A/N: Not a lot to say upfront, so let's get right to the rampage aftermath.

Chapter 10

"He did what?" Ztar's voice was quite loud, reverberating off the walls.

Sukja feared Archangel might actually hear through the bulkhead. He would remain matter-of-fact in hopes of tempering the Emperor's reaction. "Everything has been cleaned, repaired, or replaced. He has been calm the rest of day."

"No one else ever dared go that far!" Ztar began pacing. "The whole chambers, Sukja?"

"Yes, my Emperor."

"The kitchen? The bathroom? Everything?"

"Complete and total destruction. Right down to the food in the storage cabinets," Sukja actually smiled at that.

Ztar looked at Sukja with an odd expression. "You find it amusing?"

"It's just that he was so very thorough, my Emperor. But he must value the PI – it was the only thing that escaped unscathed. I find that interesting."

Ztar continued pacing. He was very unhappy with the Human.

"Emperor, what are you thinking?" Sukja inquired.

"I'm upset with him, Sukja. This was a clear act of rebellion. He needs to understand that won't be tolerated."

Sukja leaned against the kitchen counter, eyes following Ztar. "I believe it more an act of pent up anger. It is a natural progression of his emotions, my Emperor. The shock and denial are wearing off. Anger, or more accurately in Archangel's case, rage comes next. I wouldn't label it rebellion."

Ztar came to a stop, holding his attendant's gaze. "I'm not sure I'm that generous."

"Give him time. The rage should also pass as he moves closer to accepting his new life."

The Emperor walked to the liquor storage and poured two glasses, handing one to Sukja before speaking again.

"So how do we handle the incident?"

"I already have. I told him his actions were unacceptable and not to be repeated. My advice is to let it go. Allow him the outburst and move on."

"I don't know if I wish to hold my tongue," Ztar admitted. He was still upset with his companion.

"Then treat it with humor, but don't retaliate out of anger – you will only fuel his," Sukja coached, hoping Ztar would follow the suggestion. "And, you don't want Archangel to think he can control your emotions with his actions. Remain in control by making calm decisions about how you react to provocation, as you always have. I'm not saying that's what Archangel intended, but if you react to his anger in kind, he may come to believe he can manipulate or control you emotionally."

Ztar contemplated Sukja's advice. It was sound from all angles. Especially the last part. He trusted Sukja completely on matters such as these. His attendant had managed many bedmate transitions over the years. When the pairing ended or failed, it was never because of Sukja. He'd listen to his attendant again with Archangel. Of all the pairings through the years, the one with Archangel had to work. He wanted the Human more than he had wanted anyone in a long time.

"Very well, Sukja. We'll let it go as long as it's not repeated. My tolerance has it limits," Ztar warned as if Sukja didn't already know.

"Understood."

Ztar sipped his drink. "I told you he had a fiery spirit!" Hints of pride came through in the declaration.

"You did indeed." Sukja smiled and moved toward the exit. "I will check on Archangel to make certain he is still calm."

Ztar chuckled. "Sukja, I wouldn't call Archangel's current emotional state exactly calm."

###

When the door chimed, Warren knew it could only be one person. It might be Ztar, but he didn't think so – the Emperor had better things to do than deal with an unruly companion. God, he hated that term! 'Besides, Ztar doesn't announce his arrival,' he snorted.

Likely, Sukja was coming to make sure Warren was still behaving. Well, he was. To be honest, he wasn't sure how long that'd last. For the moment, all he would say was he didn't feel violent, but could feel rage simmering below the surface. Internal heat had been turning up slowly again as the day wore on and no telling when it'd reach explosive level again. He welcomed the burn of rage. Better than much of what he had been feeling for 18 agonizing days.

'Might as well get this over with,' he thought with a gulp of Dison. He had raided Ztar's liquor locker earlier to restock and had already down half the bottle sitting in his new, overstuffed chair. Sadly, it took a lot to get him drunk – healing factor and a revved up metabolism burned up alcohol too fast for inebriation to come easily.

