Ara blinked his eyes open as the morning light seeped through his tent and wondered why his back was aching.  Sitting up, the boy saw that he’d fallen asleep on the floor near Cajha, who still drowsed peacefully.  The blond boy smiled, until he saw the brutal evidence of the slave’s injuries in the growing light.  Around Cajha’s neck hung a heavy chain placed there by soldiers the previous night. Ara touched the cold steel and shivered.  The air was thick with the smell of blood and sweat, and Ara realized the man was in bad need of a bath.  He should send for hot water and food for their morning meal.  Such tasks were rightly Cajha’s duty, but he was certainly in no shape for it yet.

“Young Sir,” came a voice from outside the tent.

Standing quickly and straightening his wrinkled uniform, Ara poked his head out of the tent.  “Oh, Malakai.  What is it?” he asked, yawning and stepping outside.  Malakai was one of the few soldiers in camp who didn’t treat him like a disease.

“You’re expected on the shooting range this morning, aren’t you?  I thought I’d come fetch you before the General decided to do so himself.”

“I’ll expect you to be at the shooting range at sun-up.”

The words echoed in Ara’s head and he cursed.  He’d completely forgotten his promise to his father to begin training with the sniper gun. 

“Thank you, Malakai!  I’ll be right with you,” the young blond replied. 

The tall solider nodded, smiling at the sight of Ara’s enticing behind as the boy turned back into the tent.  The dark-haired man thought the General’s son just as spoiled and insipid as everyone else did.  He also thought that if putting up with him meant he could one day seduce the boy to his bed, it would be worth it.  Other soldiers had had similar thoughts, but no one dared act on them, lest they be discovered and have General Machakw throttle them for disgracing his son.  Malakai, however, enjoyed his games of deceit and the thrill they brought him–and he was very good at keeping his secrets.  The man grinned at the idea that Ara had absolutely no clue as to his ulterior motives, the frivolous little simpleton.

Back in his tent, the boy washed up quickly in the chilled water left in his basin and prepared to leave.  Glancing at Cajha, he wondered if the man would be all right.  He’d barely stirred.

“Sir Aranck,” came Malakai’s voice, “we need to be leaving.”

“Yes! Coming!” Ara called back as he rushed out the tent to meet the other man.

On the way to the range, the boy stopped by the provisions tent, ordering the men there to bring hot water and food to his tent for Cajha.

As he walked away, Ara heard one of the men murmur, “So now we have to pamper the brat’s slave as well?”

The young blond pretended not to hear, and Malakai took the opportunity to rest a hand on the boy’s shoulder.  Leaning in close, he whispered, “don’t let them get to you, Ara.”

The boy nodded his head, but his heart sank.  The men were becoming more openly insolent towards him.  In fact, the whole camp was humming with general discontent.  Ara felt as if a storm were brewing.  In the midst of such tension, he should have felt reassured by Malakai’s words, but somehow they unsettled him.  There was a quality in the man’s voice that made Ara uncomfortable and he found he didn’t like the way his name dripped from the man’s tongue.

As the day went on, matters only grew worse.  The young blond was on edge during his training at the shooting range.  Though his aim wasn’t bad with the sniper gun, the boy jumped every time one of the larger, louder guns or cannons sounded.  The boy lost all concentration and nearly injured one of the soldiers when he misfired.  His father, standing on a high platform to oversee the exercises, looked down at him with cold disapproval.  His other exercises were equally abysmal.

The only bright point in Ara’s day was when he returned to his tent that night and found that Cajha was already recovering well.  Though the man moved stiffly and with obvious discomfort, he was whole and sound.  Ara marveled at his physique–so strong and toned and powerful.  Had he been the one to have taken such a beating, Ara knew he’d probably have been left half-dead.  The boy blushed when he caught Cajha’s twinkling eyes and realized he’d been staring.

“You’re looking well today, little Master.”

Ara frowned and tried to look stern, but his bottom lip jutted out in a pout.  Cajha held back a smile, but Ara could see it in the man’s eyes.  “You will not speak unless you are spoken to!” he ordered, crossing his arms in a huff.  The young man was determined to get his servant in hand. 

“Yes, Ara,” Cajha said smoothly.

“G—good,” the boy mumbled, failing to recognize the fact the man had again spoken out of turn.  He was too confused by his emotions to notice. 

Unlike when Malakai had spoken his name, Ara felt a warm thrill fill him when Cajha addressed him.  It threw the boy off-balance and made him forget his intentions.  “You’re feeling better then?” he asked hesitantly, eying the man’s bruises.

“I’ve been through worse,” the warrior said simply. 

