Quinn blearily opened his bloodshot eyes to a guard banging on the bars of his cell. Stifling a whimper at his aching, abused limbs, he rubbed the dried blood and sweat off his face as quickly as he could. Warily watching the guard, he sat up slowly.

"Wake up, filth! It's your turn next!" he sneered as he walked away.

The submissive choked down a sob. He knew he was the skinniest, worthless one in this hellhole. He probably would only get, at the most, thirty credits for his worth. Quinn curled up in a ball; tremors and stifled coughs wrecking his malnourished frame.

How he wanted to go back to his father. Even though he was the one who sold him off when he was sixteen, finding out he was submissive, at least he didn't beat or starve him. Quinn's mother died giving birth to him, so the slave had never known a caring person in his life.

At least he wasn't completely naked; a small loincloth barely covering his privates much less his rear. He hated being put on display like a piece of meat. He knew even that small piece of privacy would be stripped from him if a dominant had interest.

He didn't hear the guard walk back in, but he flinched and grew tense when he roughly pulled him to his feet, nearly yanking his bony shoulder out of socket. Pushing him out of the cell, the guard hissed, "I hope nobody gets you, ugly piece of filth, so I can."

Swallowing down bile that threatened to choke him, Quinn didn't give the guard the satisfaction of seeing him tremble, but he knew he saw fear. The submissive let the guard do as he wished with him, knowing that if he didn't, he would be beaten.

So weak from starvation and the beatings, Quinn had no idea how he was still lucid after the long trek from the 'holding cells' to the 'auction.' The guard stripped him of his loincloth and walked through the doorway, but not before he pinched one of his cheeks.

Closing his eyes against the searing, bright lights, Quinn forced himself to stare at the ground and not at the leering, whooping crowd. Despair and humiliation burned through him as the last vestiges of his battered pride faded away.

He tried not to think of how his life had become as the guard pushed him up on the auction block. He tried to not think of how he would never find his dominant, the one that would be kind and affectionate. The one that would always take care of him.

With his mind somewhere else, he vaguely followed the auctioneer's orders, but everything else, nothing. He didn't know if anyone bid on him or not, but what he did notice was a deep, commanding voice suddenly there.

Coming out of his daze, he focused on the voice, trying to find its owner…and froze. In the very back stood a man dressed in a suit with eyes the color of a summer sky. He did not notice that he was the one who bought him. Quinn only noticed his beautiful, blue eyes…eyes that were filled with shock.

This dominant seems different, he thought. His vision started to dim and roaring came into his ears and then he knew no more. Background noises of shouts and clanging and stomping faded into nothingness.

The second James Bond saw the pitiful-looking slave trembling up on the block, a searing jolt of alertness and fierce protectiveness shot through him. The agent froze, shock etched on his person. Was this his submissive?

Never before had the dominant felt anything like this around a submissive, especially a slave. He looked past the sickly, bruised skin and the gaunt, bloodied face and looked into the slave's unfocused eyes. Even though they were bloodshot and ringed with red, they were the most gorgeous, brown color he'd ever seen.

Anger surged through when he saw the humiliation and misery etched on every pore of the submissive's starving frame. James knew that the slave-that-might-be-his-mate would to the cheapest and cruelest slaver and he won't allow that.

As the auctioneer started to shout out prices, James decided to nip this in the bud. In a commanding voice that brook no argument he called out, "Two hundred credits!"

Everyone turned back at him. The silence was deafening because the noise level a few seconds ago was overwhelming. The auctioneer unfroze and leered greedily. Seconds later, everyone turned back to the front because the submissive fainted.

The agent went against every screaming instinct inside him and forced himself to walk away like any other unfeeling dominant to go to the front room to pay for his mate. Satisfaction surged inside him at the word. James knew then that this small, abused, malnourished slave was his and his alone from this moment on.

Quinn woke up feeling…comfortable. Wait, that wasn't right at all. Surging to awareness, he gasped as he opened his eyes, fear and wariness on every pore of his body. Glancing around, he noticed that it was a fairly large room with a couple of windows.

The sun was cheerily shining, which was strange to the submissive. He was used to dimness or complete blackness. He tried to move, but froze and whimpered at the aching the motion did to his limbs.

The submissive had no idea where he was, but he was on a real bed with real bandages on his cuts. Whoever must have bought him before he fainted had money to spare. He was about to fall back asleep when the door opened.