"Enter," he said with a heavy sigh he hoped transmitted through the comm.

Sukja stepped inside the refurbished chambers. One look at the man's face and Sukja was already worried…foul mood was written all over it.

"Good evening, Archangel."

"Here to check up on the naughty Human?" Warren asked venomously, taking another long draw of alcohol.

Sukja knew instantly Ztar could not find Archangel in his current state of mind – the Emperor's anger would flare without doubt and no good would come of that.

"As a matter of fact, yes. And I'm glad I did." Sukja left the rest hang.

Warren made a point of examining the Dison in his glass. 'Should I, shouldn't I? Oh, the choices I'm forced to make!' He clenched a fist. "And why exactly is that?" he asked icily, deciding to take the attendant's dangling bait just to see where it might lead.

Sukja joined Archangel in the sitting area. "You must enjoy Ztar's more aggressive side."

Warren looked to the alien with hard eyes. That wasn't exactly where he thought the conversation would go. "Get to the point, attendant," he ordered in a low tone.

"When Ztar comes to you tonight, your attitude will determine much of how things transpire. In this mood, things will not be pleasant." Sukja hoped the honesty would get through. He really didn't want to see Archangel suffer unnecessarily at Ztar's hands.

Warren took another gulp of Dison before responding. "Things with Ztar are never pleasant!" he growled.

"They can be unpleasant or very unpleasant, your choice."

Warren couldn't believe his ears. "You seem to think me a fool or an idiot. I have no choices here!" he replied with acid.

"Perhaps the wrong word. Your attitude toward Ztar will influence his treatment of you," Sukja rephrased.

"I got it already!" he snapped. 'What an arrogant son of a bitch. If I'm nice to my rapist, then I'll be treated better? God, what a crock of shit!'

Sukja knew the conversation was only inflaming the man further. Sometimes you must simply back off and let the other person be responsible for their own emotional state, and the consequences. Yet he was obligated to his monarch to try one more time. "As long as you know that your mood directly translates to how you're treated. In that way, it's your choice, your decision. But since you already know all this, I'll bid you good evening."

Sukja rose and headed to the door, but paused before exiting.

"Your behavior today took some explaining. Ztar was not impressed, but tolerant knowing it was a reaction to the circumstances. However, couple that with your current mood, and you may push him exactly where you don't want him to go. Take care in your wrath, Archangel." And Sukja left the man to contemplate his words.

Warren nearly threw the bottle of Dison at the door as it closed. Nearly. As much as he hated to admit it, Sukja was right. Warren had already known if Ztar found him in a foul disposition, things would be decidedly unpleasant. So in that respect, he did actually have a choice; choice being relative – unpleasant rape or very unpleasant rape. 'Good god, what my life has come to!'

###

Ztar wrapped up his evening reviewing the last of the reports from various imperial sectors over a quiet dinner in his chambers. Thoughts turned quickly to Archangel and the heat in his body was immediate. Would Archangel always have that affect or was it the newness of the Human? Something told Ztar it would always be that way. It was powerful and intense and he never wanted it to be otherwise. The seductiveness of that body was without equal, at least to Ztar. And he willingly and enthusiastically succumbed to it.

Passing through the entry to Archangel's chambers, he looked around for the Human but did not see him. The bathroom door was open, so the Human wasn't there. Odd. He should be waiting.

Leaving Archangel's chambers, Ztar went to the only other spot he knew Archangel frequented, the observation lounge. And there he was, seated in the corner of a window bench staring out at the stars. For a moment, Ztar's heart hurt for the winged being. Immured aboard a ship in space had to be more difficult than Ztar could begin to comprehend, even with an empathic link. Archangel held a bottle of what appeared to be Dison in his hand. Would the Human turn to alcohol to drown his misery? Ztar hoped not.

