cried out as the column of flesh rubbed over that point in his body.
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Shivers raced over his skin, his body arched without his knowledge, his toes curling with
almost unbearable sensation. He panted, eyes wide with disbelief, and Vanyae bent his head to
capture his mouth, possess his very breath.
The thrusts deepened until Anyar could not tell pain from pleasure; it became one, his
body writhing on his impalement, breath coming in harsh pants, his senses hurtling toward some
conclusion he could not imagine, only that it became desperation to reach it.
This was nothing like his own fumblings, his self-gratification; this was on another plane
altogether, and he both feared and anticipated the end.
Vanyae leaned on one hand, spread his knees wider to brace himself, and used the other
hand to grasp Anyar's shaft, beginning to stroke it hard and fast, squeezing.
The young guard arched further, a keening cry leaving his throat.
“That's it, my beautiful one. Sing for me, only for me…” Vanyae's voice was harsh and