[ laurent knows exactly where he is upon waking — the creamy linen bedding against his skin, the familiar scent of lilies perfuming the air, the same open book slipping from his sleep-warmed fingers from weeks, no, months ago since he’d blinked and found himself in the netherworld. all is the same. nothing disturbed, only this time swathed in his sheets is another body, the silken fall of black hair spreading like an inkstain across his bed.
for a long moment, laurent does nothing. says nothing. no one will enter the prince’s chambers unless by order of the prince himself — or the regent — and so he has time to think. he is home. whether that is a regrettable circumstance or not is yet to be seen. but sasuke has somehow been pulled with him, and that poses a problem. the way laurent has been behaving will swiftly have to change course, and sasuke will likely not understand, because he barely understands basic concepts and will certainly not grasp the complicated machinations of veretian court. ]
Wake up, lover. [ laurent, with his cheek propped against one hand, lounges in the bedsheets like a spoiled cat. his foot nudges at the closest part of sasuke’s body, taking no care to be gentle. ] And don’t make a scene, because the guards outside the door will have no problem slitting your throat while I watch. You’re in Vere now, so understand this: you are my property, and you will do as I say. You have no other options. No, actually, you do. You can be flogged to death for sneaking into the Prince’s bedchambers and trying to fuck him. Now get out of my bed.
[ laurent, finally, sits up, moving to slip from beneath the covers with a quiet rustle. he crosses the room in a lazy prowl, pulling open his wardrobe and spending a moment picking through it — then, turns, a gauzy silk tunic extended in one hand, the fabric as silken and sheer as a waterfall. ]
[He stirs to that familiarly sibilant voice, to the hard nudge on his side. Upright, adrenaline tethers him instantly awake and aware — a current that rapidly sweeps fear through him upon realization. Something is wrong. Sasuke flattens his back to the headboard, sheets kicked by his bare feet, expression unveiled enough to suggest his horror down to its roots. He holds himself with tension. He looks as if he might lunge off the bed at any moment and do something very violent, if not for the circumstances of where he is and who he is with, everything unraveling into a whole separate unknown.
The wide eyes that turn on Laurent are a dark, nearly opaque black, utterly colorless and devoid of pattern. It makes him appear younger, somehow, or that is the owlish disorientation and confusion that wells within them, shock shaken loose then promptly shuttered behind restraint. He listens to Laurent's words. Or tries to, as they make no sense. Vere. Property. Prince's bedchambers.]
What... [It barely materializes in his mouth before he swallows the rest.] This is your world.
[Only the two of them. He wonders, helplessly, what that could mean. Perhaps their proximity to each other had become entangled, and whatever force is capable of interdimensional movement could go in only one direction, or — and worse, where his mind lingers horribly as he stares at Laurent — there is nowhere else for Sasuke to return.
What has Laurent told him about Vere? He scrambles for memory, but there is too little; he should have asked more. He is still frigid at the top of the bed when the clothing is proffered. Finally, he shifts an inch, then jerks in shock when he realizes he has placed his weight on his left hand.
His left, intact arm.
Sasuke closes his eyes, and he doesn't move when he speaks.] Tell me what you mean by 'property.'
[ the reaction, all things considered, is better than expected. there are no theatrics. no hand clawing at his throat. laurent watches him with a blank expression, the flimsy tunic still dangling from his fingers. ]
You know what I mean. [ but if he must explain — ] Like this chair, here. It's mine. If I decided I wanted one more ornately carved, or higher backed, or gilded in silver instead of gold, I could have this tossed out, destroyed, made into kindling or what have you. And I would get another. That's what I mean by property.
[ surely that's simple enough to understand. his eyes have settled on sasuke's newly present limb, a flicker in his gaze as he wonders just what else has changed that he cannot yet see. ]
It's not a bad life to be a pet in Vere. [ the lie slides easily from his tongue. ] Unless you choose to make it so with your own defiance. Understand that I've given you liberties. You're nothing here. You're an instrument to administer pleasure and entertainment, and if you don't deliver, if you don't play this game, I can't protect you. If you take the path of violence against me, or anyone else here, you'll die, and I will watch. I might even wield the blade.
[ he delivers the speech without inflection. finally, he drops the fabric, letting it flutter to the marbled floor. ]
The explanation from Laurent's lips is cold, unfeeling, precise. He describes ownership of a chair as if it is some reasonable equivalent to a person. Here, it must be. His freedom and will are being demanded. Refusal rises in his throat, a bitter burn, as dark eyes drift to the garment pooled on the floor in a sheer, silky puddle.
He is without power in this strange new place, and Laurent is all that is seemingly between him and worse fates than slavery.]
Is that something you want to do? [The question lifts from his mouth, glass-edged, as he moves off the bed like a reluctant animal toward a leash. He does not look at Laurent as he asks this.] Protect me?
[He cannot make a promise this is a game he can play, in pleasure or entertainment, as a 'pet' in a political landscape he knows nothing about, but he does understand what necessitates survival. Even if it puts trust in the tender hands of a man who might kill him anyway.
Sasuke turns his back to strip from the plain clothes he is wearing, immodest. It isn't the first time Laurent has seen his body — though not since the fountain on that marble balcony, since his own attraction had nearly strangled him senseless. His body is unchanged but for the addition of the restored limb, carved with muscle and the silent story of scars. The tunic goes on over his head, hanging softly around his upper thighs, leaving little to imagination. He shows no outward embarrassment, but — he is standing stiffly, awkwardly.]
It would help to know what to expect. You haven't been forthcoming about Vere.
[ is it something he wants to do? he could let sasuke go now. tell him the best route out of arles and let him take his chances. he wouldn't make it. or perhaps he would, if he made minuscule alterations to his guard's movements and took into account where sasuke would be accosted by his uncle's men instead. it could work, and then sasuke would be free, and then — what? he is a man with loyalty to no nation. a foreigner. he has no place anywhere. none but by laurent's feet. ]
It would be easier if I didn't. [ protect you. ] I've never taken a pet before. I'm not known for my kindness or my amorous nature. And any small thing that I like —
[ his throat tightens, and he stops, looking at sasuke's newly bared stature. yes, he will do. laurent has never shown interest in the too-young, waifish pets roaming the palace, and here is something different. of course laurent would want something powerful. a challenge meant to be broken. ]
There was a horse that my brother gifted me. A fine mare that my uncle knew that I loved. He poisoned her, and made it look like I rode her to death during a hunt. She was suffering and I had no choice but to kill her. [ something pinches in laurent's expression before it smooths away, leaving him blank once again. ] That is what you can expect. Any small thing that I like will be used as a weapon against me. So there is nothing that I like. Including the sight of you. Kneel.
[ he delivers the command without changing his tone, and when sasuke does not immediately sink to his knees, laurent gives another command, which causes the doors to burst open. within the span of a breath, two guards send sasuke careening to the floor, a booted foot grinding into his back and a sword crossing his neck. an exchange of confused words flurry over his head.
then someone wrenches sasuke's head up by using a handful of his hair, and a cold circle of metal fastens around his neck, locking securely. a chain unwinds, glittering in the soft light of laurent's room, several shades darker than his golden hair. ]
Tie it to something. [ laurent gestures vaguely, unbothered. ] And bring something for the floor. He's good enough there, when we're finished.
