theoldguardkinkmeme | Fills Post #2

Fills Post #2

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From this prompt: https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/9603.html?thread=3396995#cmt3396995

Yusuf doesn't frequent brothels, not that he has a problem with them in the slightest. It's more that he likes the seduction, the romancing, the build up, all of which is rather absent in a situation where money changes hands. But--as Booker has pointed out frequently and annoyingly during the last few months--Yusuf has not exactly been romancing anyone lately.

"You need a distraction, my friend" he'd said, and dragged Yusuf here--one of the more expensive spots in the city, and also one with a distinctly dangerous undercurrent. Yusuf has heard of this place before, knows that here is where you go when you want something or someone special, when you want to explore something new or fuck a sea of bodies or hurt someone. They cater to everyone here, everyone and everything. Yusuf would rather not be here, of all places, but Booker knows one of the workers and meets with her regularly. When he'd insisted Yusuf accompany him, Yusuf had agreed just to stop him from pushing him further. Booker disappeared into a back room immediately, and now Yusuf sits alone on plush cushions in a dimly-lit corner of the common room, sipping slowly on a glass of cool water flavored with limes.

A hand caresses his shoulder and he turns to see the mistress of the house, draped in silks and eyes heavy with kohl. She smiles at him, predatory, and says, "You are still alone. Did nothing of mine catch your eye?"

He inclines his head slightly. "I accompanied a friend here. I'm afraid I was not in the mood for anyone tonight."

She tuts. "We can't have that--come, I have someone for everyone, no matter the mood." She takes a step back, looks him up and down, smiles again. "I have someone you might like. One of my best. He will do anything, anything you desire. Let me take you to him."

He shakes his head, trying to stay polite. "No, really. There is no need."

She extends her hand. "I think he may surprise you. He is quite charming. And if not, how's this--your money back."

Yusuf isn't naive enough to believe her but he doesn't want her to harass him for the rest of the night. Sighing, he stands. After all, if all he does for an hour is sit on the floor and chat with this person, at least they'll have an hour off tonight. It sounds like he might appreciate it, if he's in as high demand as the mistress implies.

She leads him down the hall to an ornate wooden door and opens it for him. The air inside is perfumed and musky and he inhales before he can help himself. She inclines her head. "There are supplies inside," she says. "He is ready for anything."

He slips through the door and she shuts it behind him. It's dark, a low lamp burning in one corner, cushions on the floor. A shelf along one wall holds supplies--bottles of oil, clothes, and other things, ropes and silky fabrics and canes and feathers. The bed is large and draped in silks and the body kneeling on it reclines slightly, the face out of view.

"Look," Yusuf says. "I don't need anything from you tonight, I'm not really in the mood. I know I've paid for you but--"

The figure shifts and Yusuf sees they are shirtless, swathed in sheer silks from the waist down and draped in jewelry. Jewels glisten at the nipples and belly button, thin chains sparkle in the dim light where they're draped over the broad, hairless chest. There are bruises dotting the pale neck and jutted collarbones, bruises made by hungry mouths and teeth. The voice, when it comes, is soft, sultry, and startlingly familiar.

"Well," the man says. "If you already paid, we can surely find something to pass the time, don't you think?" Then he shifts again, and Yusuf's knees nearly give out.

It's the eyes, of course, that make it obvious. That unforgettable color, the color he could never capture when he tried to paint Nicolo. Greenbluegrey like the sea on a foggy morning, right as the sun breaks through. And of course the rest of him, older now but still so familiar--the cut of his jaw, the mole on his cheek, that nose that Yusuf first made fun of when they were children and then kissed tenderly when they were adults. He smiles at Yusuf, coy and seductive, and those eyes are blank. No recognition. No emotion, even. No indication that the man Yusuf knew and loved and missed for so long is there at all.

"Nicolo?" he gasps, and Nicolo blinks at him once and then smiles again, holding out a hand and beckoning him closer. "You can call me any name you want tonight," he whispers, and that's when Yusuf knows something is very, very wrong.

He lets Nicolo draw him in, gets closer because he has to make sure he isn't wrong. Perhaps this isn't Nicolo, perhaps this is just an uncanny resemblance.

Of course, there is no mistake. Yusuf would never, ever mistake Nicolo for anyone. He briefly entertains the idea that he is dreaming, or hallucinating, or that somehow Booker got him so drunk he's seeing things.

