A Lesson in Obedience

Warnings: Slight AU, slash, non-con, language, kink, series tie-in.
Pairing: Leon/Mendez
Rating: M



Humans were so fragile; their bodies nothing more than a delicate framework of flesh knit around blood and bone. So easily broken, so easily torn. But, somewhere in that mess of tissue and dying cells resided a soul. A spark of life, a spirit of pure energy, of power; a thing of wonderment that transcended the limitations and confines of the humble shell that bound them. But, such a gift was wasted upon those creatures; these children with feeble bodies and even more feeble minds. It’s a wonder they had survived this long.

Bitores Mendez brooded over the puzzle of humanity many times, and more so when the human soul trapped inside his mind had refused to quit screaming. After the Plaga had taken control and became a servant for his Lord, the Voice kept him awake and quite distracted--his quality of service threatened by the never-ending caterwauling.

Unable to stand it any longer, he had pleaded with his Lord Saddler to destroy him. If he could not serve, then he had no purpose. But, his Lord had explained with patience and wisdom, that the human soul was a resilient thing, and even as the body belonged to Los Plagas, the spirit would remain trapped forever--unless the Plaga parasite relinquished its hold upon the flesh. It was a sound punishment for those who wasted their lives on trivial pursuits and meaningless endeavors. His Lord had explained the screams would fade eventually, that the soul would soon loose its Voice and be silent once more.

His Lord was so wise.

These memories may have been long ago, but he reflected upon them again as he observed the amusing way the human male defended himself and his companion. An admiral attempt, one that Mendez would have indulged further if he could afford the time. But, Mendez was instructed to apprehend the American and Sera and bring them to his Lord immediately. Obedience was crucial to his Sovereign leader; it’s what put Mendez above that vacuous little imp Salazar, the fool constantly catering to his own whims without the Lord’s permission. Those two…abominations he had flanking his sides were one such example of careless extravagance, one that his Lord strangely overlooked.

Mendez snarled as he glowered down at the unconscious American, his blood burning hot in his veins. He wanted to destroy, to pummel his fury out on something soft and fragile. No. Losing his temper would serve no purpose. He must calm himself. If he were to damage Sera or the intruder, his Lord would punish him--and his Sovereign’s punishments were cruel, even by his standards.

He studied the American male, his head tilted to the side with candid interest. So young. Why did their government send a youth? This human seemed inexperienced, boldly challenging him even though he was half his size! Little fool. His gaze swept over the honeyed brown hair as the wind blew it gently from his face. Strong features, pleasant to the eye; a sensual mouth and lean body, honed and tightly muscled. Mendez narrowed his eye. Why was he suddenly concerned with this sack of flesh? Pretty or no, he did not have time for frivolous scrutiny. He must get the American to his Lord quickly!


“They sent a child?” Osmund Saddler looked insulted.

They were gathered in the main room of a dusty old house, one of the many that were abandoned when the villagers sought enlightenment. The purple robe his Lord wore looked a dull gray in the light, but that did not dim the significance of the insignia upon his back, nor did it stifle the golden glint upon his sleeves. The very air stilled for his Lord Saddler and all others paled in his presence. Two ganado guards shuffled in a dark corner, their eyes averted to the floor. One of them was bleeding. Bitores sniffed the air and frowned. Ganado blood always smelled rotten.

With a swish of his robes, Saddler strode forward and yanked the American’s head back to peer at his features. His fingers curled around the base of young male’s skull, and tugged at his hair. The human remained unresponsive as Saddler appraised him, still sleeping off that reckless tumble against Mendez. The human was tied to an equally senseless Sera, both men back to back, sitting on the dusty floor. Bitores watched his Sovereign in absolute silence, unable to leave the room without being properly dismissed. He observed Saddler caressing the smooth jaw line of the American, his tone teasing. “Hmm, though, he’s a handsome little American, is he not?”

Mendez grunted, his thoughts returning to his own examination of the human earlier. It seemed his Lord held the same opinion--which he found, odd. He continued to listen in respective silence as his leader mused aloud. “It’s strange that only one man was sent, yes?” Saddler’s silky accent rolled through the room, thickening with his anger. “You would think the president of such a wealthy country would have the entire world searching for his lost offspring! And both you and I know Mendez, the world exists only to serve the whims of our American neighbors.” Saddler’s eyes grew hard and gleaming; the feral yellow of his irises brightened as he gazed at his captive with the hunger of a snake. “But, perhaps there is more to this young fool than meets the eye.” He gave a tight smile, musing again. “Perhaps…we should not judge based on appearances, yes?”