[Kneel. And he doesn't, not quickly enough, absorbed in the cruelty of Laurent's tale — and because he has never had this demanded of him.
Two men are set upon him in an instant. He resists with the trained instinct of one who has known battlefields all his life, but without the agency of chakra the fight is useless, and he can do nothing more than thrash and twist once overwhelmed. This powerlessness is like the slash to the throat that sword threatens to deliver; it shows on his face, briefly, a broken composure of fear like a child's, naked and bare as bone. His cheek bruises badly where it hits the floor. His scalp burns when yanked. Less an untrained pet than a wild, spitting animal; the guards see it. Then he is collared and tethered to a ring that is installed on the ground. All of this done professionally, a culture fortified by familiar element.
Sasuke does not move from his forced subservient position as a pallet and silk pillows are brought and deposited a distance from the prince's bed. He is watching Laurent with dark eyes — not hateful, but evaluative. He is reconciling this version of the young man with the one he came to know, in those other places: a soft, vicious mouth and cool blue eyes; a tenderness concealed underneath terror and meanness; a past of pain enough to make Sasuke feel close, somehow, to his own childhood.]
If I see that man, [comes finally across the room, where he has seated himself on the pallet in a tightly folded posture, shoulders rounded,] I might kill him.
[Whether he is aware he's said something treasonous, whether he cares, it doesn't show in the pinched brow or unhappy curve of his mouth. Laurent should know who he means. And it is less a threat than a warning — because he doesn't care what it will take, but he also understands this is driven from a place of savagery. And in his circumstances, perhaps unwise.]
[ laurent watches it unfold as if he doesn't know sasuke at all, as if he has never felt the tenderness of his kiss, the heat of his mouth, the glide of his fingers across warmed skin. his expression is neutral, almost bored, at the display of cruelty before him. no part of his face changes even at the pang in his chest when he sees the fleeting look of fear pass through sasuke's eyes, something he has never borne witness to before.
some naive part of him thought sasuke might have been incapable of fear, after everything. he sets the thought aside, his eyes settling heavily on him when sasuke makes the mistake of speaking. laurent hears it. the guards hear it. he wants to curse him for being so short-tempered. so short-sighted.
laurent crosses the room, unhurried, lowering himself to an elegant crouch before sasuke's pallet. cool fingers grip sasuke's chin, his thumb whispering across the line of his lower lip. ]
You will see the Regent. You will bow for him. My dear uncle will be so pleased to meet the cock that's fucking me. [ laurent nods to the guards. ] His hands, too.
[ shackles of gold are summarily fastened around sasuke's wrists, his hands chained behind his back. laurent's grip tightens, his nails digging into the bruised skin of his cheek. ]
You will perform for him in whatever way I see fit. Do you have objections? Here, let me address them for you. [ in the same moment he releases sasuke's chin, he backhands him hard enough to bloody his mouth. laurent feels the sudden chill of snow, the memory of broken bones, but feels no satisfaction in this. he stands, stone-faced, lifting a dismissive hand to his guards. ] I think we're finished now.
[He has heard countless vulgar words from Laurent's lips spoken before, but there is something insidious about this time, beside the gentle caress to his mouth. It is an impersonal demonstration of power. He's meant to be subjugated publicly here. They've never gone so far as suggested, but it isn't the lie that unsettles Sasuke as he reflexively guards himself against the implicit violence he suspects is coming.
The cuffs are hard, cold and heavy. He isn't used to having his left arm, and he finds himself flinching as both wrists are further bound, jerked at an uncomfortable angle behind his back. And then he is struck across the face with enough force to whip his head sideways.
Hanging tethered by the chain on his throat, blood drips in bright, gory red. The tiles shine with it. Sasuke looks down at this, bleary, running his tongue along the split skin on the inside of his cheek. He swallows, lifts his chin with the stoic defiance of someone who has been hit as many times in his life as Laurent has lied.
Sasuke is watching the two men, eyes black and narrow, until they are dismissed.]
Are you done, now that our audience is gone? [He rises to his feet, perfectly balanced despite immobile arms, so their faces are level — the strain of the position cuts the collar into his throat; he won't be able to follow if Laurent draws away.] You have me as helpless as a dog on a leash. I'm yours to abuse. So tell me why you're so afraid of him.
[His voice is a low, harsh whisper. Their proximity feels like it burns his skin, but that is not a new sensation; he looks a little too long at Laurent's pale, bowed mouth.]
If you want me to play this game with you, I need more. Because I don't care if I die here to do it. [To kill him.] I have nothing to lose.
I don't have to be. [ done. he casts a sour look in sasuke's direction, already half turned away as if sasuke isn't worth his attention now that they're alone. the gauzy cut of his tunic is distracting, and the gold is gaudy against his skin, the opposite of pleasing, which is the intended result. ] Have we stopped too early? I don't mind hitting you again. I owe you from before.
[ the question goes ignored, as have so many involving his uncle. sasuke is owed precisely nothing from him except an answer to the violence he faced in the snow (which laurent has so kindly refrained from returning), and he will soon enough see the dynamics at play. ]
I don't want anything from you. [ laurent walks away, out of reach, and sits on the bed, leaning back on his hands as his eyes flutter closed, stretching his neck in a slow circle. ] If you want to die in vain, go ahead. Do you think I haven't noticed that you're weak now? I don't think I'm even attracted to you anymore.
[ he turns his head, a little gold spill of hair tumbling down one shoulder. ] Go on, try to break free. I think I'd like to see you choke on that collar. It might get me in an amorous mood. Show me the real you, the one you showed me before when you broke my bones and tried to kill me.
[So this is how it is going to be. Cruel word after cruel word, spilling like cold glass from lips he's had against his own, not very long ago.
It shouldn't hurt him. He has faced a world of people's dislike, even hatred, toward him. One more is nothing. Yet the onslaught earns the intended effect — a flicker on Sasuke's face, there and gone. Like the child's fear he showed before, there is hurt, wounds made. He doesn't have his brother's composure. Unhappiness is at home on him, mouth downturned and brows furrowed, eyes avoidant. Whatever tenuous foundation had been built between them is dust; it was someone else's life.
He knows better than to fight in this state. That would only feed whatever dark thing has repossessed Laurent and further confirm his own powerlessness. He doesn't say a word, only returns to the pallet, and it is easier than he thought it would be — shutting down. A slip backward into familiar grooves.
The bedding is soft when he lies down on it, back to the bed, chains jingling with each movement. The confinement is also familiar. Sasuke doesn't know when he sleeps, because he doesn't feel tired, but it happens, and eventually the light is bright in the windows and Laurent is gone. He didn't hear him leave.
A man named Radel arrives to tend to him, assuming responsibility for the new slave's station, although Sasuke doesn't miss the puzzled look on his face. It isn't for him to explain. He endures being bathed and dressed with similar detachment; the gold chains are replaced with silver, he notices, by Radel's insisting. The color suits him better. His clothing remains sheer and pale and humiliating. All of this, and he is simply returned to Laurent's room and tethered to the ground to wait to be summoned. If it should happen at all.]
