A/N: This was written for the anon prompt 'slave'. Dystopian AU, loosely based on historical themes. Warning for talk of extreme hunger, mention of sex work, mention of branding, underage, age difference.
Kurt stops on the dry, dirt road when the leather strap on his sandal bites into his skin. He sighs hard, blowing through the pain, clearing his mind of self-pity to keep from shedding any tears. Water is precious on these dusty flats, and besides, he doesn't have any energy to spare for crying. He needs to find a place to bed down for the night, but he's filthy and poor, and in this area of the outlying lands there is nothing around but dirt, dirt, and more dirt. No farms, no houses, no villages.
Nothing but acres and acres of loose dust baking beneath a scorching hot sun.
That's what banishment to the outlying lands means - a lifetime of nothing, and not living long enough to appreciate it anyway.
But even with the promise of death as close as the bend in the road up ahead, Kurt can say it is far better than the life he had.
Better to die free than live a slave.
Kurt bends over at the waist to examine his feet since lifting his leg is not an option. He could no more balance on one leg than he could carry the moon, and if he sits down on the ground, more than likely he won't be able to stand up again. He blinks the dust from his eyes and focuses his blurring vision on his feet. His sandals are worn through, though they weren't exactly new to begin with.
As a freed man, he was given one pair of sandals, a scratchy old tunic, a single bladder full of water, and five gold coins (which he had sewn into the hem of his tunic for safe keeping). Then he was tied up, blindfolded, tossed roughly into the back of a cart, and dragged to the outlying lands. The masters didn't even stop the horse when they rolled him from the cart onto the road and galloped away. It was only thanks to an obliging jagged rock that he managed to cut free from his binds. That's how he ended up walking his present road, banished to the farthest reaches of the principality, which in some cases amounts to a death sentence. Men much older than he and much more suited for life outside the manor walls were often found dead within days.
Kurt has already lasted two weeks, but his hope faded a few days ago when his bladder gave its last drop of water.
He still had a chance as long as his feet lasted the walk to a viable town where he might find work, but they are cut and bleeding from the too tight leather straps. He wiggles his toes and winces. He might as well not be wearing any shoes at all, but he dares not take them off until the sun has fully set. The dirt out on these barren plains gets unusually hot beneath the midday sun, and he doesn't need to add more blisters to his already cracked skin.
He looks down at his body and lets out a moan of despair. Dirt is caked all over his clothes, his skin, and under his nails. He feels it in his hair when he scratches his scalp and the harsh grit of it in his eyes when he blinks. He tastes it on his tongue when he licks his chapped lips. It stings and itches everywhere it touches. This invasive dirt is a torture all its own, but at least it keeps the sun from burning his pale skin.
Kurt stands up straight – the weight of his shoulders fighting to keep his back bowed - and looks out towards the horizon. He sees nothing but the ground undulating in the distance like a wave of cool water. He knows it's the sun playing a trick on his eyes and that frightens him. He might have to accept death out here, but he doesn't want to go mad first.
The ground vibrates – a light tremor which swiftly turns into a steady pounding. These heavy footfalls he hears coming his way are not a mirage. His ears prick up to catch hold of the sound. They shake the ground beneath his feet and echo like thunder even though they belong to only one horse and rider. Kurt had not prepared for this. He forces himself not to panic, shoving down the sudden urge to run for his life. There is nowhere on this road for him to hide and trying to outrun a horse is futile. So he stands in place and waits to see what fate will bring him.
He sees the man first – his wind-blown brown hair whipping around his face, his deeply tanned skin, his brown coat hanging open over a faded white tunic, legs wrapped in dark colored pants - sitting atop a lilac roan stallion, whose coat melds seamlessly with the clouds of dust its hooves kick up. He's traveling in a diagonal path away from Kurt, and for a split second, Kurt thinks the man might overlook him. But then the rider sits higher in his saddle, and the horse turns and gallops straight for him.
Kurt feels the panic returning but he holds his ground.
The man slows his horse to a trot as he comes closer, peering through the dust at Kurt - his eyes particularly piercing as he approaches - and then circles Kurt with his horse to examine him from all angles. If Kurt could have gone cold, he would have, but at the moment everything inside his body is tired and numb. Regardless, he starts to tremble. He doesn't need to escape one slave master to end up being kidnapped by another.
The man halts his horse and jumps down off its back, walking toward Kurt with a perplexed expression on his face, his green eyes raking over Kurt's body as if this man knows him. Kurt looks back, trying to spark a memory, but he can't recall ever seeing this man before. Kurt has been with a lot of men in his young life, but he is sure he would have remembered this one.