Nicolo draws him closer and smiles, nuzzles the back of his hand against the soft skin of his cheek, brushes a kiss over the knuckles. Yusuf's skin burns where he touches him. Up close he sees the dark circles under Nicolo's eyes, like bruises, the slight dryness of his lips. There are the ghost of bruises on his neck beneath the bite marks, bruises that look like fingers, and the imprint of a rope on his wrist. He will do anything, the mistress had said, and he wonders with a sickening lurch if Nicolo is willing to do anything or forced to. He may not frequent brothels, but he is not naive to how they usually work.

Nicolo looks up at him through his lashes. "You are very handsome," he murmurs against Yusuf's hand. "I am lucky tonight."

He finally finds his voice. "Nicolo," he says hoarsely. "Do you not recognize me?"

Nicolo blinks and laughs lightly. "Have you seen me before? Forgive me, I see many every night. Though I would think I would have remembered you." His eyes flick up and down Yusuf's body and Yusuf, traitorously, thinks at least he still finds me attractive before he forces himself back to the problem at hand.

"No," he says. "Not here. Many years ago. My name is Yusuf."

"I do not think I have ever known a Yusuf," Nicolo says, and tugs at Yusuf's hand, bringing him down to sit on the bed beside him. "But I will greatly enjoy getting to know one, I think."
Then he's on Yusuf, lips soft against him, hand caressing his neck and down his chest. Yusuf inhales with surprise and breathes him in--and under the perfumes and scent of sex, he still smells of himself.

When Nicolo slides to his knees between Yusuf's legs and noses at his crotch he doesn't stop him. He should, he knows that. He knows. But he's craved Nicolo's touch for so long now and he is still half convinced it's a hallucination. When he tries, weakly, to push Nicolo away, Nicolo only hums and whispers, "let me make you feel good" into the tenderness of his inner thigh. When he tries to hold the tie of his pants together, Nicolo gently pulls his hands aside and somehow undoes the fastening with his teeth and his tongue and...well. Yusuf stops thinking for long enough that the next thing he knows Nicolo is suckling at his cock and his entire body is warring between pleasure and fear and worry and confusion and Nicolo's mouth is hot and wet and familiar and Nicolo doesn't remember him but Nicolo is here.

It's embarrassing how fast he comes. It crests and pulls him over the edge before he even has a chance to try to stop it and leaves him breathless. Nicolo swallows every last drop and licks his lips when he pulls back, smiling up at Yusuf, the kohl around one of his brilliant eyes ever so slightly smudged. "There," he purrs. "That wasn't so hard now, was it?"

Then he stands and makes to climb up on the bed, to sit on Yusuf's lap, and Yusuf holds out his hands to stop him. His fingers close around Nicolo's wrists and the other man flinches ever so slightly.

"Nicolo, Nicolo...wait. How--how did you come here? When did you come here? Do you not remember your childhood? Our houses, next to each other? The orchards we played in as boys?"

Nicolo's smiles and fluttering eyelashes have stopped and he looks at Yusuf with naked confusion. Yusuf knows he's speaking too quickly, asking too many questions, and it's vaguely ridiculous that he's sitting on a bed in a brothel with his cock out begging the lover he thought was dead for answers he clearly doesn't remember. He feels like he might start crying.

"Who are you?" Nicolo says, suddenly sharper. Something flickers behind his eyes for the first time, something dangerous. "Are you drunk? I do not know you, we did not play in orchards as children. Perhaps you have me mistaken for another."

"No," he says. "No, I'm sorry but I swear I don't. Please. I understand if you cannot answer any other questions, but answer this one at least--how long have you been here?"

Nicolo frowns. "Three years now. A little longer. I was sold to the owner by my master. Does that satisfy you?"

The Di Genovas were murdered and their house set aflame four years ago. The timelines match up. And then his words truly hit Yusuf and he reels. "Your master--"

"Yes," Nicolo snaps. "I am a slave." He turns and brushes the hair from the nape of his neck and Joe sees it--a brand, an old one, burned into the skin there.

Nicolo peers at him over his shoulder. "You are a very strange man," he says. "You do not seem to know the way of things in a place like this, and yet you are here and you paid for my services. So." He takes another step forward, back towards Yusuf, and drops the loose silk pants he's wearing. The fabric pools around his feet and he stands in front of Yusuf, naked and resplendent, half-hard cock glittering with jewels, too. He steps closer until he's close enough that their knees brush and raises an eyebrow. "Are you going to fuck me, or no?"

Yusuf panics. There is nothing else to do. He scrambles up, away from the bed, away from Nicolo, tucking his dick back into his pants. "No, I'm sorry," he says. "I'm sorry, I can't."

