Damian heard his father's gasp even from two paces away. He turned and immediately spied the cause. It was a slave like few he had come across, with big, blue eyes, hair like kohl, and attractive, fine-boned features. Its golden skin covered sinuous, lean muscle, smooth and unmarred by God or man.

"How much for this one?" Bruce asked coolly, although Damian was pretty sure the ship had sailed on such bargaining tactics.

"Ah, beautiful, isn't it?" the vendor said, prodding the slave to its feet to show off its wares. "You will not find another so fine in the ten cities, I'll wager."

The slave rose smoothly to its feet. It was naked save for the shackles around its wrists and ankles, and the thick iron collar around its neck, though it moved gracefully, as though those heavy chains were spun from the finest silk.

"A pleasure slave, if I'm not mistaken. Is it skilled?" Bruce asked.

"Highly," the vendor said enthusiastically. "They say the embrace of its mouth is like being touched by the gods."

Bruce rolled his eyes at the overwrought simile. "It's unmarked. That's unusual, even for a pleasure slave. Is it so obedient that it doesn't require punishment?"

The vendor made a nervous tittering noise. "Ah, very perceptive, my lord. You have discovered the secret. Here you see, is this one's brother." He prodded another slave to its feet.

The slave looked similar to the first, though its features were coarser, and where the first was lean and lithe, this one had a large, muscular frame. Damian didn't think it unhandsome, but the deep, unsightly scars of every description that covered its naked body now marred whatever natural appeal it might once have had. It was also glaring at them, its face contorted with unmistakable hatred.

"They are quite fond of one another. Thus, when you punish one, you punish both. In this way, you may keep this one pristine, yet obedient and pliable to your needs," the vendor explained.

Bruce eyed the scarred slave with distaste. "I dislike the look of that one," he said. "I may be able to keep this one in line by punishing its brother, but what do I do when that one misbehaves? It looks bold enough to murder me in my sleep."

"Ay!" the vendor exclaimed, cuffing the scarred slave across the face. He snarled something at it in a language Damian didn't speak, and then turned an apologetic smile on them. "You punish it, of course. And you can always separate them – they dislike that very much."

Damian noted that the scarred slave had barely registered the rebuke, and was still scowling at them as though it wanted to slit their throats.

Bruce sighed. "I don't know. I don't need two slaves, just the one. And what would I even do with that one?"

"Why, anything you want, my lord. It too is skilled in pleasure, but it is hardy enough to work the fields, or serve in the household. I'm sure a man of your means would have no trouble finding a place in your household for an extra slave."

Damian covered a smirk with his hand. He knew how much his father hated such comments.

"No one becomes a man of my means by wasting money on slaves he doesn't need," Bruce said coldly. He turned to walk away, but Damian stopped him.

"Father, wait. I'll take that one off your hands, if you don't want it. My Tim could use a companion. He gets lonely when I'm away," Damian offered.

Bruce gave him an exasperated look. "Your pets do not need pets, Damian. If they are lonesome, then pay more attention to them."

"Tt," Damian scoffed. "Come now, Father. You never indulge yourself, and your name day is less than a moon away. Consider it a present to yourself."

"Buying extravagant presents for myself on my own name day is nothing short of pathetic," Bruce said.

"Fine, then I'll buy him for you. Consider it an early name day gift. Just think of how beautiful he will look as the centre piece of your name day feast."

The very corner of Bruce's lip twitched up slightly, and Damian knew he had won. "I'll take them," he told the vendor.

"Dick."

"Mmm, Jay," Dick moaned, arching under those warm, teasing hands.

"Dick!"

Dick jolted awake. "Jay?" He sat up straight, his heart pounding. "You shouldn't be in here!"

Jason carded his fingers through Dick's hair in an attempt to soothe him. "Don't worry, they're out for the day. We have the whole place to ourselves."

Dick shook his head, pushing Jason away. "You're not supposed to be in here. Master was very clear. I don't want you to get in trouble again."

Jason snorted. "You think those little love taps were enough to scare me off? Gimme a break, they didn't even break the skin." His hands trailed tantalisingly down Dick's chest.

"No, Jay!" Dick batted him away. "He held back because he didn't want to hurt you, but if you keep breaking his rules, he'll have no choice but to really punish you."

