theoldguardkinkmeme (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
theoldguardkinkmeme) wrote2020-07-22 10:07 am
theoldguardkinkmeme) wrote2020-07-22 10:07 am
Fills Post
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Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 8A/12
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Part 8A
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Dirar’s hand curled tight to the back of his neck.
“You have not lay with anyone.”
He kept his eyes forward above the protruding object leaking between Dirar’s legs. He did not look to the left or right where the others waited. He fixed his eyes on the bone-white scar on Dirar’s stomach, a lightning bolt up to his throat. It was a scar from a sword from a war that should never have been.
“He has knelt for plenty,” one muttered. Another laughed.
Dirar’s hand squeezed his nape. The cabin darkened until Dirar released him.
“Tell me,” Dirar demanded. “Have you?”
He needs to breathed through his nose. He needs to swallow quickly so he would not gag or vomit. He needs to keep his eyes open, past their ears, look like he’s gazing back as they...
The hand around his neck squeezed harder and then moved up into his hair.
The hand gripped a fist of his hair and yanked, ripping a grunt from him before he could stop himself.
The words he repeated again disappeared in a roar in his ears.
Dirar’s face loomed close to his nose. Cardamom and figs filled his nostrils bitter and sweet.
“Tell me.”
He glared, vision blurring as air was denied to him. He clenched his teeth, the last of his breath rattling in his throat as Dirar pulled. His head bent back. Too far. Too far. But no, he will not answer.
A thought formed: if he dies, they will see him live. And they will know about Yusuf.
Jaw set, he shook his head once. Behind him, the men murmured. A knee pressed between his shoulders. Hot breath burned his ears. It reeked of rotting meat.
He tensed.
“No!” Dirar snapped. His hard grip loosened and smoothed down to his nape into a massage. His scowl turned considering, darkly pleased.
“If anyone is to be his first, it should be m—“
He threw his head forward into Dirar’s nose.
There was a wet crack, but he did not wait to see what was the damage. He twisted away from the others. He reached out a hand for Dirar’s dagger tucked in the chair.
A hand wretched his shoulder back. He felt it pop and he thrashed, letting the agony charge his limbs. He grunted, kicked out a foot, another snatched his hair, yanking back so hard, his eyes watered and his head was hot. He felt blood trickling down his scalp. A bloody clump of his hair flopped to the floor in front of him.
Someone shouted, raged. He threw his body onto legs and felt them fall. He tried for the dagger again and hands grabbed him by his ankles and yanked before his fingers could touch the sheath.
He cracked his chin on the floor, his air exploding out of his lungs. He felt a weight on his back, a hardening heat that made him recoil but there was nowhere to go.
“No,” Dirar seethed as he pressed his body across his, the engorged length, the thing he refused to think about, rutted up against the back of his legs.
Hands clamped over the back of his head. He could not see beyond the floor mottled with red and yellow smears of spice, the holes potted the surface, a barley grain rolled past him. He could see that bloody clump of hair at the corner of his tearing eye. Under Dirar's knee, his shoulder slid back into place, healed silently under the cloak of the surrounding fury.
Cardamom soaked fingers dug into his scalp.
“I will have you,” Dirar spat out against his ear. He ground into the back of his leg. A hand gripped his trousers, tugging. “I will gladly teach you what else you can offer besides your mouth.”
He grunted, hissed words in lingua that earned him a kick to his side. Something burned, fire scored his belly and down his hip. A bone broken, but they were all too frenzied to hear the bone snap back into pl—No!
His thoughts sharpened as he felt air on his buttocks. His mind scattered soon after and he couldn’t grasp a thought as a blunt finger pressed into his taint, twisting when his body clenched by instinct.
“Tight.” Dirar sounded pleased and angry at the same time. Blood dripped off Dirar’s broken nose and into his eye that flew open as the finger continued to twist, turning and pushing past the clench of his hole and it felt strange, it burned...
