Date: 2008-11-01 13:40 Subject: NaNo Part 1 Security: Public Tags: challenge: nanowrimo, character: draco, fandom: hp: fic, fic: chaptered, fic: unedited, ship: hp/dm: fic

So, here's the first part of my Nano. I'm hoping to have another bit today, but we'll see. I'll be posting these in as complete sections as possible.

Title: The Sultan's Slave (tentative title... Other suggestions are welcome.)
Author: elfflame
Pairing: Harry/Draco, no others mentioned in this section (though one is inferred)
Rating: R (pretty much starting out with a bang here. ;D)
Warnings: D/s, slavery, women not being equal
A/N: Obviously, unedited, so any comments are quite welcome, especially con-crit. Some of this is very raw, and other bits have been in my head for a long time, now, so some of it will flow smoother than others. This world is circa 1700s or 1800s, so definitely not the world of equality for all. Slavery, women as concubines rather than companions, war, famine, injustice... I'm sure there will be a bit of something to offend here, and I can't promise I'll solve every issue everyone will have with it, but I hope you will allow yourself to suspend judgment and read anyway.



The long stone hall of the Palace of the Great Sultan of Albion was silent as the guard led Draco to the Sultan’s quarters. They’d walked this hall a number of times before.

The guard himself was the one who usually retrieved slaves to tend to Sultan Harry each evening if they were needed. His red hair was as fiery as his temper, and slaves were more likely than others to be on the receiving end of it, so Draco was always careful to keep his tongue when the guard arrived to escort him.

Still, that didn’t mean he didn’t notice the other man, and how he reacted to others. One thing he knew was that the man seemed to have a fascination with the womens’ quarters. Though there was a more direct route to the Sultan’s quarters, the guard always took the longer route which passed by the door to the women’s quarters, and it made Draco wonder if perhaps he was lusting over one of the sultan’s wives. So long as the other man didn’t try to take his temper out on him, he’d hold his tongue about it. But he stored the knowledge away for future use, just in case.

Though Draco had been here five years, he’d never gone beyond the few private rooms that he had been sent to to take care of a guest for the evening. But that did not stop him from hoping that someday he would become the Sultan’s personal slave. He wanted no one but the sultan to touch him, but he hoped that some day, he might become even more than a simple slave.

Blaise had warned him of thinking in such a way. “It only brings pain, Draco. Focus on your duties, and find simpler things to keep you happy. And be glad you can find anything that does.”

It was advice Draco couldn’t take. He knew life could be better. Had lived it, once. But the problem was, he knew he would never be the Sultan’s equal. And that, even if he was, they would never be able to be together. So this was the best he could hope for. That the Sultan would choose him for his favorite, and be happy for that alone.

For three years now, he had spent his time gathering every tool the other slaves used to make themselves attractive to the men they were sometimes sent to serve. And Draco knew that sometimes others were even called to please the Sultan in that way, though none were willing to speak of just what he wanted on such nights. But neither were they willing to trade for those nights, no matter what Draco offered. All he could do was hope that the Sultan would finally ask for him one of those nights, rather than sending for one of the others.

But to do that, first the Sultan would have to know who he was. And so he was constantly bartering with the other slaves to take over duties tending to the Sultan. Tonight had been the first time he had been asked for specifically, and that knowledge made Draco’s heartbeat speed up. He only hoped that tonight would be everything he had dreamed of.

The guard turned the corner, then led the way to the Sultan’s private quarters. Draco had lost track of how many times he’d walked this hall now, but he could still remember the first, determined that the sultan would give him to the young man he had seen at the victory celebration of the end of the war. No matter what it took.

He could also remember the thrill at looking up to see that very man sitting at his desk, distractedly writing something. It had been almost too much to believe, that the man he wanted and the man who owned him were one and the same. It still gave him a thrill even now.

The guard waved him into the room, and Draco moved to the cushion to the side of the door, his eyes downcast. “Be part of the furnishings.” That was the first thing any good slave learned, though it had taken a good deal of time for Draco to learn that particular lesson. He had not been born a slave, and had fought becoming one—until he learned just whose slave he was. After that, nothing else had mattered. He had worked especially hard to become the sort of slave that any master would be proud to own. He wanted to make his sultan pleased.

“Ron. Thank you.” Draco let the words wash over him. They weren’t meant for him, after all, but that didn’t mean the soft voice didn’t affect him just as it had the first time he had heard it, asking him to set up supper for him that evening.

“My lord,” the guard said, bowing low.

“I need to ask you about something before you go back to the barracks…”

“Of course, sire. What is it?” The guard moved to the desk where the sultan sat.

“This proposal of Minerva’s. You’ve heard, right?”

The guard nodded. “Ridiculous woman. To think that you would ever allow women to walk about unprotected like that. Sure, she’s an excellent tactician, but even so…”

“Even if I wanted to, none of the nobles would ever allow it. Only being allowed one wife? They’d rebel against me. But she’s threatening similar if I don’t. Things are uncertain enough without this—problem.” The sultan sighed, and Draco squirmed on his cushion as he saw him run his fingers through already-mussed dark hair.

“Dunno. William’s the better tactician, sire. Maybe you should ask him?”

“On assignment. I sent him with the ambassador to Gallia.” The sultan sighed and sat back in his chair. “Well, keep it in mind? If anything occurs to you, I’d love to know what you think. You’ve not steered me wrong yet.” He smiled at the guard, and Draco’s heart turned over. He had to look down to recover himself, and missed the rest of the conversation, only looking up again as the guard left.

