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kinkfestTitle:: The Wager
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
melodywilde
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Violence, non-con. (In other words, business as usual for Marcello and Angelo.)
Word count: 1,680 (or so says MS Word)
Summary: In yet another attempt to make Angelo behave properly, Marcello “suggests” a disturbing wager.
A/N: Thanks as always toevilmissbecky for the quick beta!
The Prompt: Dragon Quest VIII, Marcello/Angelo: physical harm - "I know you can make it between here and Simpleton blind drunk; what do you think your odds are just blind?"
The Wager
by Melody Wilde
“Why am I not in the least surprised to find you here?”
Three of the four men playing cards around the table took one look at the dark-haired Templar standing in the doorway, grabbed up their winnings, and moved quickly away.
The fourth remained where he was. He slapped his cards on the table and muttered disgustedly, “Damn. That was the best hand I’ve had all night.” He raised the glass by his elbow, draining it before he finally looked at the new arrival.
“Outside.” The word was a growl of command.
Angelo rolled his eyes and scraped the few coins he hadn’t lost into a pocket, then rose to saunter insolently to the door.
Marcello stepped back to let him pass. “Around there.” He pointed to the side of the building.
He followed Angelo until they rounded the corner and were out of sight of the door, then seized the front of the younger man’s uniform and backed him against the wall.
“You think this is all a game.”
“And I would’ve won, too, if you hadn’t barged in when you did. Five more minutes—maybe ten—and I’d have—”
His words died away as Marcello whipped a short, silver handled dagger from beneath his cloak and pressed the point against Angelo’s throat.
“Do I have your attention now?”
Angelo started to nod, thought better of it, and whispered, “Yes.”
“Good.” Marcello’s voice was almost a purr. “You may have noticed that I came alone to collect you tonight. Would you like to know why?”
Angelo suddenly suspected that he very much did not want to know why.
“I’ve seen you stagger back to the Abbey at all hours of the night—and morning—so drunk you could hardly stand, reeking of tobacco and sex, not caring how poor an image you present to the people of this town or the example you set for those younger than you.”
“You mean you’re worried somebody will think poorly of you, don’t you?” He knew it was a foolish thing to say the instant the words were out.
Marcello hissed, and the tip of the knife dug a little deeper. And then he smiled. It was not a smile which encouraged any hope that Angelo was going to be let go with just another boring lecture this time.
“You like to gamble.” When Angelo did not respond, Marcello snapped, “Answer me.”
“Yes.”
“And you like to consort with the whores.”
“Lila and Belle aren’t exactly—” The look on Marcello’s face made him decide to defend their honor another time.
“I’m going to give you a chance at the two things you enjoy most—gambling and whoring. I’m going to make a wager with you.”
“I don’t think—”
“You have no say in the matter.” Marcello’s voice was ice now. "I know you can make it between here and Simpleton blind drunk; what do you think your odds are if you’re just blind?”
“Marcello...”
“These are the terms. If you succeed, you can come here every night and do as you wish, and I will never say another word to you.”
“And if I fail?”
“Then when I collect you, I will take you to the dungeons and chain you to the wall and fuck you until you scream for mercy.” The smile was back. “And when you do, I will open the door to any other Templar who wishes to enjoy you.”
Angelo could feel the color draining from his face. He was suddenly very very sober.
“Marcello, you can’t...”
A single raised eyebrow silenced him.
“You agree to the terms, of course.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No.”
Angelo bit his lip. He thought he actually could do it—make it from here to there blindfolded. He knew the way well enough, and he had traveled it on many a moonless night. This would be no different.
“Let us begin.”
The knife flashed up, slashing across Angelo’s face before he could even draw breath. There was one moment of shock—of disbelief—and then he found himself on the ground, keening as the pain began, reaching for his eyes...oh Goddess...his eyes...
Hands closed on his, stopping him. “What have you done,” he gasped.
“Begun the wager.” He could hear the rustle of clothing as Marcello stood. “I have a healer waiting at the Abbey. He assures me that if you can reach it within the hour, there will be no permanent damage.”
“Marcello, please...”
“Good luck, little brother.”
Footsteps, moving away. And then he knew he was alone.