[ for a long stretch of days, he ignores sasuke's existence entirely.
he's taken care of; laurent sees to it with an easy, disinterested command. sasuke is fed and watered and even given time in the baths, always under heavy guard, his chains tight, his range of motion severely limited. he is kept dressed in sheer finery, the pulse points of his skin doused in fragrant oils. his hair is kept clean and silken. none seem to understand why laurent has taken a slave, and in laurent's absence, the prince's guard speaks freely of all manner of filth regarding what the prince might be up to with his new prize. laurent, at least, leaves his collection of books within reach.
when laurent does return to his chambers, it's always deep into the night, sometimes a mere hour before the sky threatens to lighten. he sleeps little and says even less to sasuke, sometimes a brief mutter to extinguish the lamps after laurent has already slumped into the softness of his sheets. of course, they are never extinguished, because laurent never releases the shackle chaining sasuke to the floor — until the night that he does, entering silently and leaning down to unfasten the link tethering the chain to the silver collar. the collar stays. the chain falls like a serpent to the floors.
laurent straightens — and sways, catching himself against a table and knocking over a tray of gilded cups and very nearly a bottle of wine he will never drink. his breath comes hard but evenly paced, as if by great effort of control. if his uncle has poisoned him, it's unlikely he'll be dead. it's far too obvious a play. no, he'll simply be in for a night of rage and suffering, and if he's lucky someone will storm through his doors to drive a knife through his heart.
he tries to be upright again, slowly. cautiously. his face feels aflame, the cadence of his heart akin to a hundred thundering hooves. he tries to focus on sasuke, but his eyes hurt. ]
You've had enough time to slowly imagine all the ways you'd like to kill me. See, I can be generous. [ laurent holds out a hand, wrist up. ] Now get up and attend me. In two hours we'll attend a banquet and I'll show you off.
[It is better to be left alone, Sasuke reasons, given the state he is in. Dressed in silks like a woman, perfumed delicately, made submissive by chains — it's a fate anyone of his world would consider severely emasculating. He shows no care either way when he is bathed and dressed in solitude. Whatever embarrassment he may feel is securely fastened, not useful. Cool discipline allows him to weather this new reality and reveal nothing of his thoughts. Not that there is a soul around him, day after day, who would care to ask.
The books are a refuge, then, though he does not look further into the motive behind Laurent's choice, whether it is intentional or negligent. He reads at every spare moment. He learns more of Vere, its geography and history both alien to him, but worthwhile knowledge to have; he studies the nature of this unfamiliar world as a student cast unfairly into the thick of it. He has no choice. Part of him, too, wants to know more for the sake of a deep curiosity — one centered on a man who has decided to ignore his existence. Each late night, half against his will, Sasuke starts at the quiet sound of the door; his head turns to watch the slender figure cross the room to the bed, silhouetted by warm lamps, golden hair and pale skin, untouchable. He never successfully falls back asleep. Those quiet, crawling hours near dawn see his heart too quick in his chest for rest.
Until one night. The chain clatters as it loosens, unspools, and he is free, but he doesn't dare move. Dark eyes watch Laurent's graceless, stumbling display. Something is wrong. He knows it even before gilded cups roll across the rug at their feet.]
'Attend you'. [The words are an echo, brow furrowed in the uncertainty of that request. He's still assessing Laurent, whose speech is too articulate to suggest inebriation. It's enough to look past the rest of it; it's not killing he has imagined, at least not of Laurent, but the mention of a banquet stops any disagreement.] You'll need to tell me what happened to you first. You're not in a state to go anywhere.
[And how familiar this action is, rising up, reaching for the complicated fastenings of Laurent's sleeve — how they had met like this once, in a street somewhere else, and Laurent was wounded in a different, visible way. It is much easier to use two hands to untangle the strings and peel back fabric, eyes on that flushed face. There is no hatred or disdain in the intensity of his stare.]
[ this dance is the worst of them all. it's why he's avoided this room. avoided sasuke. the man before him is unlike anyone else in vere, and that's half of what's so unnerving about this moment. laurent knows that what he sees in sasuke's expression is real, unlike the deceptive masks worn by all else. sasuke is unschooled in artifice, in cunning, despite all his training. if he was, he would look at laurent now with coldness in his gaze. he would play the game and let hatred fill his eyes. his words would be blades instead of practical concern. laurent could take those things easily, abide them as coolly as his uncle's grievous stare. but this —
this is so much worse. it takes leagues of effort to remain perfectly still beneath sasuke's ministrations. eventually he turns his head a fraction of an inch so he doesn't have to meet that smoldering gaze. ]
You still haven't learned your place. [ he should have kept the chain trailing from the ridiculous collar. he lifts his hand and strokes his fingers down the column of sasuke's throat, then curls his fingers, digging into the too-small space between collar and flesh. he holds it taut for a long moment, letting the metal press against sasuke's windpipe, bruising. ] Tell me again what I need to do.
[ he releases him with a shove, but loses his own balance in the process, making an attempt to snatch for the foot of his bed frame but missing, the entire room spinning. he lands on hands and knees upon something soft, his fingers curling into fabrics still curiously warm, and he crouches, very still, hoping to regain his equilibrium while nausea threatens to overtake him.
his eyes slit open, and he stares downward, hateful, at sasuke's slave pallet. it still smells of him, though the scent is fading in lieu of fragrant bath oils. he should rise immediately, still half clothed, but his body feels weighed down by bricks, so he allows himself the briefest of moments to sink, gently, to the furs and silken pillows. ]
It's in one hour. [ mumbled, his eyes closed. ] I planned on making my uncle wait.
[He doesn't move beneath the hand on his throat. It stays, fingers seizing metal, threatening to cut the air of his next breath. It isn't the first threat Laurent has turned his way — he is full of them, made of thorns and barbs and hooks, however this one may be more real. More capable of hurt than before, when Sasuke had the ability to protect himself. Here he's been unmade; here he has never been so vulnerable.
Then the push. Sasuke staggers, barely, not enough to lose his feet. He does not have chakra but he has physical power in a body sculpted for combat, muscles tense — it is Laurent who goes to the soft floor, balance upset like a stumbling foal, lost grace, a mess of silk hair and loose strings. He spots pale skin beneath fabric where the sleeves of his shirt have parted, dangerous slits of indecency.]
... I won't tell you what to do. [This murmur, a susurrus, comes from Sasuke as he kneels in a definitive movement on the other side of the pallet. It is a slower, careful descent.] But I'll never see you as a master. That's not possible.
[Not when he's come to know Laurent as he has, stripped bare.
You don't have to do this alone. It can't be said. It won't be heard. He lies on the other side of the pallet, and they aren't close enough to touch, but in the span of an arm, they could be. He remains resolutely still and only looks at him with dark eyes.]
He must wonder if you're suffering right now. It's the control he wants to have over you. If your condition worsens, then it's better for him. I don't know what's wrong with you. I'll help, if you ask. Make it a command. I don't care.
[ a laugh nearly bubbles from his aching throat, an animal sound making an attempt to claw free. he has nothing to call his own here. he cannot even wrangle sasuke into submission. instead sasuke shows him mercy, and laurent only knows to react with the spark of anger that falls, landing into the deep well of his own humiliation. ]
It would be good if you didn't speak — [ he shifts, fingertips plucking at the soft threads of the sheets. ] About things you don't know anything about.