"So?" Jason spat. "What's a few more scars? I'm not afraid of him."

Dick eyed Jason's chest, unerringly identifying the scars that were his – his fault – amongst the others. Even now, it made his heart constrict with guilt. He'd never asked for this, to be the pretty one, the pristine one. He would've gladly traded places with Jason if it meant protecting his younger brother from pain. Not that Dick's life was without pain, or his body without scars. His were just internal. They were all slaves – the differences were only aesthetic.

"Well, I am," Dick said.

"Why?" Jason asked sharply. "What's he done to you?"

"Nothing," Dick said. He gave his brother a reassuring smile. "He's a good master, I promise. He's possessive, and he has his moods sometimes, but we've weathered worse."

Jason scowled. "Well, that puts my mind at ease."

Dick pulled back and looked into his eyes. "I swear to you, he is not hurting me. I'm more worried about you. Does Master Damian treat you well?"

Jason shrugged. "Well enough. I spend more time with his slave Timothy, though."

"Oh, what's he like?" Dick asked.

Jason frowned. "He's our age, but small, almost like a child, and…delicate. He's clearly never had to lift a finger in his life." He snorted softly. "Master is very fond of him, though. He wears clothing, and he sleeps in Master's bed. And…Master's made it clear Timothy can do with me as he pleases," he finished, his tone laced with a bitter edge.

"I'm so sorry, Jay." Dick ran his hands down his brother's back soothingly. "You expect that kind of thing from the masters, but not our fellow slaves. I suppose the lure of cheap treats and false affection is too strong for some to resist."

Jason sighed. "Actually, he hasn't done anything that Master hasn't directly ordered him to do."

Dick narrowed his eyes at his brother. "And what does Master Damian order him to do?"

"Nothing much," Jason said with a shrug, though his refusal to meet Dick's eyes was a familiar tell.

Dick's gaze snapped to Jason's skin, his sharp eyes cataloging the map of overlapping scars in search of any new additions. Even when he failed to find any fresh wounds, relief eluded him. "Tell me."

Jason looked down at the richly embroidered duvet cover on Master Bruce's bed, a faint flush creeping slowly up his neck to stain his cheeks. "Master enjoys watching Timothy take me," he admitted softly. "It's…humiliating, being taken by a boy half my size, and a slave. I'd rather be whipped, or put to work in the fields. At least then I could retain some shred of dignity."

Dick's heart sank. He knew how sensitive Jason was to sexual humiliation, which was a bit of a given when you were a pleasure slave. They had both been trained in the art of pleasure, but it had been many years since Jason had had to work as a catamite, not since he was a boy, when his physique had been better suited to the role. His temperament, however, had never been suitable. Despite what the slave trader had insinuated, most of Jason's scars came from his own disobedience, rather than Dick's, and much of it was gained from his time as a pleasure slave. This news made Dick's stomach churn, for fear they would return to those dark days.

"We're slaves – we don't have any dignity," Dick reminded his brother, though he knew it would be pointless. He had been born a slave, his parents enslaved when their country was conquered, whereas Jason had been born free, the result of a liaison between a soldier and a foreign whore. When Jason's father had died in one of the country's many military campaigns, his adoptive mother had sold him into slavery without so much as a second thought. They had met shortly after, and had trained together as pleasure slaves. The story that they were brothers had actually been concocted by a slave trader to drive up their price at market, because pparently, brothers who fucked were more appealing. It may have started as a marketing ploy, but they thought of themselves as brothers now, and had for many years.

At the look on Jason's face, Dick punched him in the arm. "Don't think I don't know that look," he said in response to Jason's yelp of protest. "Please try to behave, Jay. You know how much I hate to see you punished."

Jason heaved a sigh. "Fine, I'll try, but I cannot promise anything more."

"Thank you," Dick said, giving his brother a long, slow kiss. "Gone all day, you say?" he asked slyly. "Well…it'd be a shame to waste the opportunity…"

Jason's attitude immediately shifted, his eyes darkening as a decidedly mischievous smirk stole across his lips. "Waste not want not," he agreed.

Dick laughed as Jason rolled on top of him. Who knew what the future held in store for them, but for the moment, they had each other, and that was enough.