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kinkfestTitle:Blind Man's Bluff
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
queenoftheskies
Rating: R
Warnings: violence, non-con, darkness, mutilation
Word count: 1453
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?"
Marcello pressed the blade of his sword to Angelo's throat when his brother tried to rise from the bone-ridden floor. "I know you can make it between here and Simpleton blind drunk; what do you think your odds are just blind?"
A trickle of fear settled in the pit of Angelo's stomach. Marcello had done some bad things in his time, but...what he was suggesting was unthinkable even for him. "Marcello..."
"Shut. Up." A kick in the stomach sent Angelo crashing into the wall, holding his gut. Marcello sneered down at him. "Are you afraid, Angelo?" The Templar Captain backed his younger half-brother into the cobweb-infested corner, sword point leveled at his face. "If you're not..." His laugh was deep and dark. "You should be."
He wasn't in the dungeon when he woke, but he was in pain so vicious it tore a scream from his throat. The ground beneath him was cold and damp and when he clawed at it for purchase, he could smell the bitter stench of wet dirt as it gathered beneath his nails.
A lunge took him to his feet where he bounced off a slender tree trunk and landed back on his knees. I can't see. I can't... He raised dirtied hands to his cheeks, cheeks stained dry with blood. No. His fingers searched higher, until the pain grew too great for him to bear.
Stumbling forward, he staggered, moving from tree to tree. Dirt wasn't the only thing he could smell. Water...there was water, so close he could almost taste it. It wasn't until it splashed around his ankles that he pitched forward, scooping it desperately with his hands and into his mouth. It eased his parched throat, dampened the weakness that consumed him, until he possessed the energy to throw it across his face, cleaning it free of blood and dirt, ignoring the pain that had turned to a burning in his eyes.
He collapsed on the bank beside the stream, half-dozing until the pain subsided to a throbbing ache.
Pushing himself to his feet, he ignored the weakness in his legs. If he knew his brother--and, sadly, he felt he did--he'd been dumped somewhere between the abbey and Simpleton and if he dared go backward, he'd be dead.
The sound of conversation--drunken conversation and angry shouts--drew his attention toward the warmth of the sun. Problem was, he couldn't tell whether the sun was on its upward or downward route; there was no way to tell whether it was day...or night. At night, stronger monsters prowled the forest. If he managed to find his way to the road, he'd be an easier target.
Goddess. He wasn't sure whether the word was a plea or a curse. He'd given up praying when he was younger. Prayers were never answered. But, curses, it seemed, were in plentiful supply.
He kept low to the ground, moving toward the voices in slow, tentative bursts. Not only was he an easy target for monsters. He'd be an easy target for thieves as well.
Dizziness swept over him, along with a burst of pain that exploded inside his head. He staggered, stumbled, and went down on all fours, paused and listened before pushing himself to his feet again.
"Did you hear that?" The voices were closer now, male and rough.
"Could be him." This voice lower, more menacing. "Listen."
Could be him. The voice echoed in his mind.
Angelo dragged in a breath and dropped into a crouch, shuffling from tree to tree when twigs snapped and leaves crunched nearby.
"He's been here." The voice was cold and calculated, but still far enough away that there was time to escape.
Cold steel pressed against his cheek, not the thin, sharp point of a rapier to which he was accustomed, but a thicker, more dangerous blade. It drew pain and the warmth of blood trickled down his cheek.
Before he could draw his blade--if he still possessed it--strong hands bound his mouth and forced his arms to his side before dragging him away from the desperate thrashing and angry voices. "Try to escape and I'll kill you. The reward for you is dead or alive, though I have a feeling your brother will sweeten the pot if I drag you in kicking and screaming for mercy."
Sweeten the pot. So, Marcello had blinded him and then sent mercenaries after him like he was some kind of animal. So typical, so very like his brother.
Determination steeled Angelo's nerves: determination to survive, determination to break free, determination to destroy his brother's fun. Forcing himself to relax, he allowed the thug to drag him roughly through the trees and brush, acting as his eyes until the distant voices finally vanished completely.
Slowly, his strength returned. Not completely, but in erratic bursts that left him alternately grasping at magic, then allowing it to slip through his grasp. He quelled his frustration with the realization that fighting it made it worse than useless, expending energy he didn't have to waste.
By the time the warmth of the sun had vanished and the chill of evening set in, his attacker had started to slow. They'd traveled far enough the Angelo had lost his bearings and wondered how much distance they'd covered. Without knowing their exact location, without knowing the nearest city or the direction in which it lay, he had no hope of survival, not without his eyesight.
He hit the ground with a thud and rolled free when the clash of weapons cut through the air. The mercenary cursed and then yowled. A moment later, the battle ended with a thud and Angelo had the sinking suspicion it wasn't his attacker who had survived.