[ his uncle. him. laurent tips his bleary gaze toward sasuke and tries to hate him for being here. in his haze, he imagines sliding over this soft cloud and closing the space between them, to allow his hands to dance across firm muscle and smooth skin, to grip silken hair and draw the mouth that he knows to be both willing and hesitant toward him. it's a foolish, frightful dream. he doesn't know where it leads or what comes after.
instead he forces himself up, and he does close the distance, but it's to forcefully dig his hands into the flimsy fabric that sasuke wears now. he can feel the heat of his body through it as he presses his palms down against his chest, sliding his knee over his hip as if he means to straddle him. laurent's hair trails over his shoulders as he stares down at sasuke, his eyes pale and glassy. ]
The way you tried to kill me — [ one hand drags down his chest, nails sharp. ] You'll have to do it again. Not against me, someone would take your head off if you attacked the prince, but my uncle will want to see my pet get fucked in the ring and imagine it was me instead.
[ he drags a hand through sasuke's dark hair, pulling hard enough to tilt his chin upwards. laurent's mouth drops unsteady, grazing the corner of sasuke's lips. ] How weak have you gotten?
[I know enough, is a roar in his mind the moment Laurent insinuates himself closer, commanding the space between them with power if not grace, in this state. He's known a life of manipulation. He's known a life of the threat of death, and scheming, and hatred, and every dark thing in between — but not the complex politics that web Laurent together with his uncle. That much is true. I can learn, if only he would be allowed.
It's all out of his head with their changed proximity. This, Laurent has to know; he's doing it purposefully. Climbing on top of him like he's taking a throne. Blue eyes are cold, unfocused, as a wave of ticklish golden hair sweeps Sasuke's skin, the span of those two hands on his chest all that keeps them separated. He can feel the bite of Laurent's nails through flimsy fabric. Then a hand in his hair, yanking, the taunt of a mouth too close.
Sasuke seizes up with tension, more to do with the effect this has on him than those unpromising words. He's been doomed for a while. Laurent knows, and is using that to an advantage, certainly. Desire courses through him — as unsteady a beat as his heart, lodged somewhere in his throat.]
Does my weakness matter to you? I thought it made you hate to look at me. [He brings his arms around Laurent's slender figure, caging him in around the knees, around the hips, making a loop of strong muscle that traps him where he sits on top. And this feels good, to have his body able to embrace fully, even if it isn't for battle or intimacy now. Instead it feels like he's taking a cat by the scruff of the neck.] Have you agreed to this?
[And in a calculated roll, he attempts to subvert their positions, prepared to wrestle Laurent down if necessary. He doesn't think it will be. Laurent is too uncoordinated, too distracted.]
You're going to put me in that ring and ask me to kill someone else? Why are you playing along with his game? [They're faces still loom a scant distance, but it isn't one he narrows further. Black eyes are fierce.] Laurent. Were you poisoned? What's wrong with you right now?
I do hate to look at you. [ the lie slips so easily from his tongue, one of hundreds he's told since his reintroduction to life in arles. he doesn't remember the last time he's said a single word containing a shred of truth since — before. before, during all of his strange time in strange worlds with sasuke appearing inconveniently at his side. have you agreed to this makes a laugh bubble up inside of him, but it doesn't make it past his throat, dead like every other thing he feels beneath the confines of this glittering roof.
he lands like a flowered wreath back onto the pallet, golden hair going everywhere. his mouth curves, humorless. ]
Are you concerned that you'll have trouble killing someone? I've seen you try before. Don't worry, you're good at it. [ his wrist twitches against the soft pillows, itching to strike flesh. no one has put him on his back so many times since — he squeezes his eyes shut, banishing all thoughts of his uncle, his spine going rigid. ] What else are you good for, Sasuke? You were made for this. You'll go into that ring. You won't let yourself die, you'll fight back. And everyone will be so impressed with my rabid dog.
[ his hand strokes sasuke's face as he would a lover, tracing the curve of his cheek and the shape of his lips. he holds desperately onto his hatred, onto every morsel of dislike he can summon, because otherwise the worst of the poison will set in — the desire burning low at his core, the heat becoming harder and harder to ignore with every passing moment. he should not have come back to this room, and yet sasuke's presence pulls him as if he's tethered, a constant drag toward the thing he wants to forget the most. ]
Will you fight for me? [ his mouth is dry, the question like a blade driven into his own body. no one has ever fought for him since auguste went to marlas and never returned. an unforgiving grip fists a handful of sasuke's dark hair, and laurent rises, forcing their mouths into a hard kiss so that he doesn't have to hear the answer. ]
[Scalding words, spat from cold lips, the fury of Laurent beneath him in a messy crown of golden hair, unlaced sleeves like white ribbons down his pale arms. He finds himself staring, and then starting — the hand on his cheek is a tender caress, on his lips. They part beneath those slender fingertips, breath fanning damp and hot, but there is no protest for the cruelty of those orders. He has been shut out of whatever tangled battle Laurent wages against his own blood. He won't be let in.
If it is killing that is needed, then it can be done. Laurent is correct; he was made for this. You'll fight back. Helpless desire to fulfill this statement reaches him through the unfeeling, gauzy detachment he's found in his days here. It gathers, a dark and heavy thing, spun from every awful deed he has ever committed, stitched from every part of him that has enjoyed the violence. In that instant, he finds it impossible to believe he could have atoned for anything. Not now. It's out of reach for someone like him, in a place like this.
The answer is lost to the crush of their mouths, but not the meaning. Sasuke eyes remain slitted open just for the blurry, too-close view of that beautiful face; he devours the kiss in the way Laurent has taught him to do, lips parted, wet and hungry, tasting whatever might still lie on Laurent's slick tongue. And then he is hauling both of them to their feet in a heave of strength without ever surrendering Laurent's mouth. Refusing to give it up, even if the air grows thin between them. He feels the ticklish fall of hair on his skin, pleasant and fragrant as his arms close around a narrow waist, dragging Laurent like a doll over to the bed on the other side of the room. Tossing him down onto it.
He does not follow. Looming above, Sasuke's eyes are very dark, expression fixed into one that is shockingly open in its mixed display — aroused, somber, angry. Then he turns away.]
Rest for a while. After that, we'll go, and I will fight in that ring.
[ he lands upon the bed silently, his breath gone. the sensation to tear out of his own skin mounts, his hands digging into the mattress, turning his head to throw a glare in sasuke's direction. his lips burn, his body aching, this time not just from the poison but for more. it's a heady, devastating mix — the memory of all he's experienced in a state similar to this. the desire to erase it all with something new. ]
You need to be prepared. [ bathed. painted. armored, if one can call the decorative slave-wear that. but it'll be more than the gauzy thing he's wearing now. laurent's wide eyes follow sasuke as he turns away, his heart rabbiting as his chest rises and falls. ] The guards will take you. Get out of my sight.
[ the alternative is that sasuke will end up in his bed, that their mouths and bodies will collide, and laurent — can't. the panic that rises in him threatens to spill over. in one order the doors burst open, stone-faced men coming to collect sasuke, and laurent is alone.
true to his word, he's late to the feast in a show of blatant disrespect to his uncle. the next time he sees sasuke, he's calmly composed, tightly laced in severe blue. he takes the end of sasuke's golden chain without looking at him, standing at the doors and listening to the rowdy laughter in the banquet hall. ]
Cause a scene. [ the doors open for laurent, the guards moving aside for him. ] I dare you.
