The Tiger – The Halsstarrig
"I´ll never stop fighting you."
"We´ll see about that," Spike said coldly.
The angry words were caged animals chasing around Xander´s head, clawing and biting each other in a panic. It seemed that Spike had meant it and Xander had never been so afraid in his life.
The morning after he´d left Spike´s, Xander had tried to behave as if nothing had happened, but he couldn´t forget. He knew he was fucking up his lessons but couldn´t seem to help himself.
Once he was finished for the day, Adara was there to collect him. The demoness didn´t speak to him and instead of bringing him to his closet; she walked him directly to Narella´s office. Once Adara escorted him inside, she left, whispering, "I´m sorry," as she passed.
Xander´s stomach plunged. This was so not good.
Narella had informed him in clipped tones that his behavior was unacceptable, not only to her, but especially to Spike. She told him that Spike had rescinded his order not to have Xander´s spirit broken, and that he was being transferred immediately for a punishment period of one hundred days. She handed him off to two vampire guards, who smirked and leered at him as they bound his hands and led him away through a maze of corridors. Xander lost count of the number of turns they´d taken when they made it to their destination.
His vampire guards led him to the post in the center of the room and attached a thick, short chain to his collar, pulling him almost flush with the scarred wood. His loosely bound hands were trapped between his chest and the pole.
His feet were secured apart and he barely stifled a groan as a thick plug was slid into his perpetually slick anus. It didn´t take a genius to figure out that he was to be punished or used as entertainment for someone. Or both.
One of his escorts roughly palmed one of his ass cheeks, squeezing tightly with a cold hand. "Have fun," he chuckled as he left.
Xander peered around the circular room as best as he could. It was scary quiet and the light was very low. He could just make out at least three different arched entrances spaced evenly along the wall. He´d been led through the fourth arch, located directly behind him.
Squat tables and thick pillows were scattered all over the place and Xander got the impression that this was a lounge of some sort, although he really couldn´t pinpoint why.
The deathly silence was suddenly broken; Xander heard a series of loud thuds as if heavy doors were being thrown open. His heart began to pound in his chest as he heard raucous laughter and loud footsteps coming his way against a backdrop of loud cheers and thunderous applause. He could now guess who he had been sent to entertain; there was only one sport on Abbaddon, the warrior games.
There was no way this was going to end well. The thought I wish Spike were here to protect me flitted through his brain before he was able to crush it. Spike was the reason he was here.
Fighters poured into the room from all sides. Xander knew the minute that they realized he was there. All talk stopped for an eternal half–second, before the whistles and catcalls started.
Xander roughly counted at least thirty male warriors before he closed his eyes. There was no way he´d survive taking all of them.
He felt them approach even before they were close enough to touch him. When the first cool calloused hand ran down his back and cupped his backside, he shuddered, making the others laugh.
"Looks like this one don´t wanna play nice," someone said in a mock–disappointed voice.
Someone else laughed. "They never do at first."
Hands began to stroke his flesh, so many he lost count. They pressed the toy inside him further, roughly cupped his sex, or rubbed themselves against him.
Humiliated, Xander realized that he was getting hard. He´d been conditioned to respond even the most miniscule stimulation.
Suddenly, a voice rang out. "Leave him alone."
Most of the stroking hands ceased, but there were at least two sets that remained. Xander braved a look.
A small, pale warrior stood there, his hands hanging loosely at his side. He had tribal tattoos that stretched across the entire left side of his body. His long red hair was thick and matted. He looked tired, but confident.
Nearly all of the others in the room withdrew, giving this warrior a wide berth. Only the two who continued touching him remained. Xander realized two things: the two still handling him looked like twins and towered over him a good six inches.
One was very clean cut; it was hard to believe that he´d fought anyone in the ring that evening. He didn´t have a speck of dirt on him. But he looked cold, too. Like he would pull your heart out with the same bored expression he had when he ate a sandwich.
The other one looked wild. He had that crazy expression in his eyes that bespoke of a quick, vicious temper.
Xander nick–named them Sven and Chuck in his head.
When Sven slipped his hand between Xander´s legs and cupped his swollen sex, Xander shuddered. He could feel the inhuman strength in that grip.
"Looks like they left him here for us to break in. I´d hate to disappoint them." Sven squeezed his hand, causing Xander to cry out in pain. A titter of laughter circled the room.
The one called Oz stepped closer. His eyes had shifted to black, and his teeth were growing longer and sharper.
Shit, he´s a werewolf. Xander thought.
"Back off, Hamilton. He´s mine," Oz growled.
The two stepped away from Xander to face Oz, crossing their arms defiantly.
"What you figure you´re gonna do about it?" Chuck said, cockily.
Oz growled again; it was a low dangerous sound that made the hairs on the back of the Xander´s neck stand up. "You wanna fight, Jayne? I beat you both in the ring tonight; I´ll do it again."
