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Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.
It was the oath by which Thancred swore as he placed a hand on the doorknob and inhaled softly to steel himself for the meeting he himself had orchestrated. This is but a means to an end, he told himself, then slipped inside before hurriedly turning the lock to prevent any unexpected interference.
An inn room, quiet and modestly furnished. A few chairs at a small table, a soft feathered bed— and a figure cloaked in black who stood by the window, peering outside at the blue of the moon that slipped between the nearly closed curtains. “Lahabrea,” Thancred said, curt and unenthused. Lahabrea did not turn.
“Fascinating, how you think— even for a moment— that I would parley with one devoted so firmly to the opposition of my kind,” Lahabrea replied.
“You’re here, aren’t you?” Thancred came closer, steps tentative and slow.
“If you possessed but a shred of intelligence, you would know to fear my presence here. I am here of my own design; not to extend a hand in peace. You and I both know this.”
“I am aware, yes.”
Lahabrea shifted on his heel, and Thancred froze. “What is it, then, that you have summoned me here to say? Speak before I make your tongue wag myself.”
“I have the feeling you would prefer that course of action.”
Lahabrea drifted closer, until they stood practically breast-to-breast. An intimidation tactic that Thancred refused to indulge. Hand rose to take his chin, gentle enough that while Thancred’s hand moved for his weapon, it sat idle in the sheath. “Oh? So you claim familiarity with the intimate machinations of my mind, Scion? My preferences are none of your concern.”
“You would be incorrect, Lahabrea. Any threat to my well-being is my concern… and you have proven to quite bothersome in that regard.”
“Speak,” Lahabrea repeated, “I will not repeat myself again.”
Thancred studied Lahabrea with careful intensity, and even more care placed in the words he ran through his mind before he spoke. Lips parted to make his argument, the very reason for this meeting with the devil; a single syllable was all he managed before Lahabrea leaned in to kiss him.
Stunned into a fresh silence, Thancred blinked. Then he leaned back, lips locking against lips, and he returned the kiss. Slightly more timid than the one he had received, though followed by one of greater confidence. Lahabrea laughed, low and quiet. “As I thought,” he murmured. A clawed gauntlet reached to pull him closer, hand settling on his ass to give it a sharp squeeze.
Kiss after kiss, they stood intertwined in the darkened bedchamber, Thancred wrapping arms around Lahabrea’s shoulders that he might take the initiative and depart from the Ascian’s lips to kiss his jaw, then lowered Lahabrea’s hood to expose a head of gold hair, long and luscious. Metal talons met his belt, but Thancred continued suckled Lahabrea’s neck as the clasps loosened, one by one.
Fingers slipped into his pants. Thancred froze; small smirk dawned on his face, and he said, “Let’s make this easier for the both of us.”
He pulled away and tugged off his gauntlets. Thrown atop the inn room dresser, followed by his weapon and overclothes. As Thancred stripped, he kept a watchful eye on the Ascian, and to his surprise, Lahabrea shrugged out of his own garments, exposing the body beneath. Peculiar, yet not enough for him to speak up. Regardless, he quite liked the change. Grey eyes met Lahabrea’s cock. Already astir, and the night had just begun.
Lahabrea sat at the bedside. More eager than he would have liked, Thancred climbed into his lap to resume their passionate exchange of kisses. Fingers ran through Lahabrea’s hair, then downward, past shoulders and the small of his back. It was his turn to grope the Ascian’s ass. A squeeze that spurred Lahabrea to grip Thancred beneath his thighs, turn him over onto his back, and straddle him while they locked lips.
He pressed himself further against Lahabrea and turned his head to one side, allowing Lahabrea's mouth to explore the full length of his neck. Wet, aggressive, punctuated by heavy inhales of breath through his nostrils. Thancred’s hand moved to find purchase on Lahabrea’s waist, only for fingers to wrap around his own wrist instead to push it away, back to where it came from and then some, slid above his head. He didn’t think too much of it and gave a quiet moan. Opposite hand grasped lightly at the bedsheets. Lahabrea came for that wrist too.
White brows furrowed inward. Thancred turned to peer back up at the blond. Gaze met with a crooked smile, suave and knowing, before Lahabrea ducked down to suckle on his bottom lip, invade his mouth with forceful kisses. Thancred pulled beneath Lahabrea’s grip, at first gently, then with more effort when he realized the iron weight that pinned his wrists down together like human shackles. The Ascian laughed against his lips. Malicious. A cold flutter jolted through Thancred’s gut, and he tore his mouth away, pressing a cheek against the sheets with a growl and a sideways glare: “No, I don’t think so.”
Thancred grunted, an exerted sound, and attempted to wrestle his arms free; no longer was he lying limp beneath Lahabrea, but rather squirming— which then turned to thrashing— the man atop him holding him down with increased pressure the more he moved. Lahabrea leaned over him, and though Thancred managed to pry his arms apart for a brief instant, the strength in the Ascian’s grip was surprising. Coarse material met the flesh of his wrists. Bindings, rope of some sort, that Lahabrea worked quickly to wrap around his limbs several times, silent above Thancred’s irate vocalizations, his spirited bark: “Wretch! Unhand me!”
Pleas that went unanswered. Rope fastened with one knot and then another, Thancred’s fingers flexing furiously in their cuffs as though he could reach the knots and untie them if he simply stretched far enough. Wrists that jolted closer together with each tie, wrists desperate to slip out from beneath but unable to find a weak spot.
“Struggle all you wish,” Lahabrea cooed at last, straightening himself back up to peer down at him, to run a thumb against Thancred’s flushed, betrayed cheek. Scion lashed out at once, bound hands raised to slap Lahabrea away from his face and deny the touch. “If I must bind you tighter, so be it.”
“I don’t care much for your scheming, Ascian. Nor for your—“ He tugged again at his cuffs, “—penchant for ignoring my simple thresholds!” Lahabrea laughed again in response, then inhaled through his nostrils. He reached down toward his groin and brushed fingertips against his own cock. Reflexively, Thancred’s lips twisted into a grimace. “Does it really get you so bothered to see me in such a state? Gods! You disgust me so!”