The pain was hideous. He could feel the blood running down his cheeks, and realized that this was something he should deal with immediately. If he lost too much blood—if he went into shock and couldn’t even begin to find the way...
“I can do this.” He risked a very small healing spell of his own, just enough to stop the bleeding and keep the pain at a level he could manage, and then he pushed himself to his feet.
With a hand on the wall to guide him, he stumbled to the front of the building. If any of his friends saw him, they kept to themselves. They were all too afraid of Marcello. He knew he’d get no help from any of them.
“I can do this.”
He repeated the words over and over in his mind as he took the first tentative steps forward, fighting the vertigo that threatened to send him down again. The gate was that way. The road was beyond. He knew every curve, every rock, every step. He could do this.
But it was so very different when you couldn’t see at all—not as much like a moonless and drunken walk as he’d expected. It seemed to take forever to reach the gate. Just as he’d begun to imagine himself already lost, and give way to panic, his shoulder slammed into the wood.
One hurdle surpassed. Turning in the proper direction shuffling his feet in an attempt to avoid obstacles that might trip him and cause a fall that would leave him completely disoriented, he set out.
He wished he didn’t have the horrible feeling that Marcello was somewhere nearby, watching him. And laughing.
“I can do this.” It became a mantra, first in thought and then in desperate whispers. He realized that he could tell when he erred—strayed from the road—by the way the ground beneath his feet changed from dirt to grass, so it was easy to correct his path. He moved forward slowly, but determinedly. He could do this.
He had no idea how much time had passed—how close he was to the Abbey. With each passing minute, he had to fight harder against the panic that wanted to overwhelm him, make him shriek, make him try to run. He could do this. He forced himself to go on.
He sobbed with relief when he heard the Abbey bell, felt the cool hardness of stone beneath his feet, and knew he was on the bridge and almost there. A few more steps, then a few more, and he was able to collapse against the Abbey door. His knees went out, sending his trembling body to the ground.
“Marcello?”
There was only silence.
“Marcello!”
A hand on his shoulder startled him. “I’m astonished. I didn’t believe you could really do it.”
“The healer. Get me to the healer.”
“Of course.”
An arm went around him, helping him to his feet, guiding him around to the side of the Abbey. Marcello let him stumble on the steps as they went in, and he gasped as his cheek connected with the doorframe. His minor spell was fading quickly now, and the blow awakened a torrent of fresh pain.
“Hurry, Marcello. Please.”
Guided again, fighting the urge to claw at his eyes, at first he was barely aware of the path they were taking. But then...
“Marcello, why are we going down the stairs?”
“The healer is waiting for us there.”
And then he heard another voice, one much kinder than Marcello’s, exclaiming in shock and horror, and knew his ordeal was almost over.
“Let’s bring him over here,” Marcello said smoothly. “We don’t want him to do himself further harm.”
“The poor lad. How he must have been suffering to do this to himself.”
Angelo heard the words as if from a distance, and thought that he should protest that he had not been responsible for this, but there were two sets of hands on him now, holding his arms and lifting them.
He screamed when he felt the cold metal close around his wrists, and heard the clink of locks being snapped shut.
“Be quiet,” Marcello barked.
Then he heard Words of Power and felt the air charge with healing magic. It settled around his face, warm and reassuring, shaping, mending, rebuilding.
He blinked. He could see again. His eyelashes were thick with dried blood, hampering his vision, but he could see.
And what he saw was unyielding grey stone only a few inches from his body.
“Marcello?” He jerked his head from side to side. “Marcello?”
“A moment, Templar Angelo.”
He heard voices, growing faint as Marcello escorted the healer away, then the rattle of a door being locked and a bolt being thrown, and then footsteps approaching, slow, steady, and purposeful.
“Now that you’re quite recovered...” Marcello reached around him to undo the fastenings of his trousers, then pushed them down, out of the way.
“What are you doing?” He gasped when the icy lubricant touched him, trying to jerk away. “You can’t! You said...you promised...”
With one swift, brutal movement Marcello thrust into him, so hard that their bodies slammed together. He felt Marcello’s lips at his ear.
“I lied.”
It was not until Marcello had taken Angelo for the third time that night and was pulling away from the broken, sobbing young man, that he added, “But at least I won’t let the others come in to enjoy you. Not this time.”
