Heat III
Title: Heat III
Author: beyondtheremix
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ronon/Hiroto, Ronon/Tora, Tora/Hiroto (Stargate Atlantis/Alice Nine)
Disclaimer: AU, slavery, non-con, crack pairing!
Comments: Written as a sort of sequel for tingedwords to connect her Ronon/Tora to Heat..... *sweats* IDK lol. If you feel like reading them/this... the first three parts are all, of course, in her journal so you'll have to add her (if you haven't already) to read those D: You might understand this a bit better after reading those. It is a worthwhile add I swear?! And you most definitely don't have to read this LOLOLOL.
[ Heat ]
[ Heat II ]
[ A Heated Interlude ]
Heat III
His fingers were sticky by the time they finished, breath coming in quicker than normal, and the expanse of skin between his shoulder blades shining slick with sweat. Through the open windows he could hear faint yells and the clash of wooden swords from far away on the ludus training grounds. He should have been out there with them, working up a different kind of sweat, hardening the new recruits to a different kind of pain - but he wasn't.
Not for the first time, Ronon felt dirty through and through.
As if killing poor men just as unfortunate as himself weren't enough, these little escapades the rich so enjoyed wore heavy on his conscious. Or what little of it he had left. Each time Ronon surprised even himself with the desire he still managed to display and the thrill ignited by a battle cry. His lust fueled actions - bloodlust or otherwise - only made him feel all the dirtier, like nothing more than an animal in heat. They caged him like one, made him fight like one, and all but forced him to breed like one. Ronon's features twisted into a sneer as he pulled out and sank back onto his heels.
From experience, he knew that snarling in disgust only earned him extra punishment - more meetings with his masters "clients" - and usually he didn't bother giving these people the satisfaction of an emotion. But this time he couldn't help it; it had been a rough month. He did however, make a point of shoving the aristocrat's face into the pillows. There was still some satisfaction left to be gained from his brute strength. Tora swore on his part as his limbs were jarred and his body groaned in complaint. His usual self would have protested the demeaning gesture, but at the moment he said nothing. Ronon would suffer for his insubordination later, they both knew, but it was a small price his was willing to pay to hide the vicious scowl on his face.
Feeling as if he couldn't do much worse, he decided to use Tora's spent body as leverage. Pressing down on a lithe back, he heaved himself up and backpedaled off the bed onto his feet in one smooth motion. It was incredibly rude and he wouldn't never have dared if he wasn't Ronon. But his masters had been testing his every last nerve this month and he was starting to become reckless. He wanted out now, back onto the training grounds, back out under the sun, and he prayed to his gods the man on the bed - a Roman maybe, friend of the Romans, friend of the house, or whatever he was - didn't ask for more.
As much as he liked a good fuck, as much as he liked the sadistic, lingering aches and pain he could inflict on these tools of a debased society, as much as he even liked to pretend he held some sort of power and control over someone, Hiroto was waiting just outside the door. Thinking about Hiroto these days made him feel even more like an animal.
Stooping down, Ronon retrieved his discarded garments and straightened with his back half-turned toward the door. He didn't make a move to dress or even cover himself, simply stood at attention ready to serve. He wasn't stupid. Even if he wanted to leave he knew exactly who was in charge here, who owned the house, the privileges afforded his master's friends and favorites. The pretend power he had in an aristocrat's bedroom was simply that - pretend, a false pretense of control given so willingly by pliant bodies who always betrayed their masters' words. In the end they always let him have his way - ultimately their way - secure in the knowledge that they had the power to return to a position of control, that armed guards stood within an earshot of the bed.
Ronon's lips twitched into another snarl, but he forced himself to remain calm. As of late, the gladiator had found it increasingly hard to control his temper. Unwittingly, he'd found himself in charge of another life, caring for someone other than himself, and for that reason alone he struggled to hold his tongue. However, it was also for that reason he found his angers doubled with each day he grew closer and more possessive of Hiroto. Discontent burned like acid in his muscles and made him twice as fearsome in the underground betting rings his master had taken a recent liking to.
Before, Ronon hadn't cared much about anything. If something angered him, he struck out. He had nothing to lose, everything to gain, and his master found him a much more valuable asset happy, alive and undamaged. Now it felt as if an impending noose hung over his head, following him around wherever he went, whatever he did. When he blinked the noose swung away in slow motion, thick rope dropping down like a snake and sliding up to coil noiselessly around Hiroto's neck. His own actions were fast becoming Hiroto's consequences. He hated that thought the most.
Before, Ronon hadn't cared too much about rules and society. He fought well and earned his master a good name and money and that was enough to grant him a secure living place. He didn't have to deal with these social confinements like minding his manners and bowing to every expensively groomed thing that walked in the room because he was simply too busy clashing swords and building his body up to its current massive size. Life in the ludus was a lot different from life in the main house. In fact, Ronon personally didn't think he should have to bow to any man who couldn't hold his own in the arena. It had been a joke to be forced to bow for all the master's little nieces and nephews, but now he knew there was nothing funny about it at all. Disrespect had irreparable consequences and even the smallest well-bred child could be as cruel as any grown man in charge.
As Ronon's arrogance inadvertently grew with the strength of his sword, his master and mistress began plotting together every night. The gladiator couldn't know they were scheming ways to rope him back under their control. But he was a slave after all and slaves needed to know who their place. When Ronon accepted the first woman into his cell with nothing but a conceited smirk of his lips, he did not suspect it was to be his downfall. He couldn't have known they were feeling him out, testing him with new bedmates until they found just the perfect blackmail to tame the unruly beast. Hiroto.
Ronon was beginning to discover day by day just how little control he had over the one thing he thought he owned. He was beginning to realize that he was merely just a slave. And he was beginning to understand that it had all been a long and well-conceived trap.
To his right, fabric shifted and joints popped.
"You there. Slave." Tora grumbled lazily into his pillows as if he had rummaged around and found the very word stamped across Ronon's thoughts. He, of course, tried to muffle the last tremors of submission from his voice and pull together his usual haughty slur and dismissive manner. Right now Tora needed to be lord again, the authoritative position he'd been born into, the one in control here and not the whining, bent over she-dog of minutes ago.
"Ronon," he heard the man growl. He almost flinched at the tone but reprimanded himself, wincing however when he realized it would take more than a minute to regain control of his thighs. They had been overextended through the surprising coercion of demanding hands and a taunting voice. Tora certainly wasn't used to being spread and abused; he was usually the one doing the demanding and taking. But it had been both alarmingly arousing and a clear warning of just how far he had to fall. A timely reminder of just how high he had climbed up the political ladder and just how easy it would be to tumble down to rock bottom. The two men were both worrying over their vastly different positions in life but, at the moment, Tora felt too raw and sated and flippant enough not to care about anything more than sleep.
The naked gladiator watched him motion with his left hand as if to carelessly wave the spoken name away. A lot of them liked to do that. His nails were trimmed and clean, slender fingers as pale and soft as if he'd never known a hard day's work. Ronon wanted to smirk at the contrasting blue marks and red crescents he'd left on milky skin but then his host spoke again, "Tell the other one to come in now," and any righteous expressions were wiped clean off his face.
For a painful moment Ronon closed his eyes and felt a shuddery breath escape his lungs. No. He had been afraid of this from the moment the summons reached their cell, had almost been expecting this, expecting the worst, and yet he still couldn't quell the absolute rage licking against the backs of his eyelids. This was the very reason he'd given up his winnings to protect Hiroto. And what had it done for him?
Nothing, Ronon now knew.
Nothing but the scant comfort that Hiroto would most likely return to their shared cell after he was done for the day, beaten, broken, tired or used. His mistress had known full well it would do no good for a mere slave to purchase another slave and she had smiled beautifully and graciously accepted all his present and future earnings with a bow of her head.
He had hoped that his high ranking amongst the gladiators would carry some weight in the agreement, but he had been stupid to concede. Now neither of them would ever be free - Ronon's bad, out-of-control attitude had assured that. He was practically paying them to be a fool. But at least Hiroto wasn't called upon as frequently as he had been that last week; only when an aristocrat's rank was worth the trouble of upsetting their best gladiator did his master's command overrule his own say. There was actually nothing he could do beyond a quick, painless, and boring kill in the arena. The audience hated that the most and there was a lot of booing and ridiculing jokes at parties after - the only sort of revenge he could exact.
Ronon despised the helplessness. He loathed the positions he hadn't been born into, the position he was in. He hated that, no matter how strong he built himself up to be, he still couldn't protect anyone he loved. He knew that, as long as he remained a slave, Hiroto would never be his. And he also knew that, as long as he claimed Hiroto as his own, he would always be a slave; that was the agreement. Fate could not have been more cruel. Ronon didn't know whether to regret or rejoice the night Hiroto had been sent down to his cell and given him a greater reason to live. He wasn't even sure if his presence had made Hiroto's life any better or worse than it might have been. Though, he probably would've been a lot better off with a different well-mannered gladiator to protect him.
But he didn't want to think about it, there was no point.
Clenching his fists, Ronon did as he was told.
At the very least he could hope he had managed to fuck all the energy out of the Roman and spare Hiroto some pain.
At the very most he could pray that flames would rain down from above and destroy this hell of a city.
---
He hadn't been directed to dress yet so Ronon padded quietly to the ornate double doors and pulled one of them open in nothing but the skin he'd been born in. Hiroto was standing exactly where he'd left him, wringing his hands and shifting nervously on his feet behind a marble pillar. The guards' watched in bemusement as his head popped into sight when the door scraped open. But the look on his face immediately fell when he took in Ronon's naked form shimmering like a Greek god in the midday light.
It wasn't over.