“I have no reason to consort with feeble, weak-minded mortals,” the Ascian replied, “No reason to lie with them as equals. Why do you think this is, Scion?”
“You’re blinded by your own conceit and arrogance,” Thancred snapped back.
Lahabrea laughed, amused more than anything else by the bared teeth and feral anger beneath him. “Because you are not my equal,” he corrected, then snatched Thancred’s wrists when he brought them forward to try and push the Ascian off. “Yet how can I deny such yearning?” He pushed them down, down against Thancred’s chest. With his other hand, he brushed his prey’s cheek with his knuckles. Precariously close to Thancred’s teeth; an opportunity the Scion wouldn’t pass up, snapping at Lahabrea’s fingers with his jaw if he couldn’t wrench his other limbs free. “The delightful irony in your desire to consort with the enemy behind the backs of your comrades. Do you think I believe in your pretences? That I truly believe you have come championing a noble, righteous cause?”
“Keep talking,” Thancred hissed, “it will make it infinitely more satisfying to throttle you once I—” Still, he tugged against the ropes, against Lahabrea’s grasp, strong enough to warrant a tightened grip but not enough to break free.
“You are not here to gather information, Scion. You are here to indulge your lust, no more and no less. I know the hollows of your heart, do I not?” Lips drew closer to Thancred’s face, their hands pressed between their bodies, one free, two restrained. Lahabrea hovered wordlessly over his ear, the heat of breath exhaled through nostrils steady and composed. Then came a sudden burst of moist warmth, a near silent laugh that made Thancred’s spine stiffen. “I wore you well, Thancred. No one— none of your fellow Scions, nor Hydaelyn’s damnable champion— none of them sensed in the slightest that aught was amiss. Your desire, your fears, your weaknesses… I know it all. There is nothing you can hide from me.”
“By the Twelve, shut up.” Thancred spat back. He wormed his head away only for it to be dragged back with a bracing hand, grip sliding from cheek to hair to hold him down for another wet kiss behind the ear, a drag of the tongue and a nip across the lobe. “Pretend all you want that you understand who I am,” he said, pausing to restrain himself from groaning at the stimulus of the kisses and the rocking of Lahabrea’s groin against his stomach, “At the end of it all, you were but a convincing actor.”
“To wear a mortal’s mind alongside their body— can you possibly fathom what it’s like? Such an exhausted psyche, when I took you… all the easier to peruse your dormant thoughts. My colleagues,” Lahabrea stopped to deliver a trail of kisses down the length of Thancred’s jaw, then back to his neck to suck forcefully against the flesh and mark it as his own before he continued, “My colleagues find it distasteful. But there is something beautiful to be found in a complete understanding of the mortal soul, shallow and vile as they are. To see a man’s every profanity laid bare before me… ah.” Lahabrea let out a shivering groan. “You would do well to please me, Scion. Else our meeting will be quite regrettable for you.”
“Will it, now?” Thancred replied. His answer came in the form of a finger slipping beneath his choker and tugging upward, violently, Lahabrea sliding back just enough to force him upright into a sitting position.
“Do you care to test my word?”
“Perhaps I might.”
Lahabrea laughed, another quiet ‘hmph’, and casually leaned into a half-caress. One hand teased his hair, the other hesitant before it came in close toward his back and dug a pointed edge into his shoulder just hard enough to make Thancred stiffen up. A dagger? Where had it come from? Heart tightened in his chest; exactly the response he was supposed to give, made apparent by the smirk he could feel at his cheek. “I’ll give you due motivation, then. Make me come. Now.”
The command caught him off-guard. Hands sat idly only until he felt the tip of the blade dig deeper, then reached blindly for the cock between their embrace to stroke it with one hand, the other fondling Lahabrea’s balls. It was the best he could do, tied the way he was, and by the Gods, how he loathed it. Dagger idly traced around his shoulderblades as he worked, fingers tightening in his hair. Hot huffs, a pelvis subtly rocking into his touch. Just enough to tell him he was doing a good job, but not enough to play off as desperate. Why would Lahabrea be desperate, after all, when he knew perfectly well that he was the one in control?
Up and down the length of the shaft, rhythmic. Thancred knew his craft, and knew it well. Wet precum met his fingertips when he moved back up to the tip of Lahabrea’s cock; if only there was a sense of satisfaction found in a handjob well done at knifepoint. He frowned into Lahabrea’s shoulder, then narrowed his eyes when a thought struck him. Why work him to completion? Would the Ascian truly stab him in recompense?
There was only one way to find out. Thancred waited. Waited until Lahabrea’s breath grew labored, muscles tense, ready for release. Then, at the apex of a slowly budding orgasm, stopped entirely. Now it was his turn to grin; the blade at his back grew still, and Lahabrea laughed— this time, his laugh tinged with a cold frustration. “So bold. Very well. If that is to be the game we play, so be it.” Knife came around to his front, within view. Opposite hand clenched suddenly at Thancred’s jaw and gave it a sharp squeeze. “Turn around.”
Of course he had no reason to oblige the command, until a peculiar heat began to radiate beneath Lahabrea’s palm. First pleasant, but all too quickly uncomfortable. Then he realized that he had two options; compliance, or a burn across the underside of his chin. “Fine— fine!” He barked, then wrenched himself away to shift around and expose the bare of his back to the enemy.
