All the Things You Never Knew:
Part One
By: Kitty E.
Quatre hated sticking to his principles sometimes. He'd made it a point never to let his masters hear him cry, but there came a time when you've already bitten through your lip twice in one night and you wanted to stop caring. He wondered, and not for the first time tonight, why everyone he thought might be a kind master turned out so brutal. He was sidetracked when he realized, judging by the grunts and groans of the man thrusting into him, that it was time to put on the show. Even the most intelligent of masters still looked displeased when they realized that their drunken, insensitive efforts had failed to make their plaything writhe in ecstasy. They didn't care to notice how obviously forced any 'climax' they managed to take them to would have to be.
Quatre started panting, and twisted the sounds he made at the back of his throat to seem as if they were made in pleasure rather than pain as his master picked up the pace. Soon he started issuing long, obscenely loud moans, forcing his body to rock back against the body behind him, within him. Sometimes, if he did it just right, he was able to just push past the discomfort and steal a little pleasure for himself. He sighed when he realized that wouldn't be the case tonight as with a final thrust his master came. Quatre let out a shuddering cry to help accentuate the moment.
He froze as his master draped himself over his back, forcing Quatre to lay onto the bed with him, half pinned beneath him. "Like that, did you?" his master asked arrogantly.
"Oh yes, master," Quatre swooned with sarcastic enthusiasm. "I really felt the earth move that time."
"Shut up... cheeky bitch," came the terse rebuke.
Quatre didn't say another word, waiting to be struck, or at least set free from the sweaty weight above him. His master had never been much for cuddling afterwards, never talked, never kissed or fondled him, certainly never bothered to help Quatre reach a real climax. Why was he keeping him here now?
His master sat up finally, and scooted away. "I have a job for you," he said finally.
"But, master," Quatre groaned. "We just did-"
"Not that kind of job," he spat. Quatre sat up and looked at his master in disbelief, what else was he good for to this man if it wasn't sex? "Though that will play a part in it."
Ah, Quatre thought, disapointed. His master handed him a brush suddenly, and Quatre obediently began to comb out the tangles in his masters hip length chestnut hair. "What do you want done, master?"
"My younger brother, you know him?" From the tone Quatre guessed this was one of the rare moments when he was supposed to speak up.
"Of course, sire," Quatre replied.
"I want you to distract him. Keep him busy, and if you can, out of the castle."
Quatre's brow furrowed in confusion, he stopped brushing his master's hair, and began to braid it slowly. "You want me to approach *him?* Master, he's a prince, I can't-"
"Ch', he's barely a step above the subjects. Besides, he's a virgin, I know that much. Make him think he's in love with you, and he'll follow you anywhere."
"Follow me, sire?" Quatre asked, he tied off the braid and began to dress. "You want me to-"
"Take him, yes." His master flashed a bright smile, violet eyes dancing with a malicious mirth.
"But *I'm* the whore," Quatre said, the odd nature of these orders were beginning to frighten him.
"Don't think letting you fuck my little brother changes that," he waited until Quatre's eyes fell humbly to the floor again. "Just be what you are, impudent, but a first class consort, he won't ever bother to reprimand you. Distract him, that's all I want you to do. If you need a motivation other than my command, for as long as you are with him, I won't ask for you."
Quatre swallowed hard, that was quite a promise and the opportunity he'd been waiting for. "Yes, master." He was dressed now, so he bowed, and started to leave.
"Oh and, Quatre?"
Quatre cringed at the intimate sound of his name being called by someone, he almost liked it better when they only called him slave. "Yes, sire?" he asked, turning to face the prince one last time.
"I certainly hope you give it as well as you take it," he said smugly.
Quatre looked back at him darkly, then forced a smile, "I'm sure I'll do my best, your majesty." He punched the word 'majesty,' hoping the prince would catch his disdain for such a superior. If these were the ones destined, as they put it, to rule the land, what a sorry place the world had become.
"You'd better." Quatre suppressed a shiver, the prince's handsome voice was at a dangerous tone. To date he'd never been intentionally hurt by his master, save a slap or half hearted blow that he was often already expecting for comments he knew he shouldn't speak, but couldn't help but say. As he left, he felt a strange mixture of relief, and unease. The prince wouldn't ask for him again for quite sometime if he did well, but to escape his master he had to trick some forgotten third son into loving him.
He didn't know if he could do it, and wasn't sure he even wanted to try. But if this is what I've been told to do, there's no other choice. He winced, such thoughts were that of a real slave, one who truly was *owned.* And I am not! he insisted. I was never born this way. In the eyes of God, I remain free, I am sure... it must be so. Briefly, he stopped at a window, looking out over the castle and the fields beyond the walls, everything glowing brightly under a full moon. All the open space looked and smelled like freedom. It is after all, another chance for freedom. Heero was a mistake, and with Duo it didn't even pay to try, but if I can just get this prince to fall in love with me... I think I could get him to set me free... How hard could it be, nobles barely know what love is anyway. All I'm doing is changing what I fake from moans to sweet nothings. It means nothing if I can get my freedom. He smiled to himself and continued down the corridor to his room.