Strong hands pinned picked him up from the ground and pinned him to a tree broader than his back. The stench of monsters turned his stomach. A snuffle stirred his hair.
"Get out of my way." Though the voice was decidedly female, power charged the air.
A witch. His luck was going from bad to worse.
Pain lanced through his shoulders; metal pinned him to the tree. A scream died on his lips as the gag was ripped from his face and a mouth covered his, cutting off his breath. The tongue that tangled with his tasted of rotten cider and dirt, mushrooms and day-old bread.
She dropped into his lap. "Break his legs so he doesn't escape."
He struggled against her, thrashing until he freed his head. "No, no, you don't need to...I'll cooperate. I'll do whatever..."
The crack of bones--first one leg, then the other--sent shudders of agony shooting up his spine. This time, she didn't hush his scream. Her mouth was busy--too busy--working its way down his chest as she unfastened his shirt, one button at a time.
Rough hands worked their way into his pants, stroking him, working him until he rose past the pain wracking his body.
"You promised, if we caught him," a deep voice grumbled. "A Templar." A rough tongue traced a path up Angelo's cheek. "Yummy Templar. Me want a piece."
"Get him up," the witch commanded.
Claws dug into his arms. Powerful hands jerked him free of the metal that held him pinned. Flesh tore. He screamed until he tasted blood. The hands around his cock tightened. An excited giggle worked its way through his pain-clouded mind.
They ripped the clothes off him while the strong hands held him dangling off the ground. Razor-sharp teeth raked across his erection, drawing blood while lips sucked him, bringing him to release against his will.
He hit the ground again, this time with such force that the already broken bones twisted in his legs. Past the ability to scream, he whimpered, tears from his sightless eyes spilling onto his cheeks.
They forced him up, onto knees that wouldn't hold him, struck him with their hands when he fell, whipped him with branches across his buttocks and them licked the bloody welts that rose there. By the time the too-large, throbbing dick pushed into him, his brain screamed with pain that his body refused to identify. In and out, in and out, the tough-skinned cock tore tender skin, stretched tissue beyond its natural limits.
By the time he realized he could make out hazy shapes and the gray outline of the trees, they were gone. A smudge of light had returned to the sky.
As his eyes slid closed and his body succumbed to the numbness of pending unconsciousness, he whispered, "I'm coming for you, Marcello." With his last ounce of energy, he reached for magic, and a smile spread across his lips.
Author/Artist:
queenoftheskies Rating: R
Warnings: violence, non-con, darkness, mutilation
Word count: 1453
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?"
Marcello pressed the blade of his sword to Angelo's throat when his brother tried to rise from the bone-ridden floor. "I know you can make it between here and Simpleton blind drunk; what do you think your odds are just blind?"
A trickle of fear settled in the pit of Angelo's stomach. Marcello had done some bad things in his time, but...what he was suggesting was unthinkable even for him. "Marcello..."
"Shut. Up." A kick in the stomach sent Angelo crashing into the wall, holding his gut. Marcello sneered down at him. "Are you afraid, Angelo?" The Templar Captain backed his younger half-brother into the cobweb-infested corner, sword point leveled at his face. "If you're not..." His laugh was deep and dark. "You should be."
He wasn't in the dungeon when he woke, but he was in pain so vicious it tore a scream from his throat. The ground beneath him was cold and damp and when he clawed at it for purchase, he could smell the bitter stench of wet dirt as it gathered beneath his nails.
A lunge took him to his feet where he bounced off a slender tree trunk and landed back on his knees. I can't see. I can't... He raised dirtied hands to his cheeks, cheeks stained dry with blood. No. His fingers searched higher, until the pain grew too great for him to bear.
Stumbling forward, he staggered, moving from tree to tree. Dirt wasn't the only thing he could smell. Water...there was water, so close he could almost taste it. It wasn't until it splashed around his ankles that he pitched forward, scooping it desperately with his hands and into his mouth. It eased his parched throat, dampened the weakness that consumed him, until he possessed the energy to throw it across his face, cleaning it free of blood and dirt, ignoring the pain that had turned to a burning in his eyes.
He collapsed on the bank beside the stream, half-dozing until the pain subsided to a throbbing ache.
Pushing himself to his feet, he ignored the weakness in his legs. If he knew his brother--and, sadly, he felt he did--he'd been dumped somewhere between the abbey and Simpleton and if he dared go backward, he'd be dead.
The sound of conversation--drunken conversation and angry shouts--drew his attention toward the warmth of the sun. Problem was, he couldn't tell whether the sun was on its upward or downward route; there was no way to tell whether it was day...or night. At night, stronger monsters prowled the forest. If he managed to find his way to the road, he'd be an easier target.
Goddess. He wasn't sure whether the word was a plea or a curse. He'd given up praying when he was younger. Prayers were never answered. But, curses, it seemed, were in plentiful supply.
