Disclaimers: I do not own Gundam Wing or any of its characters.
Notes: Squicky Lime. Meiran finally discovers the identity of her new slave.
Servitude, Retribution, and Enchantment
Quatre could hear voices mumbling in vicious little whispers. Slowly, he opened his eyes, wincing as his head throbbed in
agony. He groaned, trying to move his hand to cover his face, only to find that it was restrained somehow. He tried the other,
and again he found that he couldn’t move it very far.
His eyes began darting around, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings, fear stabbing at him as he looked at each hand in turn, only
to see that he was chained down to a bed. He tried to pull his legs up, but they were also chained down. Each hand was
shackled to a corner of the headboard, his legs spread wide and chained to the footboard.
Panic washed throughout his body, and as he struggled he became aware of a coolness spreading across his body. His eyes
widened in shock and terror, knowing that underneath the thin, pristine bedcovers he was completely nude.
“There’s no use in struggling. You won’t get very far even if you could manage to get out of those chains.”
Quatre turned toward the strange voice, shivering in fear as he watched a shadowed figure moving across the barely lit room.
He struggled more, just wanting to get away, knowing that something bad would happen if he stayed, although he wasn’t sure
what could possibly happen.
“Please, you’ll only hurt yourself if you continue. And I would hate to see anything marring that perfect skin of yours.” The
“Who . . . who are you?” Quatre asked, swallowing the lump that had grown in his throat as he ceased his struggles, his wrists
now sore from trying to pull on the chains.
“Your King of course, Dekim Barton.” The man said, finally stepping from the shadows. Quatre recognized him as a man that
had come to see his father, demanding something . . . Quatre didn’t know what Dekim had wanted then, and he didn’t know
what he wanted now.
“Let me go.” Quatre whispered, never removing his eyes from the man who continued to approach the bed.
Dekim sat on the edge of the bed and reached out, his hand grasping Quatre’s throat, although he didn’t grip him roughly, just
holding his hand there. “I think not, young Prince. Actually, you are no longer a prince since your kingdom is no more.”
Quatre gasped, shaking his head slightly, not wanting to believe that. What of his father, his sisters? What had happened to
“You’re mine now, Quatre, for me to do with as I wish. A prisoner of war, and by law that makes you my slave.” Dekim
smiled, an image that terrified Quatre completely.
Quatre’s shivers only intensified as Dekim’s hand left his throat, beginning to trail in a soft caress along his body. It went down
along his chest, pausing a moment to circle each of his nipples, making Quatre gasp at the foreign feelings that were sparked by
“You are so much more beautiful than any of your sisters.” Dekim murmured, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to
Quatre’s throat. It was so delicate, but Quatre knew that this was wrong, knowing in his heart that this was not right. “If you
behave, I’ll let them go. Their lives depend solely on you.”
“No . . . please stop.” Quatre begging, as Dekim’s hand continued lower on his body, easily diving beneath the thin bedcover to
stroke along his abdomen and lower, caressing the inside of his thigh.
“Just give in, my boy. I’ll have you one way or another. But at least if you surrender yourself, you’ll get some enjoyment as
well.” Dekim smiled, giving a long, slow stroke to Quatre’s limp length.
Quatre gasped at the sensation, never having experienced anything similar as Dekim continued his caresses, quickly hardening
him. He bucked his hips, shaking his head in denial of these feelings, not understanding them, just wanting them to go away.
Dekim pulled away from him, his hand leaving his fresh erection, and Quatre thought for a moment that it was all over, that his
wish had been granted. However, only a moment later, Dekim pulled the sheet from off of Quatre and was crouched between
his widely spread thighs, dipping his fingers into some strange jar.
Dekim once again brought his hand to Quatre’s member, delivering faster strokes than before as he reached his other hand
lower. Quatre groaned, whimpers and moans beginning to escape his throat, his back arching as pleasure began to course
throughout his entire body. However, his mind kept telling him that this was wrong and he fought against his urges, biting on
his bottom lip to keep himself quiet, straining his muscles to keep himself still.
Dekim’s slickened fingers circled Quatre’s only available opening and Quatre began panicking again, wondering what the man
meant to do. He struggled once again against the chains, trying to wriggle away, but to no avail. He stiffened, whimpering as he
felt a finger slip inside of him, slowly beginning to stretch him out.
“You’ll enjoy this whether you like it or not, so just give in. You know you want to. Your body does . . . just look at yourself.”
Dekim said, snickering as he pressed another finger up into Quatre’s body.