[In the time since the guards escorted him from Laurent's bedchambers, a transformation has taken place. Not only in the physical sense of his body, although that aspect is prominent. It has become little more than a sore, pitiful blur in his mind by now. Autonomy is no longer something he possesses in this world. As he is handled — changed into clothing more sheer, impossibly, than before and cut at a length that leaves long, pale legs entirely bare with no decency afforded — he learns this better. Oil is smoothed over his skin, until it shines in the light of the burning sconces on the walls. The collar at his throat is polished to a bright gleam. And then, at the worst of it, he is bent over and perfunctorily fingered as one would ready a farm animal for the dutiful nature of its existence.
It takes every fiber of his control not to lash out with violence. In his mind is fixed Laurent's words: Will you fight for me? A burning, pointless devotion to tie himself to, but it is all he has now. Though the influence of that shadow dimension no longer clouds his mind, he doesn't need it. He can feel the darkness as it shrouds his thoughts, at home, in perpetuity for the sake of his permanent soul. This is who he is, as he has been relentlessly reminded by Laurent himself. Even as he imagines breaking the arm of the man who is doing it to him, oiled fingers in a place he has never touched himself, it transforms too. It is fuel for a blazing inferno, so that when he emerges through those doors and Laurent addresses him, buttoned up and untouchably perfect, he barely notices. He is somewhere else.
The world around him is rotten to its core. He'd assumed as much, but it's another to be faced with it, in the light and awe of an audience. Young boys and girls in pretty, flimsy clothes on leashes, the ends held in the hands of their masters. Perhaps once it might have shocked him to see the same-sex pairs, men with boys and women with girls, but now very little can penetrate the haze that he has surrendered beneath.
He doesn't even look at Laurent. It would be a weakness, if he did. He can't allow himself that much.
And then he's let into the ring, and he meets his opponent. A tall, stocky, mean-looking man who outweighs Sasuke significantly. If he had his abilities, it would take less than a second to eviscerate the thick meat of the man's body with weapons, or tear apart his mind like a ball of string with Sharingan, or burn his flesh to ash with Amaterasu. He has none of that, only a violence predisposed by his blood. One that creates hatred and despair where love might once have laid. And it feels like that curse has come true again, as his continuous attempts to reach out to Laurent in this place have been met by refusal, rejection, cold words.
What does it matter anymore?
The man says something lewd to him, something about fucking him, something about his appearance, but Sasuke doesn't hear. He does what Laurent had asked of him. He fights with his opponent, not using any tactic or style that anyone in this large room will recognize — it is foreign, alien, forged from another world. Bare hand-to-hand combat is still something he excels at, and he has the advantage of his opponent's ignorance of his movements; where he is meant to be pinned down, he becomes fluid like a dancer, fist slamming into the side of the man's barrel chest. There is no kindness in his actions. Only ruthlessness.
Eventually he gets his killing hold, wrapped like a venomous snake around his opponent's stocky body, like he's squeezing the life from him with sheer strength, until one hand — the dominant left, mercifully returned to him — seizes the back of a head and snaps the man's neck. It's so sudden as to be disappointing. There's no pleading, no rape, just an efficient death. And it's over.
Sasuke is breathing hard and drenched with sweat when they separate him from the body, coursing with adrenaline, eyes vivid and wide, reflecting the light of the surrounding lamps enough to appear almost red.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
im sorry about this
for a long moment, laurent does nothing. says nothing. no one will enter the prince’s chambers unless by order of the prince himself — or the regent — and so he has time to think. he is home. whether that is a regrettable circumstance or not is yet to be seen. but sasuke has somehow been pulled with him, and that poses a problem. the way laurent has been behaving will swiftly have to change course, and sasuke will likely not understand, because he barely understands basic concepts and will certainly not grasp the complicated machinations of veretian court. ]
Wake up, lover. [ laurent, with his cheek propped against one hand, lounges in the bedsheets like a spoiled cat. his foot nudges at the closest part of sasuke’s body, taking no care to be gentle. ] And don’t make a scene, because the guards outside the door will have no problem slitting your throat while I watch. You’re in Vere now, so understand this: you are my property, and you will do as I say. You have no other options. No, actually, you do. You can be flogged to death for sneaking into the Prince’s bedchambers and trying to fuck him. Now get out of my bed.
[ laurent, finally, sits up, moving to slip from beneath the covers with a quiet rustle. he crosses the room in a lazy prowl, pulling open his wardrobe and spending a moment picking through it — then, turns, a gauzy silk tunic extended in one hand, the fabric as silken and sheer as a waterfall. ]
Take off your clothes. You'll wear this.
i accept my fate
The wide eyes that turn on Laurent are a dark, nearly opaque black, utterly colorless and devoid of pattern. It makes him appear younger, somehow, or that is the owlish disorientation and confusion that wells within them, shock shaken loose then promptly shuttered behind restraint. He listens to Laurent's words. Or tries to, as they make no sense. Vere. Property. Prince's bedchambers.]
What... [It barely materializes in his mouth before he swallows the rest.] This is your world.
[Only the two of them. He wonders, helplessly, what that could mean. Perhaps their proximity to each other had become entangled, and whatever force is capable of interdimensional movement could go in only one direction, or — and worse, where his mind lingers horribly as he stares at Laurent — there is nowhere else for Sasuke to return.
What has Laurent told him about Vere? He scrambles for memory, but there is too little; he should have asked more. He is still frigid at the top of the bed when the clothing is proffered. Finally, he shifts an inch, then jerks in shock when he realizes he has placed his weight on his left hand.
His left, intact arm.
Sasuke closes his eyes, and he doesn't move when he speaks.] Tell me what you mean by 'property.'
no subject
You know what I mean. [ but if he must explain — ] Like this chair, here. It's mine. If I decided I wanted one more ornately carved, or higher backed, or gilded in silver instead of gold, I could have this tossed out, destroyed, made into kindling or what have you. And I would get another. That's what I mean by property.
[ surely that's simple enough to understand. his eyes have settled on sasuke's newly present limb, a flicker in his gaze as he wonders just what else has changed that he cannot yet see. ]
It's not a bad life to be a pet in Vere. [ the lie slides easily from his tongue. ] Unless you choose to make it so with your own defiance. Understand that I've given you liberties. You're nothing here. You're an instrument to administer pleasure and entertainment, and if you don't deliver, if you don't play this game, I can't protect you. If you take the path of violence against me, or anyone else here, you'll die, and I will watch. I might even wield the blade.
[ he delivers the speech without inflection. finally, he drops the fabric, letting it flutter to the marbled floor. ]
Well? Come change.
no subject
The explanation from Laurent's lips is cold, unfeeling, precise. He describes ownership of a chair as if it is some reasonable equivalent to a person. Here, it must be. His freedom and will are being demanded. Refusal rises in his throat, a bitter burn, as dark eyes drift to the garment pooled on the floor in a sheer, silky puddle.
He is without power in this strange new place, and Laurent is all that is seemingly between him and worse fates than slavery.]
Is that something you want to do? [The question lifts from his mouth, glass-edged, as he moves off the bed like a reluctant animal toward a leash. He does not look at Laurent as he asks this.] Protect me?
[He cannot make a promise this is a game he can play, in pleasure or entertainment, as a 'pet' in a political landscape he knows nothing about, but he does understand what necessitates survival. Even if it puts trust in the tender hands of a man who might kill him anyway.