Feeling unsettled by the man’s dark eyes, Aya tried to regain his confidence and control.  “Well, good!” he said haughtily.  “Because we need to work on your training.”

The boy sat down in the bed and lifted one of his booted feet.  Cajha moved to kneel before him, but his neck chain brought him up short.  The length of chain was secured by a huge steel stake that had been driven mercilessly into the hard ground in a far corner of the tent.  It did not allow much movement.

“Perhaps my little Master would care to move a chair closer to me?” he offered.

Cajha’s politeness made Ara feel chagrined and he quickly pushed a small chair within reach of the man’s chains and sat down.  The warrior assessed the boy with amusement.  Ara really had no thoughts for his safety at all, it seemed.  The dark warrior would have assumed that any nobility from Kach would look down on him as filth, the way the General had.  But Ara, even if he could be a pushy little brat, seemed to hold no prejudice or hatred toward him.  And what was more, honestly trusted that the man would do him no harm.

How long had it been since Cajha had felt trusted by anyone?  Even among his people, one had to constantly be on guard; General Machakw had bribed many Damadhians into becoming spies and double agents.  It had been one of the worst blows to Cajha–the distrust such incidents bred among his people.  Yet here was one of the enemy, willingly putting his faith in him.  It yanked at something in the man’s heart and to his astonishment, made him worry over the boy’s safety.  If Ara was this careless with him, he must be completely oblivious with the soldiers.  Did he think his father’s name would save him no matter the situation?  And how foolish had Machakw been to take his pretty, baby-faced son into a military encampment? 

With effort, Cajha pushed such thoughts from his mind.  What mattered now was the immediate situation and what he was going to do about it.  With the heavy chain so soundly secured to the ground, his prospects for escape were looking grim.  He needed to concentrate.  The boy had distracted him enough the night before and he’d lost his best chance for escape.  He would have to formulate a new plan now.  Gazing down at Ara’s pale green eyes, he considered his options. 

Ara was easily intimidated.  Cajha might be able to threaten the boy into helping him escape—and possibly get some information about his father’s plans as well.  He could always hold the boy for ransom afterwards, as he’d considered doing the evening before.  However, as he gazed into those innocent green eyes, Cajha felt unexpectedly hesitant to threaten the boy.  He took a moment to drink in the sight of that soft, open face and slim, tender body and felt his lust stir. 

When his eyes locked with Ara’s and saw the confusion and wonder in the blond boy’s eyes, Cajha wanted to consume him.  He grinned.  And why not?  Certainly seducing the young man would be far more pleasant for them both than threatening him into service.  Moreover, how delicious would it be to seduce the General’s own son right under his nose?  Machakw was far too arrogant to ever conceive of the idea that a ‘barbarian’ like himself would be able to lure his son to his side.  That blindness could be a very useful tool. 

The more Cajha considered it, the better the plan seemed to him.  From the argument he had seen, Ara did not bear much love toward his father.  The boy’s voice had been broken and quiet as he talked to him after the man left.  Cajha had heard the yearning there, the desperate call to be loved in Ara’s soft voice.  Although the man couldn’t pretend that he was unaffected by that call, he forced himself to concentrate on the more pragmatic aspects of seducing the boy: escape, leverage, and (he smiled to himself) conquest.

Ara sat squirming beneath Cajha’s eyes, feeling awkward and flushed.

“W—what are you waiting for?” he suddenly demanded, trying to shake off his tension.  “Kneel!”  The tremor in the boy’s voice revealed his uncertainty despite his commanding words.  When Cajha looked him over and held his eyes, Ara had felt his heart stop in his chest.  He didn’t know why he should feel this warm, strange sensation in his belly when Cajha’s dark gaze fell upon him, but he seemed unable to stop it. 

Slowly, Cajha sank to his knees and gently slipped off one of Ara’s boots.  The man slid his fingers along the boy’s leg, letting his hands linger.  Setting aside the boot, he caressed the blond’s slender ankle until Ara jerked his foot away.

“What are you doing?” the boy asked, almost suspiciously.  Though Cajha hadn’t exactly done anything wrong, Ara was unnerved all the same.  He felt as if he was being taken advantage of, which was ridiculous considering Cajha was chained and kneeling before him.  Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had somehow lost control of the situation.

Slipping off Ara’s other boot, the dark man smiled.  “I thought my little Master would enjoy a foot rub before bed.”

“Oh…ok,” murmured Ara.  Just a little massage, he thought.  That’s all it is, right? 