Although it was too warm standing in the sunny, inner courtyard and his clothes stuck uncomfortably to his skin, Hiroto wished the rays of sunlight would swallow him whole when Ronon beckoned him forward. Maybe they could melt into an inconspicuous, liquid something one of the many fountains could spit out over and over. At least then he wouldn't have to worry about anything. He'd even let Ronon drink him all up so they could stay together as one.
He wished this wasn't happening.
"You're wanted," Ronon announced, gruffer than intended and immediately feeling guilty. Sometimes his irritation over the tangled web of control his master was spinning spilled over and Hiroto ended up bearing the hurtful brunt of his words. He stepped aside to reveal an enormous room shaded from the sun and awash in hanging silks. On second thought he stopped the other with a large hand. "Hiroto..." He didn't know what to say. Sometimes he almost loathed the arena and the senseless killing, but right now he wanted to kill someone more than anything. And at the same time he was more sorry than he had been in over a decade.
"Don't," the smaller man hissed with surprising vehemence. "Don't you dare apologize to me." He jerked his chin up and glared fiercely at Ronon. The gladiator would have found the defiant twist of his pouty lips adorable if he wasn't so scared Hiroto would be forced to use them for something other than words soon. He swallowed the sorry on the tip of his tongue and instead pressed a quick, hard kiss to those beautiful lips and squeezed Hiroto's fingers in his hand.
---
The figure on the bed hadn't moved an inch in the minutes it took for them to enter.
"You are very brave," Ronon had once told him, the corners of his eyes crinkling with a big warm smile meant just for him. "So brave. The bravest little imp I've ever met."
Hiroto was positively sure Ronon was a terrible liar. And many many times braver. And had probably met some of the bravest men in the arena. But still, he remembered and repeated those words to himself now as he proceeded into the room on tepid feet. He didn't want to hear sorries. He didn't want sweetness or any promises they both knew neither of them could keep because Hiroto knew that, if they so much as lingered for one moment on wishful thinking, he would fall apart against the crashing waves of self-pity. There was nothing worse than the choking sobs of defeat.
Ronon knew; he hated Hiroto's tears more than he could fathom. They cut deeper than any sword and caught him completely blindsided.
He couldn't do anything other than stand aside and let Hiroto do what needed to be done.
---
The guest rooms sat situated along one wing of the villa and were connected to the main house by a string of breezeways, corridors, courtyards, and tunnels. Out of sheer size, the rooms often felt like entirely separate houses. Even the room they now walked into looked more like a long, large hall compared to their small cell. The best rooms had apparently been reserved for this particular guest and his servants.
Both Hiroto and Ronon had in fact become very familiar with the sound of Tora's name over the past week. They didn't know the exact details, but a big feast had been assembled for his arrival and it had been quite an arrival. Everyone was told to dress their best and gather at the front gate to welcome Tora's procession of men, women, beasts of burden, and a variety of decorated luggage all covered in red silks from the orient. There had been horns and bells and eloquent words announcing his coming and Ronon had felt rather like a painted accessory from where he stood flanking the master and his wife all oiled up and groomed alongside the other fighters from their ludus.
As a mere slave to another slave, Hiroto still had to, of course, obey orders from the main house. And so he toiled in the kitchens and along the halls and in the tunnels with all the others for many nights prior, cutting and cleaning and scrubbing and running errands while Ronon trained and prepared himself for a fight. Their mistress had chosen him a stout but dispensable opponent for the big arrival and the man's dramatic and meaningless death - scrubbed away on Hiroto's hands and knees - had contributed to the overall enjoyment of the night. The gladiators had even been allowed to eat and celebrate enthusiastically at their own segregated table, but Ronon had sat uneasily the entire time, eyes flickering around the room every now and then to try and catch a glimpse of Hiroto. Thus, it did not escape his attention that their guest's tiger eyes had followed him for much of the evening.
For that, he now envied the kitchen staff their unnoticed work behind the scenes.
They stopped before a set of raised, marble daises mounted like steps and holding the large bed a meter or two above the massive roomful of luxuries and luggage. Their host seemed to have brought with him a couple cart loads of items, but nothing to entertain himself apparently. He was close to lulling off on the dirty sheets when the patter of footsteps finally reached his ears.
"Basin and pitcher," which Hiroto assumed was directed at himself. There was a pause and weary huff of breath as if Tora was considering something in his pillow. "You," he continued, waving Ronon's way, "you get dressed, but stay there." He certainly was no eyesore, but the generously built fighter made the already tired and used Tora feel pale and weak in comparison. And rightly so, even Hiroto with his small stature would have agreed.
Sparing Ronon another nervous glance, he moved to retrieve the basin and pitcher from atop a heavy wooden dresser. Tora had carried it into the villa with him. Gilded in gold, the dresser sat against the adjacent wall weighed even further down by a slab of white marble adorning its surface. The basin was made of the same smooth rock and, much to Hiroto's chagrin, very large, very heavy, and very slippery in his sweaty palms. A golden colored pitcher sat cozily inside the basin next to a soft cloth and it was probably much lighter, but had been unfortunately filled to the brim with fragrant water. The entire load made Hiroto's back bend as he hugged his armful and tottered towards the bed. He stood there again waiting to be allowed up the dais.
"Your mistress claims you are the best fighter in the ludus and even the entire peninsula - though I do hear otherwise," Tora remarked out of nowhere in an almost ridiculing way. His pride and his ass were feeling a bit stung by this infamous fighter and he was also a few winks away from sleep, but he needed to keep talking. He needed an excuse to keep the master's best gladiator in his room the day before a fight. The guards outside were probably itching to barge in and cage the overgrown man back up on their master's orders, but they could all wait. Pushing himself into a sitting position, Tora swung his legs over the side of the bed and motioned the smaller of the two slaves to come and wipe him down.
Ronon however, merely acknowledged the statement with a tilt of his head and nothing more as he pulled his clothes on. It wasn't his place to share information about his master's opinions or enemies for that matter. And he certainly didn't know enough about Tora - beyond what his body had clearly preferred - to add onto the small talk. Instead, he let the familiar sounds of splashing water fill the silence. The idea that the man on the bed had summoned Ronon here, knowing exactly who he was, to conquer him physically was laughable. From his arrival the look in his eye had told the renowned gladiator exactly what his master's guest really wanted. It was the same hungry and curious look even the mistress of the house had flashed him before their first time together. What would it be like to fuck the big, bad gladiator?
Ronon suppressed a snort.
---
Like all the times he had aided in daily cleaning - man and woman, young and old - Hiroto filled the basin a couple inches above the spongy cloth before setting the pitcher off to the side. He picked up the washcloth, squeezed out the excess water, and began rubbing away sweat and other things with practiced swipes of his hand. After a while he would pause, dip the cloth back into the basin, scrub its two halves together, squeeze out, and repeat. It was somehow a calming, normal task for a slave. The scents and sounds were familiar and the motions easy. However, the near silence was beginning to get to Ronon as he stood there ignored and watching, brows furrowing deeper at the changing expression on Tora's face.
Perhaps he should have made more of an effort to keep him talking. But no, it was too late now.
"You missed a spot," Tora whispered in a husky voice, shifting closer to the edge of the bed for his benefit. Hiroto tried not to show any emotion as he knelt there rubbing gently at skin softer than his own and wondering what had gone on in this bedroom. Was he next? His hands shook. Stop it. How many times had Ronon told him not to let them see he was scared? He was brave and he wouldn't give in. But all the same, he was sure his hot cheeks were flushed red by now.
Most of the time Hiroto could do this without so much as batting an eyelash - most servants and slaves could. But half the time most people preferred to do this part on their own. The other half of the time Hiroto had to tactfully evade being made to do things he definitely did not want to do. Most of those times there were at least other slaves around to pick and choose from. Or at the very least a designated slave... Hiroto bit his lip and forced himself to settle between Tora's spread legs.
He knew without a doubt he couldn't get out of this one.
The stained bedding was proof enough that even Ronon had to obey.
He didn't want to look at Ronon right now.
---
Tora smirked lethargically at the pretty slave down on his knees. His ass ached and a much needed nap tugged at his eyes, but that didn't mean he couldn't appreciate a plush set of lips so close to his cock or even the soothing circles being rubbed up his legs. That didn't mean he was just going to fall asleep.
He felt the warm puffs of breath on his thigh speed up as he slid a finger under the slave's chin and ran his thumb over pink lips. It was a shame another round was the second to last thing on his mind at the moment. Tora had been up all night acting the part of a good and proper guest, entertaining his host with stories from across the borders and listening to his own share of tales. And for it, he had been duly rewarded today - though on his hands and knees in a way he hadn't planned. He was sure his dear friend was having a big laugh over that. But, after all, who knew if the gladiator would survive tomorrow morning's fight? Well, actually Tora knew Ronon would survive, but nevertheless…
"Such a waste," he murmured, smiling like a pointy-toothed predator and making the slave shiver. He wasn't sure which he was referring to - the massive fighter standing below the steps of the dais or the small one trying to keep demurely on-task. Maybe both now that he'd finally set eyes on this one. Tora's thumb pressed down on the slave's fat bottom lip and he nearly grinned at the debauched sight. He was about to aim a dirty comment the gladiator's way out of sheer, post-coital comradery when he caught the murderous look in Ronon's eyes. He was quite literally itching to kill.
Oh, don't tell me the big oaf fancies this one, Tora almost laughed. He had to hand it to him. Though he was a tricky son of a bitch, his host sure knew how to pick his slaves. And he had a knack for knowing just how to entertain his guests with the usual sex and intrigue - something he was very much going to take advantage of.
"I wonder what the asking price is for someone your size," Tora murmured, just loud enough for Ronon to hear, "And with these lips…" The towel on his hips stilled. He waited.