Sasuke turns his back to strip from the plain clothes he is wearing, immodest. It isn't the first time Laurent has seen his body — though not since the fountain on that marble balcony, since his own attraction had nearly strangled him senseless. His body is unchanged but for the addition of the restored limb, carved with muscle and the silent story of scars. The tunic goes on over his head, hanging softly around his upper thighs, leaving little to imagination. He shows no outward embarrassment, but — he is standing stiffly, awkwardly.]
It would help to know what to expect. You haven't been forthcoming about Vere.
no subject
It would be easier if I didn't. [ protect you. ] I've never taken a pet before. I'm not known for my kindness or my amorous nature. And any small thing that I like —
[ his throat tightens, and he stops, looking at sasuke's newly bared stature. yes, he will do. laurent has never shown interest in the too-young, waifish pets roaming the palace, and here is something different. of course laurent would want something powerful. a challenge meant to be broken. ]
There was a horse that my brother gifted me. A fine mare that my uncle knew that I loved. He poisoned her, and made it look like I rode her to death during a hunt. She was suffering and I had no choice but to kill her. [ something pinches in laurent's expression before it smooths away, leaving him blank once again. ] That is what you can expect. Any small thing that I like will be used as a weapon against me. So there is nothing that I like. Including the sight of you. Kneel.
[ he delivers the command without changing his tone, and when sasuke does not immediately sink to his knees, laurent gives another command, which causes the doors to burst open. within the span of a breath, two guards send sasuke careening to the floor, a booted foot grinding into his back and a sword crossing his neck. an exchange of confused words flurry over his head.
then someone wrenches sasuke's head up by using a handful of his hair, and a cold circle of metal fastens around his neck, locking securely. a chain unwinds, glittering in the soft light of laurent's room, several shades darker than his golden hair. ]
Tie it to something. [ laurent gestures vaguely, unbothered. ] And bring something for the floor. He's good enough there, when we're finished.
no subject
Two men are set upon him in an instant. He resists with the trained instinct of one who has known battlefields all his life, but without the agency of chakra the fight is useless, and he can do nothing more than thrash and twist once overwhelmed. This powerlessness is like the slash to the throat that sword threatens to deliver; it shows on his face, briefly, a broken composure of fear like a child's, naked and bare as bone. His cheek bruises badly where it hits the floor. His scalp burns when yanked. Less an untrained pet than a wild, spitting animal; the guards see it. Then he is collared and tethered to a ring that is installed on the ground. All of this done professionally, a culture fortified by familiar element.
Sasuke does not move from his forced subservient position as a pallet and silk pillows are brought and deposited a distance from the prince's bed. He is watching Laurent with dark eyes — not hateful, but evaluative. He is reconciling this version of the young man with the one he came to know, in those other places: a soft, vicious mouth and cool blue eyes; a tenderness concealed underneath terror and meanness; a past of pain enough to make Sasuke feel close, somehow, to his own childhood.]
If I see that man, [comes finally across the room, where he has seated himself on the pallet in a tightly folded posture, shoulders rounded,] I might kill him.
[Whether he is aware he's said something treasonous, whether he cares, it doesn't show in the pinched brow or unhappy curve of his mouth. Laurent should know who he means. And it is less a threat than a warning — because he doesn't care what it will take, but he also understands this is driven from a place of savagery. And in his circumstances, perhaps unwise.]
no subject
some naive part of him thought sasuke might have been incapable of fear, after everything. he sets the thought aside, his eyes settling heavily on him when sasuke makes the mistake of speaking. laurent hears it. the guards hear it. he wants to curse him for being so short-tempered. so short-sighted.
laurent crosses the room, unhurried, lowering himself to an elegant crouch before sasuke's pallet. cool fingers grip sasuke's chin, his thumb whispering across the line of his lower lip. ]
You will see the Regent. You will bow for him. My dear uncle will be so pleased to meet the cock that's fucking me. [ laurent nods to the guards. ] His hands, too.
[ shackles of gold are summarily fastened around sasuke's wrists, his hands chained behind his back. laurent's grip tightens, his nails digging into the bruised skin of his cheek. ]
You will perform for him in whatever way I see fit. Do you have objections? Here, let me address them for you. [ in the same moment he releases sasuke's chin, he backhands him hard enough to bloody his mouth. laurent feels the sudden chill of snow, the memory of broken bones, but feels no satisfaction in this. he stands, stone-faced, lifting a dismissive hand to his guards. ] I think we're finished now.
no subject
The cuffs are hard, cold and heavy. He isn't used to having his left arm, and he finds himself flinching as both wrists are further bound, jerked at an uncomfortable angle behind his back. And then he is struck across the face with enough force to whip his head sideways.
Hanging tethered by the chain on his throat, blood drips in bright, gory red. The tiles shine with it. Sasuke looks down at this, bleary, running his tongue along the split skin on the inside of his cheek. He swallows, lifts his chin with the stoic defiance of someone who has been hit as many times in his life as Laurent has lied.
Sasuke is watching the two men, eyes black and narrow, until they are dismissed.]
Are you done, now that our audience is gone? [He rises to his feet, perfectly balanced despite immobile arms, so their faces are level — the strain of the position cuts the collar into his throat; he won't be able to follow if Laurent draws away.] You have me as helpless as a dog on a leash. I'm yours to abuse. So tell me why you're so afraid of him.
[His voice is a low, harsh whisper. Their proximity feels like it burns his skin, but that is not a new sensation; he looks a little too long at Laurent's pale, bowed mouth.]
If you want me to play this game with you, I need more. Because I don't care if I die here to do it. [To kill him.] I have nothing to lose.
no subject
[ the question goes ignored, as have so many involving his uncle. sasuke is owed precisely nothing from him except an answer to the violence he faced in the snow (which laurent has so kindly refrained from returning), and he will soon enough see the dynamics at play. ]
I don't want anything from you. [ laurent walks away, out of reach, and sits on the bed, leaning back on his hands as his eyes flutter closed, stretching his neck in a slow circle. ] If you want to die in vain, go ahead. Do you think I haven't noticed that you're weak now? I don't think I'm even attracted to you anymore.
[ he turns his head, a little gold spill of hair tumbling down one shoulder. ] Go on, try to break free. I think I'd like to see you choke on that collar. It might get me in an amorous mood. Show me the real you, the one you showed me before when you broke my bones and tried to kill me.
i hope a little timeskip is ok
It shouldn't hurt him. He has faced a world of people's dislike, even hatred, toward him. One more is nothing. Yet the onslaught earns the intended effect — a flicker on Sasuke's face, there and gone. Like the child's fear he showed before, there is hurt, wounds made. He doesn't have his brother's composure. Unhappiness is at home on him, mouth downturned and brows furrowed, eyes avoidant. Whatever tenuous foundation had been built between them is dust; it was someone else's life.
He knows better than to fight in this state. That would only feed whatever dark thing has repossessed Laurent and further confirm his own powerlessness. He doesn't say a word, only returns to the pallet, and it is easier than he thought it would be — shutting down. A slip backward into familiar grooves.
The bedding is soft when he lies down on it, back to the bed, chains jingling with each movement. The confinement is also familiar. Sasuke doesn't know when he sleeps, because he doesn't feel tired, but it happens, and eventually the light is bright in the windows and Laurent is gone. He didn't hear him leave.
