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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 10A/14
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Part 10A
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(Nicolo)
Cairo, 12th century
Morning came too quickly. One day gone. Two...two more to go.
Nicolo traced Yusuf's words with the pointer stick. It was not as easy to remember the words if he did not copy them like he did with Latin. But ink and paper is costly. Yusuf needs it more.
Yusuf’s hopeful plans roiled in the bottom of his stomach since last night. The thought of setting down their swords and have a quiet life for a few years was something Nicolo did not think was possible for him. But to have it here in Cairo...
Fingers grabbed his ears and pried open his mouth. He could not breathe. He heard nothing but groans that made his ears burn. His jaw locked. He gagged as it crawled in and would not stop even as he jerked helplessly for breath.
Do not bite. Look at him, not it. Relax the throat. Swallow. Swallow—
Yusuf’s foot stretched under the table and tapped Nicolo’s.
The dagger twisting in Nicolo’s chest vanished.
"Nicolo, Nicolo," Yusuf bade from across the table, "Look."
Nicolo raised his eyes off the notes and blinked at a paper covered in smudged black etches of someone reading under a fig tree with--
"What," Nicolo pointed to the black spot with fangs that touched the floor, "is that?"
"You," Yusuf said cheerfully.
Nicolo arched an eyebrow. “I look like that?”
Yusuf’s eyebrows rose. He peered down at the drawing he held up to where Nicolo tapped the black smudge. It was the size of a ripe date.
Yusuf chuckled. "Ah, no, no, that is not you. That is the demon cat." At Nicolo's look, Yusuf nodded meaningfully towards the door.
"Sh, it might hear you."
Nicolo shook his head, but found himself smiling as he glanced down at Yusuf's notes once more. He listened to Yusuf humming under his breath as he went back to his scrolls.
The words started to look the same by the time he lifted his head. He found himself under Yusuf's study, his eyes thoughtful as they considered Nicolo. Caught, Yusuf did not look away. He continued to look, his smile widening.
It was Nicolo who looked away. Something stirred in his stomach. He was not sure if he was dizzy with ill or something else.
"What?" Nicolo murmured. He studied the corners of the pages of neat Arabic. Perhaps he could bind them together so Yusuf can not lose them. The monastery taught him how to bind books, how to stitch pages together tight. His little fingers had bled, but he did not mind. They let him read the finished book for a few hours before it was taken away.
"I would be happy to do this with you every day," Yusuf murmured. He rose to his feet to fetch the pot.
"I did not think I would find paradise so quickly in my eternal life," Yusuf mused. He tipped the pail of water to fill the pot.
"I did not realize paradise would be so messy," Nicolo said dryly. "Why do you not believe in a neat bed?"
Yusuf whistled Nicolo's attention over. He flicked damp fingers at Nicolo, chuckling as he set the pot in the hearth.
"You would be bored," Nicolo scoffed as Yusuf returned to his chair. He squinted at the page he held. The letters wavered and slipped out of order. He sighed to himself and pointed to the word with his stick.
"It means fortitude," Yusuf explained after pronouncing it slowly. "And no, Nicolo, I would not." He sat back into his chair. "I could not see myself ever be bored with you."
“Drawing pictures of cats and me reading your bad handwriting?” Nicolo retorted. “That is how you wish to spend eternity?”
“If it is with you?” Yusuf replied easily. “Yes.”
Nicolo was not sure how to respond or if he should. He peered up, looking at Yusuf through his lashes.
“You should not say things you will regret.” Nicolo brushed a thumb across a page. Yusuf’s notes crinkled and Nicolo pulled away before he damaged them.
“Never,” Yusuf murmured. “I say what is in my heart. How could I regret that?”
Nicolo squirmed uneasily in his chair.
“I am not like you,” Nicolo mumbled. “I do not have the words to say such things .” He shook his head. “Do not expect poetry in my words.”
“No need,” Yusuf said quietly. “I see poetry in what you do.” He reached across the table and captured Nicolo’s hands.
“I see it in the way you always give me the thicker blanket, the bigger slice of bread, the sweetest fruit. I do not need words.”
Yusuf squeezed Nicolo’s hand before letting go.
“I see it in everything you do.” Yusuf beamed at Nicolo.
“How could I be bored of that?”
Nicolo tentatively smiled.
"Besides," Yusuf chuckled, "Every dream of them showed them in battle. I fear they do not know how to be bored. When we meet, I expect many adventures with them."