"He is not for sale."
Right on cue.
These hot-blooded types never could just stand idly by and take a taunting. That was usually their downfall.
As quick as a snake, Tora's head whipped around to face the gladiator. His sluggish exterior just as quickly transformed into a dark, conniving look that his longish jet-black hair and slanted eyes accentuated.
"And you slave, presume to know the will of your master?" It was an obvious ploy, as clear of a trap as Tora could have possibly made it.
Ronon all but lunged onto the bait. Hook, line, and sinker.
"He is mine," the gladiator snarled. "I have paid for him."
"You are a slave. You own nothing and everything within your grasp - the very body you stand in - belongs to your master," Tora replied sharply, daring him to continue an argument he would never win. Not now, not with the way their world worked.
"If he is yours," Tora continued, "Tell me, why is he kneeled before me here?" He grabbed a fistful of the slave's hair and yanked his head back, baring a naked, marked throat to provoke Ronon further.
Hiroto's gasp cut through air like a whip and his washcloth fell to the floor. Panic pounded against the walls of his stomach and it felt as if his heart was beating fit to burst when Tora hauled him up by his hair and pulled him towards the edge of the bed. His knees buckled, hands clenched uselessly at his sides, and he was forced to settle between Tora's legs by a hand on his throat. This time however, his back was glued to a bare chest.
From the dais, it looked as if Ronon's body was expanding, growing larger and larger with the pressure of his fast pumping blood. He was slightly hunched over in his rage, built like a deadly bull, and ready to fight. Yet, even now, it was like an invisible wall surrounded the dais protecting the aristocrat from certain death. It was a very risky lesson Tora planned on teaching, but Ronon's master had spoiled him once too often and purposefully blinded him to the power he possessed. Yes, it was a waste. A shameful waste that even the greatest, most skilled of gladiators could not even find his own freedom or realize the strength he wielded.
"Why don't you help me teach your would-be owner a lesson in knowing his place, hmm?" he whispered into the slave's ear before moving to kiss his neck.
Hiroto whimpered. Although he'd done this many times, Ronon had never been there watching and that just made this twice as painful. The hand on his throat did not leave, but the pressure ceased to a bearable touch. Rather, he was allowed enough air to choke out a sound of protest as teeth bit down into his skin.
---
He was going to go mad.
Ronon could feel veins straining against the skin of his temples and hear the blood roaring in his ears. It took all he had not to charge up the steps and tear Tora apart limb from limb. As it was, it felt as if his muscles were strung tight from his earlobes all the way down to his toes. He knew in his head he needed to stand his ground, but so help him Hiroto was his.
Tora had angled them on the bed so he could see as mouth-shaped bruises were pressed to an already sore neck. He was forced to watch as long fingers undid the folded fabric wrapped around and fitted to slim hips, but Ronon could not see beyond the stricken look twisting Hiroto's features. And there was nothing he could do. Every day slaves were faced with the choice to obey or rebel and, above all, the consequences of each. To obey was to live the same imprisoned life, serving the people they hated. But to rebel…
To rebel was to be beaten into submission, maimed or worse until one no longer possessed the will to fight. Hiroto would survive this. They both knew that. And together they would bear the shame of being treated as less than human. But suppose Ronon were to lash out. Sure he might be able to snap the aristocrat's neck before the guards were alerted by his screams, but he certainly wouldn't survive through the next day and neither would Hiroto. Or maybe they would let Hiroto live and he would simply end up, once again, in the same position he was in now only without the comforting knowledge that the one he loved was alive and genuinely cared for him.
In truth, the consequences far outweighed the vivid emotions Ronon was feeling right now.
But that did not make either of them feel any better.
That did not magically transport them into some safe utopia.
Ronon's knuckles popped one by one, painted white and cracking from the sheer force with which his angry fists curled in on themselves.
---
Within the recesses of his mind not clouded in shame and his own terrified anger and guilt, Hiroto could guess at the conflicted thoughts broiling beneath Ronon's barely composed surface. He didn't blame him. If there was anyone who could understand the inner turmoil the gladiator was experiencing, it was Hiroto. But love and a shared understanding of pain could not stop the hand that now delved below the hem of his tunic.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
A million thoughts crowded Hiroto's head, but none more prominent than the image of a warm hand slowly stroking him to full arousal. He hated this part the most. He hated how little control he had over his body's reaction every time someone thought it would kind to force enough stimulation on Hiroto to make him come. It never made it feel any better when he didn't even want the sex to begin with. Now he was shuddering as Tora's rough bites suddenly turned into gentle scrapes of teeth up and down the sensitive skin of his neck. His chest felt tight and his hands were curled awkwardly above his own thighs even as those warm hands pulled him closer.
---
Tora dragged the slave up into a better position and began playing his body like skilled fingers to a flute. Despite his recent stint on the reluctant receiving end of the bedroom, Tora had enough experience being pleasured and pleasuring to know what a body wanted. He wasn't going to actually fuck the slave, oh no, but he had a lesson to teach and it was best taught through experience.
Even so, next to the small slave he felt powerful and in control again. With the gladiator it had been a different story. He could taunt him up close, yes, hold his power over him and gloat, true, but he also risked being torn in two if the massive man snapped. Sure the guards could come in, beat the beast into submission and execute him the next day, but Tora wouldn't be around to see it. All the status in the world meant nothing if you weren't alive to enjoy it.
Besides, it wasn't exactly a chore watching pouty lips pant for breath and feeling a very lively body jerk under his touch.
---
The touches took on a more urgent pace.
He couldn't fight.
The expensive linens and blankets on the bed were slippery and Hiroto's feet didn't even reach the ground from where he sat. The only thing keeping him from sliding completely off the bed was the grip on his neck and the hand working between his legs.
He didn't understand, he really didn't understand. Why was this happening? What was the point? He couldn't make a single move to even defend himself because of his fucking rank - so what was the point? The unfortunate lot Fate had cast him made tears well up and cling to his lashes. He wasn't going to cry, but he didn't want this. Hiroto knew there was no sense in holding back when letting go was what the man curled around him wanted most. But he would not cry. He was brave, the bravest imp Ronon had ever met.
He choked on his own sob.
The sooner he came, the sooner this entire ordeal would be over. Or at least he hoped. Even if his solution was as simple as that it was so hard to even relax the miniscule amount it would take to orgasm when the situation made his stomach roil with disgust and he could barely get in enough oxygen to keep up with his own heavy breathing.
As if reading his thoughts, the pressure was suddenly gone from his throat.
A heady swell of air rushed into his lungs and his vision speckled black.
---
Hiroto was pulled, tugged, and forced into merciless climax with a soft, strangled sound by an unrelenting hand that did not stop even when he cried out. He tried halfheartedly to push Tora's hand away even though he wasn't allowed. He knew the man would only stop when he wanted to and neither he nor Ronon had any say in the matter, but his body didn't care. His shuddering body was so close to slipping off the bed it was probably a bad idea anyway. The overstimulation, instead of making him jerk away, caused him do the exact opposite. Shaking all over, he clung to the arm still jerking him off though he had nothing left to give. Slick thighs clenched together around Tora's hand of their own accord - to try and stop the assault on his nerves perhaps or maybe his body was asking for more - either way, his body had already betrayed him once today. Even Hiroto didn't know what it wanted anymore. He hated it. He wanted to curl up and make the waves of feeling go away.
For Tora, watching him fall apart and continue trembling uncontrollably was sweet success. The gladiator probably got the point by now if the savage look on his face was anything to go by. He really did look like a terrible beast of a man - unruly hair framing his face like a wild mane, lips curled up to reveal pointy canines, and arm muscles twitching and heaving with each angry inhale. Shaking his head, Tora retracted his hand - wiping his fingers on the inside of the slave's garments, then nudging him off his bed. He used the washcloth and remaining water to clean himself before taking a moment to size up the two slaves at his disposal.
The shaken creature before him stood on wobbly legs, eyes wide as an owl's, and clinging to his soiled clothes as if Tora would jump him any minute. Which was understandable, all things considered. The other one was absolutely furious.
He reckoned they'd had enough.
Shrugging, feeling the weariness return to his limbs and just a tad bit dirty under those mournfully large eyes, Tora pulled the sheets over his lap and motioned Hiroto away. "Leave us." He was half-hard from the little slave's wiggling and whimpering, but he had more important matters to discuss in private.
"Leave it," he ordered softly when the slave made to return the wash items back to the dresser. "Yes, I said leave it. Move along and tell your large friend to come here while you're at it."
Hiroto swallowed and nodded vigorously before carefully making his way down the steps. He tripped over his own unsteady feet before stumbling to the spot where Ronon stood waiting. He was seething, practically spit-raging mad and pacing in his spot, but he was gentle when he caught Hiroto by the arm and steered him toward the doors.
"You're wanted," his small companion whispered in a faint voice, not quite meeting Ronon's eyes as he took his leave. Hiroto had to struggle pathetically with the doors to get one open, but he managed to slip quietly through a small crack and disappear completely.
Ronon didn't need to be told twice. He watched Hiroto go before stalked forward like a gladiator walking into the arena. This time he did nothing to disguise the utter disgust on his face.
Tora however, thought nothing of it. Things were going rather well by his books when he was met with livid silence rather than the swinging fist he'd anticipated. "Do you understand now?" he asked in a calm, level tone when his remaining guest stomped to a standstill a couple paces away. "Has it finally sunken in exactly where you stand in this world?"
All it would take was one step and he would be the perfect distance to begin pummeling this sorry excuse of a man to mush.