The others in the room snickered at this. The two warriors looked at each other, weighing their options.
"Come on, man. Don´t be like that," the one called Jayne wheedled.
Oz shook his head. "I want him. There´s plenty of others to go around."
Xander risked a glance and saw there were now quite a few slaves interspersed among the warriors. Most were on their knees, naked and leashed to bolts set into the walls. There were others, house slaves, circulating with trays of food and drink. The naked ones, likely pleasure slaves, all seemed to fall into two categories: angry or broken. The house slaves kept their expressions neutral. The only thing every slave had in common was that they all were watching him like he was a new species of insect.
Xander wondered how long the broken ones had been there and if that would be him after a fun filled evening of being taken by every man in the room.
"You gonna step down, or fight?" The werewolf seemed to be holding his ground. Xander wondered if he should cheer or be frightened. More frightened, that is.
The two standing in front of him looked at each other in silent communication, and Xander was afraid that they had decided to fight.
The others in the room, sensing this as well, began to chant "Fight, fight, fight."
"Quiet!" Oz shouted and the room became silent. "This ends. You two, stand down. I won all my matches tonight and I claim him as prize. You deny me and I´ll have to take it up with the council."
With this pronouncement, thankfully the tension seemed to dissipate.
"We don´t need the si hsieh goey horning in on our business. Sides´ they´ll just beat him bloody, til he´s useless," Jayne scoffed.
The one called Hamilton shrugged. "No point in fighting about this, Oz, it´s not like we´re getting paid."
Jayne, slapped Xander on the ass, hard, as he walked away. "Have fun, newbie. He may look small, but he´s hung like a horse."
The crowd laughed at this and the twins moved into the room, making a show of stroking and examining the other chained slaves. Even the broken ones seemed to draw away slightly from their touch.
Oz approached Xander and kicked the catches on his ankle restraints, freeing Xander´s legs.
He unhooked the neck chain and used Xander´s bound hands as leash of sorts; guiding Xander away from the center of the room and through the arch Xander had entered.
The walked in silence down a series of corridors, passing dozens of doors until they reached the one the warrior was looking for.
Oz keyed the door open and led Xander through, releasing his hands as soon as the door shut behind them. Xander fell to his knees, awaiting the warrior´s next command. He was unsure if he´d just been saved, or was in worse trouble. He´d never met a werewolf before.
Xander had a brief moment of panic when Oz picked up a knife from a wall display and walked over to him. "Hold your hands out."
Xander gratefully did as he asked, and Oz swiftly cut his bonds.
"You can stand if you want, floors gotta be hard on your knees."
"Thank you." Xander said, standing gratefully and rubbing the skin of his wrists. He really didn´t need to reestablish circulation, but he needed something to do with his hands: he still unsure of what to expect.
Oz put the knife back in place and called over his shoulder. "Looks like from your collar that you´re sponsored. How´d you end up here?"
"My master sent me." Xander was unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
"Huh, that´s...unusual." Oz frowned, his brow furrowed as he mulled this information over for a moment. Finally he seemed to abandon this line of thought and held out his hand. "I´m Oz, what´s your name?"
Xander stared at the offered hand for a moment before he shook it briefly. "Xander." It felt strange to be treated almost like an equal with this demon.
"Well, Xander, I´ve got a palette over there you can bunk in tonight." Oz pointed to a pile of blankets off to one side of the room. "After that..." he shrugged. "I won´t always be able to protect you."
"No, I understand. Thanks for tonight; I appreciate it more than you know." Xander was grateful for even one night of asylum.
"No problem. Most of the others aren´t bad guys, but after a match they´re...hyped up."
"So, you´re a... um...werewolf."
Oz smiled. "Yeah. There´s a bunch of us here. It´s the moons."
Xander had never given the moons much thought, they´d always been there lighting the night sky. "So, not many places have three?"
Oz shook his head. "One´s most common, but I´ve been all over, trying to control the wolf. Worst place was Berterra: it didn´t have any. It just felt...wrong." Oz shrugged, unable to explain how hellish it had been spending six months in a place that made his skin crawl. "Here, I can be me. I don´t have to fight it."
"So you´re not forced to compete."
"No, I´m a free fighter. We all are here."
"Even the other two?"
"Who, Jayne and Hamilton?" At Xander´s nod, he continued. "They´re bio–mods: genetically engineered human–synthetic hybrids. They may look human, but they´re not. All the human fighters are in the slave games – and they won´t have access to you."
"Where am I? I mean, I know I´m being punished, but..." Xander trailed off.
Oz shook his head. "You must have pissed someone off big time to be sent here for punishment. You´re in the Halsstarrig. Most of the slaves here never leave. They´re ...look; you really want to hear this?"
"No," Xander answered truthfully. "Tell me anyway."