He catches a glimpse of Nicolo's face, confused and frightened, hears the edge of a plea--"No, wait--!", before the door shuts behind him and he runs from the brothel.

A week later Yusuf returns to the brothel. It's earlier in the evening tonight, and he comes with a heavy bag of coin, ready to pay whatever the cost may be for an evening with Nicolo. The mistress sees him from across the room as she walks in and raises a brow, floating over to him and running a finger over the purse, hefting it to feel the weight.

"I didn't expect to see you back here," she says. "It seemed you were rather...unsatisfied with the services rendered."

"No," he says. "I merely...remembered I was meant to be elsewhere, at the time." The excuse falls flat and ridiculous to his own ears and the mistress is clearly unimpressed. She takes the money from him and steps away.

"He's busy right now," she says. "You're welcome to wait for him, though he may be a little...tired, after. But," she lifts the coin purse. "You paid, so you can have him."

She walks away before he can answer, before he can ask what she means. He supposes he has a good enough idea, anyway. He takes a seat on a cushion, a serving girl offers him tea and he accepts, and he waits. Two hours later, he's close to tracking down the mistress and getting his money back, trying his luck another night, when the serving girl taps him on the shoulder and beckons to him. He rises and follows her down the hallway to the same wooden door. The girl reaches to open it, but pauses before she steps away. "Be gentle," she whispers. "Please."

She slips away down the hallway before he can respond, leaving him alone. He reaches out and swings the door open, slipping through. The room is as perfumed and dimly lit as it was before, and he looks to the bed for Nicolo, which means he almost trips over the body kneeling right in front of the door.

Nicolo's head is bent, his posture perfectly submissive. His hands are tied behind him, and he is completely naked. "I offer my mistress' apologies on my behalf," he whispers to Yusuf's feet. "I failed to satisfy you during your last visit. I am yours for the rest of the night. You may do whatever you please, but she asks you leave no lasting scars."

Yusuf chokes on his own breath and falls to his knees in front of Nicolo, cupping his face in his hands and drawing it up to look at him. Nicolo's eyes are glassy, his mouth red and swollen. He's wearing a collar, a delicate golden thing that looks beautiful, but Yusuf can tell it's tight around his throat, skin reddened at the edges. He looks exhausted, quite frankly, hair mussed and sweaty, the kohl around his eyes smudged and running a bit. When Yusuf cups the back of his neck he flinches and winces, nearly imperceptibly, but it's enough to make Yusuf turn his head slightly. There are marks criss-crossing his back, up to the base of his neck, red and angry and scabbed over. They're not fresh, but they're not old, either, and there are a lot of them. To move must hurt him, to lay on his back would be excruciating. He's busy right now, the mistress had said, and Nicolo smells like sex and looks debauched. The thought of him injured like this and still working makes Yusuf sick. The thought that it might be his fault, for the way he left a week ago, makes him cry.

Blinking away tears, he moves behind Nicolo and fumbles with the rough rope around his wrists. Nicolo stays quiet and still, letting Yusuf move around him and touch him, tugging at the ropes desperately though he knows he'll need to cut them. He moves back around to face Nicolo and cups his face again. "A knife, Nicolo, a knife. Is there one here?"

A ghost of a smile flickers around Nicolo's mouth. "You think they would leave me with a knife, alone?" he whispers, then flinches and ducks his head to the ground again, like he's afraid Yusuf will strike him.

"This is my fault," Yusuf mumbles, moving back around to pick at the knotted rope more carefully. "Leaving like that. I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Nicolo doesn't answer him, but when Yusuf finally frees his wrists he stands, swaying slightly, and makes his way over to the bed, going on his hands and knees and burying his face in the pillow. Yusuf just stands there, gaping, mind racing. All his carefully planned words and questions have flown out the window and now all he can think is get Nico out, get him out, get him out of here. How, though?

Nicolo lifts his head from the pillow and turns to look at Yusuf, his movements stiff and pained. His hole, though Yusuf tries not to look, is shiny with oil and loose, used. "Come on," Nicolo says. "Fuck me. Please, fuck me. Let me make up for last time."

Yusuf strides over to the bed and pushes Nicolo flat onto it. Nicolo goes without complaint, boneless, still pushing his ass up into the air like he's trying to remind Yusuf it's there for the taking. As if he could forget. When Yusuf steps up near the head of the bed Nicolo reaches out for the tie to his pants, tugging at it and tilting his head, opening his mouth slightly.