A man named Radel arrives to tend to him, assuming responsibility for the new slave's station, although Sasuke doesn't miss the puzzled look on his face. It isn't for him to explain. He endures being bathed and dressed with similar detachment; the gold chains are replaced with silver, he notices, by Radel's insisting. The color suits him better. His clothing remains sheer and pale and humiliating. All of this, and he is simply returned to Laurent's room and tethered to the ground to wait to be summoned. If it should happen at all.]
perfect
he's taken care of; laurent sees to it with an easy, disinterested command. sasuke is fed and watered and even given time in the baths, always under heavy guard, his chains tight, his range of motion severely limited. he is kept dressed in sheer finery, the pulse points of his skin doused in fragrant oils. his hair is kept clean and silken. none seem to understand why laurent has taken a slave, and in laurent's absence, the prince's guard speaks freely of all manner of filth regarding what the prince might be up to with his new prize. laurent, at least, leaves his collection of books within reach.
when laurent does return to his chambers, it's always deep into the night, sometimes a mere hour before the sky threatens to lighten. he sleeps little and says even less to sasuke, sometimes a brief mutter to extinguish the lamps after laurent has already slumped into the softness of his sheets. of course, they are never extinguished, because laurent never releases the shackle chaining sasuke to the floor — until the night that he does, entering silently and leaning down to unfasten the link tethering the chain to the silver collar. the collar stays. the chain falls like a serpent to the floors.
laurent straightens — and sways, catching himself against a table and knocking over a tray of gilded cups and very nearly a bottle of wine he will never drink. his breath comes hard but evenly paced, as if by great effort of control. if his uncle has poisoned him, it's unlikely he'll be dead. it's far too obvious a play. no, he'll simply be in for a night of rage and suffering, and if he's lucky someone will storm through his doors to drive a knife through his heart.
he tries to be upright again, slowly. cautiously. his face feels aflame, the cadence of his heart akin to a hundred thundering hooves. he tries to focus on sasuke, but his eyes hurt. ]
You've had enough time to slowly imagine all the ways you'd like to kill me. See, I can be generous. [ laurent holds out a hand, wrist up. ] Now get up and attend me. In two hours we'll attend a banquet and I'll show you off.
no subject
The books are a refuge, then, though he does not look further into the motive behind Laurent's choice, whether it is intentional or negligent. He reads at every spare moment. He learns more of Vere, its geography and history both alien to him, but worthwhile knowledge to have; he studies the nature of this unfamiliar world as a student cast unfairly into the thick of it. He has no choice. Part of him, too, wants to know more for the sake of a deep curiosity — one centered on a man who has decided to ignore his existence. Each late night, half against his will, Sasuke starts at the quiet sound of the door; his head turns to watch the slender figure cross the room to the bed, silhouetted by warm lamps, golden hair and pale skin, untouchable. He never successfully falls back asleep. Those quiet, crawling hours near dawn see his heart too quick in his chest for rest.
Until one night. The chain clatters as it loosens, unspools, and he is free, but he doesn't dare move. Dark eyes watch Laurent's graceless, stumbling display. Something is wrong. He knows it even before gilded cups roll across the rug at their feet.]
'Attend you'. [The words are an echo, brow furrowed in the uncertainty of that request. He's still assessing Laurent, whose speech is too articulate to suggest inebriation. It's enough to look past the rest of it; it's not killing he has imagined, at least not of Laurent, but the mention of a banquet stops any disagreement.] You'll need to tell me what happened to you first. You're not in a state to go anywhere.
[And how familiar this action is, rising up, reaching for the complicated fastenings of Laurent's sleeve — how they had met like this once, in a street somewhere else, and Laurent was wounded in a different, visible way. It is much easier to use two hands to untangle the strings and peel back fabric, eyes on that flushed face. There is no hatred or disdain in the intensity of his stare.]
no subject
this is so much worse. it takes leagues of effort to remain perfectly still beneath sasuke's ministrations. eventually he turns his head a fraction of an inch so he doesn't have to meet that smoldering gaze. ]
You still haven't learned your place. [ he should have kept the chain trailing from the ridiculous collar. he lifts his hand and strokes his fingers down the column of sasuke's throat, then curls his fingers, digging into the too-small space between collar and flesh. he holds it taut for a long moment, letting the metal press against sasuke's windpipe, bruising. ] Tell me again what I need to do.
[ he releases him with a shove, but loses his own balance in the process, making an attempt to snatch for the foot of his bed frame but missing, the entire room spinning. he lands on hands and knees upon something soft, his fingers curling into fabrics still curiously warm, and he crouches, very still, hoping to regain his equilibrium while nausea threatens to overtake him.
his eyes slit open, and he stares downward, hateful, at sasuke's slave pallet. it still smells of him, though the scent is fading in lieu of fragrant bath oils. he should rise immediately, still half clothed, but his body feels weighed down by bricks, so he allows himself the briefest of moments to sink, gently, to the furs and silken pillows. ]
It's in one hour. [ mumbled, his eyes closed. ] I planned on making my uncle wait.
no subject
Then the push. Sasuke staggers, barely, not enough to lose his feet. He does not have chakra but he has physical power in a body sculpted for combat, muscles tense — it is Laurent who goes to the soft floor, balance upset like a stumbling foal, lost grace, a mess of silk hair and loose strings. He spots pale skin beneath fabric where the sleeves of his shirt have parted, dangerous slits of indecency.]
... I won't tell you what to do. [This murmur, a susurrus, comes from Sasuke as he kneels in a definitive movement on the other side of the pallet. It is a slower, careful descent.] But I'll never see you as a master. That's not possible.
[Not when he's come to know Laurent as he has, stripped bare.
You don't have to do this alone. It can't be said. It won't be heard. He lies on the other side of the pallet, and they aren't close enough to touch, but in the span of an arm, they could be. He remains resolutely still and only looks at him with dark eyes.]
He must wonder if you're suffering right now. It's the control he wants to have over you. If your condition worsens, then it's better for him. I don't know what's wrong with you. I'll help, if you ask. Make it a command. I don't care.
no subject
It would be good if you didn't speak — [ he shifts, fingertips plucking at the soft threads of the sheets. ] About things you don't know anything about.
[ his uncle. him. laurent tips his bleary gaze toward sasuke and tries to hate him for being here. in his haze, he imagines sliding over this soft cloud and closing the space between them, to allow his hands to dance across firm muscle and smooth skin, to grip silken hair and draw the mouth that he knows to be both willing and hesitant toward him. it's a foolish, frightful dream. he doesn't know where it leads or what comes after.
instead he forces himself up, and he does close the distance, but it's to forcefully dig his hands into the flimsy fabric that sasuke wears now. he can feel the heat of his body through it as he presses his palms down against his chest, sliding his knee over his hip as if he means to straddle him. laurent's hair trails over his shoulders as he stares down at sasuke, his eyes pale and glassy. ]
The way you tried to kill me — [ one hand drags down his chest, nails sharp. ] You'll have to do it again. Not against me, someone would take your head off if you attacked the prince, but my uncle will want to see my pet get fucked in the ring and imagine it was me instead.
[ he drags a hand through sasuke's dark hair, pulling hard enough to tilt his chin upwards. laurent's mouth drops unsteady, grazing the corner of sasuke's lips. ] How weak have you gotten?
no subject
It's all out of his head with their changed proximity. This, Laurent has to know; he's doing it purposefully. Climbing on top of him like he's taking a throne. Blue eyes are cold, unfocused, as a wave of ticklish golden hair sweeps Sasuke's skin, the span of those two hands on his chest all that keeps them separated. He can feel the bite of Laurent's nails through flimsy fabric. Then a hand in his hair, yanking, the taunt of a mouth too close.
