Roy spied through the curtains at the young man who was sitting in his parlor. The young man who was desperately trying not to show how much he was afraid at the moment. The young man who, due to a agreement Roy had made with his father, now belonged to him.

Jack Drake liked to gamble. The only problem with that is he wasn't very good at it. Roy on the other hand was, and Drake ended up owning Roy a nice sum of money. Money he didn't have. Though he was a piss poor gambler, Drake wasn't a stupid man. He didn't miss the looks Roy gave his son. He also didn't miss how Roy made excuses to prolong their meetings just so he cold get a glimpse of the raven haired beauty. So when Roy showed up with two men who worked for him demanding payment - Drake offered a trade, his son for a clean slate.

Roy agreed.

So now, Drake's son, Tim sat in Roy's parlor waiting for his fate to be dealt to him. No doubt mentally cursing Roy's name. For just as Roy was enamored with Tim, the boy hated Roy. Tim blamed Roy for his father's gambling and had balked against any attempt Roy made to get close to him.

Roy smiled, he now owned the boy's body, it would be a worthy challenge to win the boy's heart as well.

“Lord Crackus, a peace envoy from the Jedi council wishes a audience,” the guard at the door announced.

The humanoid warlord narrowed his eyes at the guard. He stroked his oily beard as he twisted his face in a snarl. “I told you I had no interest in what the Jedi have to say.”

“The Jedi must be allowed to make their case,” a voice whispered softly in the guards ear.

“The Jedi must be allowed to make their case,” the guard parroted. He walked in the audience room followed by two men dressed in brown robes. The two men quickly passed the guard and made their way to the front of Lord Crackus' throne.

The two bowed respectfully to the warlord and the elder of the two stepped forward. “Lord Crackus, I am Jedi Master Roy Harper, this is my Padawan Timothy. We have been sent to negotiate peace between you and worlds that you've been plundering”

“PEACE?!? You want to negotiate peace?” Crackus laughed. “Those worlds are mine and I will do with them as I please. Guards kill the Jedi fool, but keep the youth alive. He'll make a fine addition to my harem.”

Timothy's lips pursed at the last of Crackus' statement.

“Wait,” Roy said under his breath.

Crackus' guards brandished their weapons and advanced on the two Jedi, forming a circle around them, blocking any form of escape.

“My men will kill you Jedi, but you are free to beg. It makes it more enjoyable – for me.” Crackus said as he leaned forward in his throne smiling at the up coming sport.

“NOW!” Roy yelled. As one the Jedi whirled, bringing their lightsabers to the ready. Red and green blades glowed into life and cut into the wall of guards that surrounded them. Guns were fired at them, but either the blasts were easily deflected or guns were torn away from from their grasps. The Jedi quickly cut through their opponents, the last being thrown across the room and against the wall.

Roy looked up at Crackus, “Now about that peace negotiation my Lord.”

“You think you have me beat Jedi? I hold this system in an iron grip. It will take more than fancy swordplay to beat me!” Crackus bellowed. From his sleeve he pulled out a laser gun and aiming it at Roy as he charged.

With a push of a button a second green blade extended from Timothy's lightsaber and he quickly disarmed the warlord.

For a moment the Jedi paused and scanned the room for anymore foes. When none presented themselves, both Roy and Tim turned off their lightsabers and relaxed.

“Why is it that every time we go on a peace keeping mission it more less ends like this?” Timothy asked in annoyance.

“We do not question the ways of the Force my Padawan. Though it would have been nice to avoided the bloodshed. If only to have a chance to have seen you in a harem dress.”

Timothy sighed. There were days when he wished he did not have a Master who had quite as liberal of sense of humor as Roy had.

As Jordan stretched out on his plush bed he wrapped his arms around his sleeping lover and pulled him closer. With a smug look on his face he reflexed that there wasn't a single gladiator that was as popular or as gifted as himself. Boastful as it may have sounded, it was the truth. The Emperor himself had come to see Jordan's matches. His master made quite the bit of money from Jordan and in return treated his prized gladiator as almost like his own son.

Jordan had his own stable of fine horses, servants who waited on him hand and foot, and his choice of bedmates. His master had acquired the black haired artist to be a companion for his children, but Jordan had other plans for him. It hadn't taken much more than a offhanded comment to have the artist brought to his rooms.

The artist – Kyle – had resisted Jordan's advances, thinking him arrogant. Soon though Jordan broke through the wall that Kyle had placed between the two of them, and won his heart. Now the two were seldom seen without the other.

Which lead to the problem that Jordan was having at the moment. He never pay attention to a lover as he has been to Kyle. Begrudgingly he admitted to himself that as Kyle had fallen for him so had he had fallen for Kyle. Jordan had decided that a life as someone's property was not one he would want Kyle to lead.

So the next match he decided to ask for a different reward. He would ask for Kyle's freedom, a request he had never made for himself. The chances were good that he would lose Kyle, for why would he choose to stay with Jordan when he had the freedom to go wherever he wanted. Though Jordan figured that was fine. Some treasure was meant to be given up.