He choked, shouted out...something in Arabic, in lingua, in Greek, he was not sure. Yusuf teased he needs to have a better grasp at his words. He shouts in the wrong language too often—
Yusuf...Yusuf...he does not know what is happ--he does not want this...
Something stretched, the finger stilled and he grunted, bucking, his legs caught in the bind of his trousers around his knees. Someone sneered. Another spat out a word he could not understand past the rush screaming in his ears.
Abruptly, the finger pulled out. It only pushed in a tip, but when it left he felt gouged out with a blunt blade. He laid on the floor, eyes staring at the hair under his nose. Someone kicked it closer as he crowded in to--he did not know what this person wanted to do. He was unable to move, unable to think.
His trousers were jerked back over him. He felt like a sack of grain, tossed into a room, spilling broken and emptied. He bit back the gasp of relief. He breathed hard, willing the burning in his eyes to cease.
Hands roughly flipped him over. He could only lay on his back, blinking furiously at Dirar kneeling on his shoulders.
“I’ll pay you triple.” Dirar smoothed a hand down his face. Dirar patted his cheek. His finger reeked. Dirar chuckled when he snapped wordlessly at him.
“I want you willing,” Dirar murmured. “I want you here, asking me to teach you. I want you willing to be taken, to be torn, to burn around my cock and thank me for it.”
Dirar never pulled up his trousers. The...object hung red and grotesque between his legs. Dirar held it loosely with a hand.
He glowered up at Dirar. He twisted, trying to shake loose the hands gripping his ankles and the hand clamped over his brow, forcing his head back to stare wide eyed at Dirar.
“I was your first with this.” Dirar stroked between his legs. The object twitched and leaked some more. He could not look away, forced to watch Dirar gather the beads of white with his yellow and dirt brown stained fingers.
“I will be your last,” he said evenly. His belly twisted. It felt like snakes writhed and ate his insides as they hissed. He fought to speak louder so they can not hear his belly. “I will—“
“Will be here and be taken or watch Yusuf on his knees in your place,” Dirar snapped.
His breath froze, caught in his throat.
“You...” he managed, “You said you want them w-willing.” He fought to keep his voice steady. He failed. Someone above him snickered.
“Does not matter to me either way," the one holding his ankles muttered.
“Badlh,” Dirar snapped and the man silenced. Dirar touched his still bleeding nose, his other hand still cradled the object, his thumb running down it slowly.
“I do want you willing.” Dirar held out his fingers stained glistening white. “If I have to use another to do it, so be it.”
He snapped his teeth at Dirar. His heart hammered, his voice rising in unison.
“And I would be willing to kill yo—no,! No—“
He gagged as fingers wormed into his mouth. He tried to bite, his mouth gaping in a gasp when hands, too many hands clawed his face, slipping fingers into the corners of his mouth, prying his mouth open. Too many fingers. He can not bite. He can not breathe.
Dirty fingers rubbed at the back of his throat. He tasted cardamom. He tasted the bitterness of--he did not know what it was, no, he did, no, it was not that, he--
He heard Dirar’s taunts on what he would do: to him, to Yusuf, what a man does to another man. Dirar told him what he would enjoy, begging as he bleeds from a torn hole, filled impossibly, hurt, of course it will hurt until it did not. Dirar would teach him. Dirar would show him how others would want to take pleasure from him.
Three days because he was too weak and too disgusting for Dirar to lay claim now. Three days and Dirar will have the filthy pale Frank writhing on the floor, gurgling around dirty objects and slurping even dirtier things.
Dirar would be his first. Like he was would everything else.
Or he would watch Yusuf and they...
He agreed with a choked, panicked sound before Dirar finished telling him. Dirar’s fingers slipped out, wrapped around the thick object and leaned in.
“I knew you would say yes to me,” Dirar said. He looked over his shoulder at someone he could not see.
"He is with Aziz," a voice said.
When Dirar turned back, he smiled.
"Then we have all morning," Dirar murmured as he guided the object to his mouth. Fingers pry his mouth wider.
