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When Joachim came to he was no longer in the Dark Palace of Waterfalls, and he was dressed only in his shirt and trousers. He could tell that he was still within the castle, but when he tried to look around he felt the pressure of Walter's mind slamming into his, freezing him in place. He fought the intrusion--he always fought it--but still Walter forced his way in, his presence heavy and disgusting, like a wet wool blanket over Joachim's mind.
The click of Walter's bootheels against the stone floor was loud behind him, and then Joachim felt hands on his hair, stroking it in a parody of gentleness. "It's a pity you can't see yourself in the mirror. Not a trace of colour left to you, like a sculpture of ice."
"And whose doing is that?" So he could speak, for now. Joachim tested Walter's control again, but it hadn't slipped--Walter just wanted him able to answer.
"I wonder, if you fed regularly for a time, if it would eventually come back. If you'd only learn to behave yourself, we could find out." Walter's fingers, warm with stolen blood, trailed down Joachim's neck, and the contrast with his own icy skin was so great that it was uncomfortable, almost as if those fingers would burn him. Walter's lips followed the trail of fading heat left by his fingers, and Joachim tried to flinch away. Tried, and failed.
"Go to Hell."
Walter just laughed, his breath hot on Joachim's skin. "Well. You're lovely like this, too."
Joachim shivered as Walter withdrew, and cursed the bastard silently. He'd been used to being cold to the point that he rarely even noticed it anymore, but Walter's warmth had forcibly reminded him of what it was like to be warm and he couldn't go back to ignoring it.
It wasn't long before Walter returned, but Joachim's back itched the whole time at having Walter behind him, unseen, doing unknown things. But all Walter did was start to run a brush through Joachim's hair in long, slow strokes, pausing only to unsnarl the many tangles. It could have been soothing, with anyone but Walter wielding the brush; instead, Joachim all but vibrated with the need to move, to lash out.
When the last knot was gone and Joachim's hair lay smooth and soft against his neck, Walter twisted a lock of it around his fingers and asked, too casually, "Do you even remember what colour it used to be?"
Joachim wanted to snarl back that of course he did, that it had been... brown? Blond? He tried to remember the sight of his own face in the mirror, and his breath caught because he couldn't.
The force bearing down on his mind increased suddenly, becoming oppressive almost to the point of pain. Walter took a firmer hold of his hair, then, and pulled back hard, forcing Joachim to crane his neck so that he was looking up and back at Walter. "I asked you a question."
Without his willing it, Joachim's lips moved to form the answer, but his neck was bent at such a painful angle that all that came out was a choking noise. Nonetheless, it seemed answer enough for Walter, and he smiled before releasing Joachim's hair. "I thought not." He smoothed Joachim's hair back into place, then turned and walked away.
This time Joachim found himself rising to follow, his body moving at no direction of his. He saw now that they were in the Throne Room. He also saw Walter clearly for the first time this night, and bristled at the sight. Of course Walter was fully dressed, while Joachim was barefoot and missing half his clothes. Even worse, Walter had removed not only his gauntlets, but also his breastplate--he was so confident in his control that he had the nerve to go unarmoured in Joachim's presence! Joachim hissed angrily at Walter's back, but his traitorous feet just kept walking him towards the throne.
Walter sprawled on the throne with infuriating indolence, and pulled Joachim's unresisting body into his lap. Joachim could feel the rivets on Walter's stupid boots digging into the backs of his thighs even through the fabric of his trousers, but found that he could at least shift his weight to a slightly more comfortable position. He could move, as long as he didn't try to move away; it was almost worse, having that little bit of control and knowing it was because anything he did within those limits would please Walter. Furious, he bared his fangs at Walter, but Walter only tsked and gave him an exaggerated sort of sad look.
"Such a troublesome child you are." Walter traced distractingly random patterns on Joachim's back, his fingers too warm even though Joachim's shirt. How deeply had the bastard fed, to be so warm? Or had Joachim just forgotten what normal warmth felt like?
"All children go through a rebellious phase, of course. But don't you think yours has lasted long enough? Isn't it time you came to your senses, and returned to my side?" Joachim froze, no longer the least bit concerned with whatever Walter was doing with his hands. He turned his head to give Walter an incredulous look, and found Walter looking back at him with an expression of deep concern on his face, as if he actually believed what he was saying.
Bullshit.
"Have you gone mad?!" Or Joachim had. Gone madder. He was hallucinating this entire conversation. He had to be.
It was the only explanation for why he made the mistake of meeting Walter's eyes. The throne room vanished as those gold/red/glowing eyes swallowed the world. Dimly, Joachim felt himself falling, felt strong arms catch him.