"No," Yusuf says firmly, stepping out of his reach. "Just...stop. Lay still, would you? You can't--you're hurt."

Nicolo smiles, empty and wide. "It does not hurt anymore."

"That cannot possibly be true," Yusuf snaps, and steps over to the shelf stacked with supplies. Unfortunately, it does not hold healing salves or bandages.

"Do you truly not want me?" Nicolo says from the bed. "Why have you come to me twice, if you don't want me? What do you want?"

Yusuf sniffs at the oils and plucks up a vial that smells of chamomile--calming, soothing, good for inflammation. It's the best he can do. "I told you," he says as he makes his way back to the bed. "I want information."

Nicolo's eyes flash as they track his movements. "You would have to pay a lot more for that," he says. "Though I am talented at getting people to tell me things."

"Not that kind of information." He sits on the side of the bed and daubs some chamomile oil over the healing marks. Nicolo stiffens, winces, tries to move away. The marks are angry red, his skin slightly hot to the touch.

"I know you," he continues. "We grew up together. You don't remember."

"I would remember you," Nicolo insists. "I have not met you."

"Where were you before you came here?" Yusuf asks. "How did you become a slave?"

"I was born one," Nicolo says. "I was orphaned when I was young. I came from the North. I had an injury, a few years ago. A head wound. I was no longer fit for manual labor, but I caught the mistress' eye at a market and my master sold me to her because I was no longer useful. Are those enough answers for you, stranger?"

"Is your memory muddled, from before your accident?" Yusuf asks softly. Nicolo stays silent, shifting on the bed under Yusuf's careful ministrations. "They will know if you don't use me," he says eventually. "They will know."

"Do you remember anything from before?" Yusuf insists, raising his voice despite himself.

"No!" Nicolo cries, and pushes himself up, knocking away Yusuf's hands and scooting to the edge of the bed. "I remember very little. Just ghosts of memories. But it does not matter what I remember or don't. I am here, and you are refusing to let me do my job. If you are only here to waste my time, I will leave and take another client this evening. You have already caused me enough trouble." He pushes off the bed and sways a bit as he stands before moving across the room purposefully.

"Will you be punished again, if we do not?" Yusuf calls after him, and Nicolo freezes, broad shoulders stiffening. His silence is answer enough. "Come back," Yusuf says. "I will do whatever you need me to."

Nicolo approaches slowly, like a frightened animal. He sits back down when Yusuf guides him to and watches with heavy-lidded eyes as Yusuf divests himself of his clothing and lays down on the bed.

"What do we need to do?"

"They will check me for your come when you leave," Nicolo says dully. "In me, somewhere on my body. You are also meant to tell them when you leave if you were satisfied with my services, something you neglected to do when you ran away last time."

"My apologies," Yusuf says softly, and takes him by the hand. "I don't want to hurt you. You can sit on me, go at your own pace. If it hurts, we stop. Alright?"

Nicolo stares at him for a long moment. "You are a very strange man," he murmurs eventually, then reaches for the oil Yusuf left on the side table. He slicks up his hand and reaches for Yusuf's flaccid cock. "Let me get you ready, at least, or else I will have nothing to sit on."

Yusuf nods his assent and closes his eyes, falling into the feeling of Nicolo's broad palm around him, the callouses on his palms he's had ever since they first started to learn swordplay together, the heat of his skin. It doesn't take him long to get hard, the muscle memory of Nicolo's touch so very dear and familiar. And Nicolo--well, Nicolo has certainly learned many tricks during his time here, for better or worse. He's moaning and dripping precome in no time.

"Alright," Nicolo says softly and shifts, hovering above him for a moment before sinking down in one long, delicious movement. He gasps and Yusuf groans, head thrown back as he's enveloped in that slick heat. "Oh," Nicolo says above him, sounding surprised. Oh, you--you feel good."

His hands come up to rest on Nicolo's hips and he thrusts up slightly, fucking up into him. Nicolo moans again and tilts forward, hands on either side of Yusuf's head, and bears down.

They find a rhythm quickly, again, it is like muscle memory. They have always fit together so well. Yusuf dreamed of this, time and time again, after the news of the murders reached him. He'd wake hard and wanting, with tears on his cheeks, and curl sleepless and weeping for the rest of the night. Now, Nicolo is here, on top of him, around him, and if he closes his eyes it could be years ago, they could be splayed out on Nicolo's bed, laughing and learning each other for the first time again. If he closes his eyes, it's almost as if the last five years never happened.