Mendez chuffed, his interest waning. Saddler chuckled and let his hand fall away. The American’s head drooped to his chest, his sandy hair obscuring his features. Saddler watched him a moment, stroking his stave as its tendrils undulated with lazy grace. He appeared pensive, lost in thought. There was silence in the room; even the Ganado had stopped shuffling. Then, like a switch flipped, his Lord snapped out of his ruminations and shot Mendez a sharp glare. “I have received word of yet another intruder," he said. "See to it that this nuisance is dealt with.” Saddler’s eyes glittered, the citrine irises mandating instant compliance. Mendez gave a short and relieved bow, eager to begin another service to his master and prove his superiority to Salazar. Before he left the room however, Mendez turned, his heavy eyebrows knit with concern.

“May I inquire what is to become of Sera, my Lord? His treachery should be dealt with swiftly, before--”

Saddler waved the question away, his gaze falling on the bound Spaniard with a disapproving sneer. “He’s no longer your concern Mendez. I will see to it personally that he’s punished for his transgressions. Now, do as I command.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Mendez gave another humble bow; the last thing he witnessed before leaving the room was Saddler beckoning a Ganado forward, the slave carrying a large syringe filled with purple fluid--a Plaga embryo.


Leon’s head pounded behind his eyes as he climbed the back porch stairs; the headache never quite left after he woke bound to an unconscious Sera. He was still irritated that the Spaniard ran off; Sera’s intentions remained an enigma, and Leon hated loose ends. He also hated fending for himself when he could use the extra gun. A second ago, he had to outrun a particularly noisome group of villagers to gain entry to this house. Leon was already tired of it. So far, this little excursion was blowing up nice and messy in his face, just like the other event in his not-too-distant past. First days were hell for most people, but he always managed to make his an obscene disaster. A simple “protect the president’s daughter” turned into “dodge the sharp pointy objects.” Since the moment he arrived in this ‘Pueblo’, everyone seemed inclined to chase him around with pitchforks, knives, and axes. And don’t forget Mr. Leather face with the chainsaw...

After hours of ducking all the various farm equipment thrown at him, Leon almost wished for zombies.

He closed his eyes and shook his head, tightening his grip on the Red9 as he entered the door. The rusty hinges squeaked loud, but no one came to greet him with a pitchfork or grenade. He knew there was something much bigger going on here, and he had only begun to skim the surface of this conspiracy. Like Raccoon City before, Leon felt like he had stumbled into a swarming pit of nefarious plots, intrigue, and deceptions. How he always managed to get himself neck deep in this shit was beyond his understanding.

The agent groaned and cracked his neck, wincing as a dull throb pounded through the cords of his throat. There was a sore spot along the side, though probably from when he took that humiliating swan dive into the closet. Leon grimaced as he closed the door behind him. He would prefer not thinking about his idiotic pounce on the towering Mendez right now.

After some exploring, Leon found himself in what appeared as the master bedroom. He was amazed that he could see no corrosion or soil anywhere; no stained bed sheets or rotting food here, only an ornate dresser in the corner and a small desk next to a slightly dirty window. The bed was large and free of grime, the covers were dusty but pulled and tucked neatly under the solid metal frame. A tall bookcase decorated the corner by the door and an oak cabinet by the bed. Leon had already pillaged the top drawer, collecting some left-over ammo and then some pesetas for that greedy merchant. The agent felt only slight guilt for his thievery, but he considered it payback for all he had endured so far.

Then he heard voices.

Leon froze, then frowned. They were coming from downstairs. He walked to the door and leaned against it, listening. Jabbering Spanish was all he could make out, one voice extremely high-pitched and grating; the other, low and almost sensual.

Mendez, or as Sera nicknamed him, the “big cheese".

Leon’s breathing quickened as he licked his lips, his blue eyes darting around the room for a safe place to hide. But there was no need. The squeaky voice faded, and then Leon heard footsteps exiting the building. He shouldered the door and leaned his ear to the grainy surface. Nothing. Only the ticking of the hallway clock and the cold October wind blowing outside.

Good. He would prefer not running into Mendez again. Not that he was intimidated by the arboreal creature (although the man WAS two heads taller than he), but there was something unnatural about the Village Chief that Leon couldn’t put his finger on; an otherworldliness of sorts, but also an air of wisdom about him, as if he was far older than he appeared. For the brief contact he had with Mendez, Leon was certain the Chief was not human. Though, what exactly he was had yet to be revealed.

With those thoughts occupying his mind, Leon opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. Every instinct was alert and ready, preparing for any assailant to pounce from the shadows. A few moments passed and Leon continued down the hall, steps quiet and eyes roaming his surroundings wearily. Then he sensed a sudden presence behind him, large and foreboding.