Through the haze of outrage, Ronon could tell that the piece of shit politician had some sort of point he was trying to push across. It was probably the same roundabout way of rubbing his pathetic life into his face most of the people he bedded loved to employ. "I suggest you make your point and make it fast," he growled from deep in his throat. "And, while you're at it, you can go ahead and explain to me why you couldn't just tell me to my face the bullshit point you're trying to make instead of taking it out on Hiroto." His fists clenched and unclenched beside him.
So his name is Hiroto, is it? Tora tsk'd, temper, temper, and shook his head in disappointment. The brute still hadn't learned his lesson and he still wasn't using his head. When you started naming names, especially names of the ones you were trying to protect, you made it ten times as easy for someone of Tora's standing to find them and make them pay.
"Come here," he ordered quietly, pointing to the ground beneath his feet.
Ronon sneered.
"I'm not going to stuff my cock down your throat or whatever ridiculous thing you are thinking," Tora snorted when it became apparent he wouldn't budge. It really was obvious he was definitely a lot more compliant when the other one was around. A proper slave owner wouldn't stand for it. Or they would take advantage of it.
Grudgingly, Ronon stepped forward and fell to his knees. The position was so similar to the one Hiroto had just been in, his nostrils flared angrily while his hair stood on end.
"This is where you stand in this world," Tora began. "Ronon," he spoke the name sharply to garner the stubborn slave's attention.
Oddly enough, it was the use of his actual name that made Ronon snap to attention. Usually the rich and powerful didn't bother using names. Even his own master and mistress rarely used his name to address him face to face. In the company of others they spoke of a prized "Ronon" as if he was nothing more than a possession, a trophy symbolic of the prestige found within their ludus. And honestly, in reality, he amounted to nothing more than a possession - perhaps a favorite pet at the most, but replaceable - and that was life.
"Ronon, this is where you stand in our world," Tora repeated, leaning back on his hands and cocking his head toward the floor. "You do not even deserve to stand. You kneel before others despite your fame in the arena. Do you realize that? A valuable man such as yourself, forced to grovel while others lounge in their beds," he avoided referring to his own current state, "and still others much weaker hold their heads high above yours. You and Hiroto," Ronon bristled at his mention, "must forever keep your eyes trained on the trash and dirt below. And why is that? Why should perfectly able men and women never be allowed to glimpse the sky?"
He waited for an answer he was sure would never come, but Tora could see the gears beginning to click in the gladiator's mind and that was all that mattered - that was a good sign. True to his word, Tora was trying to teach a very valuable lesson and he was trying to teach it in a reasonable manner using a calm, reasonable tone.
"Because you have been labeled a slave," he supplied for Ronon finally, stopping his short speech to allow his words time to sink into the wild man's thick skull. "Damned even before birth," he tsk'd again, shaking his head.
Seconds ticked by. Not a sound penetrated the room's double doors. Outside it had grown hot enough to force most of the population into a temporary siesta and, at the foot of some stranger's bed, Ronon's head buzzed.
It almost sounded as if he was on their side.
It almost sounded as if this scum of the earth were suggesting men were supposed to be born equal.
But why? Ronon wondered. It was clear Tora was no saint and hadn't so much as blinked when he chose to abuse his power over the very slave he now complimented.
"Ronon," Tora spoke again, fingers tipping the gladiator's chin up to meet his eyes in an almost compassionate way. "You are smart and you are cunning in the arena. You know there is no way for you to truly protect him as long as you are a slave. And," Ronon stiffened, "as you can see from today, with that attitude of yours you only add to his suffering under the sham of defending his honor." He turned away this time to avoid Tora's knowing gaze, glowering at the bedspread.
"Stop lying to yourself," Tora finally hissed. He jerked the bristly chin back to face him accusingly. "I've been acquainted with him for hardly an hour and even I can tell worse has been done to him than the little example I set here. He probably tells you less than half of the things that go on behind your back - whether to save himself the shame of telling you or save you from the helpless, pointless anger. Whatever it is, you know it is true."
Ronon's chest rose up and down with heavy, heated breaths. "And what, oh knowledgeable one, would you have a mere slave do? I cannot do anything!" He bit his slow words out in absolute frustration. No one knew his own weaknesses and flaws better than himself. He didn't need any foreign aristocrat pointing out to him the obvious.
In contrast to the fuming man before him, Tora smiled wide and benevolently at his words.
A chill ran down the length of Ronon's spine.
In the shadow of a gladiator he may have seemed weak and harmless, but Ronon could now tell he was a force to be reckoned with. Tora's eyes were steely cold as he smiled now. For an average man he was not small. His voice was commanding when it wasn't playing hard to get and the halfhearted fight Tora had put up in bed was enough to show Ronon that he could pack a punch and be reasonably quick with it if it suited his purpose. Backed again by those cunning eyes and with enough riches to raise an entire army, Tora was a deadly foe. Not for the first time today, Ronon suddenly wished he could just return to his simple life of fist fights and living day by day like an animal. He didn't realize all that had changed for him months ago when his masters began plotting.
All these complicated words, complicated society, implicit lessons and whatever it was this man was trying to tell him through that chilly smile were beginning to make his head hurt. And then his thoughts were forced to a sudden halt.
"Tomorrow evening, this villa and all the surrounding land your master controls will be invaded and captured." Ronon's eyes narrowed at the announcement. "Even as we speak, my men are moving into the surrounding farms and houses and taking shelter within every available inn and spare room under the pretense of coming to see the infamous Ronon fight."
He released the slave's face and waited again for his reaction.
Tora knew he was right. Ronon was, by nature, a very straightforward person - but he was not stupid.
"You… You want something of me," the gladiator stated, brows furrowing and mind beginning to work on the ins and outs of a fast-forming conspiracy. What was there for a mere slave to do that one ambitious man and his army could not?
"Very good," Tora nodded grimly. He was catching on quick. "I do want something of you. But first, I must warn you. Even if you do tell, I will deny it. It will be your jealous, vengeful word over mine," he added shrewdly.
So today hadn't all been one torturous, amusing show. Tora had been busy setting him up with an alibi and a motive.
"My numbers are many and we will attack regardless, though there will be much much more bloodshed because of it. However, if you do somehow manage to prevent the attack by say, snapping my neck this instant, know this - your life will not change."
And there it was, the message he'd been trying to send through the sad slump of Hiroto's shoulders.
"At the most, you will be rewarded if you can convince them of the truth, but I assure you it will be fleeting. Up until this moment you have served your ludus and your master well and for many many years, I might add." Tora had done his research despite feigning ignorance. "Yet you still sleep in the same cell, on the same bug-infested mat, eating the same filth as the rest of them. Your masters won't even grant you the power to so much as protect one, single, inconsequential slave."
Ronon wanted to protest the bug-infested part, but he kept quiet. How had he not seen this before? No, he knew. He had just been so set on living through the moment - like an animal - he didn't want to realize how he was being treated.
"Save them," Tora continued, "and it will do nothing to better your status. You will still be the loyal fighting dog who was merely in the right place at the right time. You will still be a slave. He will still be at their dispense. Nothing will change and, above all else, you will have dashed your best hopes at producing that change." He finished his argument and crossed his arms.
Even Ronon could have told Tora all that in much simpler terms, but he couldn't imagine any scenario that would leave him better off. And that last thought bothered him. "And why am I to presume you are my best chance at freedom? Why should I trust you when you've already shown yourself capable of betraying someone who values you as a friend?" Why should I trust you when it is clear you enjoy commanding my body for your own pleasure just like the rest of them? Ronon added in his head. And why should I overlook what you've just done to Hiroto?
Tora really did laugh then, though he could read all the many doubts written on Ronon's face. "Politics my friend! Have you never heard the expression 'keep your enemies closest to your heart'? Right now I am being housed and wonderfully fed - with plenty of gifts and pampering in between - to ensure that our alliance remains intact. I am here enjoying a so called vacation. It is a ploy as old as time. Your master does not trust me and rightly so. If I am at an arm's reach, then surely I am not up to no good. You know, it wouldn't hurt to spend a little time away from your sword and amongst a few books."
Ronon shrugged the remark off completely unfazed. There were far more important things to focus on than his own illiteracy. He knew enough to sign his name and blunder through the various ownership documents and payment slips and that was good enough. Hiroto wasn't much better and honestly probably much worse, but he at least liked the feel of a book in his hand. He'd mentioned once something about the way the heavy pages looked covered in script - though Hiroto had only ever possessed the single thin booklet he'd swiped from the fires one especially cold, stormy winter when it had been suicidal to even step out in search of wood.
Ronon suspected it was merely a long inventory list donated kindly by some bankrupt merchant from another land who had hung to pay his debts, but who was he to burst Hiroto's bubble?
He shook his head. There was much at stake here for something he had yet to agree to and knew even less about
"First, tell me what it is you require of me - because it seems as if I have a choice - then I will decide," he finally announced. I will decide if you are worth risking our lives for.
"Very good," Tora replied. "I will be brief because it would be suspicious of me to hold you for much longer." The man must have been under closer watch than Ronon suspected. "And remember, I will attack with or without your help. With your hands you have taken many lives and now, with those very same hands, I am asking you to save just as many."
Ronon gave a curt nod. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.
"If you'll agree to it, I will entrust you with this."
From beneath the covers of his bed, a jagged blade slid out and winked up at the two conspirators.
A/N:
YES. I come from the depths of non-writing world to bring you THIS nonsense!!! D8
I blame this on too much Spartacus for me and tingedwords plus too much Khal Drogo for me, too much Ronon Dex for tingedwords, and a sprinkle of too much Alice Nine for the both of us all along the way… *sweats* I'll post the next part as soon as I'm done, but this was getting long and someone was getting impatient so I'm just posting!!
Also, a "ludus" is what they called a school for gladiators.
