Chapter Text
The boy was beautiful- plump and ripe, a burgeoning fruit that the warlord's hands ached to split, to drink. Asleep, his pink delicate lips opened in a small "O", his thick eyelashes brushing his round, rosy cheeks. A shock of thick, luscious black curls fell across on his face, spilling like driplets of pure dark water across dark brown skin, litered with purpling bruises. His clothes were rough, simple cloth...Iberian? and clung to his curvy body. The thick metal collar around his neck was ugly, Nandor decided with a scowl. Rusting Iron, with a ring of caked blood on the lip from it's previous user, connected by rope to the line of slaves leaned against the auction block. The first glimmers of sunrise shone through the hazy blue moaintains, the central market of Al Qolnidar just awakening, the dawn still new, the day's first ṣalāt not yet called.
"I'll have him," The Viceroy told the slaver, pointing at the chubby boy from amongst the unauctioned wares he was inspecting, as was the first rights of the Sultan's Vassal"...Of course, your excellency."
"What is the hesitation for?" Nandor growled, the common man seeming to shiver at the sight of the angered Viceroy.
"He's not- well, he's- damaged goods, Your Excellency," The merchant explained, giving the sleeping lump a kick.
"I do not care if he is a virgin, commoner, only his price. Do you intend to steal what I may rightfully take, as the Sultan's chosen?" Nandor hissed, eyes alight with rage. His bodygaurds drew their swords partially unsheathed, giving the merchant a glimmer of the sharpened steel.
"Oh no, Your Majesty, he's a virgin all right, but he is ill. He sleeps for hours, he's sick when he is awake. His captors had half a mind to toss him overboard on his journey. I do not believe he is familiar with the illnesses of our lands."
Nandor hmmed and took a knee to inspect the merchandise. He reached forward, grasping the boy by his chin, turning him this way and that, only receiving a groggy moan and fluttering eyelids "I know when a soldier is ill. This boy is dirty and has been traveling a great while. That is all. You will sell me him, discount me the price, and you may keep your hands."
"Yes, Your Excellency." The merchant shook, untying the slave quickly. The Viceroy hooked an arm beneath the sleeping man's legs, pulling him into a bridal hold before laying him delicately against Jahan's back, the sick man having enough cognizance to grab onto the horse's reigns to keep himself from falling (barely).
"Good. Let us go," He motioned to his men, hoisting himself atop Johan, adjusting the new slave so he could rest against the warrior's armor-clad chest, face tucked into Nandor's neck. Nandor smiled, giving the boy a pat, before leading Jahan into action, riding through the market with his new treasure towards the palace.
"Arise, my pet," Guillermo blinked trough the clouds of his fever, hazy and sore, to find himself face to face with a man. A very, very sexy man. This was the weirdest sex dream he'd had yet it seemed. He started, heart racing, as he realized he was not asleep. Dark eyes, a full beard, long black hair filled his vision and he moved to get up, fear pulsing through his veins, only to be met a dizzying wave of nausea .
Nandor watched with amusement as the boy attempted to sit up on his wobbly arms, his generous fat giving a lovely jiggle to each muscle quiver.
"Shh, easy there," Nandor cooed, brushing his callused hand across the boy's nude shoulder, easing him back down onto the luxurious brocade cushion he was rested on. The warlord lifted a cool wet cloth to his forehead, and Guillermo let out a breathy, indecent moan of relief. Nandor chuckled. "That's a good boy,"
"Where am I?" The boy whimpered in an Andalusian dialect, turning this way and that, pushing at the silk garments he had been wrapped in, the kind so sheer that were barely any step up from being nude. The air was sweet and perfumed and had a tinge of delicious smoke.
"In my palace, little one, in your Master's house." Nandor whispered in his Persian accent, quite a bit different from the arabic spoken in Spain, but able to be understood to his new charge. He tucked away a stray black curl behind his ear, finger grazing the sensitive, delicate skin there.
"M-master?" He blinked owlishly before squinting at the broad, handsome man looming over him, shivering beneath his gentle ministrations. "You are awake, you will tell me your name."
The slave's head rolled to the side, eyes wide and full of something soft and worshipful at the sight of this glorious stranger. "I am Guillermo. Guillermo de la Cruz,"
Nandor hmmed, dunking the cloth in water again and rubbing at his rosy hot face, the unwrung cloth sending a gush of cold water down Guillermo's neck and his back. He yelped, sitting up quickly, forehead ramming straight into Nandor's chin.
"Ay-ya, you could've warned me," Nandor grumbled, rubbing his sore chin.
"Sorry! Had a bit of a shock there."
Nandor grumbled some more, getting up from his knees and standing with the water, placing it down on a nearby table.
"You are lucky to be graced with such care, Guillermo, I am not so gentle with most of my slaves."
The dots were starting to connect in Guillermo's sleepy mind. This man had bought him. His fingers reached up to touch the collar wrapped around his neck, the metal smooth and clean, with a large ring melded into the gold-plated steel, supposedly for a chain or lead.
"Who are you?" Guillermo asked, suddenly aware of his nudity, sitting up properly on his knees and attempting to cover himself, half curled around his chest.
"I am Nandor the Relentless. But you will call me Master."
"Nandor the- " Guillermo's eyes stretched wide in horror, stomach dropping. Nandor the Relentless of Al Quonidar. The name he knew only from whispers, spoken in the dark to scare children. Tales of horror, bloodlust, and pillaging. The most viscous of the Sultan's knights, the conqueror of thousands, the bloodletter of the eastern kingdoms...
"Ah, you have heard of me, have you, boy?" Nandor's lips pulled back into a frightening grin, hands tucked behind his back. "Even in your homeland?"
"Y-yes." Guillermo whispered, unable to look away from his hungry gaze. Nandor stepped closer, a hand reaching to card through his thick, newly washed hair. Guillermo shuddered, a spark of pleasure running down his spine before Nandor gave a solid yank.
"Yes, what?" He growled, eyes ferociously dark.
"Yes, Master!" Guillermo shrieked, eyes open wide at the barage of pain. Nandor smiled, loosening his grip, resting his hand atop Guillermo's head like one would a beloved hound.
"Good boy," Nandor murmured, and Guillermo shut his eyes at the sensation of his praise. Like a drink of precious wine, it left him warm and fuzzy, leaning forward towards the touch of Nandor's hand.
"Thank you," He blushed, nose pressed into the warlord's trousered leg, "thank you, Master,"