Leon spun around, his weapon aimed and finger tightening on the trigger. But the hulking male seized his throat and arm in the same instant, lifting his body clear off the ground.

Mendez!

Leon struggled, kicking his feet against the large man and twisting like a wild animal in his grip. His gun made muffled clang as it hit the floor. His bones ground painfully into one another as Mendez squeezed both his neck and wrist. He tried to scream, but the vice around his throat stifled any cries for help. Mendez eyed him with disdain, his lips unfurling into a bored snarl. He squeezed harder.

Fuck, I’m going to die…damn it…Ashley still needs me!

As Leon felt his body strain for its last breath, his torso suddenly flooded with unexpected heat. Something flexed and squirmed within him, the sensation downright unsettling. Mendez peered then at his face, his features twisting into an expression of disbelief. The next moment Leon found himself on the floor, gasping like a dying fish and crawling towards his fallen weapon. Then the patterned carpet rushed to greet him as Mendez pinned him to the floor, his heavy boot crushing against his back. The village chief growled low, Leon could feel the vibrations shivering through him from the soles of Mendez’s foot.

“So, it seems we carry the same blood,” Mendez narrowed his eye, making his other appear more unnatural. When it glittered in the light, it was like an ugly doll winking at him. “Interesting. However, you’re still an outsider. If you become nuisance, I will dispose of you as I see fit.”

Leon groaned as the pressure released. Mendez stared at him, grunted and then turned toward the master bedroom. Leon could feel the heavy gait through the floor, and he watched the dust shiver with each step Mendez took. When he opened the door, the Chief paused and flashed him a baleful smile of farewell. Then he entered the room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Leon staggered to his feet, confused and pissed off. He massaged his throat, swallowing in pain as he pondered the Chief’s cryptic words. “Same blood? What the hell?” The warmth had disappeared from his chest, as did the disquieting sensations of something moving about.

When he would think about it later, after bits and pieces of what happened next would rattle in his brain, Leon supposed he should have controlled his temper. But, he wasn’t one to allow someone to bully him, and he wasn’t one to let a criminal walk away–not matter how big or weird he was.

Indignant fury flooded him, making his hands shake as he retrieved his Red9 from the carpet. He would not be treated like someone’s punching bag!

Leon let his rage drive him, fill him, and propel his body forward as he threw open Mendez’s door, his gun drawn and raised to fire. He only managed a few steps inside before Mendez slapped his gun from his hands and squashed him under that tender loving heel of his boot. The agent squirmed and thrashed, each motion having little effect in throwing the bone-crushing weight off his chest. Leon could feel his ribs start to give, and his breath completely cut off.

Here we go again…good job you idiot.

Shots rang out.

The sound echoed within the room and then breaking glass along with it. The weight lifted from his body and Leon struggled to his feet. He blinked his vision clear just as Mendez threw himself out the bedroom window, pursuing a lithe figure in red.

A woman?

Leon picked up his gun and stared through the cracked glass. He could see no sign of Mendez or the female intruder on the barren yellow lawn below. He hoped for the woman’s sake, she was a swift runner.

But who was she?

That nagged him more than anything, and he found his thoughts shifting toward a name; a name he rather not remember or say aloud. The past had no place here. He shrugged it away and rubbed his chest. Knowing his luck, he would have a nice bruise in the shape of Mendez’s foot. In any case, it appeared the Village Chief would be busy for a while, and he should take advantage of this opportunity while he still could.

With his head pounding and chest aching, Leon hurried downstairs and ransacked the rest of the house, blasting the Ganado in the downstairs bathroom (though, this was more of a surprise kill than anything; the last thing Leon had expected was to interrupt a parasite potty break). Ten minutes past without incident, and after a brief report to Ingrid, Leon was ready to leave. He needed to get a move on anyway; he had yet to find Ashley, and he wanted her out of this mess and back to her father as soon as possible.

Leon threw open the front door with his weapon ready, fully prepared to meet an entourage of annoyed and riled villagers. Instead, the smell of old leather hit his face as he bumped into the looming form of Mendez.

“What?” He recoiled in panic, but Mendez acted quick by snatching Leon’s throat with his big hand (that smelled like blood), dragging him back inside, up the stairs and back to the master bedroom.

“We’re not finished, boy.”

Leon kicked and flailed, his gun clattering to the floor as his wrist hit a passing corner. He might as well have been punching stone, for his furious struggles had little effect. Mendez opened the door with a slam and threw Leon on the bed like a broken toy. Leon hit the metal headboard with a yelp, the blow dazing him. Then he was flipped roughly over and his face shoved into the pillow as Mendez straddled his back.