The cool metal of the blade met his nape, and he nearly gasped. But the tip dug in just enough to worm beneath his choker, and with a sharp tug that momentarily choked him with the pulled back pressure, Lahabrea snapped the leather. Then in its place came a kiss to the very base of his neck, a breathless chortle. More rope fell around his shoulders like a loose necklace to replace the one he had lost, tinged with shadow as though newly summoned from the abyss. With carefully steadied breath Thancred glanced downward to watch hands emerge from beneath the crooks of his arms to braid the rope around his torso then back to his neck, each fold pulled tighter, layered atop one another with the intent of creating what seemed to be a woven halter top of sorts— decorative rather than restraining despite the discomfort. Thancred rolled his shoulders and neck in an attempt to loosen the bindings around his throat as Lahabrea worked. An act that, to his surprise, went ignored. No, the Ascian was too intent on his art. Which was fine by him until the ropes looped around his bicep, one after the other, weaving them into the harness, attaching them to where the rope wrapped around to the back to force his arms to his sides.
Why didn’t he resist? Was it the fear of the knife or dark magicks at Lahabrea’s disposal? No, no. As the last knots rooted in place, Thancred felt the last of his upper mobility vanish; the best he could manage was slight movement of his forearms, still hindered by the bindings at his biceps and wrists. A sort of helplessness settled in his gut. Helplessness, and Twelve forbid— a pang of utter longing in his cock. If he wanted to defend himself, this wasn’t the way to accomplish anything, and he knew it. His best chance? It would have been to fight tooth and nail rather than turn his back in the first place.
An unspoken agreement hung in the air between them. He was at Lahabrea’s mercy, and now there was not a damn thing he could do to defend himself. Tragic that the thrum of magicks in his veins had long since grown silent, and without a weapon, he was a sitting duck. Tragic, and yet… to feel Lahabrea comb through his hair and caress his cheek, completely unable to push him away…
Possession, he recalled, was softer than he expected. Once compromised, the battle was already over. No reason to fight. Nothing but a gentle lapse into unconsciousness. An empty dream, warm and comforting. A vague and distant knowledge that his body was no longer his responsibility. Thancred closed his eyes; perhaps this was no different.
“Good boy,” Lahabrea murmured in his ear, “now stand.”
With stiff complacency, he obeyed and allowed himself to be guided to a chair, where Lahabrea shoved him down and climbed into his lap. Steely eyes watched and simmered with a strangely demure rage— partly at himself, wondering why in the Seven Hells he felt an easiness in Lahabrea’s touch, the brush of the knuckle down the length of his shoulder bindings. “This position suits you,” the Ascian said, and Thancred inhaled through his nostrils when he felt a hand at his cock, “a puppet to my whims. Tell me, Scion… how does this feel?” Gently Lahabrea began to stroke, smug and intent on Thancred’s expression to watch for the slightest change in emotion. He tried to keep his face level, truly, he did— but the methodical rubbing drew in a heat that festered in his groin, radiated from stomach to thighs like a storm that couldn’t settle. Base of the shaft to his tip, tip to shaft, then back again. Up and down, drawing a flush from Thancred’s cheeks, a clench of his fists to try and maintain his composure. Don’t look away, don’t close your eyes, don’t break eye contact. He refused to let Lahabrea win this little game, at the very least. Only for his jaw to tremble when Lahabrea stopped to let his build simmer just as it was starting to reach the cusp of ecstasy. “When the master asks a question, his servant is obliged to answer.” Voice stern, but it almost made Thancred want to laugh were he not so frustrated. The master? His servant? Ridiculous.
“You really want an answer to a question so daft?” Thancred huffed, breathless, with the wrinkle of his nose. “You’re getting me off. It feels excellent. What else would I say?”
“Impudent mortal. Sharp tongue and rudimentary wiles will not help you here.” Finally Lahabrea’s voice harbored a tinge of irritation. Precisely the sort of reaction Thancred wanted; words were a weak weapon in this particular situation, but they were a weapon nonetheless. Yet that didn't change the fact that Lahabrea had weapons of his own. Raising a hand, he summoned the dagger left idle on the bed. It drifted toward his grasp, and the second it came within reach, he took it with a sharp snap of his arm. “If you need reason to fear me, I will oblige you.”
More smoke and mirrors, Thancred presumed, though there was a part of him that wondered if Lahabrea truly would go so far as to use the weapon with a serious intent to harm; a cold worm in his gut that snaked between the cracks in the erotic warmth. The man was half-mad, after all. Dagger hovered around his shoulder and traced his shoulder blade. Then, without warning, Lahabrea drove the blade into his flesh, gave it a sharp twist, and gave a cruel, bitter laugh when Thancred threw his head back and screamed.
“Beg for my mercy. Grovel like the animal you are, and I will perhaps feel it within me to forgive you.”
Through grit teeth, Thancred forced himself to look down at the wound and stifled an agonized groan between the sting that ripped through his shoulder and the physical sight of a knife hilt-deep inside him. Brain worked to answer the simplest of his own questions: had anything vital been compromised? No. Did it hurt? Gods, yes. It ached terribly, a burn that made each breath laborious, at least if he didn’t want to groan and gasp every time he exhaled.
Blood pooled around the blade, spilling down the ropes of his harness, the seat of the chair. So intent on assessing his wound and stricken dumb by shock, Lahabrea gave the knife another twist to draw out another pained noise. A cross between a hiss, a whine, and a gasp. A response— Lahabrea was waiting on his response! “I… gah! Stop… I apologize! Forgive me!”
“Better. But not good enough.” Beads of cold sweat dripped down the back of Thancred’s neck. Hands trembled in his bonds, desperate to put pressure on the wound, but the highest he could manage was against Lahabrea’s abdomen, digging his nails into the Ascian’s muscles in an attempt to draw his attention away from his pain. With a twist back into the position in which it entered the body, Lahabrea dragged a third cry out from behind Thancred’s clenched teeth, then yanked the dagger free of the flesh.
“What have you done?” Thancred stammered, at a lack for better words. Blood ran freely from the wound, viscous fluid painting his breast red. “Twelve…! Are you aiming to bleed me dry?” It wasn’t a question of giving attitude, but rather a genuine cry of shock; he’d at least expected Lahabrea to leave the knife inside.