"Archangel, it's time to come to bed," Ztar said plainly. No sense dancing around the issue. At first, it didn't seem Archangel had heard…no movement or reply. Ztar simply waited. Then he saw the shoulders and wings rise and lower as if he'd taken a deep breath and let it out slowly. The man rose and faced Ztar.

Warren looked at his tormentor. There he stood, waiting for Warren to willing join him in bed where he'd rape Warren for what, the 13th time? It was getting so that he might lose count. Seventeen nights with five nights off after his brush with oblivion. 'Yup, tonight's lucky 13 with no end in sight.'

After Sukja left, Warren decided he didn't want to provoke Ztar. He wasn't up for what it might mean, despite simmering anger. It had been a hard, emotionally draining day already. He would submit quietly with hopes of getting off easy; easy being relative. He just hadn't felt like waiting for the inevitable in his room.

As Archangel took slow steps toward him, the Emperor turned and headed back to the bedchambers. Things looked hopeful that the anger had been calmed. Archangel had barely cleared the doorway and Ztar took him in his arms for a deep kiss; he was already on fire and didn't care to waste time.

Warren allowed Ztar's tongue in his mouth and the Emperor probed and tasted him. He let the nearly empty bottle drop to the floor. Ztar's arms encircled and drew him in tightly. Skilled hands began to stimulate the wings and Warren trembled. It never failed to happen no matter how hard Warren attempted to stifle the response – it was an auto-reflex impossible to suppress.

Ztar released Archangel from the intense kiss and nipped the full lips before brushing his mouth across a cheek and down the neck. He desired a gasp from the Human and he squeezed his hand hard around the top edge of the wing just where it emerged from the back, holding the man close to his chest.

When Ztar squeezed the wing edge hard, it hurt – a lot! A hiss escaped Warren before he could stop it. The Emperor was holding him tight and there was no pulling away.

'Don't let be one of those nights!' Warren prayed.

Then a second, even harder grip sent shooting pain through the wing and he inhaled sharply. Warren squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists. He learned early on that protests and struggles only spurred the Emperor. He would simply have to endure or things could quickly escalate. He shoved down rising anger with so much force he felt it physically.

The offending hand released its crushing grip and smoothed the bruised area with gentle strokes as Ztar's mouth returned to his. Warren couldn't help but believe Ztar was showing displeasure about the day's headline event.

When the kiss was over, Ztar pushed Archangel back slightly and looked into the blue eyes. "I see you did some redecorating."

Warren tried to meet Ztar's eyes, but it was difficult.

"If there was something you didn't like about your chambers, you should have told Sukja and he would have corrected the problem," Ztar said smoothly.

Warren remained silent. What could he say?

"I trust all is to your liking now and the room will remain as it is," Ztar subtly warned, raising Archangel's chin up with a finger to fully face him, allowing a wry smile to cross his lips.

There were many things Warren could say at that moment, none of them without expletives, but he held his tongue and anger for his own sake. He just wanted to get the night's activity over.

For the most part, Ztar held himself in check – Warren had certainly experienced worse. But when the Emperor thrust into him, it was abrupt and rough and the pain was searing. Warren thought he may have drawn blood from digging nails into his palms in an effort not to cry out. Likely, the roughness was another demonstration of displeasure for the destructive rampage. Warren would have put money on it.

###

Warren's anger continued to fester the following day. The rampage had felt good, but it only went so far. The real target was Ztar, but the Emperor was off limits if Earth was to remain unharmed. Warren imagined what he would do to the alien given a chance without ramifications. The imagery was vicious. So much so, it frightened him. Old memories of his days as Apocalypse's Death resurfaced with those brutal imaginings.

'That's not what you want to become!' he warned himself. Yet the anger was intense and had no outlet. He'd do anything for a good workout in the X-mansion danger room. Why the hell didn't the imperial deck have a exercise room, punching bag – something!