Nicolo twitched. He gagged, tasted Dirar, tasted Gems, Sham...he tasted all of them in his mouth, caked between his teeth and congealed under his tongue.
His stomach cramped, churning everything inside his belly, hardening into a fiery lump. They never left. Every drop gathered and weighed him down to this existence. There was no room for anything else.
"I paid you to swallow.
Nicolo's eyes flew open. He stared blankly as he pulled his knees to his chest. His stomach cramped terribly. He tried to drink the broth. Yusuf looked relieved as he agreed to another bowl and ate the bread. He sat on his pallet, huddled under the blanket--Yusuf insisted he take it--listening as Yusuf read the constellations tale with a hesitant voice. He has not heard Yusuf like that before. He wondered why Yusuf was pink along the ears and his cheeks above his beard. He hoped Yusuf was not ill. He hoped he did not infect Yusuf with the filth curdling in his belly.
Nicolo took the chamber pot outside, between houses, far enough away so he would not disturb anyone's sleep. After he was finished, he drew water from the shared well. He washed quickly by the well and rinsed his mouth.
The water was cold. He still did not feel clean.
When Nicolo crept back into their stone dwelling, he gazed down at Yusuf sleeping on his pallet. He slept in sleep clothes which puzzled Nicolo. It meant packing more. But Yusuf complained sleeping in clothing he wore all day itched. Nicolo agreed they itched, but even back as a child, who would spare more than one set of clothing to another?
Nicolo did not understand why Yusuf was upset after he told him this.
Crouched down by Yusuf's pallet, Nicolo thought Yusuf did indeed look comfortable. He slept without the burden of sin. What is that like?
Nicolo rested his forehead on Yusuf's pallet. He wished he thought to take the blanket with him when he went outside. It was cold. His stomach ached. He did not want to go back to sleep. Dreaming hurts.
A hand rested on top of Nicolo's head. He startled, but the hand did not tug. It merely stayed on his head. It felt like an undeserved benediction. Nicolo felt selfish for taking it.
Drowsy brown eyes cracked open. Yusuf was always slow to wake. That was unwise when there is often a violent knock at the door or a blade pointed to his throat.
"What is the matter?" Yusuf said sleepily. He did not seem surprised Nicolo was kneeling by his bed. In fact, he appeared pleased.
Nicolo resisted swallowing. He still tasted them in his mouth. He wished he tasted Yusuf's soup instead, but it fled his belly outside by Yazim's fig tree. He wasted Yusuf's efforts. Everything Yusuf did, he could not stomach...
With a small sound--it tasted terribly trying to speak--Nicolo dropped his forehead back onto Yusuf's bed.
Yusuf's hand drifted to the back of his head. He did not pull the hair. He petted long strokes down Nicolo's hair.
"Is it your stomach again?"
Nicolo nodded. Necessary lie. He nodded once more.
"Ah." Yusuf sounded sad. "Perhaps it was too soon. Perhaps you should have started little first?"
"I am sorry," Nicolo croaked.
Yusuf shushed him. His hand continued to run through the back of Nicolo's head. Nicolo did not understand why it made him want to weep.
"Come here." Yusuf sat up. He gestured at Nicolo. "Here." He shifted back and patted a space on the bed.
Nicolo stared blankly at Yusuf. He stayed crouched by the bed.
Yusuf huffed, smiling drowsily, his eyes dark yet so fond. Nicolo's breath caught in his throat. He pulled his gaze away before he stared too long.
Yusuf's hands swept over Nicolo's shoulders. His palms were broad and warm but carried no pain. They grasp him but did not hurt. They coaxed Nicolo to rise, not to kneel.
Nicolo blinked, puzzled how he was now lying on his side, on Yusuf's bed when he was curled by Yusuf's bed, his hands pressed to his belly. His hands returned to his stomach to stop the lurch and cut of them boiling his insides. He no longer tasted them, but he could feel Dirar and the others gouging him from the inside.