“Bleed you, yes.” Lahabrea twirled the tip of the knife against the index finger of his opposite hand, momentarily in thought, then lowered it back down to Thancred’s stomach. Not directly in the center but off to one side, closer to the bone of his pelvis. The tip poked his skin, but it was a pinprick in comparison to the gaping stab wound. “Have faith. My aim isn’t to kill you, whelp. My aim—” he drew close to Thancred’s ear and finished in low tone, “—is merely to break you.” He hovered in place for a moment, gave Thancred’s cheek a kiss, then added, “Your eyes are most beautiful when they shine with terror.”
“You want me to beg? Fine! I’m begging! Gods— put something on it, at least!”
“Tell me… is it appropriate for a servant to make demands of his master?” The knife dug deeper into his abdomen, gently slicing flesh. Resting their brows together, Lahabrea gave Thancred a soft kiss on the lips, then muttered into his mouth, “Answer me.”
“I— what?” The dagger bit harder, a slow cleave that set his nerves ablaze. Then it dug deep with an unexpected abruptness. Thancred cried out as Lahabrea went for another kiss, white-knuckled bound fists clenched almost hard enough to draw blood from his own nails. “No! No, it isn’t! Seven Hells! Shit— shit!” Sputtered curses, eyes squeezed shut. The man truly was insane; what part of him had been possessed to think there would ever be a rational encounter between them?
“Address me appropriately, and I will make this all go away.” Back to Thancred’s neck, Lahabrea’s voice bore no cares in the world. Hand still on the hilt of the dagger, he kissed the Archon mark once, twice, then paused to wait for Thancred’s response.
It took him a moment, dazed as he was, to think of what Lahabrea was asking of him. Gut would have twisted with embarrassment were it not already knotted with pain. “Master,” Thancred gasped out with a grimace.
“Mm?”
“—please.” Polite enough to appease the Ascian’s bloated ego, at least. Healing magicks emanated from dagger-wielding hand, unseen aside from the soft glow and sudden pang of relief even as he felt the dagger slide back out, then be cast aside to the floor with a clatter. Then the spell moved upward, bloodied abdominal flesh newly reknit, and he waited for the relief to spread to his shoulder.
Lahabrea had other intentions, however, and though he worked his craft until the wound was a still-bleeding gash, he stopped and pinched Thancred’s chin to tilt his gaze upward, to meet his own. “I leave you a reminder of the cost of disobedience. Though make no mistake… your punishment has just yet begun.”
Thancred steeled himself for the pain, and yet as he offered the warning, Lahabrea slid from his lap to seat himself on the bed opposite the chair. He raised a hand which pulsed with a jolt of dark magicks, and the outline of a circle, seething black with a peculiar scentless smoke, opened up around the chair. Thancred’s first instinct was to jolt to his feet, to distance himself from the smoke, and yet the instant he rose, tendrils burst forth from the outline, snaring his forearms, his waist, shoulders, and forced him back down onto the chair. Wet tentacles that latched onto him first and foremost, then began to explore, running across his exposed body, coiling gently around his abdomen and snaking downward.
If he had felt restrained by the ropes and harness, then it would be impossible to describe the utter helplessness of an unknown creature from the abyss that held him down and denied him any movement beyond a desperate squirm. Beneath the coiling limbs he thrashed, eyes wide, thrown utterly off his guard. “Lahabrea— you—?” Even Thancred himself wasn’t certain what he was trying to say; why are you doing this, perhaps? Have you truly summoned a beast for the sole sake of molesting me?
Questions that needed no answer when he looked to the Ascian, jaw agape in horror, only to realize that Lahabrea was touching himself, watching him with half-lidded eyes and that damnable smile.
Down the tentacles went, stroking the outline of his pelvis on their way to his cock; two massaged his length at once, a thousand suckling kisses from the suckers on their undersides. Thancred’s back arched. The stimulation wrenched a groan from his lips, long and aroused. The slimy appendages worked upward; one gently wrapped around his neck while another stroked the side of his cheek. It found his ear and attempted to probe the inside, and though Thancred pulled away with the jerk of his head, it seemed all the more encouraged and intent on feeling around the orifice.
Pelvis, groin, neck, thighs. More and more seemed to slither forth from the circular pit to suck on his flesh and feel him up. The thought of being ravaged by a monster made him sick— and yet the tentacles rubbed him thoroughly, spreading the warmth of his erect cock to his thighs, then upward into his ribs like a tingling shot of erotica. He lifted himself off the chair as best he could, offering himself to the creature to finish him. He shivered, a moaning mess. He was going to cum— he was going to cum hard, and yet…
…it stopped. Without warning, the tentacles loosened their grip on his member, throbbing and hard as it was. Precum oozed from the tip and Thancred whined. Just as his back settled against the chair, however, the tentacles resumed work on his cock, suckling and stroking, this time slower. Painfully slow, winning another agonized whimper for their efforts. One traced around his tip in tandem with the other that rolled lazily up and down his shaft. Edging him further and further to the brink, the heated release that he craved so badly. Every time he reached for himself, his cock the only thing within reach of his hands, the tentacles at his waist snapped for his fingers to force them into closed fists.
Lahabrea moaned, and in a slight haze, Thancred looked to the Ascian working himself so intently that he seemed ready to orgasm in an instant. Yet Lahabrea didn’t break eye contact, smile growing to bare canines at Thancred as he arched, intent on being as loud as he could to truly rub salt in the wound. Thancred’s chest trembled with anticipatory breath, eager, the tentacles slowly building him up once more. Warmth, overwhelming and all-consuming. The Scion pressed his head into his own shoulder and gasped. Eyes rolled upward and he broke into a moan that tapered off into whining when the tentacles stopped. One pinched his tip while the other fell lax entirely.
Lahabrea came onto the floor with cruel laughter, and for a brief instant, Thancred longed to drive the discarded dagger right into the Ascian’s ribcage. Panting, he watched Lahabrea rise after a moment to catch his breath. A predator looking for the best place to strike his prey, Lahabrea circled around to Thancred’s backside and placed a hand on his shoulder between the writhing tendrils to whisper: “You dare attempt to come without my permission, whore?”