His favorite distraction, the computer and language lessons, held little interest. If he did sit at the PI, he only became more agitated when he made a language mistake or when some minor thing didn't go exactly or as quickly as expected. Everything irritated.

Sukja irritated. The day after the tantrum, he managed to avoid the attendant by ignoring Sukja's chimes at his door throughout the day. By the end of the day, just the sound of the doorbell was enough to drive him over the edge. 'Good God, can't the man leave me alone for even a day?' Just the thought of the Emperor's attendant caused ire. In spite of what Warren had told himself about futility of directing his anger at Sukja, he couldn't seem to help himself.

And now the 20th morning of bondage, the damn chamber door chimed yet again. He ignored it. The mockingly cheery tones cut through the air a second infuriating time. He stormed to the bathroom and closed the door. Waiting and listening, Warren half-expected to hear Sukja in his chambers even though the attendant hadn't entered without invitation since Warren's first days on the ship. All remained quiet. 'Good!'

Awhile later, Warren ventured out to the observation lounge. Sukja should be 'at work' doing whatever it was he did for the Emperor and, therefore, Warren could likely avoid the alien if he was careful. What Sukja did all day, Warren could only imagine. He hadn't asked and Sukja hadn't shared. Whatever it might be, Warren knew the knowledge would only provide another aspect of his tortured existence with which find absurdity and preposterousness.

He paced the length of the large lounge fuming. To hell with everyone who betrayed him. To hell with Xavier! To hell with the X-men and the Shi'ar! He hoped they all rotted in hell for their crime. He hoped that hell included even a taste of what he was going through. Let them suffer what he was forced to endure.

But first, let them rescue him! Dear God, let that be what happened. Warren held to the hope that Xavier was planning his rescue in spite of what the Professor had said about no attempts. And again, he told himself he only had to hang on until then.

It wasn't long after returning to his chambers that the damn chime sounded. 'Go away!' he yelled silently at the unwelcome visitor, biting down hard on his food bar. Again, the tone rang, grating against already raw nerves. Warren continued to munch while seething.

"Archangel," a disembodied voice finally said through the comm. "I know you're there. Please let me in."

'Go fuck yourself,' he replied silently, blood pressure rising higher.

Sukja considered the options from outside Archangel's chambers. He knew from Ztar that the Human had been in constant turmoil that day. As Ztar put it, "the empathic connection sizzles." Sukja worried that the anger would erupt once again, possibly at a less desirable target than dishes and furnishings – Ztar for instance. A violent explosion in Ztar's presence was something Sukja wanted to avoid for Archangel's sake. The anger needed to be vented in a controlled manner and the Emperor's attendant was all too willing to be the release valve, at least verbally. But he couldn't do that effectively from the other side of the door.

"Archangel, you're being childish," he goaded, hoping that would get the man's attention.

Warren recognized the provocation. 'Yup, that's me – childish. Just like my tantrum the other day. My right under the circumstances, bastard! I'm still not letting you in here.'

Sukja sighed when no response was forthcoming. He could let himself in, but that set a precedent that his word was not to be trusted. He'd told Archangel in the very beginning that his chambers were his to control, Ztar aside of course. Sukja would not break his word.

"Self-imposed isolation is not the answer. You only hurt yourself. But if that's the game you wish to play, I can wait for as long as it takes," Sukja poked as he leaned against the bulkhead across from the door. 'Let's see how that settles.'

'Game? He thinks this is a game? Where's the goddamn mute button?' Warren smoldered, storming over to the comm control. Finding none, he started toward the bathroom for some peace and quiet.

"Childish games and outbursts from someone so intelligent are regretful," Sukja said filling his voice with disappointment. "To think a warrior capable of such behavior…" he let his voice trail off.

Warren stopped in mid stride. A string of expletives burned through his brain. 'That's it – this guy's going down!' he declared despite knowing that Sukja was intentionally egging him on. It no longer mattered. He charged the door, slammed his hand onto the control panel and was further enraged as the door slid opened quietly; the silent movement mocking him.