By God, was that bastard heavy! Leon bucked and jerked, attempting to twist his head to the side and suck in air that was suddenly denied. He heard Mendez chuckle in amusement, and the callus sound fueled Leon’s rage and fear. He snarled like an animal and reared with every ounce of strength he had left, scissoring his legs wildly to gain freedom. That horrible flexing sensation resumed inside his chest, and he knew for certain those movements were not natural. A thick wad of musty cotton found its way into his mouth, making his current quest for air exceedingly difficult. Mendez drove Leon harder into the pillow, and he was unable to resist this time. I’m being smothered by a dirty pillow...I’m going to die with a smelly wad of cotton in my mouth, Leon bemoaned in his mind over this, cursing the fact he had lingered too long in the house. Mendez chuckled again and put his full weight on him. Leon’s thoughts fled. After a few moments of sporadic motion, he ceased his flailing, going limp and still as he succumbed to the lack of air.


Mendez stayed where he was, considering the human beneath him. Let him live or let him die? Would it matter? Maybe, it just might. It did seem rude to let the human perish, considering how ferociously he had fought. Even without a hatched Plaga, this American rallied harder and more passionately than anyone Mendez had encountered before.

He grunted with genuine interest, and yanked the human from the pillow, allowing the mulish creature to breath once more. Perhaps he should explore this passion, this zeal for life, for existence. This tiny spark of light that refused to die so easily. Mendez wanted answers to his own ruminations, to his stirred memories, and he wanted to teach this future Ganado his place in his Lord’s perfect world.

A slave.


Leon sputtered into consciousness. His lungs felt raw and bruised; his throat was like sandpaper and trying to swallow only brought pain. He became aware that he was lying on his back with his wrists and feet bound to the four posts of the bed. They were tied with thin strips of metal, snug against his skin, but allowed the blood to flow freely. Leon felt the color drain from his face, his breathing hitching like a frightened animal. He tried to tug his limbs free, but the metal was strong and he only succeeded in cutting his wrists. Leon craned his head around, his eyes wide as he searched for anything in reach that might aid him.

The room was dark save for a small desk lamp, dimly lit. Rain fell in a light drizzle outside. The overcast sky made the late afternoon seem darker than it should be. The window still gaped with jagged glass, and the cold breeze that wavered in made Leon shiver. A throaty chuckle floated from a shadowed corner and Leon’s head swiveled toward the sound and jerked his wrists with a twitch.

“What are you doing? Let me go!”

The Chief stopped laughing and regarded Leon from the dark corner, his narrowed eye winking again. Leon stared back and didn’t blink. Every muscle was stiff and tight and his breath came in shallow pants. Crickets chipped outside, and somewhere in the distance, toward the farm where Leon had killed over twenty Ganado, shot a bunch of blue disks, and stole money out of bare cupboards, a cow mooed with a low, mournful sound. Then a dog began barking with a consistent "yip, yip, yip", and Leon wondered absently if it was the same mutt who kept running away from him--

Mendez moved then, revealing his towering form with an exaggerated flourish. His varicolored gaze never wavered from the bed. Leon flinched, his stomach clenching with alarm and uncertainty. He ignored the sounds outside and concentrated on his captor. What was this one-eyed bastard up too? What did he want?

The Chief approached the bed, his walk and manner without hurry and his good eye perusing him with frank interest. Leon swallowed and tried not to wince as his throat protested every word he spoke. “Why am I tied to the bed?” He shifted his body away as the big man neared. “Why didn’t you kill me? The rest of your villagers have been trying all morning, so why the sudden change of heart?” Leon stated these inquiries as calmly as he could, trying to discern some flicker of motive from the looming figure before him.

“Because you need a lesson in obedience, Ganado,” Mendez stated these words as if Leon was a naughty child, one that deserved time-out or a good sound spanking. Leon resented the tone as much as he was baffled by it. Was the Chief mentally unstable? (Not a big surprise there). What the hell was he talking about?

Leon twisted in his bonds, gritting his teeth as the metal bit into the skin of his wrists. “Ganado? What’s a Ganado?”

Mendez chortled again, the sound grating and loud in the tiny room. “A Ganado must embrace servitude if they are to survive. Surrender to a higher power, to the holy will of our Sovereign--our Gods. The only wisdom you shall know will be spoken from our Lord’s mouth. You’ve not fully turned, but no matter. There is still time to train you, to prepare you.” Mendez’s eye gleamed with hunger, and it make Leon’s stomach flip. Prepare him? What did he mean by that?