"I paid you to swallow.
"I want you willing to be taken, to be torn, to burn around my cock and thank me for it.”
"I will be your first."
Nicolo's stomach spasm. His jaw had ached when they finished. He did not remember getting back on his feet. He did not remember Dirar cleaning his face with a rag like he was a child. He did not remember being praised. He did not remember walking out of the ship.
He remembered how they tasted. He remembered how he swallowed.
Nicolo's stomach lurched. He must have made a sound because Yusuf shushed him again.
Yusuf's hand went around his middle and covered Nicolo's trembling hands over his stomach.
"You are cold," Yusuf noted. He sounded more alert. Nicolo robbed him from sleep. "Did you go outside? Were you sick?"
Nicolo nodded tentatively. He blinked blearily at his pallet across from them. Why did he not go back there?
"Ah Nicolo." Yusuf's body settled against his back. His hand pressed carefully with Nicolo's. "It hurt here?"
Nicolo could only nod again. He waited, but Yusuf did not feel heavy against him. Yusuf felt like Yusuf. Yusuf felt warm.
"Stay here then." Yusuf pulled Nicolo closer. He murmured, shushing when Nicolo flailed briefly.
"Did I hurt you?"
Never.
Nicolo shook his head. Yusuf's nose bumped into his nape. Nicolo flailed again, moving his head so Yusuf can not smell them on him.
"Sorry." Yusuf's hand started to move away, stopping when Nicolo croaked, "No. Please." His hand was a cloak over Nicolo's.
Nicolo listened to Yusuf murmured against his shoulder.
"Before," Nicolo rasped. "What you said before."
Yusuf went quiet behind him. Nicolo was glad. He could pretend only the walls can hear him.
Nicolo blinked hard. His bed across from him blurred.
"The same," Nicolo said hoarsely. His throat ached. The objects had thrust deep. It felt like they were still scraping his throat raw, over and over, deeper the more he struggled. He couldn't breathe. He felt a tear escaped. he can not let this happen to Yusuf.
"I..." Nicolo swallowed and forced himself to get used to the taste.
"The same. I...my words are not as...like yours, but I think the same."
Nicolo felt Yusuf's lips brush across his name. The urge to weep returned.
"I would do anything..." Nicolo whispered. He felt Yusuf's hand over his stomach press both their hands deeper. His stomach quieted.
"I am...willing to do..." Nicolo forced himself to swallow again. His throat tasted bitter. Perhaps he will spend eternity tasting them.
"What you said," Nicolo's voice shook. "The same, Yusuf. I...I feel the same."
"Nicolo," Yusuf breathed. He kissed Nicolo's shoulder. "albi..."
Nicolo listened to Yusuf drift back to sleep. Yusuf's hand remained holding his, loosen in slumber but as reassuring as him against his back, fighting sword to blade by his side.
It will be fine. Three days. They can leave in three days with enough coin.
"I am willing," Nicolo whispered. He closed his eyes and prayed he does not dream.
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More later!
Re: Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 8A/12
(Anonymous) 2020-10-05 05:41 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 8A/12
Re: Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 8A/12
(Anonymous) 2020-10-05 06:12 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 8A/12
Re: Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 8A/12
(Anonymous) 2020-10-05 06:32 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 8A/12
(Anonymous) 2020-10-05 06:52 pm (UTC)(link)I don't know how you manage to hurt my heart with each new addition, Nicky's pain is so visceral and yet you see how much he cares for Joe...the comforting spooning by the end helped with soothing the pain.... ugh I love this fill so much
Re: Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 8A/12
(Anonymous) 2020-10-05 07:51 pm (UTC)(link)I want Yusuf to find out. I want him make it very clear to Nicolo that he doesn't need to do this. Then I want someone to show these men that two wrongs do not make a right.
Re: Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 8A/12
(Anonymous) 2020-10-06 02:28 am (UTC)(link)Re: Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 8A/12
(Anonymous) 2020-10-06 09:15 pm (UTC)(link)