Archive
Author: beyondtheremix
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ronon/Hiroto, Ronon/Tora, Tora/Hiroto (Stargate Atlantis/Alice Nine)
Disclaimer: AU, slavery, non-con, crack pairing!
Comments: Written as a sort of sequel for tingedwords to connect her Ronon/Tora to Heat..... *sweats* IDK lol. If you feel like reading them/this... the first three parts are all, of course, in her journal so you'll have to add her (if you haven't already) to read those D: You might understand this a bit better after reading those. It is a worthwhile add I swear?! And you most definitely don't have to read this LOLOLOL.
[ Heat ]
[ Heat II ]
[ A Heated Interlude ]
Heat III
His fingers were sticky by the time they finished, breath coming in quicker than normal, and the expanse of skin between his shoulder blades shining slick with sweat. Through the open windows he could hear faint yells and the clash of wooden swords from far away on the ludus training grounds. He should have been out there with them, working up a different kind of sweat, hardening the new recruits to a different kind of pain - but he wasn't.
Not for the first time, Ronon felt dirty through and through.
As if killing poor men just as unfortunate as himself weren't enough, these little escapades the rich so enjoyed wore heavy on his conscious. Or what little of it he had left. Each time Ronon surprised even himself with the desire he still managed to display and the thrill ignited by a battle cry. His lust fueled actions - bloodlust or otherwise - only made him feel all the dirtier, like nothing more than an animal in heat. They caged him like one, made him fight like one, and all but forced him to breed like one. Ronon's features twisted into a sneer as he pulled out and sank back onto his heels.
From experience, he knew that snarling in disgust only earned him extra punishment - more meetings with his masters "clients" - and usually he didn't bother giving these people the satisfaction of an emotion. But this time he couldn't help it; it had been a rough month. He did however, make a point of shoving the aristocrat's face into the pillows. There was still some satisfaction left to be gained from his brute strength. Tora swore on his part as his limbs were jarred and his body groaned in complaint. His usual self would have protested the demeaning gesture, but at the moment he said nothing. Ronon would suffer for his insubordination later, they both knew, but it was a small price his was willing to pay to hide the vicious scowl on his face.
Feeling as if he couldn't do much worse, he decided to use Tora's spent body as leverage. Pressing down on a lithe back, he heaved himself up and backpedaled off the bed onto his feet in one smooth motion. It was incredibly rude and he wouldn't never have dared if he wasn't Ronon. But his masters had been testing his every last nerve this month and he was starting to become reckless. He wanted out now, back onto the training grounds, back out under the sun, and he prayed to his gods the man on the bed - a Roman maybe, friend of the Romans, friend of the house, or whatever he was - didn't ask for more.
As much as he liked a good fuck, as much as he liked the sadistic, lingering aches and pain he could inflict on these tools of a debased society, as much as he even liked to pretend he held some sort of power and control over someone, Hiroto was waiting just outside the door. Thinking about Hiroto these days made him feel even more like an animal.
Stooping down, Ronon retrieved his discarded garments and straightened with his back half-turned toward the door. He didn't make a move to dress or even cover himself, simply stood at attention ready to serve. He wasn't stupid. Even if he wanted to leave he knew exactly who was in charge here, who owned the house, the privileges afforded his master's friends and favorites. The pretend power he had in an aristocrat's bedroom was simply that - pretend, a false pretense of control given so willingly by pliant bodies who always betrayed their masters' words. In the end they always let him have his way - ultimately their way - secure in the knowledge that they had the power to return to a position of control, that armed guards stood within an earshot of the bed.
Ronon's lips twitched into another snarl, but he forced himself to remain calm. As of late, the gladiator had found it increasingly hard to control his temper. Unwittingly, he'd found himself in charge of another life, caring for someone other than himself, and for that reason alone he struggled to hold his tongue. However, it was also for that reason he found his angers doubled with each day he grew closer and more possessive of Hiroto. Discontent burned like acid in his muscles and made him twice as fearsome in the underground betting rings his master had taken a recent liking to.
Before, Ronon hadn't cared much about anything. If something angered him, he struck out. He had nothing to lose, everything to gain, and his master found him a much more valuable asset happy, alive and undamaged. Now it felt as if an impending noose hung over his head, following him around wherever he went, whatever he did. When he blinked the noose swung away in slow motion, thick rope dropping down like a snake and sliding up to coil noiselessly around Hiroto's neck. His own actions were fast becoming Hiroto's consequences. He hated that thought the most.
Before, Ronon hadn't cared too much about rules and society. He fought well and earned his master a good name and money and that was enough to grant him a secure living place. He didn't have to deal with these social confinements like minding his manners and bowing to every expensively groomed thing that walked in the room because he was simply too busy clashing swords and building his body up to its current massive size. Life in the ludus was a lot different from life in the main house. In fact, Ronon personally didn't think he should have to bow to any man who couldn't hold his own in the arena. It had been a joke to be forced to bow for all the master's little nieces and nephews, but now he knew there was nothing funny about it at all. Disrespect had irreparable consequences and even the smallest well-bred child could be as cruel as any grown man in charge.
As Ronon's arrogance inadvertently grew with the strength of his sword, his master and mistress began plotting together every night. The gladiator couldn't know they were scheming ways to rope him back under their control. But he was a slave after all and slaves needed to know who their place. When Ronon accepted the first woman into his cell with nothing but a conceited smirk of his lips, he did not suspect it was to be his downfall. He couldn't have known they were feeling him out, testing him with new bedmates until they found just the perfect blackmail to tame the unruly beast. Hiroto.
Ronon was beginning to discover day by day just how little control he had over the one thing he thought he owned. He was beginning to realize that he was merely just a slave. And he was beginning to understand that it had all been a long and well-conceived trap.
To his right, fabric shifted and joints popped.
"You there. Slave." Tora grumbled lazily into his pillows as if he had rummaged around and found the very word stamped across Ronon's thoughts. He, of course, tried to muffle the last tremors of submission from his voice and pull together his usual haughty slur and dismissive manner. Right now Tora needed to be lord again, the authoritative position he'd been born into, the one in control here and not the whining, bent over she-dog of minutes ago.
"Ronon," he heard the man growl. He almost flinched at the tone but reprimanded himself, wincing however when he realized it would take more than a minute to regain control of his thighs. They had been overextended through the surprising coercion of demanding hands and a taunting voice. Tora certainly wasn't used to being spread and abused; he was usually the one doing the demanding and taking. But it had been both alarmingly arousing and a clear warning of just how far he had to fall. A timely reminder of just how high he had climbed up the political ladder and just how easy it would be to tumble down to rock bottom. The two men were both worrying over their vastly different positions in life but, at the moment, Tora felt too raw and sated and flippant enough not to care about anything more than sleep.
The naked gladiator watched him motion with his left hand as if to carelessly wave the spoken name away. A lot of them liked to do that. His nails were trimmed and clean, slender fingers as pale and soft as if he'd never known a hard day's work. Ronon wanted to smirk at the contrasting blue marks and red crescents he'd left on milky skin but then his host spoke again, "Tell the other one to come in now," and any righteous expressions were wiped clean off his face.
For a painful moment Ronon closed his eyes and felt a shuddery breath escape his lungs. No. He had been afraid of this from the moment the summons reached their cell, had almost been expecting this, expecting the worst, and yet he still couldn't quell the absolute rage licking against the backs of his eyelids. This was the very reason he'd given up his winnings to protect Hiroto. And what had it done for him?
Nothing, Ronon now knew.
Nothing but the scant comfort that Hiroto would most likely return to their shared cell after he was done for the day, beaten, broken, tired or used. His mistress had known full well it would do no good for a mere slave to purchase another slave and she had smiled beautifully and graciously accepted all his present and future earnings with a bow of her head.
He had hoped that his high ranking amongst the gladiators would carry some weight in the agreement, but he had been stupid to concede. Now neither of them would ever be free - Ronon's bad, out-of-control attitude had assured that. He was practically paying them to be a fool. But at least Hiroto wasn't called upon as frequently as he had been that last week; only when an aristocrat's rank was worth the trouble of upsetting their best gladiator did his master's command overrule his own say. There was actually nothing he could do beyond a quick, painless, and boring kill in the arena. The audience hated that the most and there was a lot of booing and ridiculing jokes at parties after - the only sort of revenge he could exact.
Ronon despised the helplessness. He loathed the positions he hadn't been born into, the position he was in. He hated that, no matter how strong he built himself up to be, he still couldn't protect anyone he loved. He knew that, as long as he remained a slave, Hiroto would never be his. And he also knew that, as long as he claimed Hiroto as his own, he would always be a slave; that was the agreement. Fate could not have been more cruel. Ronon didn't know whether to regret or rejoice the night Hiroto had been sent down to his cell and given him a greater reason to live. He wasn't even sure if his presence had made Hiroto's life any better or worse than it might have been. Though, he probably would've been a lot better off with a different well-mannered gladiator to protect him.
But he didn't want to think about it, there was no point.
Clenching his fists, Ronon did as he was told.
At the very least he could hope he had managed to fuck all the energy out of the Roman and spare Hiroto some pain.
At the very most he could pray that flames would rain down from above and destroy this hell of a city.
---
He hadn't been directed to dress yet so Ronon padded quietly to the ornate double doors and pulled one of them open in nothing but the skin he'd been born in. Hiroto was standing exactly where he'd left him, wringing his hands and shifting nervously on his feet behind a marble pillar. The guards' watched in bemusement as his head popped into sight when the door scraped open. But the look on his face immediately fell when he took in Ronon's naked form shimmering like a Greek god in the midday light.
It wasn't over.