He tried to think of what Lahabrea wanted him to say, and yet, mind came up empty. There was a sinking suspicion that no matter how he played these games, even if he tried to appease Lahabrea, there would always be something amiss. Enough to 'justify' his humiliation, at the very least. Head yanked backward by the hair, he peered up at Lahabrea, weary and wordless. Lips hungered for breath, chest heaving beneath the rope. The tentacles wriggled to life for a third time. Thancred squeezed his eyes shut and felt Lahabrea bend down to give him a kiss.
Wet rubbing, intertwined with pain when the tentacles at his shoulder found the remnants of his half-healed wound and began to probe it despite Thancred’s mild attempts at flinching away. The Ascian caressed the side of his face, still standing at his back. Face hot and flushed, Thancred pressed his cheek into Lahabrea’s hand. A mistake. Thumb took the opportunity to slide into his open mouth, followed by index. Too flustered to bite, he felt himself drool between Lahabrea’s fingers. A mental slap just as painful as the orgasm denial or irritation of his stab wound. No mobility, no freedom, and now no dignity, saliva rolling down his chin. Breathless gasps. Hips rocked and back arched again. The explosive heat of release swirled at the base of his shaft, worked its way to the tip beneath the suckling tentacles.
Something wet penetrated his ass, gentle and patient. It wriggled like a finger rather than a cock inside of him. Worked from both ends, mouth still forced open, he gave muffled groans. All the while Lahabrea stroked his hair, cooing down at him with a sickeningly soft voice: “Like a beast in heat. Your lack of self-restraint is pathetic.”
Body trembled, and the warmth in his thighs radiated momentarily through his chest and limbs. He was at the apex, tentacles rubbing him up and down, fondling his balls and fingering his ass. Thancred arched and let out a shivering cry, overcome with euphoria. His orgasm emerged in a gush of warm cum, the moment of satisfaction so blissful that he hung in an arch several moments afterward, savoring the sensation, wishing he could cling onto it for just an instant longer before it simmered and faded.
And yet the tentacles continued to play in his ass and rub against his cock, soft as it was. Lahabrea pulled his hand out of Thancred’s mouth and wiped the drool against his neck. “If only your fellow Scions knew how weak you truly are. That you come grovelling to me to tame your urges… that you can hardly withstand my methods when I choose to indulge you. How fortunate that I’ve a fondness for your body.” He lowered his voice, grin conveyed through his very words: “Had I chosen to torture you for your insolence, there would be nothing left of you but a husk begging for his gods to save him.”
“And this already—” Thancred whispered, “—isn’t your idea of torture?”
“This? This is mere punishment. A servant who refuses to know his place must be corrected. Else,” Lahabrea planted a kiss atop his head, “they are of no use to their master.”
Cock began to stir once more from the stimulation. Lahabrea circled back to his front, back to the bed, and sat down not to masturbate, but to observe with one leg folded over the other, chin propped up against a lazy knuckle. Thancred didn’t even want to look him in the eyes anymore. Instead, gaze lowered to his lap. To hands held firmly away from his groin, tentacles that softly squeezed his member, kneading it back to life.
“Might I ask something?” Thancred murmured. Instantly a pang of frustration rattled his ribcage, asking permission for something as simple as speech. Gods, he hated himself. Already caving— as though he hadn’t caved when he allowed Lahabrea to tie the harness around his neck.
“Hm. Address me by my title and I will allow it. Consider it a reward for your obedience, my pet.”
“…might I ask something— master?” Thancred restrained a distasteful curl of the lip.
“Speak.”
He forced himself to wipe his chin on his shoulder and look up. Words failed him for a moment, mind briefly absorbed in the rise of a second erection. With a thick swallow and a fluttering blink, he furrowed his brows and said, “Is there… truly nothing in that heart of yours aside from hatred?”
What was the point, he asked himself. Idle conversation? An appeal for mercy? His thoughts swam in a haze of lust, to the point where he himself wasn’t entirely certain why he felt it so damn important to ask such an asinine question. Asinine, yet for some reason, it stirred something visible on the Ascian’s face. Smug smirk faded to pursed lips that bordered on a thoughtful frown. With slow, stiff movements he reached for his mask and removed it. Gold eyes seemed distant; eyes Thancred hadn’t even seen until now. The tendrils at his cock stirred to a halt, and he would have thought it another attempt at pushing him to the edge were it not for the others growing lax all at once.
It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. If he so chose, he knew he could shrug off the tentacles and stand; such was how relaxed they had abruptly become. What would be the point, though? His hands and arms were still bound. He watched, eyes narrowed, until Lahabrea stirred. A blink, confused flutter of the eyelids, then the predatory glint returned to his gold gaze. Lips pressed together in a scowl. Lahabrea placed the mask aside, stood, and with a cold flick of the wrist, the tentacles twitched to life.
“Nothing I care to spare for your ilk.”
With the Ascian’s cock directly in his line of sight, Thancred realized that he too had another erection. If only there was something, his utter humiliation aside, that would turn Lahabrea on. But his performance lit a fire in Lahabrea’s eyes. The monstrous entity played with him as it pleased— as Lahabrea pleased— and he could do naught but endure it. This time the beast seemed intent on spreading his legs open a little further, to rain a shower of kisses on the insides of his thighs. Thancred choked back a gasp, member burning with anticipation and the slight ache of overstimulation beneath the writhing tentacles.
Lahabrea summoned the blade on the floor back to his hand with a cursory wave. Every instinct demanded he defend his wounded shoulder, but all the ways to possibly enact his instincts were tied down, bound by rope and monster. The tip of the blade met his chin and jerked it upward. “Moan my name, whore.”
Moaning wasn’t a difficult request to fulfill. Thancred had already leaned his back against the chair best he could to thrust his pelvis a little closer to the tentacles, lifted his ass ever so slightly to invite the tendrils inside again. “Ah…!” He closed his eyes, as not to see Lahabrea’s reaction, then with a threadbare whine, cried out the Ascian’s name. “Lahabrea…!”
