Honor

(TW: contains rape attempt and sexual themes and descriptions but nothing too graphic)

"Celtic…"

A shaking low voice called to him. The man turned around and saw a little figure slithering out of a corner. It was the girl slave he had saved from being flogged, approaching him shyly and frighteningly holding a glass in her hand.

"I sneaked out this wine for you, I know there is nothing better than the taste of wine after a battle, and you really deserve it!"

"You d seriously should stop endangering yourself."

Diarmuid could not help a little smile that crept on his face as he felt the girl's little gests of rebellion, similar to child ones; breaking things, sneaking foods and drinks…

"Please accept it as a token of gratitude… you lifted everyone's spirit, though momentarily and briefly, with your win today!"

The girl lowered her gaze embarrassed by her fervor. Diarmuid took the glass smiling at the red cheeks. There was really no point in wasting the girl's risk, and he did indeed miss the taste of fine wine.

"I will not be selfish to enjoy your risk all by myself, please have some first." 

The lancer kindly offered the glass to the girl who took one sip gratefully then returned it back to him. Diarmuid drank the wine then the girl ran back to the kitchen with the empty glass before they got discovered.

Diarmuid lied on his bed staring at the ceiling, a habit he had developed since his capture, but his repose was soon disturbed.

"Diarmuid, Lord Claudius want you to bring some water to his room"

A slave quickly said and left to resume his cleaning task. Annoyed by this silly request that anyone could fulfill, the lancer also left to answer that damned merchant. Did he not find a befitting dancer to bring him his damned water? Or was it an act to remind the victorious slave of the position he is still in? That was probably the meaning behind the request but it did not matter, he will never stop fighting in his own way.

Sighing in boredom, Diarmuid knocked the door impatiently before he went in and slammed the water jug on a table. The merchant was getting ready to go to sleep, wearing a white rope while still sipping the remaining wine from dinner.

"Here is the water you asked for."

Diarmuid said then turned his back to leave, but he was stopped.

"You fight brilliantly, Dia."

The lancer needed to hear no one's praise, more so, he was irritated by the casual use of his nickname that only his friends and beloved ones called him with. 

"But such brilliance always brings disaster to the receiving side. It is sad in a sense. A truly double edged talent."

The Celtic scowled, did that merchant kill that guard? Noticing his displeased face the fat man went on:

"The life you spared, perhaps for the sake of a family and children, now wanders the streets starving."

"You fired him?"

"Naturally."

The merchant replied with a sly smile, he would not miss a chance to spoil the latter's joy of victory.

"This is absurd."

The slave remarked trying to show indifference. The merchant narrowed his eyes which turned into two thin lines squeezed between the wrinkles of his face and the red bags his heavy drinking produced.

"Are you telling me what to do? I do not have a need for weaklings who loses to a slave like you."

The merchant replied emphasizing the last words, but Diarmuid took no offense, as he arrogantly explained his point of view:

"This is no way to measure someone's strength, it would be unfair to them."

"Oh? Why?"

"Because it is only natural he would lose to me!"

The warrior blood throbbed proudly in his vain, overwhelming his brain. The Celtic spear - man bragged with the fact, a charm smile of superiority gracing his victorious features.

"You really do not know where to stand, slave?"

A nonchalant shrug was the answer, as the smile did not fade. The merchant also smiled, a more dark sinister one as his eyes sank more behind the swollen red bags.

"In that case, I will have to teach you."

Responding to the stretched hand that brushed the burnished fair skin of his face, the Celtic stepped backward.

"What do you think you are doing?!"

The lancer furiously pushed the insolent hand away, but by doing this he lost his balance as the room started to spin around him. Unable to comprehend what had just happened, he opened his eyes and found himself between the merchant's arms who held him before he fell to the ground.

"What…"

The lancer muttered, his surroundings still spinning and turning blurry, he struggled to push the man and stand by himself but all the strength was suddenly drained out of his body.

"What is going on?"

The answer to the question he asked himself was delightfully given.

"I hope you have enjoyed your cup of boasting victory."

Diarmuid eyes flashed with enragement, remembering the girl who offered him the stolen wine.

"You as brave as you are a fool."

The merchant whispered closely in his ears, mouthing every word like a delicious

morsel of food. as if he was whispering words of love and devotion to a mistress. He licked his ear shell enjoying the taste of the sensitive flesh and the slyness of his words while Diarmuid's contempt toward the master of the house now weighed the same as for his contempt for everyone else within that damned house. If he was in his proper state, then that demented merchant would have been already crushed against the wall of his own bedroom of pleasure and lechery but his legs failed him, as did his arms. He could only turn his face away disgusted by the tongue running over his cheek and neck, seeking his lips. 

"Watching you fighting with these two spears, that was a more delightful and erotic sight than that sweet dancer swaying to the music rhythm! You have strummed your own rhythm in my heart since the first day I saw you, even as a piece of flesh rotting in Rufinus' warehouse!"

The words were lewdly whispered against the Celtic's tingling skin, blending with his wrath along the light kisses that dictated these words. The lancer's pupils dilated in humiliation and fury but his quivering fists could not deliver the only proper response as the he found himself easily thrown and forced on the large bed that budged beneath the two men's weight. His white robe was torn from the collar, revealing his slender yet muscularly crafted shaved chest, he struggled to punch the man, elbow him at least but as he was drugged, his body started to lose its resistance trapped beneath the merchant's body that was already trembling with joy, his imagination coursing through his mind faster than the blood flowing to his organ. Lord Claudius licked Diarmuid's lips with his tongue, trying to pry them open, the main dish of his dinner finally served but his moan of excitement was turned into a scream of pain as both men's lips seeped with blood but this small resistance, reminding the merchant of that of a maiden managed only to ignite his lust more aflame. Watching the lancer's appalled face, Claudius wondered sincerely:

"What is the matter? The Greek did this all the time, and it is not an uncommon practice among us… I cannot believe that you do not do the same or that no man had lusted after you before!"

"You vile pig…"

Diarmuid squirmed trying to head-butt the insolent talking skull, but failed miserably as his balance was off, and now his wrists were seized within the merchant's hand who continued his joyful

 exploration with his tongue and hand across the man's finely tuned chest, all while nudging the man lying beneath him down.

"Do not convince me I am not the kindest king you have served, honorable knight! From your reactions I guess none had treated you so tenderly…"

"You are no king! You does not possess a shred of honor! You are worthless piece of…" 

Wishing to face the haughty pair of bronze glaring furiously at him, the merchant rose while still trapping the lithe body beneath his floating belly, he held the Celtic's face from the chin running a finger over his blooded lips then brushing over his beauty mark while carding the his dark lustrous locks with his other hand, tugging at them with a bit of violence to prevent him from any unnecessary acts that would spoil the fun, freeing his prey's wrists temporarily.

"This beauty mark truly resemble a tear! I wonder of you will cry tonight for me, my treasured doll!"

Enchanted with that beauty mark and the pair of darkening eyes that rested above it,

the merchant went on while shoving his dress at the floor:

"I want to enjoy this proud look in your eyes thoroughly, for this shall be the last night to be seen before I break it!"

The merchant desired to break the man, it was finally the proper time. He knew he could never surpass him physically so he had him drugged, this alone was a small victory seeing the strong warrior who managed to defeat his best guard with mere sticks crippled and weakened unable to move a single finger like the doll he wanted him to be. Soon, these distinct bold features; the high nose bridge, the lofty eyebrows and the disdainful lips shall become nothing more than a broken doll's features, dull and lifeless, only flaring with desire toward his Lord.

"Yield your so called honor for me!"