Instinctively tensing up, he did not dare see who was at the door. Keeping his eyes on the soft comforter making him so very warm, he listened to the soft steps slowly coming his way. A throat cleared to catch his attention.

Quinn tensed even more, ignoring his screaming, protesting muscles. "Hello," a quiet, deep voice murmured a few feet away.

The slave froze. Never in his life had he heard such a caring-sounding voice. It was male and so very dominant, but the tone of voice was relaxing. He started fidgeting with the edges of his coverings, not knowing what to do.

Quinn was thankful the dominant started talking again. "My name is Bond, James Bond. I am the one who bought you. Before you do anything, stay where you are and try to relax."

As the submissive listened to that beautiful voice, slowly he did what he was told. His instincts were telling him that he can trust this voice, much to his surprise and confusion. He hadn't trusted anyone ever since he was sixteen.

The voice started talking again. "Will you try to look at me?"

Quinn was shocked that it was a question and not an order. Immediately, he started to fully relax. Slowly, he turned his head and stared straight ahead. His new master was, blonde, tall and broad-shouldered.

Instead of the suit he wore earlier, he changed into a soft-looking brown shirt and sweats. His casual wear made Quinn even more at ease. The fear and wariness were slowly fading into the back of his mind.

"Will you look into my eyes?"

The submissive stifled a shocked squeak, he was so shocked. He was taught that submissives never looked into a dominant's eyes because dominants hated that. Gathering up his tatters of courage, he shyly looked up.

His breath left him as those stunning blue eyes met his. They were filled with patience and warmth. Quinn didn't know a dominant could be not cruel. All fear and wariness left him at that moment.

"There. I wanted to see your gorgeous, brown eyes."

The slave flushed beet-red and looked down. Embarrassment was not what he was used to…nor compliments. He heard his master laugh huskily. Quinn immediately loved it. He sensed him slowly moving closer and didn't tense up.

He must've done the right thing because he heard his master sigh in relief. "Thank you for trusting me this far, little one. I will do everything in my power to heal you."

Quinn flushed again at the pet name, shyly glancing up again. When he did, his master's eyes brightened. "I sense you have questions for me. Ask anything you want and I will answer. You do not have to ask for permission to speak."

The submissive nodded slightly. Hoarsely, he stuttered, "W-Why m-me, M-Master?"

The dominant moved closer until but inches separated them from touching them. Quinn refused to tense. His master hadn't given any reason for him to not trust him yet. He had a strong urge to let his master touch him.

"Little one, will you stare straight into my eyes?"

Quinn did without hesitation. "Never call me 'master' again. My name is James."

The slave nodded, hiding his shock well. "Say it."


For some reason, his mas- James' eyes darkened with something he is unfamiliar with. "Good, little one."

This time Quinn gave him a shy smile. James smiled back as he unhurriedly raised an arm and rested his hand on the bed. The slave did not tense, but he wanted the appendage touching him instead of the bed.

"Do you have a name?"


"It fits you, little one."

Quinn flushed, but this time in pleasure. He wanted James to compliment him. It made him feel…cared for. He stared up at James, eyes pleading for something he had no idea what for. He must have done the right thing because the dominant went on his knees to be more eye-level.

"What do you want, little Quinn? You may tell me anything."

Long moments passed before a shaky, hesitant voice asked, "Y-Your hand…w-want to f-feel it."

"Are you sure?"


"Tell me if you are uncomfortable and I will stop."

Slowly, the hand moved to his face and cupped his jaw. Warm fingers gently stroked his cheekbone as warm, blue eyes stared at him, watching for any signs of distress. Quinn couldn't take it any more of this sweet torture so he burst into tears.

He cried harder when the hand went away. Trembling and sobbing he gasped out, "N-no…m-more t-touching…p-please…"

He melted into James when the dominant was suddenly in the bed, strong arms pulling him into an equally strong chest. Quinn curled into his blue-eyed savior, face buried in the soft, brown shirt as sobs poured down his face.

Against his ear, he heard soft rumbles of James' voice trying to sooth him. Warm, broad hands stroked up and down his back in the most comforting way. Quinn wanted, no needed this dominant. He wanted James to be his mate so badly.

"Little one, shh…I will be the last dominant you will ever have to face. Do you know what a mate is, Quinn? I believe you are my submissive."