Author/Artist:
melodywildeRating: PG13
Warnings: Violence, non-con. (In other words, business as usual for Marcello and Angelo.)
Word count: 1,680 (or so says MS Word)
Summary: In yet another attempt to make Angelo behave properly, Marcello “suggests” a disturbing wager.
A/N: Thanks as always to
evilmissbecky for the quick beta!The Prompt: Dragon Quest VIII, Marcello/Angelo: physical harm - "I know you can make it between here and Simpleton blind drunk; what do you think your odds are just blind?"
The Wager
by Melody Wilde
“Why am I not in the least surprised to find you here?”
Three of the four men playing cards around the table took one look at the dark-haired Templar standing in the doorway, grabbed up their winnings, and moved quickly away.
The fourth remained where he was. He slapped his cards on the table and muttered disgustedly, “Damn. That was the best hand I’ve had all night.” He raised the glass by his elbow, draining it before he finally looked at the new arrival.
“Outside.” The word was a growl of command.
Angelo rolled his eyes and scraped the few coins he hadn’t lost into a pocket, then rose to saunter insolently to the door.
Marcello stepped back to let him pass. “Around there.” He pointed to the side of the building.
He followed Angelo until they rounded the corner and were out of sight of the door, then seized the front of the younger man’s uniform and backed him against the wall.
“You think this is all a game.”
“And I would’ve won, too, if you hadn’t barged in when you did. Five more minutes—maybe ten—and I’d have—”
His words died away as Marcello whipped a short, silver handled dagger from beneath his cloak and pressed the point against Angelo’s throat.
“Do I have your attention now?”
Angelo started to nod, thought better of it, and whispered, “Yes.”
“Good.” Marcello’s voice was almost a purr. “You may have noticed that I came alone to collect you tonight. Would you like to know why?”
Angelo suddenly suspected that he very much did not want to know why.
“I’ve seen you stagger back to the Abbey at all hours of the night—and morning—so drunk you could hardly stand, reeking of tobacco and sex, not caring how poor an image you present to the people of this town or the example you set for those younger than you.”
“You mean you’re worried somebody will think poorly of you, don’t you?” He knew it was a foolish thing to say the instant the words were out.
Marcello hissed, and the tip of the knife dug a little deeper. And then he smiled. It was not a smile which encouraged any hope that Angelo was going to be let go with just another boring lecture this time.
“You like to gamble.” When Angelo did not respond, Marcello snapped, “Answer me.”
“Yes.”
“And you like to consort with the whores.”
“Lila and Belle aren’t exactly—” The look on Marcello’s face made him decide to defend their honor another time.
“I’m going to give you a chance at the two things you enjoy most—gambling and whoring. I’m going to make a wager with you.”
“I don’t think—”
“You have no say in the matter.” Marcello’s voice was ice now. "I know you can make it between here and Simpleton blind drunk; what do you think your odds are if you’re just blind?”
“Marcello...”
“These are the terms. If you succeed, you can come here every night and do as you wish, and I will never say another word to you.”
“And if I fail?”
“Then when I collect you, I will take you to the dungeons and chain you to the wall and fuck you until you scream for mercy.” The smile was back. “And when you do, I will open the door to any other Templar who wishes to enjoy you.”
Angelo could feel the color draining from his face. He was suddenly very very sober.
“Marcello, you can’t...”
A single raised eyebrow silenced him.
“You agree to the terms, of course.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No.”
Angelo bit his lip. He thought he actually could do it—make it from here to there blindfolded. He knew the way well enough, and he had traveled it on many a moonless night. This would be no different.
“Let us begin.”
The knife flashed up, slashing across Angelo’s face before he could even draw breath. There was one moment of shock—of disbelief—and then he found himself on the ground, keening as the pain began, reaching for his eyes...oh Goddess...his eyes...
Hands closed on his, stopping him. “What have you done,” he gasped.
“Begun the wager.” He could hear the rustle of clothing as Marcello stood. “I have a healer waiting at the Abbey. He assures me that if you can reach it within the hour, there will be no permanent damage.”
“Marcello, please...”
“Good luck, little brother.”
Footsteps, moving away. And then he knew he was alone.