The motion of Cajha’s hands was firm and smooth.  He moved the pads of his strong thumbs along the arch of one foot and Ara found his mouth gaping open as he gasped in pleasure.  It felt heavenly.  The man found little crevices of tension the boy didn’t even know were there, and slowly worked them out.  All the while, Ara sat with his hands gripping the seat of his chair, his entire body focused on the lovely sensations.  Gradually, and without the young blond realizing it at first, the rhythm and pressure of Cajha’s fingers began to change.  The movements grew slower, more languid, and changed from firm strokes to light, teasing touches. 

Ara squirmed in his chair as he was flooded with a heady, sensual feeling.  Fingertips danced up his calves and the blond groaned loudly.  When he heard himself, the boy froze.  What was happening here?

“That’s enough,” Ara said, standing abruptly.  His skin tingled all over and he was rattled by the mixture of emotions Cajha had stirred within him.  “It’s late.  I need to prepare for bed.” 

Glancing at his nightshirt tossed over the back of the chair, Ara remembered that now would be the time he would normally ask his servant to change his clothes.  Even though he had done this every night back on Kach, the young man hesitated to have Cajha undress him.  Should he just do it himself? 

Then the boy’s typical stubbornness kicked in and he thought himself foolish for hesitating over such a small thing.

“You will undress me,” he ordered with feigned nonchalance.  The moment the words escaped his lips, however, Ara felt his heart pound against his ribs.  He breathed deeply and tried to calm himself as he turned his back to Cajha so the man could slip off his coat. 

The boy didn’t see the other man cock an eyebrow at him and look his body up and down–and it was a good thing, since Ara already felt inexplicably nervous.  The boy swallowed hard and tried not to flinch when he felt Cajha’s hands deftly remove his outer jacket.  Before he had a chance to turn and face him, the man slipped his arms around the boy from behind and drifted up his hands up his torso until they found to the clasp at the blond’s throat. 

“That’s not how it’s done!” Ara exclaimed in an almost panicked tone as he slapped the man’s hands away.  His entire body had blushed at the feel of Cajha’s strong arms embracing him.  “Let me turn around.”

Unfortunately, being face to face with Cajha was even more disconcerting.  The tall, dark man was too close.  Ara could feel the caress of his breath stir the hair on his forehead.  The heat of Cajha’s naked skin seemed to radiate from him.  Inadvertently, the blond boy drifted his eyes over the man’s bare chest and felt a tightening in his loins that made him jump back the moment Cajha reached for the clasp on his collar. 

The warrior watched the boy hop backward, nearly toppling over the chair behind him in his haste to put some distance between them.

For a second Ara was at a loss for words, his composure completely broken in the midst of his panic.  Then he managed to sputter, “these buttons are very tricky.  I’d better just do it myself.”  When Ara realized how poor an excuse he’d just given, he tried to regain his dignity by straightening up and saying in an imperious tone, “I wouldn't expect someone like you to know how to do it.” Waving a hand dismissively, he said, “Just go… sit over there or something.”

Cajha read the young man’s apprehension and arousal easily.  Ignoring the boy’s words, he took a step forward.  “Why don’t you teach me, little Master?”

Ara stumbled backwards again to avoid him.  “I said sit down!” he yelled, with more alarm than authority.

With a chuckle that rippled within the man’s handsome chest, Cajha relented and sat down on the blanket Ara had provided for him the night before.  The blond boy could feel the man’s gaze as he slipped off his clothes and pulled his nightshirt over his head.  He didn’t know why it should bother him so to have Cajha watch him, but it did.  That night, it took Ara far longer than usual to fall asleep once he’d buried himself in his blankets.  His dreams were filled with images of his captive’s dark eyes.

As Cajha healed over the next few days, Ara continued showing him his duties.  The man was compliant and obeyed him, but Ara constantly felt more like a child being humored than a master with his servant.  It was difficult to feel commanding when his slave was a head taller and looked twice as strong as him.  Moreover, Ara had not been able to break Cajha of the habit of calling him ‘little Master’.  On the rare occasion he addressed Ara by name, the boy was left feeling even less in control.  Cajha always looked quiet and purposeful when he called him ‘Ara,’ and it sent a little shiver down the boy’s spine every time he heard it.  Something shone in the captive’s eyes at those times–something Ara couldn’t name, that made his mouth dry and his heart race.

Cajha was finding the seduction of his little master far more enjoyable than he had anticipated, though his living arrangement left something to be desired.  His confinement made him restless and irritable when he was left to himself.  It could have been worse–he could have been stuffed in one of the crude prisoner cells and left with barely enough room to stretch his limbs.  Still, for a man as active and intelligent as Cajha, he was finding the situation challenging enough.  It did not go unnoticed by the man that his constant presence was a challenge to his master as well.