Mendez came closer and spoke again, his voice quavering with anticipation. Leon thought he seemed in an awful hurry to “prepare” him–and that didn’t bode well. “I will teach you now that your flesh is no longer your own; that every fiber of your being, your soul, belongs only to our Lord Saddler.”

Leon was speechless for once. What madness was this creature spewing at him. Servitude? His body belonging to another? He yanked at his bonds, the urge to get away from these cult lunatics overriding the pain as his skin chaffed raw. He felt a heavy hand drop upon his leg. Leon ceased his thrashing to gape at Mendez. The Chief’s gaze was intense, and even his glass eye seemed to evince depravity. Why was he touching him? Why was he looking at him like that? Why was he...Oh, hell no...

“Get that hand off my fucking leg! Don’t touch me!” He twitched away, his lips curling with disgust. The next instant Leon saw bright floating lights as Mendez backhanded him across the face. Blood flowed out the side of his mouth as his lip scraped against one of his teeth. The copper taste coated his tongue, and Leon spat and glared in fury.

“First lesson, lowly one,” said Mendez in that calm, flat voice of his. “You will respect me as your superior. My word, save for our Lord’s, is law. You will obey without question, without protest.”

Leon‘s split lip bled as he sneered, but he ignored it. “Oh really? And who are you to dictate when I should speak, and who I should speak to? I don’t remember joining your little cult. I mean, where’s my hallelujah and amen? Where’s my membership pin? Where’s my burlap mask? How about one of those cool pitchforks everyone’s carrying? What about--” another slap across the face, and it truncated his rambling in mid-sentence.

Leon’s nose began bleeding, a thin drizzle of blood flowing over his mouth and chin and adding to the trickle oozing from his lip. He turned his head forward again, wincing as his jawbone popped back into place. Mendez glared at him, a flouting sneer on his thin lips. Leon tried not to flinch as the Chief’s hand fell on his leg a second time, holding it there, the warmth of his palm spread like a stain across his pants.

He and Bitores locked glares, each challenging the other to pull away. Leon made a revolted noise as he felt the Chief slide his hand up his inner thigh.

Okay...this was getting more friendly than Leon wanted–a lot more friendly.

Mendez’s real eye never left his face, and his hand remained where it was, throbbing there, hot and heavy and on his thigh for God sake! It seemed to grow larger as it laid there, unmoving, unchallenged--invasive even though the palm wasn't touching bare skin. Leon swallowed and forced his body to relax, displaying a mendacious air of calm. But then Mendez moved his hand higher, the questing appendage making a beeline to his groin. What was this bastard thinking? Did Mendez let him live just so he could cop a feel? Leon jerked away before he could stop himself, the thought of this creature’s hand anywhere near that sensitive area made him feel nauseated.

Mendez paused and regarded him in disappointment. This perplexed Leon even more. Why was he behaving this way? And then that thought fled as Mendez kept his hand hard against his thigh, but curled his fingers into claws, probing deep. Leon cried out in surprise and writhed on the bed. The fingers went deeper, merciless. Mendez lunged over him, hissing.

“Don’t recoil from me!”

Hot breath wafted over him and Leon looked up to find Mendez’s snarling face only inches from his own. He pressed himself back into the pillow, trying to avoid that heated breath. He went stiff, fighting every impulse to flinch and jerk his body free from the Chief’s grip. Mendez watched him, his hands unfurling and then resumed their climb up Leon’s body. He made a sharp noise of revulsion as the Chief’s other hand began unbuttoning his pants, but lay frozen, unable to make his mind contemplate or understand what Mendez intended.

Methodically, Mendez unfastened the top clasp and then dragged the zipper downward. Leon’s startled gaze toggled from the hand at his hips, to the fierce expression on Mendez’s face, back to the hand at his hips. Leon’s fragile control snapped. He rebelled against the intrusion, bucking and thrashing in his bonds like a wild horse.“You nasty bastard!” he snarled. “Keep your fucking hands off me! You’re insane you know that? You all are! What's wrong with you fucking people?”

Another backhand to the face and then another after the first. Leon tasted blood in the back of his throat, his head swimming with a kaleidoscope of stars and colors. He groaned with misery as loud bells rang in his ears. “What do you want? Why are you doing this?” Leon said in desperation, spitting blood out of the side of his mouth. He jerked back as Mendez leaned forward, the Chief's breath a hot veil on the side of his face. His huge hands held Leon’s head stationary for a moment, and Leon could only see the hawkish profile out of his right eye.