There stood the attendant, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed on his chest. The picture of equanimity.

'Perhaps I should rip that calm face off with my bare hands,' Warren thought viciously. It was all he could do not to attack. "It's not wise to rile this warrior, alien!" Warren glared through slitted eyes. Wings spread as he took a step toward his potential victim.

Sukja was a bit unnerved by the hostility radiating off the Human, but he didn't let it show. He had been threatened many times in the past by angry bedmates. "Understood. However, I'm not really what's riling you," Sukja pointed out, not moving from his spot.

Warren eyed the alien. He knew instantly where Sukja was leading and he'd have nothing to do with it. Containing the urge for physical violence with great effort, he leaned threateningly close to Sukja. "Now who's playing games? Psychological maneuverings won't work on me," Warren countered with a coolness he didn't feel. The alien was trying to defuse his anger. Warren liked the anger – it was less painful. He would not let it go easily.

"No, they won't. I see that." Sukja watched Archangel with concern. Everything about the Human screamed barely contained rage. At the same time, he was impressed at just how controlled that fury was. The man had not attacked him as the body language said he was ready to. And Archangel's thinking was keen, not rash or illogical. Another sign of a seasoned warrior – don't let heated emotions mar your judgment; that could get you killed. But Sukja worried the pent up anger could eventually wear down that control. No matter how in check Archangel was at the moment, he could still become volatile and unpredictable. That was unacceptable in an Imperial bedmate. And while Earth was a powerful motivator for Archangel to restrain himself, as the rampage in his chambers proved, that control can slip. It was Sukja's job to ensure the risk of that recurring was minimized.

"Then this conversation is over!" and Warren turned to re-enter his chambers.

Right behind Archangel, Sukja prevented the door from sliding shut. "I disagree," he said quietly.

Warren turned sharply, snapped open his wings in a threatening pose, and got into Sukja's face, trapping the alien between himself and the doorframe. Sukja didn't flinch, Warren noted with grudging appreciation.

"Do not push me," he growled. "I'm capable of more than you may want to know."

Sukja did not move, locking onto Archangel's flashing eyes. "Anger is a pleasant change, isn't it?"

"Violence could be even more pleasant – at least for me," Warren sneered, cocking his head and giving the manipulator a wicked look. Sukja was still playing mind games.

Though unfazed by the implied threat, Sukja did not doubt Archangel more than capable of inflicting a lot of damage if he chose to. He banked on the Human's will to hold himself back.

"You and I both know that would get you nowhere in the end. But the anger needs to be dealt with. So what do you want to do?" Sukja challenged.

Warren considered the alien and his words. Sukja wasn't saying anything he didn't already know. Violence would gain him nothing, so Warren chose not to attack the infuriating imperial attendant. The risk and potential price were too high. But the anger…that he would hang on to. So much had been taken from him, his anger he would keep!

"The Accord protects you from me, alien," Warren said in his most lethal voice, "but it does not dictate my state of mind. I will feel what I wish!" With that, he pulled in his wings and backed away in disgust, releasing Sukja from the doorway.

Sukja edged more into Archangel's chambers. It did not go unnoticed.

"I did not give you permission to enter," Warren warned, blocking Sukja's path.

The wings had drawn close to the body. A sign the anger was dissipating? "But you didn't tell me to leave, either. I took that as an invitation."

"You presume too much."

"My I enter?"

Warren considered. He felt anger cooling. After all, Sukja was not its focus – Ztar was. Altercations with the attendant were meaningless. However, Sukja was still trying to manipulate his way inside, and that he would not permit.

"No."

Sukja backed off. He'd take the small interaction with Archangel as a minor success, hoping his next visit would be more fruitful. "As you wish."