Of course, the illusion fades quickly. Nicolo is exhausted, in pain, and his movements slow as he tires. Yusuf plants his hands more firmly on Nicolo's hips and fucks up into him, fast and deep, the way he remembers Nicolo used to like it. He reaches one hand over to thumb at the head of Nicolo's cock, rubbing gently over the slit until Nicolo is gasping, head thrown back in pleasure, clenching around him. "Feel good?" he manages, and Nicolo nods. "Are you close?"

Nicolo nods desperately and Yusuf fucks him harder, faster. A few moments later, Nicolo knocks his hand away and tightens his fingers around the base of his own twitching cock. "Shouldn't come on you," he manages. "Need to--to--"

"No," Yusuf says. "You can. Please, Nicolo."

Nicolo looks down at him with those eyes. "You keep calling me that. Nicolo."

Yusuf reaches up the hand that was teasing Nicolo's dick and cups his cheek with it. "That is your name."

Nicolo shakes his head. "I don't have a name."

"You do," Yusuf says, brushing a thumb over his lips. "It is Nicolo."

Nicolo gasps and takes his hand away from his cock. "Say it again."

"Nicolo," Yusuf whispers, reverent, and Nicolo shudders and comes, spilling over his own hand and Yusuf's belly. He clenches deliciously around Yusuf, enough to send him careening over the edge of his own orgasm. When he comes back to himself Nicolo is slumped over him, face buried in the crook of his neck, still breathing hard and completely boneless.

"Are you alright?" he whispers, and Nicolo nods slightly.

"Was this enough?" he asks, and Nicolo shrugs.

"Is there anything more I can do? To stop them from hurting you ?"

Nicolo shifts slightly and sighs, his hot breath gusting against Yusuf's neck. "Stay the night. Wake me before you have to leave. Fuck my mouth and leave me drooling your come on the bed. That will be enough, I think." Despite the rather dire situation, Yusuf finds his dick twitching at the mental image.

"Alright," he agrees. "We have a few hours until dawn. You should rest." He gently nudges Nicolo off him and to the side, where he settles on his belly, body slightly curved towards Yusuf. Yusuf slides off the bed and retrieves a cloth, water, and the vial of oil. He cleans himself off, offers Nicolo some water, and holds up the vial. "Now will you let me put this on your wounds? It will help, they will not be so stiff or hurt you so."

Nicolo hums in acquiescence and Yusuf settles on the bed beside him, gently spreading the oil back over the wounds. He's pliant in a different way now, exhausted and sated rather than submissive and frightened. He hums as Yusuf rubs in the oil and sighs into the pillow. "Nicolo," he mumbles. "And...you are Yusuf?"

"Yes," he says. "I am Yusuf." Nicolo hums again and sinks deeper into the bed, boneless as his eyes slide shut.

"There is an orchard, I think," he mumbles. "A boy with curls. Sunlight on ripening figs. The smell of fallen fruit rotting in the summer. I dream that, some nights."

His heart jumps in his chest and he opens his mouth to ask more, to beg him if he remembers, but Nicolo's breathing is deep and even now and he is asleep. Yusuf cannot bear to wake him, so he settles in beside him and waits for the dawn.

If I ever write more/come up with some backstory, I might post this on AO3...for now, I hope it scratches an itch!

Awesome!! I'm very intrigued!! :D

This is amazing! 😭😭😭 ugghh the last bit especially making me cry

You could post this on AO3 too, it's great as it is! (Though I wouldn't say no to a good ending, I am a sucker for those...)

I wanted to see this prompt filled 😭🙏 THANK YOU FOR IT

Yesssss

This was great!

Cleaned this up, added some backstory and an ending, and posted to ao3.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32547664

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Fills Post #2

FILL: Nicky/Others, dubcon, long lost childhood friend (1/3)

FILL: Nicky/Others, dubcon, long lost childhood friend (2/3)

FILL: Nicky/Others, dubcon, long lost childhood friend (3/3)

Re: FILL: Nicky/Others, dubcon, long lost childhood friend (3/3)

Re: FILL: Nicky/Others, dubcon, long lost childhood friend (3/3)

Re: FILL: Nicky/Others, dubcon, long lost childhood friend (3/3)

Re: FILL: Nicky/Others, dubcon, long lost childhood friend (3/3)

Re: FILL: Nicky/Others, dubcon, long lost childhood friend (3/3)

Re: FILL: Nicky/Others, dubcon, long lost childhood friend (3/3)

Re: FILL: Nicky/Others, dubcon, long lost childhood friend (1/3)