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Forfeit (part 7)

[(Anonymous)]

Farkas regained consciousness on the floor of a cell, naked, with no idea of how long he had been senseless. His mouth and throat were furry-dry, as though he had slept with his mouth open for hours, and when he moved, his head crashed and throbbed like his worst ever mead hangover. Sitting up stiffly, he took stock of his surroundings.

The cell was fairly clean, and didn’t smell, but he could hear skeever squeaking beyond the small barred window. In one corner on a sleeping shelf was a bedroll, and beside that, a bucket of water. There was also a bowl containing a chunk of stale bread and a small wheel of cheese. The water was clean, so after drinking his fill, he used some of it to soften the bread until it was edible, choking it down, along with the cheese.

Wherever he was, he wasn’t dead, and Farkas was confused. Sithis required a soul, and since his own was the only one on offer, it was fair to assume that payment had not yet been made. What was Janshir playing at? It seemed like a dangerous game, but why? What had he said? “I’m still trying to figure out why I love you.” Farkas could only conclude that Janshir was still trying to get him to give up another soul. Assuming, of course, that it was Janshir who had put him here...

His ruminations were interrupted by the sound of a key turning in the lock. The door swung soundlessly open, and Janshir stepped into the cell.

“I see you have already availed yourself of our hospitality. Good.”

“Why am I here, Jan? I’m supposed to be dead.”

“Sometimes these things take time. Sithis can be extremely patient.”

“And Vilkas? Is he in danger?”

“Not as long as you co-operate.” Janshir’s tone was beginning to make Farkas uneasy.

“Co-operate? With what?” Farkas was almost certain he did not want to hear the answer.

“It shouldn’t be too hard, you’ve done this before.” Janshir raised his hand. Threading his fingers in Farkas’ hair, he drew his face down, kissing Farkas on the lips.”

Farkas stepped back, flinching. “What? No!”

“Why not? You never used to have a problem.”

“Kissing is for lovers.”

Janshir recoiled as if struck, an expression of hurt in his eyes. “I do love you. Why do you think you are still alive?”

Farkas was bitter. “I don’t think you know the meaning of the word.”

Janshir’s eyes hardened. “I do love you, and I mean to have you any way I can. Know that your twin’s safety depends on your assent.”

“If this is what you’re going to do, then do it. I’ll not fight you if it keeps Vilkas alive. What I’m not going to do is pretend that I like it, that I love you, that I’m afraid of you, or that for some reason I deserve to be punished, just so you can feel better about raping me. Once, when you were Harbinger, before the Brotherhood, I could have loved you. I did love you. But not now. Not ever.”

Janshir’s face was an impassive mask as he pushed Farkas to his knees, and bent him forward to expose his anus.

Farkas was taken without words, without preparation, his face in the dust as Janshir rode him brutally, forcing him beyond mere arousal to a place where scalding shame burned down every nerve, every vein. He was given no quarter, and asked for none. Teeth ripped at his neck and his shoulders, nails cut bruises into his hips, his arse burned in submission and betrayed him by hungering, lusting, pleading for more. Farkas was claimed. He was taken. He was owned.

He released uncontrollably as Janshir came inside him, his face wet with tears of humiliation. Hot words gusted in his ear.

“Mine. Until I choose to give you to Sithis, you are mine.”

Farkas closed his eyes, and this time he welcomed the darkness.