"We like fighters here, slaves you have to work to get to submit," Oz said simply. "Some of us more than others."
"Even you," Xander asked quietly.
"Yeah, sometimes. Mostly I use the pleasure house proper, or bed one of the house slaves. Sometimes, though, having someone fight back when you take them is..."
"You need it," Xander supplied.
Oz nodded in agreement. "Yeah, the regular pleasure slaves are too soft. They play along, but it´s not the same. Plus, if you hurt them, you get blacklisted for awhile. We don´t have to worry about that with our stables."
Xander suppressed a shiver at this, but Oz seemed to pick up on his discomfort anyway.
"We´re not cruel, Xander: at least most of us aren´t. The slaves they send here, they like it."
"Not me," Xander said quickly.
Oz´s lips turned up in a small, knowing grin, but he didn´t challenge Xander´s assertion. Instead, he walked over to a rough table and began to take off some of his fighting gear.
Xander felt like a jerk, making the guy sit there and talk to him after he´d just spent an evening fighting. He walked over to the table. "Let me help you with that," he offered softly.
"Look, man, you don´t have to. Floor´s yours – no strings."
"I know," Xander replied.
They looked at each other for a few moments until Oz acquiesced, nodding, and allowed Xander to remove the metal and leather plates. Once he was finished, Xander spoke again. "If you have a shower or something, I can bathe you."
Oz´s expression remained inscrutable but he pointed to the corner of the room. There was a recessed door, nearly hidden by an ornate fabric hanging.
Once in the bathroom, Xander adjusted the water as Oz finished getting undressed. The shower cubicle was large enough to accommodate both of them easily.
Oz stood in the center of the shower, between the two opposing sprays. Xander squirted some cleansing gel into his palm from the wall dispenser. As he ran his soapy fingers through the smaller man´s hair, he realized that it wasn´t matted as he´d first thought, but styled in thick ropes, probably to keep it from getting in his face. Once his hair was washed and rinsed, Xander lathered a cloth up and began with Oz´s back.
"Do these tattoos mean anything," he asked curiously. Xander traced the swirls of black ink with his cloth as he scrubbed.
Oz shrugged and replied, "Some do, not all."
And since that seemed like all the smaller man was going to say on the subject, Xander didn´t pry. Instead he lost himself in the familiar routine, efficiently cleansing the dirt and grime and blood from his skin. When Xander finished, he gently tapped Oz on the shoulder to get him to turn around.
Xander knelt in front of Oz, as was traditional, and began to clean him from his position on the shower floor. The plug in his ass shifted, pressing against his prostate briefly, and Xander had to hold back a groan, returning his focus to the job at hand. He worked assiduously, soaping the skin from the warrior´s shoulders to his feet.
He carefully washed the warrior´s penis last. Nestled in a thatch of auburn curls, it rapidly hardened under his gentle ministrations. They really hadn´t been kidding when they´d mentioned his...attributes.
Once his task was complete, Xander set his cloth down on the floor next to him. He tilted his head up to look at Oz, water beading up on his lashes. The warrior remained still, but was staring at him. Perhaps he was waiting to see what Xander would do next, he was difficult to read.
Xander ran a finger along the shaft of the thick penis in front of his face, watching it jump under his gentle touch.
"You don´t have to," Oz said, but his voice was husky.
"I know." Xander replied. He put his hands on Oz´s hips and leaned forward. His tongue darted out to trace the purpled tip.
"Mmmmm," Oz murmured.
Xander fell back on his training, taking as much of the warrior´s thick cock in his mouth as he could, using every technique he knew to make Oz feel good. It was a thank you of sorts to his unexpected protector, but it was also nice to be able to use his training by choice instead of force.
It wasn´t long before Oz groaned loudly and wound his fingers tightly into Xander´s hair. He didn´t pull Xander forward or hold him in place, he just held on, as if he needed to ground himself.
Xander drew back, his lips making a seal around the head of the warrior´s cock. He alternately flicked his tongue over the sensitive glans and probed the weeping slit. Oz stiffened and cried out as he came; thick warm gouts of his spend flooding Xander´s waiting mouth.
When his shuddering ceased, Oz reached out and turned off the water before gazing down at Xander, stroking his damp hair. "That was...nice. Thank you."
Xander nodded. His own cock was hard but he was used to withholding his release.
"Come to bed with me?" Oz held out his hand, helping Xander to his feet.
"Yeah, I could do that."
They dried off in silence and moved to Oz´s bed. Neither one bothered with clothes. Well, Xander didn´t have any, but Oz didn´t dress either. The werewolf settled onto his back, allowing Xander to use his chest as a pillow.
Casually, Oz began running his fingers through Xander´s hair and they rested like that in companionable silence for a long while.
"I could bite you, if you want," Oz offered. "Might make things easier on you."