Nicolo's smile ached as he kept it on his face. When Yusuf reluctantly turned back to his work, Nicolo lowered his eyes. His stomach twisted as if he could still taste them soiling his insides. But it wasn’t possible. He threw up when Yusuf stepped out to get tea and figs in the market this morning.
The two women fought as one, smiling broadly as they traded blows with numbers greater than them. He knew, deep in his heart, the battles they fought were just.
What would they think of him?
Nicolo blinked once more. Yusuf's words blurred in front of him. He inhaled slowly through his nose.
What did they think when they saw him plunge his blade hilt deep into Yusuf? He swung, the cross hung on his neck glinted briefly, his sword briefly catching on bone before slicing through.
What did they think of him among the ranks riding towards Antioch, slaughtering and raging, his humanity stained with the blood of those defending their home?
What did they think of him when he dropped to his knees, mouth accepting object after object, swallowing every drop, picked up the coins tossed to him on the floor, returning soon after to do it all over again?
What will they think of him in two days when he goes to Dirar? What will Yusuf think of him after?
“I do it all willingly,” Nicolo muttered. He jerked when he heard himself. He clamped his mouth shut. Fool.
“Ah Nicolo,” Yusuf sighed. “Even with selling your sword?”
Nicolo’s insides clenched. “I told you, he will not sell it unless I am there.”
“Are you sure?” Yusuf pressed.
Nicolo’s throat soured. He was not sure of anything anymore.
“Who is he? I would feel better if we get your sword back now.”
But the sword was propped by the door. He went through the door. Later, someone lead him out and it was not there. Was it? He can not recall. His throat had hurt. He threw up over the side of the boat because he tasted them lodged in his throat. Someone laughed and poured wine down his throat because they said his breath smelled like a whore. But he still tasted them and Dirar hissed Nicolo would taste and feel him forever after he takes him and forever was so very long...
“Nicolo?”
Nicolo started. Yusuf was suddenly crouched next to his chair, a hand cupped on his cheek, the other on his knee. Behind him, the small pot burbled as the water boiled. Outside, Yazim's cat meowed.
“There you are,” Yusuf murmured. His brow knitted. “You suddenly hunched over as if you were praying but you have not done that since Aleppo.”
The destruction had left Nicolo silent for days. He watched Yusuf pray, facing Kaaba and he could not clasp his hands and pray. Not any more. He stopped, replacing His word with weeping dry eyed by his bedroll every night.
Would it help to pray now? He is certain no one will listen to someone like him.
“Nicolo,” Yusuf soothed. He stroked Nicolo’s face. His fingers slipped into Nicolo’s hair...
”Money well spent.”
Gems flooded into his mouth and burned all the way down to his belly.
”I will be your first.”
Dirar’s object struck so deep, his head slammed back on the cardamom stained floor.
Nicolo’s chair toppled to the floor.
“Nicolo!”
He stumbled, his foot snared on a chair leg as he lurched towards the door. He fell, his arm made a sickening crack...
...Dirar’s man accidentally pulled too hard when it was his turn. He reared up off the floor, gurgling because it was too much to swallow. It splattered all over his chin as the object pushed past his swollen lips and the mess still pooled under his tongue...
“Careful. Here. The chamber pot is in front of you...”
It burned. Everything bubbled sour and thick in his belly. Gems, Khalil, the man who broke his tooth shoving in too quick, Dirar, and Dirar...
Nicolo retched, pitching forward into the chamber pot until a hand slipped over his forehead to keep his head up. Not that there was anything to avoid. Spit, gobs of blood and sour bile dribbled out of his mouth. But no, no, they were still there. He wanted it out. All of it. Out. Out. Out!
“Nicolo, Nicolo, stop, there’s no more.” Yusuf pushed his head back away from the chamber pot. He splayed a hand over Nicolo’s belly. “Here? It hurts here? Shou—Nicolo, no, there’s nothing left!”
He could still taste them in his mouth, writhing and boiling him alive in his stomach, he could not breathe. It was too thick, driving too deep, stop, he needs a moment, no wait, stop, not now, no, no, no...
“Sh...” Yusuf wrapped himself around Nicolo, a hand rubbing circles on his belly.
Nicolo groaned. He curled towards Yusuf and panted against his shoulder. They were on the floor. How were they on the floor?
By their tangled feet, the pot lid jumped in place as water boiled.
“The tea,” Yusuf exhaled. “It is not helping is it? I will return to the stall tomorrow and have his head.”
All that wasted coin.