Although it was too warm standing in the sunny, inner courtyard and his clothes stuck uncomfortably to his skin, Hiroto wished the rays of sunlight would swallow him whole when Ronon beckoned him forward. Maybe they could melt into an inconspicuous, liquid something one of the many fountains could spit out over and over. At least then he wouldn't have to worry about anything. He'd even let Ronon drink him all up so they could stay together as one.
He wished this wasn't happening.
"You're wanted," Ronon announced, gruffer than intended and immediately feeling guilty. Sometimes his irritation over the tangled web of control his master was spinning spilled over and Hiroto ended up bearing the hurtful brunt of his words. He stepped aside to reveal an enormous room shaded from the sun and awash in hanging silks. On second thought he stopped the other with a large hand. "Hiroto..." He didn't know what to say. Sometimes he almost loathed the arena and the senseless killing, but right now he wanted to kill someone more than anything. And at the same time he was more sorry than he had been in over a decade.
"Don't," the smaller man hissed with surprising vehemence. "Don't you dare apologize to me." He jerked his chin up and glared fiercely at Ronon. The gladiator would have found the defiant twist of his pouty lips adorable if he wasn't so scared Hiroto would be forced to use them for something other than words soon. He swallowed the sorry on the tip of his tongue and instead pressed a quick, hard kiss to those beautiful lips and squeezed Hiroto's fingers in his hand.
---
The figure on the bed hadn't moved an inch in the minutes it took for them to enter.
"You are very brave," Ronon had once told him, the corners of his eyes crinkling with a big warm smile meant just for him. "So brave. The bravest little imp I've ever met."
Hiroto was positively sure Ronon was a terrible liar. And many many times braver. And had probably met some of the bravest men in the arena. But still, he remembered and repeated those words to himself now as he proceeded into the room on tepid feet. He didn't want to hear sorries. He didn't want sweetness or any promises they both knew neither of them could keep because Hiroto knew that, if they so much as lingered for one moment on wishful thinking, he would fall apart against the crashing waves of self-pity. There was nothing worse than the choking sobs of defeat.
Ronon knew; he hated Hiroto's tears more than he could fathom. They cut deeper than any sword and caught him completely blindsided.
He couldn't do anything other than stand aside and let Hiroto do what needed to be done.
---
The guest rooms sat situated along one wing of the villa and were connected to the main house by a string of breezeways, corridors, courtyards, and tunnels. Out of sheer size, the rooms often felt like entirely separate houses. Even the room they now walked into looked more like a long, large hall compared to their small cell. The best rooms had apparently been reserved for this particular guest and his servants.
Both Hiroto and Ronon had in fact become very familiar with the sound of Tora's name over the past week. They didn't know the exact details, but a big feast had been assembled for his arrival and it had been quite an arrival. Everyone was told to dress their best and gather at the front gate to welcome Tora's procession of men, women, beasts of burden, and a variety of decorated luggage all covered in red silks from the orient. There had been horns and bells and eloquent words announcing his coming and Ronon had felt rather like a painted accessory from where he stood flanking the master and his wife all oiled up and groomed alongside the other fighters from their ludus.
As a mere slave to another slave, Hiroto still had to, of course, obey orders from the main house. And so he toiled in the kitchens and along the halls and in the tunnels with all the others for many nights prior, cutting and cleaning and scrubbing and running errands while Ronon trained and prepared himself for a fight. Their mistress had chosen him a stout but dispensable opponent for the big arrival and the man's dramatic and meaningless death - scrubbed away on Hiroto's hands and knees - had contributed to the overall enjoyment of the night. The gladiators had even been allowed to eat and celebrate enthusiastically at their own segregated table, but Ronon had sat uneasily the entire time, eyes flickering around the room every now and then to try and catch a glimpse of Hiroto. Thus, it did not escape his attention that their guest's tiger eyes had followed him for much of the evening.
For that, he now envied the kitchen staff their unnoticed work behind the scenes.
They stopped before a set of raised, marble daises mounted like steps and holding the large bed a meter or two above the massive roomful of luxuries and luggage. Their host seemed to have brought with him a couple cart loads of items, but nothing to entertain himself apparently. He was close to lulling off on the dirty sheets when the patter of footsteps finally reached his ears.
"Basin and pitcher," which Hiroto assumed was directed at himself. There was a pause and weary huff of breath as if Tora was considering something in his pillow. "You," he continued, waving Ronon's way, "you get dressed, but stay there." He certainly was no eyesore, but the generously built fighter made the already tired and used Tora feel pale and weak in comparison. And rightly so, even Hiroto with his small stature would have agreed.
Sparing Ronon another nervous glance, he moved to retrieve the basin and pitcher from atop a heavy wooden dresser. Tora had carried it into the villa with him. Gilded in gold, the dresser sat against the adjacent wall weighed even further down by a slab of white marble adorning its surface. The basin was made of the same smooth rock and, much to Hiroto's chagrin, very large, very heavy, and very slippery in his sweaty palms. A golden colored pitcher sat cozily inside the basin next to a soft cloth and it was probably much lighter, but had been unfortunately filled to the brim with fragrant water. The entire load made Hiroto's back bend as he hugged his armful and tottered towards the bed. He stood there again waiting to be allowed up the dais.
"Your mistress claims you are the best fighter in the ludus and even the entire peninsula - though I do hear otherwise," Tora remarked out of nowhere in an almost ridiculing way. His pride and his ass were feeling a bit stung by this infamous fighter and he was also a few winks away from sleep, but he needed to keep talking. He needed an excuse to keep the master's best gladiator in his room the day before a fight. The guards outside were probably itching to barge in and cage the overgrown man back up on their master's orders, but they could all wait. Pushing himself into a sitting position, Tora swung his legs over the side of the bed and motioned the smaller of the two slaves to come and wipe him down.
Ronon however, merely acknowledged the statement with a tilt of his head and nothing more as he pulled his clothes on. It wasn't his place to share information about his master's opinions or enemies for that matter. And he certainly didn't know enough about Tora - beyond what his body had clearly preferred - to add onto the small talk. Instead, he let the familiar sounds of splashing water fill the silence. The idea that the man on the bed had summoned Ronon here, knowing exactly who he was, to conquer him physically was laughable. From his arrival the look in his eye had told the renowned gladiator exactly what his master's guest really wanted. It was the same hungry and curious look even the mistress of the house had flashed him before their first time together. What would it be like to fuck the big, bad gladiator?
Ronon suppressed a snort.
---
Like all the times he had aided in daily cleaning - man and woman, young and old - Hiroto filled the basin a couple inches above the spongy cloth before setting the pitcher off to the side. He picked up the washcloth, squeezed out the excess water, and began rubbing away sweat and other things with practiced swipes of his hand. After a while he would pause, dip the cloth back into the basin, scrub its two halves together, squeeze out, and repeat. It was somehow a calming, normal task for a slave. The scents and sounds were familiar and the motions easy. However, the near silence was beginning to get to Ronon as he stood there ignored and watching, brows furrowing deeper at the changing expression on Tora's face.
Perhaps he should have made more of an effort to keep him talking. But no, it was too late now.
"You missed a spot," Tora whispered in a husky voice, shifting closer to the edge of the bed for his benefit. Hiroto tried not to show any emotion as he knelt there rubbing gently at skin softer than his own and wondering what had gone on in this bedroom. Was he next? His hands shook. Stop it. How many times had Ronon told him not to let them see he was scared? He was brave and he wouldn't give in. But all the same, he was sure his hot cheeks were flushed red by now.
Most of the time Hiroto could do this without so much as batting an eyelash - most servants and slaves could. But half the time most people preferred to do this part on their own. The other half of the time Hiroto had to tactfully evade being made to do things he definitely did not want to do. Most of those times there were at least other slaves around to pick and choose from. Or at the very least a designated slave... Hiroto bit his lip and forced himself to settle between Tora's spread legs.
He knew without a doubt he couldn't get out of this one.
The stained bedding was proof enough that even Ronon had to obey.
He didn't want to look at Ronon right now.
---
Tora smirked lethargically at the pretty slave down on his knees. His ass ached and a much needed nap tugged at his eyes, but that didn't mean he couldn't appreciate a plush set of lips so close to his cock or even the soothing circles being rubbed up his legs. That didn't mean he was just going to fall asleep.
He felt the warm puffs of breath on his thigh speed up as he slid a finger under the slave's chin and ran his thumb over pink lips. It was a shame another round was the second to last thing on his mind at the moment. Tora had been up all night acting the part of a good and proper guest, entertaining his host with stories from across the borders and listening to his own share of tales. And for it, he had been duly rewarded today - though on his hands and knees in a way he hadn't planned. He was sure his dear friend was having a big laugh over that. But, after all, who knew if the gladiator would survive tomorrow morning's fight? Well, actually Tora knew Ronon would survive, but nevertheless…
"Such a waste," he murmured, smiling like a pointy-toothed predator and making the slave shiver. He wasn't sure which he was referring to - the massive fighter standing below the steps of the dais or the small one trying to keep demurely on-task. Maybe both now that he'd finally set eyes on this one. Tora's thumb pressed down on the slave's fat bottom lip and he nearly grinned at the debauched sight. He was about to aim a dirty comment the gladiator's way out of sheer, post-coital comradery when he caught the murderous look in Ronon's eyes. He was quite literally itching to kill.
Oh, don't tell me the big oaf fancies this one, Tora almost laughed. He had to hand it to him. Though he was a tricky son of a bitch, his host sure knew how to pick his slaves. And he had a knack for knowing just how to entertain his guests with the usual sex and intrigue - something he was very much going to take advantage of.
"I wonder what the asking price is for someone your size," Tora murmured, just loud enough for Ronon to hear, "And with these lips…" The towel on his hips stilled. He waited.