The dagger dug sharp into the bottom of his chin. “Incorrect.”
The bridge of Thancred’s nose creased. He bared his teeth, hesitant, but as much as he loathed using the word, as mortifying as it felt, there was no other option. “Master,” he gasped, and the tentacles rubbed his cock quicker. A reward. Orgasm dawned in his groin, slowly rising, and he moaned again, “Gods. Master—!" Rubbing grew frenzied. Thancred squirmed in delight. Too much enthusiasm; the tentacles then dragged to a near halt. Face burned with frustration. “Let me cum,” he whimpered, “I’ll call you whatever you wish… master. But please, let me cum.”
“Terribly needy,” Lahabrea offered a gentle kiss on the brow. “This is not a negotiation, my pet. I alone decide when you may have release. I alone dictate your fate. And I believe such poor behaviour is hardly worthy of my mercy.”
The tentacles loosened and began to slide away, retreating back to the gate from whence they came. A sinking sense of despair clenched at his ribcage. How ironic that such a disgusting creature would leave him lusting when it was finally taken away. Back down into the abyss they went. The outline of the circle faded, leaving behind a solid, unsullied floor and a cock that ached with unfulfilled desire. At the very least, his hands were no longer being held down— and shamelessly, he reached for himself to take his member in hand.
Lahabrea climbed into his lap, wrapped one loving arm around his shoulder, and snatched Thancred’s bound wrists with the other. “You would touch yourself so brazenly in my presence? How did you ever have the discipline to receive your precious brand?” He kissed the Archon’s mark. “Foolish that your peers believe you worthy of your title. So weak that he became my vessel. That he could not stave off a single foe that sought to ravage him.” Lahabrea leaned in to steal a hungered kiss on the lips. “That he could not restrain himself from his own cock while in the presence of his master. You are more animal than man.” He released his grip on Thancred’s hands, only to offer a whispered warning: “Lest you wish to be tied up further, you will not touch yourself again.”
Something bold came over him. He was already being stabbed, insulted, and denied. And now Lahabrea had the gall to refuse him the right to jerk himself off? The peculiar haze of submission that had claimed him dissipated. What else was there for Lahabrea to do? Surely he could bow to his animal instincts one more time, if only to tell Lahabrea to go fuck himself. Grey eyes glowered, cold and hard.
Then Thancred sucked back some saliva, spat in Lahabrea’s face, and took himself in hand once again. There wouldn’t be enough time to bring himself to completion. Just enough time for him to stroke a few times before Lahabrea processed what had just transpired between them, sharply wiped the spittle from his brow, and promptly grabbed him by the hair to throw him violently onto the floor.
Thancred began to roll onto his back— yet dazed still from the beast and stab wound, he was too slow. Lahabrea straddled his backside, reached beneath him, and sawed through the ropes at his wrists with the dagger with little care for accidental slices to his chest. “Ha…!” Mentally, Thancred willed himself to shut up. Lips wagged regardless. “If I must— be an animal— I would say I make for a good dhalmel, wouldn’t you?” Seething, silent, Lahabrea forced his arms behind his back. This time, he wasn’t aiming to solely bind the wrists. Rather he laced Thancred’s forearms together in a box tie, knot after knot. “You’re being quite thorough this time, aren’t you?” Gods, it was a second wind, renewed attitude all from a simple act of disobedience. “I haven’t been able to give it the slip so far… have I frightened you, Lahab—” Elbow braced in place, Lahabrea jerked Thancred’s wrist back with such intensity and suddenness the bone snapped behind him. Voice tapered into a mangled scream.
Too far. He’d gone too far! Thancred ground his brow against the floor and writhed. “Shall I break the other, my pet? Answer me.”
“No— don’t. Don’t!”
“How the songbird hurries to change his tune.” Lahabrea resumed the binding, and there was no doubt to Thancred that he was tugging at the broken limb far more than necessary solely to hear him bite back further screams, until his arms were immobilized. One hand hung limp, the other clenched into a white-knuckled fist. The Ascian stood. “Get up,” Lahabrea ordered, and though Thancred tried, truly, he did, it wasn’t fast enough. The Ascian kicked him deftly in the gut. “Get up!”
If the Twelve had any sense of justice, Thancred hoped they would break Lahabrea’s toes on his stomach. Another kick left him winded, floundering to get to his knees, then his feet. Lahabrea shoved him back down onto the chair, and with the sharp clap of flesh against flesh, backhanded Thancred across the cheek.
A clap that rekindled the flame of anger in Thancred’s gut as quickly as it had been extinguished. Eyes narrowed, but he willed himself to settle his expression before looking back. Fortunate he was a damn good actor— though the rattling pain in his forearm was a good motivator too. With shivering breath, he stammered: “I’m sorry.” Lahabrea reeled his palm again for another strike. Thancred flinched far harder than he needed to. “I’m sorry— master!”
Full well did he expect another backhand, but to his surprise, none came. Act the whipped dog, he reminded himself, and let out a gasp of relief. Lahabrea offered no sneer of satisfaction, which unnerved him slightly. Circling beyond Thancred’s line of sight, the Scion waited, patient and trembling. Lull the enemy into a sense of ease. Confidence was a double-edged sword in of itself. He waited, and then came the breath against his ear. That’s it. Come a little closer.
“You make for a better rat,” Lahabrea hissed, lips so close that they brushed against the side of Thancred’s face, “Left to scurry in the shadows to survive. Loved by none. A vile creature that thinks itself equal to a god because it lacks the intelligence to know any—”
The perfect opportunity to strike. Thancred whipped his head around to sink his teeth into Lahabrea’s earlobe. Jaw clamped down against skin and functional wrist met the back of the chair to anchor himself. Lahabrea reared back, shocked; all the easier to rip off a chunk of flesh. The coppery taste of blood met his tongue. He spat out the mouthful he had taken, and though he knew better— gods, he knew so much better— Thancred barked a bold laugh. Lahabrea stumbled back, gold hair a most ideal canvas for the crimson of blood beneath his pained clutch. “What shall you do now? Shatter my teeth? I’ll be flattered if you still find me attractive then, you miserable bastard!”