The man stops his inspection, staring openly into Kurt's eyes.
"My God," the man utters. "I thought you might be a ghost."
His voice is raw, but soothing to Kurt's ears.
"No, sir," Kurt says, his own voice hoarse from breathing in a field's worth of dust. "I'm not a ghost."
"I can see that," the man snaps lightly. He taps his foot in the dirt, his hands locked firmly on his hips. "Where are you headed?"
Kurt doesn't know how to answer that question. Truthfully, he's searching for his father, but he has no clue where to start looking. Kurt hasn't seen his father since he was taken by the regent's soldiers so many years ago – taken and made to serve in the regent's house in order to pay off a debt his father owed.
"Nowhere," Kurt answers. "I'm just trying to find a bed for the night, maybe earn a hot meal."
The man narrows his gaze at Kurt.
"What is it you can do?" he asks.
"I can sing," Kurt answers, grimacing when the rough state of his voice begs to differ. "I can cook, sew…"
The man chuckles and shakes his head.
"You sound like one of those pampered brats the regent keeps in his manor house," the man teases. "I hear they're good for nothing but sitting on silk pillows, looking pretty, and fucking."
The words sting; Kurt's eyes drop to his swollen feet.
"Oh, I see," the man says, sounding genuinely apologetic when he realizes his tremendous faux pas. He had his suspicions about this boy's origins, but he didn't imagine he was right. The man continues to stare, his green eyes peering thoughtfully at Kurt. "How old are you?"
"I just turned seventeen," Kurt says down to his feet.
The man clicks his tongue, mulling over some unspoken judgment.
"Are you a runaway, then?" the man asks, his voice sounding gruffer. "I don't need any trouble, especially from the regent."
"No, sir," Kurt says, his voice becoming weaker with every word. "I am free."
"Hmm," the man says with a suspicious jerk of his head. "Let me see your mark," he commands.
Kurt bristles. He doesn't like showing it. It's vulgar and disgusting, and the wicked man who branded him left the iron on his skin too long. The scar goes way too deep. Many freed slaves will eventually outgrow their brand, but not Kurt. Such a devastating mark on his alabaster skin – he will surely have it for the rest of his life.
But at least this man is kind enough to ask instead of manhandling Kurt, which would be his right.
Free man is just a title for an ex-slave. It carries with it few liberties.
Kurt pulls at the collar of his tunic and twists his torso to reveal the mark on his shoulder, and the man in front of him hisses sympathetically.
"Well, that was uncalled for," he mutters, reaching out a gentle hand and tracing the painful looking burn with his finger. Kurt's first instinct is to recoil, not from this man's touch, but from his kindness, his sympathy. It's foreign to Kurt, but Kurt knows it will most likely not last long.
That realization is more painful than his mark.
Sensing Kurt's reticence, the man pulls his hand away, and Kurt drops the collar of his tunic, shrinking back a little. The man chews the inside of his cheek as he watches Kurt, who begins to sway unsteadily on his feet. Kurt hadn't intended on being stopped this long. Momentum was really the only thing keeping him moving anyway. Standing still like this, he's not sure how he's going to take the first step that will continue him back on his way when this man leaves.
"How about this," the man says, "give me your company for the evening, and I'll get you a bath, a meal, and a place to sleep for the night."
Kurt had hoped for outright generosity, but he expected this. This he was used to. He could probably negotiate with the man for one of his gold coins since he still has all five. He had begged and bartered for his meals the past two weeks. But if this man knows he has one gold coin, he might kill him in expectation of more.
Kurt's intention is to bring those five gold coins home to his father, so he keeps their presence a secret.
Besides, his life is worth more than his body.
"I can do that," Kurt says. He lifts his foot in an attempt to take a step toward the man's horse, but his wobbly knees give way and he falls. The man rushes forward and catches Kurt in his arms. Kurt holds his breath, praying that this man doesn't think Kurt is too weak to hold up his end of their bargain.
"Whoa there," the man says, lifting Kurt in his arms, carrying him to the patiently waiting horse as if he weighed no more than a handful of sand. "Let's get you off this road before you collapse."
Kurt tries to nod, but his head doesn't move. At least he can speak.
"Do you live around here?" Kurt asks as the man helps him up onto the horse.
"No," the man answers with a chuckle. "Look around, boy. No one in their right mind lives here."
"Kurt," Kurt mumbles, annoyed at being referred to as boy. Kurt doesn't wish to be annoyed with this man.
"What's that?" the man asks, looking up at where the frail boy sits on the horse.
"Kurt," he says, clearing his throat, trying to be heard. "My name is Kurt."
"Kurt," the man repeats. "Well, since we're doing names, you can call me Sebastian."