Xander frowned for a moment, wondering what Oz meant. Then he realized, the warrior was offering to change him, make him a werewolf, too. "No, thanks, though."
"You sure, man? You don´t know what you´re missing." It was impossible to miss the sheer joy in the Oz´s voice.
For the first time since Xander had been with Oz, he became frightened.
"Mmmm, Xander." Oz nuzzled Xander´s hair. His hands began to explore Xander´s flesh.
Xander shivered and his heart began to pound. He couldn´t believe he´d been calmly lying down with a demon, that he´d forgotten that Oz wasn´t human.
"Man, you gotta stop with the fear," Oz said, his voice strained.
Xander tilted his head up; he had to see Oz´s face. The werewolf´s eyes had shifted to black and his teeth were lengthening as they had earlier in the evening. Xander felt a fresh bolt of fear shoot through him.
Oz growled and flipped Xander onto his back, holding him down. He rubbed his renewed erection into Xander´s hip and began nuzzle Xander´s flesh with his nose, scenting him.
Xander tried to hold very still but he was terrified that Oz was going to bite him.
Oz suddenly shifted up on all fours, growling, "Over! Turn over."
Xander hurried to comply, trying to ignore the thick, coarse hair sprouting over the warrior´s body.
As soon as Xander was on his hands and knees, he felt Oz line himself up behind him, thick cock prodding the base of the plug in his ass. He shuddered as he felt sharp claws grip his hips.
"Won´t hurt you, Xander. But you´ve got to stay still." Oz was panting, his voice was thick and gruff.
"Okay," Xander whispered fearfully, trying not to move a muscle.
Oz slid the plug out of Xander and threw it across the room. Xander felt the blunt mushroom head press against his now empty hole. It was so hard to remain still as the werewolf breeched him, his muscles burned as he was opened wide by the small man´s huge club of a penis.
Once he´d worked the final inch inside, Oz draped himself along Xander´s back. "You smell so good, Xander," the werewolf chuffed, his breath hot against Xander´s skin.
Xander locked his arms as Oz began to rut against him, roughly sawing his thick cock in and out of Xander´s slick hole.
The werewolf suddenly shifted the angle of his hips, hitting that place inside Xander that made him see stars. Xander had to clench his jaw in an effort to keep silent as well as still.
Xander´s cock was hard and leaking and he was trying so hard not to move. His skin was covered in a sheen of sweat and he was panting softly, trying not to draw further attention to himself. It made him a little sick that he was getting off being treated this way, but he´d been trained to like it, been trained to get hard at a touch or a command to spread himself.
His mind flashed to his last encounter with Spike and how the vampire had taken him, owned him. Xander was ashamed that this thought made his balls draw up tightly. He couldn´t stop himself from moaning at the memory.
Oz snuffed against his ear. "That´s it. You want it, don´t you?"
"Yess," Xander hissed, giving in to the need building inside.
Oz´s hands gripped his hips with bruising force and sharp claws pierced his flesh. "Fuck me."
That was all Xander needed to hear: he thrust back, rocking against Oz, taking the werewolf even deeper.
"Uh," Oz grunted and suddenly he was pounding into Xander with brutal force.
Both of them were frenzied in their need, their moans and the dull clapping sounds of their flesh echoing throughout the room.
When Oz growled deep and low against his neck, Xander was certain that the werewolf was going to bite him. Xander closed his eyes tightly in preparation. Instead, Oz let out an earsplitting howl and Xander felt the warm, thick gouts of spend bathing his insides. He could no longer hold himself back and shot as well, soaking the bed clothes beneath him in what seemed to be oceans of his cream.
Xander fell forward into the mess, exhausted, pulling a panting Oz down with him.
Afterwards, Oz held him close. "Did I hurt you?"
"No," Xander admitted a little shamefully. His ass ached and along his hips were small throbbing punctures, but he felt good. He´d enjoyed it.
"Now I know why they sent you here."
"Spike didn´t want me." Xander said softly, proud that he managed to keep the bitterness in his voice to a minimum.
"I wouldn´t be too sure about that." Oz was fully human, or as human as he ever was. "If I owned you, I´d want to keep you like this.
"I´m not gonna tell you not to fight the others when they take you: it´s who you are. But you´ll be better off if you try not to be afraid. Most of us can smell fear, it makes us crazy."
"Will I only be with the warriors?" Xander asked tentatively.
"Supposed to be that way, but sometimes council members come down here too. They´re the ones you really have to watch out for. Vamps don´t get enough violence here, so they can be dangerous."
"Thanks. I´ll keep that in mind."
"If it ever gets too much, Xander, I really will bite you. You´ll still be a slave, but it´ll keep you strong."
Xander remained silent. Oz didn´t seem to require an answer. As they both drifted off to sleep, the last thought that drifted through Xander´s mind was:
Ninety–nine more days.