There was pause and then a moist tongue laved his cheek, lapping at the blood there like an uncertain kitten. Leon fought the urge to vomit as Mendez then made a purring noise and nuzzled the side of his throat. The Chief gripped the back of Leon’s head, jerking his face toward him. Leon’s panting hitched in fear, his eyes darting everywhere as the Chief lowered his mouth to his in an unexpected kiss.

Leon kept his mouth shut tight, his lips an impermeable shield against the hot and probing tongue seeking entry. Annoyed, Mendez gave Leon’s hair a vicious yank, pulling the tendons around his neck. His bellow of torment was swallowed as Bitores seized the opportunity and claimed Leon’s mouth, his hands winding through his hair and pulling him closer.

Mendez was devouring him, his tongue exploring with an excited fervor. Leon couldn’t breathe and the only thing he could smell was Bitores scent. It was suffocating him. He flexed his body against his attacker, attempting to throw him off again. Mendez responded by crushing his full weight upon Leon, trapping the smaller man beneath his bulk. Leon flailed, squirming incessantly to wiggle out from the sudden pressure on his chest. He gasped loudly as he tried to breathe, throwing his spine forward to buck the Chief off. Mendez bit Leon’s lip, a gush of blood spurting from the wound and filling his mouth with bitter copper. Leon gagged and choked, but the kiss never faltered or changed intensity. Finally, Leon gave up and relaxed his jaw as Bitores plundered his mouth.

He had never felt this powerless before, save for Raccoon city. But, at least there he had fled his assailants, he had fought back when the enemy cornered him. Here, he was as helpless as a child, unable to fight or escape. A strangled whine vibrated from his throat, and Mendez swallowed the sound with a greedy moan. The Chief then pulled back, his lips red. He licked them slowly, and Leon turned away, revolted.

The weight shifted above him, but Leon kept his head to the side, praying that the mysterious figure in red would appear and shoot Mendez a few more times. He felt cold for some reason and he whipped his head around as he felt the damp air touch his stomach. Mendez was removing his black shirt. As the Chief tugged, the material grazed Leon's chest, his more sensitive parts hardening with the teasing contact and the cool air of the room.

“No!” Leon struggled wildly, but Mendez paid no heed. The Chief raised the shirt high over Leon's head, letting the material rest against the back of his neck. The sleeves still covered his upper arms, his bindings inhibiting any further removal. His pants were next, and his squirming did little to hinder the divestment of his clothing. Leon’s cheeks flushed a violent red. Mendez perused him, giving a satisfied grunt as without preamble, he lowered his head to Leon’s abdomen. Leon squeezed his eyes shut, trying to displace his awareness, as the sensations grew bolder past his hips.

“ I. Said. No!” Leon jerked up as Mendez came down, the Chief’s mouth enfolding him in one, fluid motion. An astonished yelp was all Leon could utter, his eyes opening in shock as his body responded traitorously to the heat and pleasure.

He rolled his head to the side as Mendez took him, the large hands stroking Leon’s hips while they held him still. He mentally tried to retreat, but every hard lick and pull snapped him back to reality. Leon groaned, dark pleasure rocking through him in steady waves. The Chief stopped and withdrew his mouth, gazing at Leon’s face with disturbing curiosity. With the stimulation gone, Leon remembered himself enough to glare back, his breathing aroused and irregular.

“Your body warms.” he said, his tone soft, thoughtful. “Your flesh knows who’s master here, even as your mind rebels.” The Chief drew closer, the back of Leon’s head retreating into the pillow again. “I can see the spark there in your eyes, challenging, defying. But, I will tame this light; I will make it my own!”

Mendez suddenly untwisted the metal bindings, setting free Leon’s sore hands and feet. But his struggles were weak and Mendez had no trouble throwing him to the floor. Leon tried to cover himself with his shirt, but Mendez snatched it away, throwing the garment to some obscure corner of the room. He then tried crawling toward the door, but the Chief caught him by the hair and dragged him back. Bitores lifted him up to rest on his knees. Leon growled in protest, then sputtered in alarm as his head was forced to the floor and his ass raised high, his nether regions vulnerable and exposed. Mendez held him there until Leon wore himself out struggling. Then he felt thick fingers stroke his underside and a panted whimper somehow escaped him in response.

“Yes, you now aware how helpless aren’t you? Pliant to my commands. You’re mine to do as I please, and there is little you can do to stop me.”