“It will be fine,” Nicolo mumbled. “I heal.”
“But you also hurt.” Yusuf nosed the top of Nicolo’s head. “And you will not tell me why.”
“It is the food,” Nicolo said against Yusuf’s shoulder. He should get off Yusuf. The pot rattled and bang for attention.
“Was that supposed to be a necessary lie?” Yusuf sounded angry.
Nicolo shook his head.
“Just as easier answer,” Nicolo mumbled. He dropped his head into Yusuf’s shoulder. He could hear Yusuf’s head.
“For me?” Yusuf sounded defeated.
“For me.” Nicolo groaned as he sat up. He stared at the messy table in dismay.
“Nothing was stained,” Yusuf assured. “Just a little ink spilled.”
Nicolo exhaled. He is ruining everything, wasting food, wasting ink, worrying Yusuf. He took a deep breath and twisted around to take the pot off the fire.
“Nicolo wait, it is still ho—“
Nicolo hissed as his hand flared into an agony he have not felt since the fires in Aleppo. It shot up his elbow as if his arm was aflame. He grit his teeth, curled his hand tighter around the handle and pulled the pot away from the hearth.
As soon as Nicolo set the pot down on a safe distance away from the flames, Yusuf was upon him.
“Your hand. Let me see.” Yusuf tugged Nicolo’s hand to him before Nicolo could offer it.
Nicolo grimaced at the white mottled mess. He could not feel his fingers. The handle branded white into the fleshy part of his palm.
Yusuf cradled Nicolo’s hand to his chest.
They watched as the blisters cracked, white dead flesh flushed pink, blood returned and his palm became whole.
“I forgot,” Nicolo said awkwardly. “But I healed.”
“And it also hurt.” Yusuf pressed his lips to Nicolo’s palm. His kiss was brief. Nicolo barely felt it.
“But it does not hurt for long.” Nicolo tugged his hand free.
“The memory hurts longer,” Yusuf sighed. He considered Nicolo with a sad crinkle between his eyes. “Do you not think so?”
Nicolo nodded. He can still taste them. They still soured his insides with filth.
“Nicolo,” Yusuf murmured. It hurt to see the lines around Yusuf’s eyes and mouth.
“Is it later yet? How long are we to pretend this is nothing more than food?”
Nicolo hung his head.
“Does this have to do with the sword? Does this have to do with why you see yourself so low?”
“Please,” Nicolo whispered. It felt like the faded hurt in his hand has seeped into his chest. His chest throbbed hot and cold. He dully wondered if there was dead flesh inside. “Not now.”
“No,” Yusuf sounded angry again. “You can not use that against me every time. Nicolo—“
“After Aziz then.” Nicolo stared at Yusuf. He hoped Yusuf can not hear how his heart raced. “I...I will explain everything then.”
Yusuf sagged. “But not before?”
Not until Dirar was done with him and Yusuf is safe.
“I am sorry,” Nicolo murmured.
Yusuf sighed. “After Aziz. We will go to the Nile, see the birds. You tell me there, yea?”
Nicolo felt a lump in his throat so he simply nodded.
Yusuf pulled Nicolo closer. He wrapped his arms around Nicolo again, one hand slipping over his stomach.
“Here?” Yusuf’s question rumbled by his ear. “It hurts here?”
Nicolo wanted to say no. Higher, the hurt was higher over his heart. But he only nodded. The pain in his heart will be nothing compared to after Yusuf learns the truth. This pain will be nothing when Yusuf and the women reject him.
They sat in the floor, their feet stretched towards the hearth. The fire was gone but the warmth was there. Yusuf’s hand smoothing over his belly felt warm as well.
“Do you think they will see this?” Nicolo waved feebly at the pot. He kept the other hand on his lap. Yusuf’s hand often brushed over his hand there
Yusuf snorted. “Yes.” He abruptly laughed.
The laugh felt nice against Nicolo’s back. “What?”
“This will be embarrassing,” Yusuf chortled, “When they learn we can not even boil water.”
Nicolo scoffed. He dropped his head back against Yusuf.
Yusuf hugged him tight. He continued laughing.
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I'm taught to be concise in my papers. Obviously that didn't translate to here. LOL
More later! Bear with me, we'll nearly there!
Re: Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 10A/14
(Anonymous) 2020-10-08 07:22 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Yusuf/Nicolo Forced Prostitution Fill : Needs of the Other 10A/14
(Anonymous) 2020-10-08 08:49 pm (UTC)(link)