"He is not for sale."
Right on cue.
These hot-blooded types never could just stand idly by and take a taunting. That was usually their downfall.
As quick as a snake, Tora's head whipped around to face the gladiator. His sluggish exterior just as quickly transformed into a dark, conniving look that his longish jet-black hair and slanted eyes accentuated.
"And you slave, presume to know the will of your master?" It was an obvious ploy, as clear of a trap as Tora could have possibly made it.
Ronon all but lunged onto the bait. Hook, line, and sinker.
"He is mine," the gladiator snarled. "I have paid for him."
"You are a slave. You own nothing and everything within your grasp - the very body you stand in - belongs to your master," Tora replied sharply, daring him to continue an argument he would never win. Not now, not with the way their world worked.
"If he is yours," Tora continued, "Tell me, why is he kneeled before me here?" He grabbed a fistful of the slave's hair and yanked his head back, baring a naked, marked throat to provoke Ronon further.
Hiroto's gasp cut through air like a whip and his washcloth fell to the floor. Panic pounded against the walls of his stomach and it felt as if his heart was beating fit to burst when Tora hauled him up by his hair and pulled him towards the edge of the bed. His knees buckled, hands clenched uselessly at his sides, and he was forced to settle between Tora's legs by a hand on his throat. This time however, his back was glued to a bare chest.
From the dais, it looked as if Ronon's body was expanding, growing larger and larger with the pressure of his fast pumping blood. He was slightly hunched over in his rage, built like a deadly bull, and ready to fight. Yet, even now, it was like an invisible wall surrounded the dais protecting the aristocrat from certain death. It was a very risky lesson Tora planned on teaching, but Ronon's master had spoiled him once too often and purposefully blinded him to the power he possessed. Yes, it was a waste. A shameful waste that even the greatest, most skilled of gladiators could not even find his own freedom or realize the strength he wielded.
"Why don't you help me teach your would-be owner a lesson in knowing his place, hmm?" he whispered into the slave's ear before moving to kiss his neck.
Hiroto whimpered. Although he'd done this many times, Ronon had never been there watching and that just made this twice as painful. The hand on his throat did not leave, but the pressure ceased to a bearable touch. Rather, he was allowed enough air to choke out a sound of protest as teeth bit down into his skin.
---
He was going to go mad.
Ronon could feel veins straining against the skin of his temples and hear the blood roaring in his ears. It took all he had not to charge up the steps and tear Tora apart limb from limb. As it was, it felt as if his muscles were strung tight from his earlobes all the way down to his toes. He knew in his head he needed to stand his ground, but so help him Hiroto was his.
Tora had angled them on the bed so he could see as mouth-shaped bruises were pressed to an already sore neck. He was forced to watch as long fingers undid the folded fabric wrapped around and fitted to slim hips, but Ronon could not see beyond the stricken look twisting Hiroto's features. And there was nothing he could do. Every day slaves were faced with the choice to obey or rebel and, above all, the consequences of each. To obey was to live the same imprisoned life, serving the people they hated. But to rebel…
To rebel was to be beaten into submission, maimed or worse until one no longer possessed the will to fight. Hiroto would survive this. They both knew that. And together they would bear the shame of being treated as less than human. But suppose Ronon were to lash out. Sure he might be able to snap the aristocrat's neck before the guards were alerted by his screams, but he certainly wouldn't survive through the next day and neither would Hiroto. Or maybe they would let Hiroto live and he would simply end up, once again, in the same position he was in now only without the comforting knowledge that the one he loved was alive and genuinely cared for him.
In truth, the consequences far outweighed the vivid emotions Ronon was feeling right now.
But that did not make either of them feel any better.
That did not magically transport them into some safe utopia.
Ronon's knuckles popped one by one, painted white and cracking from the sheer force with which his angry fists curled in on themselves.
---
Within the recesses of his mind not clouded in shame and his own terrified anger and guilt, Hiroto could guess at the conflicted thoughts broiling beneath Ronon's barely composed surface. He didn't blame him. If there was anyone who could understand the inner turmoil the gladiator was experiencing, it was Hiroto. But love and a shared understanding of pain could not stop the hand that now delved below the hem of his tunic.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
A million thoughts crowded Hiroto's head, but none more prominent than the image of a warm hand slowly stroking him to full arousal. He hated this part the most. He hated how little control he had over his body's reaction every time someone thought it would kind to force enough stimulation on Hiroto to make him come. It never made it feel any better when he didn't even want the sex to begin with. Now he was shuddering as Tora's rough bites suddenly turned into gentle scrapes of teeth up and down the sensitive skin of his neck. His chest felt tight and his hands were curled awkwardly above his own thighs even as those warm hands pulled him closer.
---
Tora dragged the slave up into a better position and began playing his body like skilled fingers to a flute. Despite his recent stint on the reluctant receiving end of the bedroom, Tora had enough experience being pleasured and pleasuring to know what a body wanted. He wasn't going to actually fuck the slave, oh no, but he had a lesson to teach and it was best taught through experience.
Even so, next to the small slave he felt powerful and in control again. With the gladiator it had been a different story. He could taunt him up close, yes, hold his power over him and gloat, true, but he also risked being torn in two if the massive man snapped. Sure the guards could come in, beat the beast into submission and execute him the next day, but Tora wouldn't be around to see it. All the status in the world meant nothing if you weren't alive to enjoy it.
Besides, it wasn't exactly a chore watching pouty lips pant for breath and feeling a very lively body jerk under his touch.
---
The touches took on a more urgent pace.
He couldn't fight.
The expensive linens and blankets on the bed were slippery and Hiroto's feet didn't even reach the ground from where he sat. The only thing keeping him from sliding completely off the bed was the grip on his neck and the hand working between his legs.
He didn't understand, he really didn't understand. Why was this happening? What was the point? He couldn't make a single move to even defend himself because of his fucking rank - so what was the point? The unfortunate lot Fate had cast him made tears well up and cling to his lashes. He wasn't going to cry, but he didn't want this. Hiroto knew there was no sense in holding back when letting go was what the man curled around him wanted most. But he would not cry. He was brave, the bravest imp Ronon had ever met.
He choked on his own sob.
The sooner he came, the sooner this entire ordeal would be over. Or at least he hoped. Even if his solution was as simple as that it was so hard to even relax the miniscule amount it would take to orgasm when the situation made his stomach roil with disgust and he could barely get in enough oxygen to keep up with his own heavy breathing.
As if reading his thoughts, the pressure was suddenly gone from his throat.
A heady swell of air rushed into his lungs and his vision speckled black.
---
Hiroto was pulled, tugged, and forced into merciless climax with a soft, strangled sound by an unrelenting hand that did not stop even when he cried out. He tried halfheartedly to push Tora's hand away even though he wasn't allowed. He knew the man would only stop when he wanted to and neither he nor Ronon had any say in the matter, but his body didn't care. His shuddering body was so close to slipping off the bed it was probably a bad idea anyway. The overstimulation, instead of making him jerk away, caused him do the exact opposite. Shaking all over, he clung to the arm still jerking him off though he had nothing left to give. Slick thighs clenched together around Tora's hand of their own accord - to try and stop the assault on his nerves perhaps or maybe his body was asking for more - either way, his body had already betrayed him once today. Even Hiroto didn't know what it wanted anymore. He hated it. He wanted to curl up and make the waves of feeling go away.
For Tora, watching him fall apart and continue trembling uncontrollably was sweet success. The gladiator probably got the point by now if the savage look on his face was anything to go by. He really did look like a terrible beast of a man - unruly hair framing his face like a wild mane, lips curled up to reveal pointy canines, and arm muscles twitching and heaving with each angry inhale. Shaking his head, Tora retracted his hand - wiping his fingers on the inside of the slave's garments, then nudging him off his bed. He used the washcloth and remaining water to clean himself before taking a moment to size up the two slaves at his disposal.
The shaken creature before him stood on wobbly legs, eyes wide as an owl's, and clinging to his soiled clothes as if Tora would jump him any minute. Which was understandable, all things considered. The other one was absolutely furious.
He reckoned they'd had enough.
Shrugging, feeling the weariness return to his limbs and just a tad bit dirty under those mournfully large eyes, Tora pulled the sheets over his lap and motioned Hiroto away. "Leave us." He was half-hard from the little slave's wiggling and whimpering, but he had more important matters to discuss in private.
"Leave it," he ordered softly when the slave made to return the wash items back to the dresser. "Yes, I said leave it. Move along and tell your large friend to come here while you're at it."
Hiroto swallowed and nodded vigorously before carefully making his way down the steps. He tripped over his own unsteady feet before stumbling to the spot where Ronon stood waiting. He was seething, practically spit-raging mad and pacing in his spot, but he was gentle when he caught Hiroto by the arm and steered him toward the doors.
"You're wanted," his small companion whispered in a faint voice, not quite meeting Ronon's eyes as he took his leave. Hiroto had to struggle pathetically with the doors to get one open, but he managed to slip quietly through a small crack and disappear completely.
Ronon didn't need to be told twice. He watched Hiroto go before stalked forward like a gladiator walking into the arena. This time he did nothing to disguise the utter disgust on his face.
Tora however, thought nothing of it. Things were going rather well by his books when he was met with livid silence rather than the swinging fist he'd anticipated. "Do you understand now?" he asked in a calm, level tone when his remaining guest stomped to a standstill a couple paces away. "Has it finally sunken in exactly where you stand in this world?"
All it would take was one step and he would be the perfect distance to begin pummeling this sorry excuse of a man to mush.