In the crowded camp, Ara had nowhere to go for privacy but his tent– a tent where Cajha now resided with him every hour of the day.  Before Ara took the slave, the issue of his lack of privacy had not occurred to him.  Since slaves were barely thought of as humans—if they were thought of at all—most people born of nobility would have had no qualms about undressing before them or even taking someone to bed before a slave.  Ara, however, was neither so oblivious nor so callous, and he was keenly aware of the dark man’s eyes on him at all times. 

Nighttime was the most difficult.  As an adolescent boy, Ara had certain needs to attend to in the evenings, but he was mortified to touch himself with the other man so close at hand.  His need had been stronger than usual, however, and after several nights Ara could no longer help himself.

Almost of its own accord, his hand drifted between his thighs.  The boy bit his lip and then ducked his head beneath the blankets to muffle his increasingly rapid breathing.  Feeling much more at ease hidden under his covers, Ara shimmied his nightshirt up past his hips and wrapped a hand about his hard, naked member.  The young man preferred to sleep without his breeches, and he was thankful now that he had one less layer of clothing to deal with.  If he squirmed around too much, he ran the risk of waking Cajha.  

Keeping as silent as possible, Ara slowly began to stroke himself.  After having to hold back for so long, his session of self-stimulation was especially intoxicating.  Even the fact that he had to be quieter and more still in Cajha’s presence heightened his thrill.  He’d never had to hold himself in check, and it added a new quality to his pleasure.  He fondled himself slowly, thoroughly, and opened his mouth in silent cries of ecstasy. 

Slowly, the young man’s control started to slip.  Try as he might, Ara was losing all sense of decorum and moaned loudly as he quickened his pace.  When his climax hit, the blond tried to choke back his cry, but it escaped his throat in a barely-contained squeak.  Not until Ara felt his seed spill onto his hands and had caught his breath did he realize how loud and indiscreet he had been.  His face flushed with shame. 

Nevertheless, he was forced to get out of bed to clean himself in the nearby basin.  Ara washed himself with his back to his servant and hoped to find the man still asleep when he turned around, but he had no such luck.  When Ara turned to walk back to bed, he found those startling dark eyes staring at him under heavy lids from across the room.  Heat flooded Ara’s cheeks, but he tried his best to regain his sense of dignity.

“What are you doing?” Ara snapped, stepping over to him.  “At night, you should sleep with your back to me!  Do you hear me?” the young man’s voice lacked authority, his embarrassment obvious.  “I said do you—”

Suddenly, in one swift movement, the boy found himself yanked down to the ground by his arm.  The dark man had his body pinned beneath him in seconds.

Ara was stunned, but what surprised him most was his own reaction.  He should have been terrified and threatened at this action, but being held prisoner by the muscular, handsome man above him made his heart race with excitement, even anticipation.  There was fear too, but he did not feel as if the man truly meant him harm.  It was disconcerting and confusing, but he didn’t want the feeling to end.

Cajha said nothing.  He was taken off-guard when the boy did not cry out or struggle against his hold.  There was something deep and yearning in the boy’s young eyes, something that called out to him.  Before he knew what he was doing, he had brought his lips down to cover the boy’s own.  The young man’s mouth was as soft as a woman’s, and he could feel the boy tremble at the unexpected touch, but Ara did not pull away.  Cajha coaxed apart the boy’s lips and inserted his tongue, earning a small whimper from the boy, who eventually had to turn his head aside to gasp for breath.

Ara’s face was flushed and his breathing heavy.  He’d never felt anything like this.

Suddenly, Cajha released him and pushed the boy to his feet.  “Get back to bed,” he said gruffly.

Shaky and unexpectedly disappointed, Ara stumbled back to his empty bed, burrowing into the blankets.  Once his face was out of sight, he put a hand to his heated lips and wondered what on earth had just happened.  Cajha awakened urges within him he hadn’t known existed.  From a young age, Ara had known he preferred the company of other boys, but he had always kept his longings to himself.  His father would have slapped him senseless if he ever admitted he had no desire for women.  Yet Cajha did not seem at all hesitant to express an interest in him—in another man.  Then again, Ara reflected, maybe the man was just teasing him.  Touching his lips again, he surprised himself by how fervently he wished Cajha’s affections to be genuine.  But why?  The man was his slave, a captive.  Yet, Ara couldn’t help himself. 

He shut his eyes tight and prayed for sleep.  By some sixth sense, Ara was certain that Cajha’s eyes were watching him in the darkness as he drifted into slumber.