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Quatre watched the three royal sons going through the motions of polite conversation with their father. He'd never known a family with such complete inner hatred. King Treize, now an old man after years of great glory, was disdainful of each of his 'unworthy' sons, and each of his children clearly had some reason to hate the old man. There was the eldest, Heero, the boy he been bought for. Taller than the others, and two years older than the next in line, he was the apparent heir to the throne, and had been groomed in his fathers image, making him a superb military leader, but frightfully bad at politics. Quatre had, of course, hated Heero on principal, this had been the man who had taken his home and very freedom away, but that did not make him blind. Heero was a handsome master, as well as surprisingly gentle and thoroughly inexperienced. He had only begun to teach him, but after only a few days after returning to the palace the King had learned of the gift. Worried the boy would go 'queer' before his marriage, the King had insisted a female concubine be given to his son. Leaving Quatre to Duo...
Who was not nearly as nice as he looked. He was another beauty, with an impish grin and bright violet eyes. And a bitterness so old you can smell it, Quatre thought, hatefully. It was clear Duo thought he'd been cheated by being the second born. He took it out on everyone, and that left little hope for a whore like Quatre, no matter how valuable he might be. Duo was rough, and knew enough about sex to know that it felt just as good for him when the other didn't like it as when they did. He was free from Duo now, suspicious of what the boy had planned, but too grateful to care.
The third and youngest boy was the one he was watching tonight. Trowa, he'd had to think for a long time to recall that name. Trowa was so quiet it was as if he wanted to be forgotten, shoulders sagging in a way that was quite unlike royalty. Quatre cocked his head to one side as he studied and sized up this new boy. He was rather pleasant to look at, he decided, the most unique of the three with lovely, but inexpressive green eyes, and a curious fall of chestnut bangs. He would be tall when he grew up, matching Duo's height despite being a year and a half younger. He listened carefully as Trowa answered a question, to the carefully considered words spoken with a soft, resonant voice.
Quatre's brow lifted when the prince refused to sit with the others, instead saying he would retire to his chambers and eat there. The King waved him off, and focusing instead on Heero, despite Duo's numerous attempts to gain his father's attention. Quatre saw a servant move to follow Trowa and quickly rushed over to stop him. He took the plate and whispered his explanation to the fellow slave, being explicit enough to make the old butler's cheeks turn pink. With a smile he followed the prince to his room, ready to serve and make his move.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Third in line was proving an unfortunate place to be in a family such as the Bartons. The way Trowa saw it, he was left with only three options. He could become a traitor, a bishop, or marry a foreign princess. None of which held much appeal to him, third son to King of Kalea. He didn't put much stock in fate but even he had to admit his life had been determined almost at birth. He was thinking of just such things as he sat down for his dinner, alone, for he found the company of his family at mealtimes less than enjoyable. They were slovenly, and ill mannered, never corrected for they were not to be offended. He preferred the silence of solitude, or the scratching of a pen on paper.
A servant came in with his meal, placing it before him without a word. Odd... one trained to pretend like he's not there serving another who may as well not be here. He stole a quick glance at his server tonight, a small blonde with wide eyes he'd never seen before. The boy stood back, quietly waiting for him to finish so he could carry off his plate as though it were his only purpose in life.
With a sullen sigh he returned to his work, taking a bite or two when he could remember to, and vaguely feeling sorry for the servant who would have to stand there while he picked at his food. He was drafting a law for his eldest brother, Heero, wondering how much further the country would fall into disrepair with another restless, warring King.
"You should eat more," a soft voice admonished.
Trowa looked up at the servant, blinking in surprise. "Is that so?" he asked, cringing at just how haughty he sounded.
The servant nodded, and continued to speak to Trowa as though he were an equal. "I've been standing here long enough to make my feet hurt, and you haven't even touched your meat. If you ate more, you might even find enough energy to smile."
Trowa turned his eyes back to his paper, "Sit," he ordered.
The servant did so, watching Trowa as he worked. "Aren't you going to eat?"
Trowa shook his head, "I allowed you to sit because your feet hurt. I thought if you were made more comfortable you would stop talking." He snorted softly, "Though it's you who must learn your place."
"My place is as your helper," the slave said cheerily. "And I am helping... much more than I could if I just stood quietly watching you not eat."
Trowa looked up again, studying the earnest expression before him. It was nice, this kindness, the conversation, but somehow it felt wrong. How low must I have been placed to seek friends in servants? "You can go now," he said. He pushed his plate away, "And take this with you."
"Your highness?" the servant asked as he came near.
Trowa looked up, waiting for some request, to his utter astonishment a quick kiss was brushed across his lips. He blinked, trying to feel annoyed, or enraged, but still he felt only confusion. "Why... why did you do that?"
The servant laughed, "You looked like you needed one." He took up the plate and smiled faintly as he left.
Trowa stared at him as he left, "Your name?"
"Am I to be punished?" he asked.
Trowa shook his head.
"Oh, then it's Quatre." With that the slave left, a look of glowing satisfaction on his face.
Trowa touched his lips briefly, before trying to dismiss the kiss he'd just received all together. My first, and lost to a slave. How fitting, he thought dejectedly. No one has ever wanted to kiss me... no one has ever wanted me. He took a deep breath, brow furrowing as something inside him warmed at the memory. Quatre...
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Part Two