theoldguardkinkmeme | Fills Post #2

Fills Post #2

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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!

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Fills Post #2

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)