He kept low to the ground, moving toward the voices in slow, tentative bursts. Not only was he an easy target for monsters. He'd be an easy target for thieves as well.
Dizziness swept over him, along with a burst of pain that exploded inside his head. He staggered, stumbled, and went down on all fours, paused and listened before pushing himself to his feet again.
"Did you hear that?" The voices were closer now, male and rough.
"Could be him." This voice lower, more menacing. "Listen."
Could be him. The voice echoed in his mind.
Angelo dragged in a breath and dropped into a crouch, shuffling from tree to tree when twigs snapped and leaves crunched nearby.
"He's been here." The voice was cold and calculated, but still far enough away that there was time to escape.
Cold steel pressed against his cheek, not the thin, sharp point of a rapier to which he was accustomed, but a thicker, more dangerous blade. It drew pain and the warmth of blood trickled down his cheek.
Before he could draw his blade--if he still possessed it--strong hands bound his mouth and forced his arms to his side before dragging him away from the desperate thrashing and angry voices. "Try to escape and I'll kill you. The reward for you is dead or alive, though I have a feeling your brother will sweeten the pot if I drag you in kicking and screaming for mercy."
Sweeten the pot. So, Marcello had blinded him and then sent mercenaries after him like he was some kind of animal. So typical, so very like his brother.
Determination steeled Angelo's nerves: determination to survive, determination to break free, determination to destroy his brother's fun. Forcing himself to relax, he allowed the thug to drag him roughly through the trees and brush, acting as his eyes until the distant voices finally vanished completely.
Slowly, his strength returned. Not completely, but in erratic bursts that left him alternately grasping at magic, then allowing it to slip through his grasp. He quelled his frustration with the realization that fighting it made it worse than useless, expending energy he didn't have to waste.
By the time the warmth of the sun had vanished and the chill of evening set in, his attacker had started to slow. They'd traveled far enough the Angelo had lost his bearings and wondered how much distance they'd covered. Without knowing their exact location, without knowing the nearest city or the direction in which it lay, he had no hope of survival, not without his eyesight.
He hit the ground with a thud and rolled free when the clash of weapons cut through the air. The mercenary cursed and then yowled. A moment later, the battle ended with a thud and Angelo had the sinking suspicion it wasn't his attacker who had survived.
Strong hands pinned picked him up from the ground and pinned him to a tree broader than his back. The stench of monsters turned his stomach. A snuffle stirred his hair.
"Get out of my way." Though the voice was decidedly female, power charged the air.
A witch. His luck was going from bad to worse.
Pain lanced through his shoulders; metal pinned him to the tree. A scream died on his lips as the gag was ripped from his face and a mouth covered his, cutting off his breath. The tongue that tangled with his tasted of rotten cider and dirt, mushrooms and day-old bread.
She dropped into his lap. "Break his legs so he doesn't escape."
He struggled against her, thrashing until he freed his head. "No, no, you don't need to...I'll cooperate. I'll do whatever..."
The crack of bones--first one leg, then the other--sent shudders of agony shooting up his spine. This time, she didn't hush his scream. Her mouth was busy--too busy--working its way down his chest as she unfastened his shirt, one button at a time.
Rough hands worked their way into his pants, stroking him, working him until he rose past the pain wracking his body.
"You promised, if we caught him," a deep voice grumbled. "A Templar." A rough tongue traced a path up Angelo's cheek. "Yummy Templar. Me want a piece."
"Get him up," the witch commanded.
Claws dug into his arms. Powerful hands jerked him free of the metal that held him pinned. Flesh tore. He screamed until he tasted blood. The hands around his cock tightened. An excited giggle worked its way through his pain-clouded mind.
They ripped the clothes off him while the strong hands held him dangling off the ground. Razor-sharp teeth raked across his erection, drawing blood while lips sucked him, bringing him to release against his will.
He hit the ground again, this time with such force that the already broken bones twisted in his legs. Past the ability to scream, he whimpered, tears from his sightless eyes spilling onto his cheeks.
They forced him up, onto knees that wouldn't hold him, struck him with their hands when he fell, whipped him with branches across his buttocks and them licked the bloody welts that rose there. By the time the too-large, throbbing dick pushed into him, his brain screamed with pain that his body refused to identify. In and out, in and out, the tough-skinned cock tore tender skin, stretched tissue beyond its natural limits.
By the time he realized he could make out hazy shapes and the gray outline of the trees, they were gone. A smudge of light had returned to the sky.
As his eyes slid closed and his body succumbed to the numbness of pending unconsciousness, he whispered, "I'm coming for you, Marcello." With his last ounce of energy, he reached for magic, and a smile spread across his lips.
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no subject
Date: 2008-02-03 03:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-05 09:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-03 04:10 pm (UTC)This is awesome! And did I mention hot. *turns on fan and goes back for a reread or two*
no subject
Date: 2008-02-05 09:09 pm (UTC)You're too kind. :)