"Sebastian," Kurt says. It's a nice name. An unpretentious name. A name with a heart and a backbone to it.
Sebastian likes the way Kurt repeats his name, even though his voice sounds painfully weak.
"Anyway," Sebastian continues, eager to be on their way, "I'm a traveler, passing through. I have a room at an inn up ahead."
"There's a village?" Kurt mutters, exhaustion coming to claim him the moment he sat on the animal's back. Sebastian climbs onto the horse behind him and wraps his arms around Kurt's waist. Kurt is used to men touching him, but this feels different. It's not sordid or demanding. It carries with it memories of love and home and family.
"Yes," Sebastian says. "Not too far, actually. Had you walked through the night, you would have reached it."
No, I wouldn't have, Kurt thinks, settling back into the man's embrace and drifting off to sleep as the horse starts to move. I would have been dead before morning.
Sebastian walks his horse carefully over the hard-packed ground to allow Kurt more time to sleep. He figures relaxing in the cool evening air will do the exhausted boy good. As night begins to fall, Sebastian takes one last look at Kurt in the fading light. He glances down into the boy's face and brushes the hair away from his eyes. Kurt looks peaceful in sleep, but no less pained.
Too young, Sebastian thinks, tracing with one gentle fingertip the dirty lines etched into Kurt's face. Too young for all of this.
The noises of the village – people talking loudly, dogs barking, cows lowing, and horses pulling carriages - don't wake Kurt when they arrive at the inn. Sebastian stables his horse, wraps Kurt in his saddle blanket, and carries the tired boy up to his room. He opens the thick wood door with one hand and carries Kurt inside, laying him down on the bed. Sebastian assumes that this poor creature he plucked off the road will sleep through the night, but Kurt pops awake instinctively the moment the door clicks shut.
Kurt has learned from experience not to fall asleep in the same room as his lovers, and having slept so deeply as they traveled, he has no immediate memory of where he is or who he's with. He scuttles across the bed on his back, his eyes adjusting to the faint candlelight as he tries to remember.
"It's alright," Sebastian says, keeping his distance. "No one's going to hurt you here."
Kurt looks at Sebastian, eyes wide with a fear that borders on terror, but Sebastian only shakes his head.
"I'll have a bath and a meal brought in," he says sadly, collecting some clothes layered over a nearby chair. "You can bathe and eat in private. There are clean clothes in the trunk." Sebastian gestures to a weathered wooden box in the corner. "There's a pair of pants in there for the night. We'll find something for you to wear for tomorrow so you can trash those sandals and that tunic."
Kurt shakes his head, his tense muscles relaxing, calming as Sebastian speaks – the man's voice bringing back Kurt's recent memories of their encounter on the road.
"My clothes are…"
"Ruined," Sebastian says. "And even if they weren't, do you think people don't know what you are just because you keep your mark covered? Those clothes give you away."
Kurt knows that what Sebastian says is true, but he continues to shake his head. He doesn't know how he's going to repay this man. Will his body be enough?
"But, I…"
"For God's sake, Kurt, stop being so damned stubborn!" Sebastian says, raising his voice to Kurt when he hadn't meant to. "Do you think I'm trying to rob you? Do you think I care about your gold?"
Kurt shudders at the mention of his hidden money.
"How-how do you know…"
"Everyone knows about the deal you guys get," Sebastian says with regret, lowering his voice. "It's no secret around here." Sebastian stops himself before he says something else unintentionally hurtful. He blows a heavy breath through pursed lips and runs a hand through his unkempt hair. "I have an extra purse in that trunk. You can keep your money in that. It'll be safer that way."
Kurt swallows hard and nods.
"Thank you," he says, pulling his knees up to his chest.
"You're welcome," Sebastian replies. He backs out of the room and shuts the door behind him.
Kurt sits quietly and waits, not entirely sure what he should do. Should he really stick around, or should he grab the clothes and run? He wouldn't get far if he did, he knows that. He had been able to find shelter a few nights on the road before he traveled to the thick of the dirt flats – the most barren spot -but those were from friendly older women who looked at him and saw a son or a grandson. He hasn't had to share a room with a man since his banishment, and he had hoped he wouldn't have to again. But his limbs shake and his head swims when he even considers getting up and leaving, so his choice to stay is pretty much made up for him.
A few minutes later, he hears a knock at the door. Kurt stares at it, not sure if he should get off the bed and answer it, but the door opens on its own, and from the hallway outside he hears Sebastian's voice speaking commands. A tub is carried in by two strong men, along with several buckets of water to fill it with. A portly lady with sugar-and-cinnamon hair tied to the top of her head in a messy bun toddles in behind the men with a plate of food and a mug in her hands. She sets them both down on a small table in the corner. She seems to be the only one of the three who notices Kurt huddled on the bed, and she smiles at him, her eyes shimmering with tears when she notices how thin he is, how horribly destitute.
