Thread: ____Pandora's Prize_____(OctopusPrince x Xinavee)

Samir looked out at the guards, and understood just then what it was Arwen was trying to tell him. So this was the life of a gladiator- also a slave, but a pampered,vicious pet more than something to be broken in spirit. He was distracted from his realization by Arwen's hand around his throat, not having expected the touch, or the pouring sensation of heat down his spine at the feeling of Arwen's breath along his ear while he spoke. To be held just so by his throat, without harmful intent but in a pure show of power, had Samir experiencing a mixture of emotions and sensations that he had not the mind to pull apart. He had never experienced such a thing, with his old master, that was certain. There was never a rush of anything-- the man was old and soft and a bit naive, in love with pretty things because they were pretty. It had been so easy to perform, to bat his eyelashes and feign adoration the way his master enjoyed it, because there was no true attraction there, only loyalty. Arwen was certainly very different. Arwen reminded him of the tall, beautiful guards of his master's palace that would eye him with interest, but were unable to touch. Arwen reminded him of the sort of man he quietly yearned for, but had long accepted he'd never have. But now, such a man was his master, and such a man had a hand wrapped around his throat. Samir gawked a little, blinking widely and flushed in the face at Arwen's retreating back as he let go so suddenly and was off to somewhere else. It seemed Arwen did everything suddenly, darting from task to task like a pacing beast. There was pent up energy there, that Samir felt the smallest pang of sympathy for. If Arwen was being kept here, guarded from exit, than he was not truly free, as free as this situation seemed. To even give him a slave was an impressive add on to the illusion that he was in service rather than enslaved. But Samir commented on none of that, simply following silently on the heels of Arwen until they were back in the room with the treasures. Samir recognized much of them painfully, now that he was awake to see them. These were his master's things, divided and given to gladiators for sport? His spirit would mourn the waste of it. He took the silk that Arwen had extended to him, and he pulled it over his bare, still damp lower body, tying the silks at his hip. He followed when Arwen moved again, the pantry, the halls, the bedroom, silent but keeping close so that should Arwen say something more to him, some command, he would not miss it. It was a beautiful cage. Someone quite liked Arwen it seemed, whoever financed this extravagant level of psuedo-residency. Samir had felt blessed if he got a special meal or beautiful clothes-- this man, for his brutality had earned himself a proper household. Romans were very strange indeed. He moved, compulsively, to stand near the door but not in the way of it, watching Arwen while reaching to smooth at his hair, all of it starting to dry. He brushed his fingers through it to detangle it, a trick he'd been taught as a child that was now a habit he didn't think twice about. ' If you treat it well, Samir, your hair will serve you in more ways than you can understand. It is just as much a temptation as your eyes or your hips, display it, touch it, and others will want to have their chance to touch it too' He had been told that so long ago, by the man who had trained him to be a beautiful decoration in rooms where he had no purpose. Just then, Arwen had asked nothing of him so he teased out his curls, twirling fingers around them and releasing them, but keeping his pretty eyes on his new master so that at any moment, he might move to usefulness beyond his beauty.