Furious tears began to prickle in Leon’s eyes, and his cheek pressed against the musty carpet. Mendez had a firm hold on his neck, keeping him still as the other explored relentlessly, probing, caressing and coaxing Leon’s arousal to full height. The Chief’s callused hands brushed against his buttocks, seeking to touch the tender skin of the valley between. Leon jerked and trembled much to the Chief’s amusement, and Mendez paused for a moment to pull something out of his pocket. Leon cringed as he felt the balmy oil grease his backside, the lubricant allowing smoother entry for those hungry fingers. His hands dug into the carpet as he felt his body poked and stretched. Leon gave a high cry of disbelief as those fingers plunged deeper and without warning, his prostate was discovered. Mendez giving an approving huff as Leon thrust back against his hand, his humiliation temporarily elapsing as pleasure daunted his senses.

“See how easy it is to loose yourself young one?” Bitores murmured in his ear. “How exhilarating it is to submit to my will?”

Leon groaned; Mendez was now stroking him with firm, steady motions. He rocked back in his knees, pleasure riding his body to the point of indifference. He was beyond caring who was behind him, whom he was receiving pleasure from. That strange sensation in his chest resumed, warming his body as Leon rolled forward with every plunge of those clever fingers. He panted and moaned, never attempting to escape as the pressure on his neck released. Mendez knelt over his body, the Chief’s accented voice purring into Leon’s ear as he continued to fondle. “See what you receive when you obey? Do you feel the desire coursing through your body, your reward for compliance to my wisdom and instruction?”

Leon made no reply; what could he say to those words? He made a soft noise as he knelt there on the rug, motionless and waiting for Mendez to make the next move. His ears picked up on the sound of clothing being removed. The quiet rustle of arms sliding out of sleeves and the swish of the belt being tugged free.

What am I doing? Kneeling here on all fours like a dumb dog?

Leon surged forward, reason and determination finally winning over his twisted new passions. He got as far as the bookcase before Mendez caught him. The Chief threw him down and pushed Leon’s face to the carpet. He kicked his knees apart. “Flee from me again, and I will nail your hands to the floor.” Mendez said, and Leon had no doubt that he would make good on his threat. The Chief pressed himself against Leon’s backside. Leon shuddered with fury, but forced his body to relax, displaying his submission with reluctance.

Mendez reached his hand under Leon, stroking him to full hilt again. Leon stifled a moan, his fingers digging fresh grooves in the carpet. “Like velvet, but hot as fire. Your flesh rules all reason; you humans are so weak.”

There was no disgust in his voice, nor scorn or disapproval--only a hint of sadness, as if a teacher just confirmed his student’s failure. For some reason, this made Leon angry. He lurched to the side, trying to roll out of Mendez’s reach. All he heard was throaty laughter, and then Leon felt his shoulder pop as Mendez yanked him back into place. He bit back a cry of agony with little success, struggling as Mendez delivered another vicious slap across his face. Leon’s eyes rolled as the Chief flopped him back onto his stomach, senseless and dazed. The agent felt his body manipulated once more.

“No…No!” Leon’s frantic pleas were muffled as his face was pressed into the carpet, the agent getting the scent of decades old grime in his nose. That disturbing pleasure trickled into his addled brain, his mind just realizing that Mendez was stroking him again. The caresses were firm and rhythmic, Leon not taking long at all to appreciate the skill of the Chief’s hands. His neck was licked and nuzzled, Mendez sucking at Leon’s frenetic pulse as it leaped beneath his skin.

“Submit.”

That one word hung in the air like a heavy cloud, raw need and command dripping like rain. Leon trembled and hung his head low, his mind going blank as he sensed Mendez strain against him. He didn’t make a sound until he was breached, and then his cry echoed throughout the room. The man behind stilled, his breathing now hoarse and sporadic. Leon could sense Mendez was fighting for control, fighting not to pummel himself into him like a wanton animal. Leon felt sick as he could feel the Chief’s arousal throb within, a steady drum that was becoming stronger and more demanding each passing moment.

Then, he began moving, the forceful motion rolling Leon forward and back as Mendez thrust almost leisurely. A plaintive whine sounded from Leon’s lips as Bitores began stroking his lower abdomen and thighs, teasing the sharp “V” with fluttering caresses before settling his palm around his arousal. Mendez kept one hand stroking, while the other rested on his left hip. His breath scorched Leon’s broad shoulders. Leon kept his head down and eyes on the carpet, watching the ugly pattern sway to and fro as his body moved in tandem.

Ecstasy knifed through his belly while his shoulders trembled and his arms ached from holding his chest off the floor. The jabs of the wicked pleasure would not abate, and instead, grew in intensity. They shot in scattered directions, leaving him breathless. Mendez moaned and his breathing grew more erratic. Leon could tell the bastard was close to his climax; his movements were quicker and more pronounced, as was the hand stroking him. Both were straining now, Leon losing himself as the ecstasy took full control, overriding his sensibility as he reciprocated every thrust forward with bewildered eagerness. Leon’s cries were soft and perplexed compared to Mendez throaty growls, as if he was still trying to figure a way out of his predicament even though it was clearly too late.