Once the guard had left, Draco stood and moved to pick up the bowl of fruit that had been laid out for the Sultan to eat, then moved to his side, holding it out for him. The Sultan reached into the bowl blindly, taking a banana, then going back to the scrolls and maps on his desk. Draco put the bowl aside, then knelt next to him, his heart beating faster now that they were alone. He was always so easily affected by his lord. It was hard to keep his tongue when he was in his presence, but he was sure if the man ever gave him permission to speak, that he would babble worse than any girl. Just the thought made his cheeks burn.

Finally, the Sultan seemed to have enough of his scrolls and began to roll them up. Draco knew what that meant, but he had to wait for the order, even so. It was always possible the Sultan might want to do things differently this night.

“Draw me a bath,” he said to Draco, not even glancing at him as he moved to his scroll chest.

Draco nodded, then stood and moved into the bathing area, stepping down into the glass-tiled room and moving to the tub. The Sultan had the best of all amenities. Even Draco, coming from a privileged family before becoming a slave, had never seen a tub like this before, with tubes that brought water to the tub all on their own, no ewers of water needed. He opened the faucets, then turned away to find the oils to scent it, and poured a bit of each in, stoppering them once more and stowing them away before pulling out towels and cloths for use this evening.

The tub was mostly full when the Sultan stepped into the room, and Draco turned off the faucets, then turned to his Sultan, his breath catching in his throat at the sight. Usually, he was the one to undress the Sultan before he stepped into the bath, but tonight, he wore nothing more than tight, thin breeches that left very little to the imagination. Every curve and muscle was outlined sharply, and the curve of his cock was easy to make out where it was trapped between cotton and abdomen.

“Sire,” Draco said, the word barely more than breath. “The…bath is ready for you. Shall I help you…undress?” The words were rote, which helped him remember them, because it was getting hard to breathe between the steam and the way his heart was suddenly beating triple-time.

“Of course.” The sultan looked bored and distracted. Draco assumed he must still be worrying about the madwoman’s demand. Didn’t she know how ridiculous she was being?

Draco moved forward, then began to untie his trousers, pulling them down and away from his skin, already damp from the steam of the bath. The Sultan slipped out of them, then moved and sat down in the bath, reclining back against the rim of the tub, his eyes closed.

“Is your head hurting again, Sire?” Draco asked softly, moving to settle beside the tub.

The Sultan nodded slowly.

“Would you like me to massage your temples, Sire?”

Green eyes opened to look at Draco, and this time, he knew the smile was for him. He couldn’t help but smile back. “I would like that very much, yes.”

Draco shifted to settle behind his head, his fingers moving over his temples, and smiling wider when the Sultan sighed with relief. “You have magical fingers,” he said softly. “No one else ever manages to get it to fade, no matter what they try.”

The praise made Draco flush deeply, and he was intensely glad the Sultan couldn’t see his face. He hadn’t realized he’d distinguished himself in any way from the others, but it pleased him very much that he had. “I am glad you think I am useful, then, sire,” he said softly, careful to keep all emotion from his voice.

“You are.” The Sultan’s voice had taken on a tone that Draco couldn’t recall hearing before, but he could feel his cheeks flush at the huskiness of the tone.

“Thank you, sire. Head feel better?”

“Yes. You may wash me now.”

Draco nodded, trying to ignore that the Sultan was still speaking in that same tone, but shivering at what it might mean. He licked his lips, then picked up the pot of soap and a facecloth, then moved to the side of the tub, dampening the cloth in the water, then dipping it into the pot before rubbing it gently over the Sultan’s shoulder.

Green eyes watched him for a moment before closing. The Sultan set his head against the back of the tub, relaxing into Draco’s touches and smiling softly to himself.

This was a ritual they had done many times before, but never before had Draco felt so intensely aware of the man under his fingers. Not even the first time, when it had all been new, and all he had wanted was to kiss and touch. But that was not for a slave to decide. It had been some time before he’d managed to learn to repress those desires while he washed his Sultan, but now the need to do so came roaring back, and Draco had to bite his tongue as the cloth swiped gently over chest and peaked nipples, then down a sleek, muscled abdomen.

Before he could work his way lower, though, a hand caught his, and he glanced up at the Sultan, shocked, wondering if he had done something wrong. “Sire?”

The Sultan’s green eyes glinted as he pulled the cloth-wrapped hand to his cock, and Draco’s breath caught. “Touch me.” The words were growled, and Draco felt a shiver go down his back.

“Yes…Sire.” He pulled his gaze from the Sultan’s, then began to stroke the cock in his hand, unconsciously licking at his lips as he watched the head of the cock disappear and reappear from under the cloth with each stroke. He could hear the Sultan’s breath speed up as his arousal grew, and he felt his cheeks heat once more. His hand sped up, wanting so much to finally see what he had so far only dreamed about. Before he could, though, a hand curled in his hair, then he was being tugged into a hungry kiss, and he could feel as the cock pulsed in his hand. He moaned as the devouring kiss robbed him of sense, and it took him a moment to realize that his Sultan had come, and he was being pushed gently away.

He blinked up at the Sultan as he rose, then flushed when he realized the man was waiting for him to bring the towel. He stood and held it up, watching as the Sultan’s body was hid from his gaze, his cheeks burning even more.

“Clean up in here, then come into the bedroom.” The unspoken “I will be waiting,” echoed louder in the room than the words that had been said.

Draco nodded, then moved to drain the tub, scrubbing it quickly down with a cloth and drying his clothes the best he could before following the Sultan into the other room, the heat in his cheeks never quite fading, and his cock throbbing between his legs in a way that made it very hard not to squirm.