As quickly as the trio comes in, they leave. The door closes again and Kurt is alone.
He turns his head toward the table – to the mug of drink and the plate of food beckoning him with its savory aroma filling the air. His first instinct is to attack the food. It smells so incredible that his stomach responds immediately with a loud growl, but Kurt's skin is crawling all over. He knows he'll never be able to properly enjoy his meal if he can't stop thinking about the muck embedded in his pores, so he leaves his meal for the time being, despite being starved to tears. He tears the tunic off his skin, relishing the sound of the ripping fabric, likening it to the breaking of his chains. He is more than happy that he'll never have to wear it again. He leaves the garment on the floor in tatters, then he climbs into the tub.
The bath water is tepid, but it's warmer than any bath he's had in a long time, and the tub is deep enough to sink his whole body into. On the floor of the tub, beneath the water, Kurt finds a bar of soap and a cleaning cloth. He wonders how much extra Sebastian had to pay for it, but Kurt is glad to find it. There is no way that plain water will get rid of all the dirt on his body. As it turns out, even with the soap and cloth, Kurt has to scrub himself through three times to get rid of all the grime, but once it's gone, he feels lighter. He barely recognizes the color of his own pale skin.
Once he is clean and dry, he rummages through the trunk for a pair of pants and the purse. There are a great many clothes in this trunk, more than necessary for one adult man, and the various sizes don't make any sense. Kurt manages to find a light cotton pair of pants that fit him near to perfectly, along with the purse, which is made of soft leather and tied at the top. He gathers up his coins from the shredded garment and drops them inside the pouch. He ties it tight and then hides it beneath the mattress of the bed.
His food is surprisingly still hot by the time he finally sits down to eat. He picks at the offerings with his fork. The wood plate in front of him is heaped high with meat, potatoes, and bread, all slathered in some sort of brown gravy. Kurt's mouth waters at the sight and he longs to gulp it down, but he is forced into taking tiny bites. He has eaten so little in the past few years of his enslavement that he's about full after a few mouthfuls, but he eats as much as he can manage, unsure of when he'll see a hot meal again.
Sebastian doesn't return to the room until late in the evening. When he does, he's bathed and Kurt suspects he's eaten. He's shirtless, but wearing the pants he brought with him when he left. He dumps his dirty clothes in a pile by the door. He doesn't look at Kurt right away, instead making a beeline for the bed, groaning loudly as he climbs beneath the covers. He scoots to the far side and rolls onto his back, sighing with relief at the feel of the soft sheets against his skin. He stares up at the ceiling, breathing in and out for long moments, his eyelids fluttering shut, and Kurt thinks that maybe Sebastian has forgotten him, but then Sebastian turns on his side and stares at the boy watching him from the table.
"Well, come on." Sebastian moves the blanket aside. "Don't be shy." He pats the empty spot on the mattress and grins, his green eyes shining in the low candlelight. Kurt tilts his head and looks at him, not quite understanding. Sebastian went to bed dressed. Most men tear off their clothes before they get into bed with him, impatient to get on top of him. It's odd, but it doesn't mean anything, Kurt reminds himself. Dressed or no, Sebastian still wants what he wants. It's nothing to take off a pair of pants to get it. Though dressing Kurt up, making him feel comfortable and safe, seems unnecessarily cruel to Kurt. It would have been better if Sebastian had just forced him to go about the room naked so that Kurt couldn't forget for one moment what he is, and why he's here.
Kurt walks over to the bed, his head bowed, his eyes cast down.
He remembered the men at court liked that - not from the women, just from the boys. Kurt thought it strange, the differences between the sex slaves that were kept in the regent's manor house. The regent liked strong women but submissive young boys. Submissive - Kurt could do that very well, and he was a court favorite until he tried to escape. He didn't get far. He was captured, tried as a traitor, and sentenced to two years of hard labor.
They could have sentenced him to a lifetime, but being the regent's favorite had some perks at least.
Labor had hardened him – physically and emotionally. He was no longer the soft-bodied young boy he had been, and therefore unsuitable for sex work in the regent's house. He had been given the opportunity to spend another year working off his debt, at the end of which he would be granted his freedom.
To many in the regent's house, freedom is not a prize, so they do not seek it, but it is all Kurt ever wanted.