The pain was hideous. He could feel the blood running down his cheeks, and realized that this was something he should deal with immediately. If he lost too much blood—if he went into shock and couldn’t even begin to find the way...
“I can do this.” He risked a very small healing spell of his own, just enough to stop the bleeding and keep the pain at a level he could manage, and then he pushed himself to his feet.
With a hand on the wall to guide him, he stumbled to the front of the building. If any of his friends saw him, they kept to themselves. They were all too afraid of Marcello. He knew he’d get no help from any of them.
“I can do this.”
He repeated the words over and over in his mind as he took the first tentative steps forward, fighting the vertigo that threatened to send him down again. The gate was that way. The road was beyond. He knew every curve, every rock, every step. He could do this.
But it was so very different when you couldn’t see at all—not as much like a moonless and drunken walk as he’d expected. It seemed to take forever to reach the gate. Just as he’d begun to imagine himself already lost, and give way to panic, his shoulder slammed into the wood.
One hurdle surpassed. Turning in the proper direction shuffling his feet in an attempt to avoid obstacles that might trip him and cause a fall that would leave him completely disoriented, he set out.
He wished he didn’t have the horrible feeling that Marcello was somewhere nearby, watching him. And laughing.
“I can do this.” It became a mantra, first in thought and then in desperate whispers. He realized that he could tell when he erred—strayed from the road—by the way the ground beneath his feet changed from dirt to grass, so it was easy to correct his path. He moved forward slowly, but determinedly. He could do this.
He had no idea how much time had passed—how close he was to the Abbey. With each passing minute, he had to fight harder against the panic that wanted to overwhelm him, make him shriek, make him try to run. He could do this. He forced himself to go on.
He sobbed with relief when he heard the Abbey bell, felt the cool hardness of stone beneath his feet, and knew he was on the bridge and almost there. A few more steps, then a few more, and he was able to collapse against the Abbey door. His knees went out, sending his trembling body to the ground.
“Marcello?”
There was only silence.
“Marcello!”
A hand on his shoulder startled him. “I’m astonished. I didn’t believe you could really do it.”
“The healer. Get me to the healer.”
“Of course.”
An arm went around him, helping him to his feet, guiding him around to the side of the Abbey. Marcello let him stumble on the steps as they went in, and he gasped as his cheek connected with the doorframe. His minor spell was fading quickly now, and the blow awakened a torrent of fresh pain.
“Hurry, Marcello. Please.”
Guided again, fighting the urge to claw at his eyes, at first he was barely aware of the path they were taking. But then...
“Marcello, why are we going down the stairs?”
“The healer is waiting for us there.”
And then he heard another voice, one much kinder than Marcello’s, exclaiming in shock and horror, and knew his ordeal was almost over.
“Let’s bring him over here,” Marcello said smoothly. “We don’t want him to do himself further harm.”
“The poor lad. How he must have been suffering to do this to himself.”
Angelo heard the words as if from a distance, and thought that he should protest that he had not been responsible for this, but there were two sets of hands on him now, holding his arms and lifting them.
He screamed when he felt the cold metal close around his wrists, and heard the clink of locks being snapped shut.
“Be quiet,” Marcello barked.
Then he heard Words of Power and felt the air charge with healing magic. It settled around his face, warm and reassuring, shaping, mending, rebuilding.
He blinked. He could see again. His eyelashes were thick with dried blood, hampering his vision, but he could see.
And what he saw was unyielding grey stone only a few inches from his body.
“Marcello?” He jerked his head from side to side. “Marcello?”
“A moment, Templar Angelo.”
He heard voices, growing faint as Marcello escorted the healer away, then the rattle of a door being locked and a bolt being thrown, and then footsteps approaching, slow, steady, and purposeful.
“Now that you’re quite recovered...” Marcello reached around him to undo the fastenings of his trousers, then pushed them down, out of the way.
“What are you doing?” He gasped when the icy lubricant touched him, trying to jerk away. “You can’t! You said...you promised...”
With one swift, brutal movement Marcello thrust into him, so hard that their bodies slammed together. He felt Marcello’s lips at his ear.
“I lied.”
It was not until Marcello had taken Angelo for the third time that night and was pulling away from the broken, sobbing young man, that he added, “But at least I won’t let the others come in to enjoy you. Not this time.”
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