Quatre looked down, a tear falling from his eye as he saw what Dekim was doing. He saw his own hips moving, meeting the
pace Dekim was setting with his hands, trying to push into that hand that was wrapped around his length while at the same time
trying to impale himself further on those intruding fingers. Quatre just didn’t understand it. Why was this happening? Why
could Dekim do this to him?
As he was thinking, Dekim inserted a third finger. Quatre gasped and bucked as Dekim hit something deep inside of him, a flash
of pleasure shooting throughout him for a brief moment. “S-Stop.” Quatre panted, his breath almost completely gone as he
closed his eyes and threw his head back.
“Just wait, my boy . . . wait until we get to the main event. This is only a taste, Quatre . . . a brief glimpse of all the pleasure I
can give you if you behave.” Dekim said, manipulating Quatre’s body perfectly, hitting that spot almost constantly now.
Something was building up, a strange feeling moving throughout his groin. Quatre didn’t know what it was, but he knew that
he wanted to feel it. So he let himself go, just wanting to get whatever this was over with.
However, Dekim seemed to have other ideas. The hand around Quatre’s length slowed until the touches were only teasing, just
the barest amount of contact, and the fingers inside of Quatre just stopped altogether, so close to that spot that Quatre could
almost feel it. “Will you willingly be mine, Quatre? Give yourself over and all the pleasure can be yours.”
Quatre was so desperate that he agreed to anything, just wanting Dekim to continue doing what he had been doing, to let him
reach what was coalescing in his body. “Y-yes, please. Anything. Please . . . don’t stop.” Quatre said, his words just barely
Dekim smiled, his hands beginning to move again, delivering wonderful feelings to Quatre’s body. “Good. Now just let yourself
go. I have your mind . . . now give me your body.” With that he slammed his fingers up into that spot, delivering a rough
stroke to Quatre’s erection at the same time.
That was it . . . Quatre arched his back off of the bed, straining against the chains binding him as white-hot pleasure oozed from
every pore in his body, releasing the proof of his ecstasy with streams of his seed pulsing from his shaft. He screamed, his
body trembling as aftershocks wracked him. Slowly, he fell back to the bed, still shivering, tears coursing from his eyes at the
realization that he had just given himself over to such a disgusting man.
“Wonderful.” Dekim smiled, removing his hands from Quatre’s body as he climbed off of the bed. “Just wait until the
ceremony. Then I’ll show you true pleasure.”
Quatre turned his head away, sobbing pathetically, wishing that Dekim had just killed him. He felt so filthy now, knowing that
he had given in to something that was decidedly wrong. And with that self-hatred in mind, he slipped into unconsciousness, his
body and mind both weary of the events that had just transpired.
Meiran yawned and awakened to a new day. She stretched, reaching out across the bed but found that she was alone. Treize
must have gone to his duties. Meiran sighed . . . that man never could sleep in late . . . it was something that Meiran wished he
would grow out of.
A sudden realization hit her. Even if Treize was gone, someone should still be in her bed. She opened her eyes and looked, a
fleeting panic settling in her heart when she saw that the slave was gone. Had he tried to escape? No that was just ridiculous in
his condition. Perhaps Treize had taken him . . . of course that was also ridiculous. Why would Treize take a naked slave on
patrol with him? She shook her head, snicking as the thought passed through her mind.
A strangled whimper caught her attention and Meiran crawled over to the other side of the bed, looking over the edge only to see
her new slave curled up on the floor. His bare body was shivering from laying on the chill stone floor.
Meiran got out of bed and knelt beside the slave, grabbing his arm and gently shaking him. He opened his eyes and looked up at
her before quickly averting his gaze. “Please, get up. You are sick and you will not do me any good if you do not recover your
health.” Meiran said.
“Y-yes, Mistress.” The slave replied, allowing Meiran to help him back into bed.
She covered him, sitting on the edge of the bed as she brushed his hair away from his face once again. “Now, you just get
some rest. You need it.”
The slave nodded, silently obeying as he closed his eyes. It was only moments before he had drifted off into sleep, his breathing
evening out as the shivers slowly began to cease. Seeing that the young man was resting, Meiran removed herself from the bed
and walked into her dressing room. She chose a dress, black as all her others and dressed. Lastly, she grabbed her crown from
where she had left it the previous night and placed it atop her head, checking herself in the mirror to be sure it was straight.
“My Queen?” Sally’s voice called out from the bedchamber.