Exhilaration laced his every breath, and finally it was Thancred’s turn to flash a vindictive smile, a roguish grin that almost faltered when Lahabrea straightened up to release his ear. Almost. The Ascian examined his palm, crimson and slick with blood. Eyes cold, dampened with a frigid craving for retribution. Wordless, he straddled Thancred’s lap once again, cautious enough to keep his face far from the Scion’s bloodied teeth, and began to rub Thancred’s half-erect cock. Neither speaking, neither breaking the other’s gaze.
What are you playing at? Thancred wondered, and though he couldn’t help but let out a shivering exhale through his nostrils, he held his head high. Lahabrea’s stroking was slow, teasing, as to be expected. Crimson ran from ear to chin, chin to chest. A river dragged downward by gravity. A river that went utterly ignored as though the Ascian was not in the slightest bit of pain.
“Did you enjoy the taste? Depraved beast.” Lahabrea said at last, still working Thancred’s cock while he waggled the other finger upward, lifting his half-dismembered ear on a cloud of invisible magicks. Wary, Thancred watched the hunk of flesh— little awareness of the dark tendrils that had once again slithered up from the abyss until one came from behind, wrapping around his throat to pull back and choke him. Lips parted instinctively to gasp for breath. Without warning, Lahabrea forced the ear into his mouth and clamped his hand over it, pushing Thancred’s head back even as the tentacles retreated to permit him air.
All the while, Lahabrea played with his member, rubbing more quickly. Thancred sputtered; all at once, it had become a game of ensuring he didn’t swallow raw human flesh, fighting the repulsion that went hand-in-hand with a mouthful of coppery blood. “Savor your victory, my pet,” Lahabrea continued, calmly, muscles fully tensed in his one-armed grip on Thancred’s face, “Is it sweet upon your tongue?”
Thancred gagged. The rest of his body sung Lahabrea’s praises: pelvis rolled into the Ascian’s touch and a chorus of warm orgasm churned in his groin. All he could fathom was the thought of ingesting the ear by accident— vile, and yet he was cumming, giving muffled groans, body going tense. He wanted to retch. Instead, he came with a squirt into Lahabrea’s hand. A ripple of delight shot up his spine.
Lahabrea released him. Without hesitation he spat out the flesh, gagged again, and spat more onto the floor. Desperate to rid his mouth of the taste. What he would have given for something to rinse with— but there was no point in asking. Not when the man on top of him continued to bleed and continued to watch him with adoration in his cruel gold gaze, as though he had done something endearing and not been almost force-fed an ear.
“Has your appetite for retribution been sated?” Lahabrea cooed as Thancred reeled, bold enough to again put his tender fingers near the Scion’s teeth as he cupped Thancred’s chin and levelled their mutual stares. “How quickly you forget that all you’ve endured is but a taste of my power. Eager to earn my wrath, yet ignorant of the consequences." In the wake of his rebellion, he felt drained. Grey eyes watched. Body went limp against the back of the chair. Satisfied, Lahabrea leaned in to offer a tender kiss on the collarbone. “Struggle harder. It is all the more satisfying to dominate a resistant soul. If you wish to escalate your punishment, I will be happy to oblige.”
“You win,” Thancred said with the wrinkle of his nose, a look diverted to the side. “Is that what you want to hear, Lahabrea? Do as you wish. It isn’t—” he squirmed half-heartedly in his bindings, “—as though I’m going anywhere.” And one thing was certain; he didn’t want to push the Ascian further into his cesspool of depravity if it could be helped.
Lahabrea laughed. Deep, haughty, pleased with himself. He thrust his groin closer and pressed his erection against Thancred’s abdomen. “Your submission may be an inevitability… yet nevertheless, how it arouses me so. Only one thing would stoke those flames further. A necessity, I would think.” He stroked Thancred’s cheek. Upper lip curled back in response. “You’ve proven too erratic to be left to your own devices.”
The hairs on the back of Thancred’s neck stood on end. Lahabrea slid from his lap and disappeared behind him. Barely he restrained himself from trying to steal a backwards glance. Lahabrea slipped something metallic over his shoulders, onto Thancred’s face. The weight settled on the bridge of his nose, and it struck him. A muzzle— it was a muzzle, fastened too quickly for him to act up. Not shaped for an animal, either. There was no snoot; just a curve that seemed all too perfectly suited for his particular jaw.
His last viable weapon stripped away. With that, Lahabrea returned to his lap and tauntingly leaned in to kiss his cheek, bleeding stump of an ear flaunted before his eyes. “What would your dear comrades say, would that they were present to witness your helplessness? How many times has it been, my pet— that you’ve proven incapable of completing your assigned tasks on your own?”
“I don’t care much for hypotheticals.” Thancred murmured flatly.
Flat enough to warrant another handjob, solely to fluster him. Subtle fingers caressed his cock while Lahabrea rolled his hips back and forth on Thancred’s lap, mauled the side of his face with tongue and teeth. Instantly Thancred tensed; sensitive enough from two orgasms that Lahabrea’s hand won a groan of lust and despair.
“Mark my words. The day that I lay claim to the souls of your fellow Scions will be reminiscent of this very moment. They will bleed dry at your feet while you sit bound and gagged. And I will savor your every muffled scream, every tear that drips from your chin.”
“Spare me your sick fantasies.”