Bitores came hard and loud, his hands pulling Leon from the floor and embracing him as he quaked with his release. His mind recoiled as his body responded in foolish bliss, his cry enveloped by the Chief in a ravenous kiss.

The kiss seemed to go on forever, the other male’s mouth warring with his, as if the Chief was desperate for something to happen. Leon’s body tensed and seized with pleasure, his feet curling against the carpet as he rode the dark waves--spilling himself across his stomach, and onto the Chief’s hand. Mendez smoothed his palm over the sticky fluid, smearing the cooling essence over Leon’s skin. He cradled Leon possessively for a few moments, until the last tremors of pleasure snaked through his unwilling lover, leaving guilt and revulsion in their wake.

Mendez released his mouth finally, and Leon took big gulps of air in relief. He could feel his lips tingle and swell with the sudden rush of blood. His mouth now feeling too big for his face. Why did Mendez kiss him like that?

Leon didn’t really want to know. In fact, he didn’t want to dwell on anything that he had just allowed to happen; what he reveled in like a whore. A soft, satisfied twitch under his diaphragm went unnoticed as Mendez released him. Leon sank to the floor in misery and did not move. Mendez continued to stroke his body, reluctant to end the intimacy just yet.

“You’re exhausted, yes? Good. Then no more kicking like a wild mule.” Mendez scooped him up and laid him on the bed. It was strange, the almost tender way Bitores looked him over, smoothing his tussled hair away from his sweat-glazed forehead. Leon began to drift asleep, the trials of the ordeal catching up with him. “Yes, sleep now little human, enjoy peace while you still can.”

Leon frowned with his eyes closed, losing the retort he was about to utter somewhere in his fatigued mind. He murmured something incoherent, consciousness slipping away like unraveling threads...


Mendez watched Leon as the human sank into slumber, the handsome features going slack and quiet. He had lost himself while he embraced the American. For a moment, the Chief could have sworn that he had more than a human or a Ganado in his arms. Could have sworn….

Mendez shook his head, berating himself for his foolishness. They could never be bred from this species. His Lord had tried several times with no success. Humans were too weak for such a breed, and the Plaga kind had given up hope long ago.

The Chief sighed bitterly and walked over to the oak cabinet, withdrawing a large syringe from one of the secret compartments. He filled it with a bluish fluid from a small glass bottle he had stored within the same drawer. Mendez approached the bed. He watched Leon’s chest rise and fall with the heavy breath of sleep, long and lean body stirring restlessly. It was a shame knowing that this flesh would soon be wasted as cattle, as a lowly servant. A creature Mendez was not supposed to enjoy so…thoroughly. His Lord forbade any sort of fraternizing with Ganado slaves. It was beneath his station and the punishment for such disobedience was severe. When this Ganado reached maturity, the last thing Mendez needed was the creature revealing this little excursion to their Sovereign. He didn’t want to be on the receiving end of Saddler’s infamous wrath.

Mendez sighed again and plunged the needle into the soft skin of the American’s neck, stroking his thumb along the jaw line with the other hand. The human made no movement of discomfort, and remained sleeping soundly.

Such a waste…

Mendez replaced the syringe in the drawer and closed the cabinet doors quietly. He quickly gathered his clothing and properly attired himself. He continued to gaze at the sleeping form, memorizing every detail. The American would not remember a thing--the serum would see to that. But, perhaps Mendez would show some compassion if they met again. He didn’t want those fierce eyes to grow vapid and pale, showing no emotion other than madness. Bitores did not want to watch as Leon’s flesh rotted away, the host body aging while the parasite did not. Ganado were not as fortunate as Warriors or the Sovereign; they did not possess the healing or resilience as their superiors did. His Lord Saddler was trying to change this weakness, this taint--but only the Regenerators showed promise in that regard.

Mendez exited the room and closed the door behind him. Frowning, and with thick eyebrows knit, he proceeded down the stairs. His footfalls were heavy and burdened. Yes, he should show mercy if he and the American should cross paths a second time. He would allow Leon to die with dignity. To die while he was still human, still whole. He would know the peace that had always eluded Mendez.

As the Chief strolled through the yard, something nagged at his thoughts. Some detail he knew he had overlooked. He recalled when he was taking the human, the moment he turned the American’s face to his. Perhaps it was the light, or Mendez was reliving old memories--whatever the reason, Bitores was certain that Leon’s eyes had turned indigo...

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An: This was revised on 9/3/07