After the Emperor's puppet had gone, Warren sat and stared out at the stars from the window seat. Agitation lingered, but dulled, as if the brief confrontation had released much of the energy. The attendant was the least of his concerns. Ztar would be after him again tonight, pushing for more. All Warren wanted to do was kill the man, but that wasn't currently an option. And so, he'd continue to choose submission and detachment instead of violence while refusing to be manipulated into doing more than the bare minimum to protect Earth. But what the bare minimum entailed seemed to change as often as Ztar's moods.

Warren thought back. Ztar was unpredictable to say the least, and it wasn't getting any better…swinging from wanting total submission, to wanting to tussle, to everything in between. It seemed whichever Warren did, it wasn't what Ztar wanted. Submission led to demands for more participation. When Ztar got the participation he wanted, then he wanted resistance. Yet resistance was put down with mental control. Then as soon as Warren submitted yet again, Ztar's demanded either participation or resistance.

'If I have to endure the Emperor, the very least the bastard can do it be clear about what he wants!'

The vacillation and uncertainty were adding to his already extreme stress level. If the man was insane or otherwise unstable as Warren suspected, it would explain a lot. Should he be the captive of a mentally unstable alien, then his situation may be even more dire than he first thought. Cruel and evil he could deal with – at least that was predictable. But insanity? The idea frightened him. He had dealt with insane minds before and it was never pretty.

Warren got up; anger rekindled. Tonight he'd endure his tormentor once again, not knowing what Ztar would press him to do. If Warren had to chose, it was the mental control he hated most. The pain and physical assaults, those he could learn to deal with. But losing control over your very mind? That was the ultimate violation. He desperately wanted hold on to his own will.

"Make that top priority,' Warren told himself. Yet he knew Ztar could take that from his thoughts and use it against him. It was a losing situation from every angle and it caused a loathing toward Ztar so powerful it was almost tangible.

Adding to his torment was the confinement. It was gnawing at him more each day. He meandered around his elegant cell, looking for a distraction from his own thoughts. The computer terminal beckoned, but he wasn't in the mood. He didn't want to leave his chambers in case Sukja was milling around. So he sat to watch the stars pass by as the walls closed in.

###

Three weeks had passed on Earth since the Turzents had left taking a teammate and friend with them. Logan had stormed out in a rage at the news and hadn't returned. The intensity of the reaction surprised some as it was no secret Warren and Logan rarely saw eye-to-eye and often argued. The two men were teammates, yes. Friends, no. Charles was optimistic Logan would return, while some held out little hope. Betrayal was something the Canadian would not tolerate, they pointed out. Yet the hardened fighter knew Charles had had little say in the matter.

A couple of the newer recruits also left vowing never to return, their belief in the X-men and its founder shattered. "Who's next?" they demanded. "Which of us will become the next acceptable loss and handed over to rot with the enemy?" Charles doubted the X-men would see them again – a sacred trust had been broken in their young minds and the sin too great for forgiveness.

The long-time members remained, believing with Charles that they'd find a way to free their friend from the clutches of the aliens without jeopardizing Earth's autonomy. As Scott had put it to those walking out, "If you leave now, it is you who will have abandoned Warren by not staying to help find a way to save him. I for one will not give up trying to bring our teammate home."

Three weeks with little to show for the countless hours negotiating, pleading, arguing, arm twisting, and bargaining. Everywhere he turned, pragmatism reigned. Privy Earth leaders, powerful organizations like SHIELD, even other powerful mutant groups, it was always the same. The Turzents were too powerful to fight alone. Without Shi'ar might behind Earth, how could any altercation result in victory? Lying within Turzent space may not be a choice or desirable, but if the Empire didn't interfere with the Earth, why risk war or subjugation? To what gain? One life in exchange for freedom of over six billion – small price. Sad for Warren, but certainly he understood what his sacrifice gained, Charles heard too many times. It infuriated him. When had a Human being, mutant or otherwise, become disposable?