Sasuke seizes up with tension, more to do with the effect this has on him than those unpromising words. He's been doomed for a while. Laurent knows, and is using that to an advantage, certainly. Desire courses through him — as unsteady a beat as his heart, lodged somewhere in his throat.]
Does my weakness matter to you? I thought it made you hate to look at me. [He brings his arms around Laurent's slender figure, caging him in around the knees, around the hips, making a loop of strong muscle that traps him where he sits on top. And this feels good, to have his body able to embrace fully, even if it isn't for battle or intimacy now. Instead it feels like he's taking a cat by the scruff of the neck.] Have you agreed to this?
[And in a calculated roll, he attempts to subvert their positions, prepared to wrestle Laurent down if necessary. He doesn't think it will be. Laurent is too uncoordinated, too distracted.]
You're going to put me in that ring and ask me to kill someone else? Why are you playing along with his game? [They're faces still loom a scant distance, but it isn't one he narrows further. Black eyes are fierce.] Laurent. Were you poisoned? What's wrong with you right now?
no subject
he lands like a flowered wreath back onto the pallet, golden hair going everywhere. his mouth curves, humorless. ]
Are you concerned that you'll have trouble killing someone? I've seen you try before. Don't worry, you're good at it. [ his wrist twitches against the soft pillows, itching to strike flesh. no one has put him on his back so many times since — he squeezes his eyes shut, banishing all thoughts of his uncle, his spine going rigid. ] What else are you good for, Sasuke? You were made for this. You'll go into that ring. You won't let yourself die, you'll fight back. And everyone will be so impressed with my rabid dog.
[ his hand strokes sasuke's face as he would a lover, tracing the curve of his cheek and the shape of his lips. he holds desperately onto his hatred, onto every morsel of dislike he can summon, because otherwise the worst of the poison will set in — the desire burning low at his core, the heat becoming harder and harder to ignore with every passing moment. he should not have come back to this room, and yet sasuke's presence pulls him as if he's tethered, a constant drag toward the thing he wants to forget the most. ]
Will you fight for me? [ his mouth is dry, the question like a blade driven into his own body. no one has ever fought for him since auguste went to marlas and never returned. an unforgiving grip fists a handful of sasuke's dark hair, and laurent rises, forcing their mouths into a hard kiss so that he doesn't have to hear the answer. ]
no subject
If it is killing that is needed, then it can be done. Laurent is correct; he was made for this. You'll fight back. Helpless desire to fulfill this statement reaches him through the unfeeling, gauzy detachment he's found in his days here. It gathers, a dark and heavy thing, spun from every awful deed he has ever committed, stitched from every part of him that has enjoyed the violence. In that instant, he finds it impossible to believe he could have atoned for anything. Not now. It's out of reach for someone like him, in a place like this.
The answer is lost to the crush of their mouths, but not the meaning. Sasuke eyes remain slitted open just for the blurry, too-close view of that beautiful face; he devours the kiss in the way Laurent has taught him to do, lips parted, wet and hungry, tasting whatever might still lie on Laurent's slick tongue. And then he is hauling both of them to their feet in a heave of strength without ever surrendering Laurent's mouth. Refusing to give it up, even if the air grows thin between them. He feels the ticklish fall of hair on his skin, pleasant and fragrant as his arms close around a narrow waist, dragging Laurent like a doll over to the bed on the other side of the room. Tossing him down onto it.
He does not follow. Looming above, Sasuke's eyes are very dark, expression fixed into one that is shockingly open in its mixed display — aroused, somber, angry. Then he turns away.]
Rest for a while. After that, we'll go, and I will fight in that ring.
no subject
You need to be prepared. [ bathed. painted. armored, if one can call the decorative slave-wear that. but it'll be more than the gauzy thing he's wearing now. laurent's wide eyes follow sasuke as he turns away, his heart rabbiting as his chest rises and falls. ] The guards will take you. Get out of my sight.
[ the alternative is that sasuke will end up in his bed, that their mouths and bodies will collide, and laurent — can't. the panic that rises in him threatens to spill over. in one order the doors burst open, stone-faced men coming to collect sasuke, and laurent is alone.
true to his word, he's late to the feast in a show of blatant disrespect to his uncle. the next time he sees sasuke, he's calmly composed, tightly laced in severe blue. he takes the end of sasuke's golden chain without looking at him, standing at the doors and listening to the rowdy laughter in the banquet hall. ]
Cause a scene. [ the doors open for laurent, the guards moving aside for him. ] I dare you.
cw SA and murder... typical captive prince stuff
It takes every fiber of his control not to lash out with violence. In his mind is fixed Laurent's words: Will you fight for me? A burning, pointless devotion to tie himself to, but it is all he has now. Though the influence of that shadow dimension no longer clouds his mind, he doesn't need it. He can feel the darkness as it shrouds his thoughts, at home, in perpetuity for the sake of his permanent soul. This is who he is, as he has been relentlessly reminded by Laurent himself. Even as he imagines breaking the arm of the man who is doing it to him, oiled fingers in a place he has never touched himself, it transforms too. It is fuel for a blazing inferno, so that when he emerges through those doors and Laurent addresses him, buttoned up and untouchably perfect, he barely notices. He is somewhere else.
The world around him is rotten to its core. He'd assumed as much, but it's another to be faced with it, in the light and awe of an audience. Young boys and girls in pretty, flimsy clothes on leashes, the ends held in the hands of their masters. Perhaps once it might have shocked him to see the same-sex pairs, men with boys and women with girls, but now very little can penetrate the haze that he has surrendered beneath.
He doesn't even look at Laurent. It would be a weakness, if he did. He can't allow himself that much.
And then he's let into the ring, and he meets his opponent. A tall, stocky, mean-looking man who outweighs Sasuke significantly. If he had his abilities, it would take less than a second to eviscerate the thick meat of the man's body with weapons, or tear apart his mind like a ball of string with Sharingan, or burn his flesh to ash with Amaterasu. He has none of that, only a violence predisposed by his blood. One that creates hatred and despair where love might once have laid. And it feels like that curse has come true again, as his continuous attempts to reach out to Laurent in this place have been met by refusal, rejection, cold words.
What does it matter anymore?
The man says something lewd to him, something about fucking him, something about his appearance, but Sasuke doesn't hear. He does what Laurent had asked of him. He fights with his opponent, not using any tactic or style that anyone in this large room will recognize — it is foreign, alien, forged from another world. Bare hand-to-hand combat is still something he excels at, and he has the advantage of his opponent's ignorance of his movements; where he is meant to be pinned down, he becomes fluid like a dancer, fist slamming into the side of the man's barrel chest. There is no kindness in his actions. Only ruthlessness.
Eventually he gets his killing hold, wrapped like a venomous snake around his opponent's stocky body, like he's squeezing the life from him with sheer strength, until one hand — the dominant left, mercifully returned to him — seizes the back of a head and snaps the man's neck. It's so sudden as to be disappointing. There's no pleading, no rape, just an efficient death. And it's over.
Sasuke is breathing hard and drenched with sweat when they separate him from the body, coursing with adrenaline, eyes vivid and wide, reflecting the light of the surrounding lamps enough to appear almost red.]