Meiran stepped out of her dressing room. “Come for the laundry, Sally?” Meiran asked, carrying her dressing gown in her
“Yes, my lady.” Sally smirked, giving a small curtsey.
Meiran handed the dressing gown over to Sally. “Wait a moment and I will get some other things.”
“No doubt, Captain Treize’s uniform from yesterday.” Sally snickered, blushing. “Many of the servants saw him making his
way to his quarters this morning in no more than a dressing gown.”
Meiran chuckled at the image that thought brought. “He still hasn’t brought everything of his here yet. Foolish of him I think.”
Sally nodded, giggling while she continued to blush. Meiran turned and waved the curtain aside, stepping into the bathing room.
She saw Treize’s clothes from yesterday and picked them up, stopping in her tracks as she heard an odd tinkling sound. She
looked down, only to see something reflecting the light in the room.
Meiran placed the pile of clothes to the side and knelt, reaching down to pick up the object. It must be whatever that slave was
so protective of, Meiran thought. It was a golden pendant, in the shape of a dragon, with tiny rubies for eyes. Meiran gasped,
knowing this pendant . . . but it couldn’t be . . . no the owner of this had died . . . it had to just be one similar. Slowly, she
flipped it over, closing her eyes before she looked at what she hoped would not be there. However, there it was . . . her own
name etched into the back of the pendant in her native language.
“My lady? Is something wrong?” Sally asked, standing just outside of the bathing room.
“I-I’m fine.” Meiran said, swallowing as she rose to her feet, once again grabbing Treize’s clothes. She handed them over to
Sally, the pendant clutched in her one hand as she took a long look at the slave in her bed. “That’ll be all, Sally.” Meiran said,
dismissing the woman without looking at her.
Sally nodded and quickly left, carrying the bundle of dirty clothes with her as she departed.
Once Sally was gone, Meiran made her way over to the bed, her eyes never leaving the face of that young man. It couldn’t be
him, her mind screamed, and yet her heart ached for it to truly be the one that this pendant belonged to.
Meiran sat on the edge of the bed. “Where did you get this?” She demanded, awakening the slave with her tone.
The slave looked confused for a moment before Meiran showed him the pendant and then he reached for it. “It is mine. Give it
back.” The slave said.
“Where did you get it? Did you steal it from a dead man?” She asked, knowing that tears were building up behind her eyes.
“It is mine!” He said, more forcefully, although he flinched away from Meiran as if expecting to be hit. “It was given to me . . .
before . . .”
“Before what?” Meiran asked.
The slave was silent for a moment, then hesitantly spoke. “Before I was a slave, Mistress. My future wife gave it to me as a
“Wufei?” Meiran gasped, the memories flooding her mind.
“Here, Wufei.” Meiran said, shyly holding a small box out to her soon to be husband. It was his thirteenth birthday and she had
bought him a gift from one of the merchants.
Wufei took it, sneering at her the entire time. He opened the box and snatched the pendant from within. “What is this?” He
asked, his voice laced with bitterness. “Are you mocking me?”
“No . . . I only meant it as a present.” Meiran said, not understanding why he would think a golden dragon as offensive.
“Childish.” He muttered then threw it to the ground and stalked off, muttering angrily about various things.
Meiran turned and ran away, her hands flying to her face as she cried. She had only meant to give him a gift. She had meant no
harm in it. Was there nothing she could do right?
*End of flashback*
The slave looked up as Meiran gasped that name. “How do you know my name?” He shivered, his eyes filled with nothing but
“I-I’m the one that gave this to you.” Meiran replied, raising the pendant and feeling as a tear trickled down her cheek.
Wufei narrowed his gaze, looking at her disbelieving. “No . . . Meiran died in the attack. She has been dead for years now.” He
shook his head, denying her claim.
Meiran threw her arms around him, holding him close to her body. “I thought the same of you . . . Wise man.” She said,
whispering the last word.
Wufei stiffened in her arms at the mention of that old nickname, then wrapped his arms around her, clutching her as tightly as
his weakened body allowed him to. Meiran could hear the sniffles, could feel the wetness soaking into her shoulder but said
nothing, knowing that Wufei must have been seriously hurt to react this way.
She only held him, rocking back and forth as she stroked her hands along his body, trying to calm him and never wanting to let
go all at the same time. Meiran now prayed to the ancients that Wufei would recover and it if came to it she would expend all of
her energy to see him survive, even if it meant her own death. She would not lose him again.
To Be Continued . . .