Xavier had the best legal minds in the United States review the document. The Accord was ironclad, they told him. The Shi'ar and Turzent negotiators left no loopholes; no vacuities or ambiguities. A brilliant document, one lawyer actually said in admiration. 'Oh, please extend my sympathies to Mr. Worthington's family," the man had said almost as an afterthought. Charles told the man he was looking at one of Warren's family.

The Shi'ar had cut off communications having tired of Charles' adamant pleas. "Earth is safe. The solution was without cost to the vast majority. Let it be, Charles Xavier," Lilandra's top aide said with cold detachment. "Should the Turzents breach the Accord, then call upon us," the alien offered in appeasement. And so that door closed with a thud.

Three weeks of sleepless nights had passed. When he did doze off, accusing dreams tossed and turned him. Often he'd jerk awake with guilt and anger and frustration so intense he would scream. Warren. One of his first. An almost son. The X-men who most struggled with his place and role. Who often wandered away, only to return home. Always he had returned home to the X-men. "I will never stop trying to free you!" he cried into the still darkness. "Never!"

Charles did what he could to safeguard Warren's personal and business affairs. Everyone was told Warren had gone on sabbatical. He'd been through much over the past few years, and time away for emotional healing was long overdue. "How long? Where did he go?" "How can we reach him?" "Mr. Worthington can't simply leave – he has a corporation that depends on him!" The telepath did what he could to ease fears and quell anger. What he couldn't do was provide answers.

Three weeks of living a private nightmare. Twice Xavier had used Cerebro in a vain attempt to reach out to his friend. He knew it was a senseless exercise, but he felt compelled to try. What was happening to Warren? Was he being mistreated? How was he coping? Did he hate Charles? Was he even alive? The not knowing was an agony Charles had rarely experienced…a pain worse than learning someone died. He'd tried sending a signal to the Turzents, pleading for any information about Warren. Cold silence was the only reply. Charles cried in despair and anguish.

###

For the next five nights, Warren submitted quietly, shoving anger down, hoping Ztar would ease up, settle down, even out – something. He hadn't. If anything, the Emperor became more erratic with constantly shifting demands, taking advantage of Warren's passivity, perhaps choosing to interpret it as acquiescence. Once again, Warren's tactic backfired and the time Ztar spent "enjoying his plaything" increased. Kiss me here, nuzzle me there, do that, do this – disgusting! And when Warren balked, Ztar used mental control or the threat of control to get what he wanted.

Some nights, Ztar wanted Warren to resist, not just lie there. His actions prodded and pushed and egged Warren on. Ztar had actually said on one occasion, "I want to see some of that fiery spirit." But any show of the fiery spirit Ztar claimed to want resulted in greater aggression and tightened mental control.

And so submission resulted in Ztar's demands for more participation and more spirit. Yet spirit or resistance lead to more aggression that bordered on punishment and demands for submission. Warren's return to more submissive behavior resulted once again in demands for more fight.

He was caught in a vicious circle and couldn't find the exit. It was looking like there was no exit. Nothing he tried eased the situation. Ztar was like quicksand, always wanting what Warren wasn't doing. Wasn't it enough that he allowed himself to be sexually assaulted every night? Why did Ztar have to make it some kind of sick game where only he knew the rules? Intolerable. He was livid. No more!

Warren paced waiting for Ztar to show. The steam cooker of emotions had built up pressure for days with no release valve. He boiled with the mere thought of another night beneath the unpredictable and self-absorb bastard. 'I'll be damn if I let Ztar turn me into a malleable whore no matter the price. To hell with the Accord! To hell with Earth!' He was drawing a line in the sand.

###

A/N: My heartfelt gratitude to everyone reading and especially to my faithful reviewers – you make the hard work worthwhile! All feedback of any length is welcome with open arms. Even a quick "Hi, I'm here reading," would make me smile and warm my heart. Don't be bashful! Warren/Angel fans need to support each other – we're a rare and wonderful breed! :)