Through the haze of outrage, Ronon could tell that the piece of shit politician had some sort of point he was trying to push across. It was probably the same roundabout way of rubbing his pathetic life into his face most of the people he bedded loved to employ. "I suggest you make your point and make it fast," he growled from deep in his throat. "And, while you're at it, you can go ahead and explain to me why you couldn't just tell me to my face the bullshit point you're trying to make instead of taking it out on Hiroto." His fists clenched and unclenched beside him.
So his name is Hiroto, is it? Tora tsk'd, temper, temper, and shook his head in disappointment. The brute still hadn't learned his lesson and he still wasn't using his head. When you started naming names, especially names of the ones you were trying to protect, you made it ten times as easy for someone of Tora's standing to find them and make them pay.
"Come here," he ordered quietly, pointing to the ground beneath his feet.
Ronon sneered.
"I'm not going to stuff my cock down your throat or whatever ridiculous thing you are thinking," Tora snorted when it became apparent he wouldn't budge. It really was obvious he was definitely a lot more compliant when the other one was around. A proper slave owner wouldn't stand for it. Or they would take advantage of it.
Grudgingly, Ronon stepped forward and fell to his knees. The position was so similar to the one Hiroto had just been in, his nostrils flared angrily while his hair stood on end.
"This is where you stand in this world," Tora began. "Ronon," he spoke the name sharply to garner the stubborn slave's attention.
Oddly enough, it was the use of his actual name that made Ronon snap to attention. Usually the rich and powerful didn't bother using names. Even his own master and mistress rarely used his name to address him face to face. In the company of others they spoke of a prized "Ronon" as if he was nothing more than a possession, a trophy symbolic of the prestige found within their ludus. And honestly, in reality, he amounted to nothing more than a possession - perhaps a favorite pet at the most, but replaceable - and that was life.
"Ronon, this is where you stand in our world," Tora repeated, leaning back on his hands and cocking his head toward the floor. "You do not even deserve to stand. You kneel before others despite your fame in the arena. Do you realize that? A valuable man such as yourself, forced to grovel while others lounge in their beds," he avoided referring to his own current state, "and still others much weaker hold their heads high above yours. You and Hiroto," Ronon bristled at his mention, "must forever keep your eyes trained on the trash and dirt below. And why is that? Why should perfectly able men and women never be allowed to glimpse the sky?"
He waited for an answer he was sure would never come, but Tora could see the gears beginning to click in the gladiator's mind and that was all that mattered - that was a good sign. True to his word, Tora was trying to teach a very valuable lesson and he was trying to teach it in a reasonable manner using a calm, reasonable tone.
"Because you have been labeled a slave," he supplied for Ronon finally, stopping his short speech to allow his words time to sink into the wild man's thick skull. "Damned even before birth," he tsk'd again, shaking his head.
Seconds ticked by. Not a sound penetrated the room's double doors. Outside it had grown hot enough to force most of the population into a temporary siesta and, at the foot of some stranger's bed, Ronon's head buzzed.
It almost sounded as if he was on their side.
It almost sounded as if this scum of the earth were suggesting men were supposed to be born equal.
But why? Ronon wondered. It was clear Tora was no saint and hadn't so much as blinked when he chose to abuse his power over the very slave he now complimented.
"Ronon," Tora spoke again, fingers tipping the gladiator's chin up to meet his eyes in an almost compassionate way. "You are smart and you are cunning in the arena. You know there is no way for you to truly protect him as long as you are a slave. And," Ronon stiffened, "as you can see from today, with that attitude of yours you only add to his suffering under the sham of defending his honor." He turned away this time to avoid Tora's knowing gaze, glowering at the bedspread.
"Stop lying to yourself," Tora finally hissed. He jerked the bristly chin back to face him accusingly. "I've been acquainted with him for hardly an hour and even I can tell worse has been done to him than the little example I set here. He probably tells you less than half of the things that go on behind your back - whether to save himself the shame of telling you or save you from the helpless, pointless anger. Whatever it is, you know it is true."
Ronon's chest rose up and down with heavy, heated breaths. "And what, oh knowledgeable one, would you have a mere slave do? I cannot do anything!" He bit his slow words out in absolute frustration. No one knew his own weaknesses and flaws better than himself. He didn't need any foreign aristocrat pointing out to him the obvious.
In contrast to the fuming man before him, Tora smiled wide and benevolently at his words.
A chill ran down the length of Ronon's spine.
In the shadow of a gladiator he may have seemed weak and harmless, but Ronon could now tell he was a force to be reckoned with. Tora's eyes were steely cold as he smiled now. For an average man he was not small. His voice was commanding when it wasn't playing hard to get and the halfhearted fight Tora had put up in bed was enough to show Ronon that he could pack a punch and be reasonably quick with it if it suited his purpose. Backed again by those cunning eyes and with enough riches to raise an entire army, Tora was a deadly foe. Not for the first time today, Ronon suddenly wished he could just return to his simple life of fist fights and living day by day like an animal. He didn't realize all that had changed for him months ago when his masters began plotting.
All these complicated words, complicated society, implicit lessons and whatever it was this man was trying to tell him through that chilly smile were beginning to make his head hurt. And then his thoughts were forced to a sudden halt.
"Tomorrow evening, this villa and all the surrounding land your master controls will be invaded and captured." Ronon's eyes narrowed at the announcement. "Even as we speak, my men are moving into the surrounding farms and houses and taking shelter within every available inn and spare room under the pretense of coming to see the infamous Ronon fight."
He released the slave's face and waited again for his reaction.
Tora knew he was right. Ronon was, by nature, a very straightforward person - but he was not stupid.
"You… You want something of me," the gladiator stated, brows furrowing and mind beginning to work on the ins and outs of a fast-forming conspiracy. What was there for a mere slave to do that one ambitious man and his army could not?
"Very good," Tora nodded grimly. He was catching on quick. "I do want something of you. But first, I must warn you. Even if you do tell, I will deny it. It will be your jealous, vengeful word over mine," he added shrewdly.
So today hadn't all been one torturous, amusing show. Tora had been busy setting him up with an alibi and a motive.
"My numbers are many and we will attack regardless, though there will be much much more bloodshed because of it. However, if you do somehow manage to prevent the attack by say, snapping my neck this instant, know this - your life will not change."
And there it was, the message he'd been trying to send through the sad slump of Hiroto's shoulders.
"At the most, you will be rewarded if you can convince them of the truth, but I assure you it will be fleeting. Up until this moment you have served your ludus and your master well and for many many years, I might add." Tora had done his research despite feigning ignorance. "Yet you still sleep in the same cell, on the same bug-infested mat, eating the same filth as the rest of them. Your masters won't even grant you the power to so much as protect one, single, inconsequential slave."
Ronon wanted to protest the bug-infested part, but he kept quiet. How had he not seen this before? No, he knew. He had just been so set on living through the moment - like an animal - he didn't want to realize how he was being treated.
"Save them," Tora continued, "and it will do nothing to better your status. You will still be the loyal fighting dog who was merely in the right place at the right time. You will still be a slave. He will still be at their dispense. Nothing will change and, above all else, you will have dashed your best hopes at producing that change." He finished his argument and crossed his arms.
Even Ronon could have told Tora all that in much simpler terms, but he couldn't imagine any scenario that would leave him better off. And that last thought bothered him. "And why am I to presume you are my best chance at freedom? Why should I trust you when you've already shown yourself capable of betraying someone who values you as a friend?" Why should I trust you when it is clear you enjoy commanding my body for your own pleasure just like the rest of them? Ronon added in his head. And why should I overlook what you've just done to Hiroto?
Tora really did laugh then, though he could read all the many doubts written on Ronon's face. "Politics my friend! Have you never heard the expression 'keep your enemies closest to your heart'? Right now I am being housed and wonderfully fed - with plenty of gifts and pampering in between - to ensure that our alliance remains intact. I am here enjoying a so called vacation. It is a ploy as old as time. Your master does not trust me and rightly so. If I am at an arm's reach, then surely I am not up to no good. You know, it wouldn't hurt to spend a little time away from your sword and amongst a few books."
Ronon shrugged the remark off completely unfazed. There were far more important things to focus on than his own illiteracy. He knew enough to sign his name and blunder through the various ownership documents and payment slips and that was good enough. Hiroto wasn't much better and honestly probably much worse, but he at least liked the feel of a book in his hand. He'd mentioned once something about the way the heavy pages looked covered in script - though Hiroto had only ever possessed the single thin booklet he'd swiped from the fires one especially cold, stormy winter when it had been suicidal to even step out in search of wood.
Ronon suspected it was merely a long inventory list donated kindly by some bankrupt merchant from another land who had hung to pay his debts, but who was he to burst Hiroto's bubble?
He shook his head. There was much at stake here for something he had yet to agree to and knew even less about
"First, tell me what it is you require of me - because it seems as if I have a choice - then I will decide," he finally announced. I will decide if you are worth risking our lives for.
"Very good," Tora replied. "I will be brief because it would be suspicious of me to hold you for much longer." The man must have been under closer watch than Ronon suspected. "And remember, I will attack with or without your help. With your hands you have taken many lives and now, with those very same hands, I am asking you to save just as many."
Ronon gave a curt nod. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.
"If you'll agree to it, I will entrust you with this."
From beneath the covers of his bed, a jagged blade slid out and winked up at the two conspirators.
A/N:
YES. I come from the depths of non-writing world to bring you THIS nonsense!!! D8
I blame this on too much Spartacus for me and tingedwords plus too much Khal Drogo for me, too much Ronon Dex for tingedwords, and a sprinkle of too much Alice Nine for the both of us all along the way… *sweats* I'll post the next part as soon as I'm done, but this was getting long and someone was getting impatient so I'm just posting!!
Also, a "ludus" is what they called a school for gladiators.
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