Kurt tries not to think about any of that past life as he follows Sebastian onto the bed. He climbs onto the mattress, and then on top of the reclining man, straddling Sebastian's hips. Kurt chances a glance down at Sebastian's face. In the dim, golden candlelight, Sebastian looks handsome, kind, and thoroughly befuddled. Sebastian makes no move, so Kurt leans forward to kiss him, but Sebastian stops him, placing his hands on Kurt's shoulders.
"Uh…that's not what I meant," Sebastian says.
Kurt sits straight up, embarrassed but mostly confused.
"But…but you said…"
"I know what I said," Sebastian cuts in, "but I didn't mean that."
Kurt frowns. He has never been rejected before; he doesn't know how to take it. As relieved as he should feel, he isn't sure that in this instance he likes it.
"Then…what?"
Sebastian shifts his eyes away as if he doesn't want to explain.
"Let me hold you," Sebastian says. "I just…want to sleep next to you."
Kurt doesn't move, stunned by Sebastian's request. Sebastian wraps his muscular arms around Kurt's thin frame and lifts the boy off his body, setting Kurt carefully down beside him on the bed. He kisses Kurt on the forehead and then turns Kurt away from him, burying his nose into the boy's hair.
Kurt feels his heart race. He has never slept side by side with another man. Sex, yes, but not sleep, and suddenly Kurt's body tingles with a combination of anticipation and alarm.
This feels too intimate.
"Why am I here," Kurt asks meekly, "if you don't want sex? Why did you do all this for me?"
Sebastian runs a hand up Kurt's spine, delicately following the contours of the too sharp bones with his fingertips. Sebastian had hoped he wouldn't need to explain – that the offer of a meal and a bed would be enough to secure what he wanted. But he hadn't spoken of it to anyone, and it might be nice if someone else knew.
"You're here so I can remember," Sebastian says.
Kurt sighs softly at the sensation of fingers on his skin, stroking up and then returning down his back.
"Remember?" Kurt asks. "Remember what?"
Sebastian's fingers stop, and Kurt curses at himself for pressing if it meant that Sebastian would stop touching him. But Kurt feels Sebastian's breath on his skin. It's almost as if Kurt can feel Sebastian thinking.
"I had a husband," Sebastian whispers, "and I had a son. I lost them a long time ago, and I have been without companionship ever since. That is why you're here."
Kurt nods, understanding what it means to miss someone you love, but he's still a little lost.
"Do I remind you of your son?"
Sebastian laughs so dryly that it's barely a laugh at all.
"I can't give you an answer to that question," he says.
"Why not?"
Sebastian sighs - the rush of warm air heating Kurt's cooling skin, causing goose bumps to form.
"It would be…indelicate," Sebastian replies.
Kurt snuggles back into Sebastian's chest, feeling Sebastian's skin press against his, and Sebastian wraps his arms around him, taking full advantage of the boy's closeness.
"Please?" Kurt pleads.
Sebastian drops a kiss onto the crown of Kurt's head while he thinks. He's gone this far; why should he stop now?
"My husband and I…we knew each other a long time," Sebastian explains. "We loved each other at a very young age. You remind me of the boy he was when we first met."
Kurt chews on his lip while he tries to imagine Sebastian younger, less rugged, more carefree, and in love.
In love with a young man who resembled himself.
Kurt should stop his questioning. He's only known Sebastian for a few hours and besides, an interrogation is no way to thank him for his kindness. But Kurt's curiosity is eating away at him. It takes a minute for Kurt to build up the courage, but he asks another question.
"What…what happened to them?" Kurt asks.
Sebastian kisses Kurt's head again – a short, quick peck this time.
"I'm not going to tell you that," Sebastian says over a yawn.
Kurt turns his head, craning his neck to see the man behind him.
"Why not?" Kurt asks.
Sebastian places a delicate kiss to Kurt's shoulder, surprisingly soft lips brushing right over Kurt's hideous mark.
"Because you have demons of your own to do battle with," Sebastian says, licking his fingers and reaching out a hand to snuff out the nearest candle. "I refuse to burden you with mine as well."
Sebastian falls silent, cradling Kurt in his arms and rocking him slowly. Seconds later, Sebastian is fast asleep.
Kurt lays wide awake, lonely and ill at-ease in the room with Sebastian asleep behind him. It's quiet, even with the main dining hall of the inn right below them filled with patrons eating and drinking and getting raucously intoxicated. But the room is still, with Sebastian's breathing soft and even, fanning over his skin, the man's arms strong around him – lulling Kurt into a sense of security, false as it may turn out to be. Kurt burns with curiosity over Sebastian's final words, but he knows he will get no answers tonight. He lets himself join Sebastian in sleep so he won't feel quite so alone.