“That? That is hardly a fantasy. But if fantasy is what you request, then I shall indulge you with one.” Lahabrea’s hand slipped past his balls toward his perineum and offered it a teasing massage. Thancred stirred uncomfortably. The stimulation ached, and yet he could feel his cock stiffening slowly. Lahabrea continued. “Forced to your knees, lashed for your insolence. Lashed ’til you can no longer stand; ’til you can barely breathe. Arms bound above your head, numb and limp in your shackles. You beg for my mercy, with what little breath you have left.” Thancred listened, scowl breaking only for a stifled moan. Lahabrea probed at a sensitive spot between his balls and anus, relishing in Thancred’s squirms. “I take you from behind. Weak and pathetic as you are, you whine as I enter; you cry my name as I use you. Pleading for release. That I might take pity and allow you to come before I leave you to die. But you shall not die.”
Fingers massaged a painfully sensitive spot. Fully erect once again, Thancred arched his back against the chair. The mental image disgusted him as much as it turned him on. Lahabrea took his cock in hand and rubbed the underside of his tip. “I fill you with my fluids as you writhe. Such filth. Were you not in such unbearable pain, you would revel in being abused solely for my pleasure. You would revel at being mine—” Thancred inhaled sharply, and threw his head back, “—a mortal slave to a god. A possession. An object. After all, there is fulfilment in realizing that it is your only use as a broken reflection of what once was.”
He whined. Lahabrea made a thoughtful sound. “Ah… you enjoy the sound of that, don’t you? Miserable whore. Very well; I will repeat myself for your sake.” His voice dropped to a bare mutter, low in tone, but unmistakably aggressive. “You are mine. You are but a toy to do with as I please.”
Why? Why did it arouse him so? A budding orgasm rippled through his pelvis. An encroaching ocean that felt all the more powerful with how painful Lahabrea’s touch felt against his member, stiff and hard. Thancred pressed his cock into Lahabrea’s hand, his cheek into the caressing touch that cradled his muzzled face. You are more than what he says, Thancred told himself, and yet in the heat of the moment, he could not help but cling to the fantasy.
“Shall I finish you, whore?”
“Yes,” Thancred moaned, “Please.”
“And what will you do if I deny you? Lash out yet again? Bare your fangs at the only one who comprehends the very depths of your blackened heart?” He could feel Lahabrea’s smile as he stopped and pinched Thancred’s tip. The Scion gnashed his teeth. There was nothing left to fuel the flames of his hurt and humiliation. One wrist broken, the other tied tightly behind him and a jaw locked safely behind bars of steel. He was a knife with no blade. Thancred breathed raggedly, bothered huffs, but said nothing. “It would be inappropriate for a pitiable slave to dine before his master. I think I will first indulge myself.”
Lahabrea withdrew to touch himself, and moaned freely at his strokes. It ached to be rubbed, but it ached even more to watch the Ascian work himself to near completion so quickly. Half-stifled whimpers wriggled free from Thancred’s throat. Lahabrea stood. Lifting Thancred’s chin by the bottom of the muzzle, golden eyes observed him up until the very end, when they closed from raw ecstasy and he came with a cry onto Thancred’s face. A spatter of semen that felt hot against his skin.
“Use my name,” he commanded. “Beg.”
“Let me cum, master. Please. I’m begging you. You dictate the reward and the punishment. I… surrender myself unto you.” He despised himself, the words that slipped his lips, and the eager way in which he moaned when Lahabrea reached down to stroke him. “Thank you.”
“Scream my name. Title and all.”
“Ma… ah…!” Fingers met a tender spot. Dextrous fingers massaged him thoroughly. A touch that felt almost magical. For all he knew, it was. Thancred’s jaw hung open. He arched, head thrown back over the edge of the chair. Between panting breaths, he moaned: “Master— master Lahabr… ahh! Ah!” Divine and hellish all at once. Hot warmth that crept up his shaft again. A shaft already raw and sensitive from orgasms with no reprieve. Torturous, and yet every muscle in his body tensed as he reached his peak. “Lahabrea—! Lahabrea…!!”
He orgasmed with an explosive shiver, intense and hot, with a squirt of cum he didn’t know he even had left inside him. Thancred hung in his arch, savoring the instant, then finally collapsed against the chair.
There always came a moment between them, when Lahabrea offered his canines in the form of a thin-lipped smile. When he relaxed slightly, finally at peace with the knowledge that the man before him was utterly shattered— at least, for the time being.
A moment when Thancred knew it was over.
Lahabrea examined himself and the extent of the fluids that covered his body: blood, sweat, and semen. He reached for his mangled ear, a mere afterthought, then donned the mask that had been left abandoned on the bed. It unsettled Thancred, having to stare at the empty voids of the visor after at last tasting the malicious gold gaze that hid behind it. Silent, the Ascian collected his garments, though he draped them over his arm rather than sully them.
“You may keep my gifts,” Lahabrea said from across the room. Thancred looked up, exhausted. “The fetters of an animal suit you as a glove suits a hand.”
A gate opened at Lahabrea’s backside. A maw of seething shadows that Thancred almost feared would house another one of those tentacle creatures— whatever they were. “Wait,” Thancred said, hoarsely. He knew precisely what Lahabrea intended, and how he prayed the Ascian was bluffing. Lahabrea chortled, and turned. “Wait! You’re not going to—”
There was no point in finishing the sentence. Lahabrea disappeared into the abyss, and the gate closed behind him. Thancred exhaled sharply through his nostrils and hung his head back. “Bastard…!”
Broken wrist, thoroughly tied up, and muzzled. Alone with naught but his own wiles yet again. He sat, too tired to plot his escape just yet. No doubt if he truly wanted to, he could find a way to press his linkshell and call for help. That would be the simplest course of action.
But that was completely, absolutely, one hundred percent out of the question.
Thancred dragged his gaze around the room. Weighing his options, and more importantly, debating where he was going to go first once he was free. A bath sounded quite delightful, as did a long nap, though a chirurgeon sounded even better. Heavy eyes settled eventually on his weapon, left in a heap with the rest of his shed clothes. A sharp edge was all he needed to get started.
A start, and nothing more. There was no doubt in Thancred’s mind that it was going to be a long, long night.