"All could be forgiven. You could stand at my right hand again, never go hungry again. Poor thing, all alone down there. It doesn't have to be that way. You want to come back to me, don't you?"
He did want that. Listening to the voice felt good. The warm hands holding him felt good. He was so tired of being hungry, of being cold, why shouldn't he listen? He wanted...
He wanted to fucking kill Walter.
Rage blossomed in Joachim's mind, blotting out Walter's seductive voice. "Shut up! Shutupshutupshutup! Damn you!" The room snapped back into focus. Walter's grip on him shifted as he stood, lifting him up and throwing him over one shoulder.
"Still such a child, after all this time." Walter was still playing at... whatever this was... trying to sound disappointed, but now Joachim could hear the undercurrent of pleasure in his voice. Whatever his goal was in all this, Joachim had walked right into it.
Joachim grunted as Walter deliberately jostled him, his shoulder digging into Joachim's belly with every step. When Walter put him down and shoved him forward, Joachim couldn't get his body to respond and he went sprawling over a footstool, just barely catching himself on his elbows before his face hit the floor. Apparently not satisfied, Walter planted a booted foot between his shoulder blades and pressed down until Joachim's arms gave out and his shoulders and face were pressed against the cold stone, with his hips held up by the footstool. "Naughty children deserve to be punished."
Even knowing this could be going nowhere good, Joachim was outraged when Walter yanked his trousers down to bare his ass. "You wouldn't dare!"
"Oh?" Walter's voice dripped with amusement. He was seriously doing this. Of course he was. "But I'm feeling generous. I'll let you choose. Would you like the crop, or..." The sound of a length of chain clinking filled Joachim's ears, stirring unease in the pit of his stomach. Walter's belt. The links were heavy enough to really hurt him, and Joachim almost wanted to choose it out of spite. Walter would have to either give him blood so that he could heal, or have no more fun out of him tonight. But the thought of being dumped back in his prison unfed, left to heal human-slow, was deterrent enough that Joachim discarded that idea.
"... The crop."
"What's that? I don't think I heard you."
Gritting his teeth, Joachim refused to play along any further. Until Walter jangled the chain again, as if testing its balance. "The crop! ... Please." Walter remained silent behind him, except for the clink clink clink of the chain. Unbelievable. Spitting the words out with all the venom he could muster, Joachim repeated, "The crop, please, Daddy."
"See? You can be good if you try."
Walter dropped the chain, and the sound of it hitting the floor disguised the whistle of the crop slicing through the air; the first stroke took Joachim by surprise, and he let out an undignified yelp. The impact rocked his hips against the footstool, and the stinging pain lit his nerve endings on fire. As the sting faded, leaving behind a more diffuse burning and the dull throb of a bruise, Walter hit him again on the same damn spot.
Again and again the crop struck his skin. Sometimes Walter kept to a rhythm just long enough for Joachim to start to expect the strikes, only to change it so that Joachim's anticipatory flinches brought his ass right into the path of the next stroke. Sometimes he would go for seemingly endless stretches without striking Joachim at all, then deliver an unexpected flurry of blows all in a row. It was maddening, and it was nothing like injuries sustained in battle, and Joachim found he was having trouble staying silent through it.
As more and more of his ass burned with that dull fire, his blood-starved body struggled to heal the injuries. His head swam, his vision blurred, and yet still he felt a shock of pleasure every time his hips jerked against the soft padding of the footstool. That, more than anything, was a humiliation like acid in his belly. All of it together--pain, pleasure, starvation, hate--was too much and shadows crept from the edges of his vision inwards. Everything became distant, vague; he heard himself make a pitiful noise he wouldn't put a name to, and suddenly the blows stopped falling.
There was a soft clank of metal on stone as Walter knelt beside him, tipping his chin up to look at his face. The last thing Joachim saw before he blacked out entirely was Walter's smug smile.
The next thing Joachim knew, he was leaning against Walter's chest. They were back on the throne, with Joachim in Walter's lap facing him, his knees hooked over the arms of the throne. The rivets in those goddamn boots were digging into his ass again, and this time it was more than just uncomfortable--each little nub of metal was managing to jab him right in a bruise or a welt.
And where the Hell were his trousers?!
Joachim felt Walter's chuckle rumble through his chest and tried to pull away, to no avail.
"Back with me, are you? You've become so delicate, if that was too much for you."
They both knew it was lack of blood that was the real problem, but there was no way to say it without admitting weakness, so Joachim just snarled at Walter wordlessly.
Walter's only response was to smirk and hitch Joachim up a little higher, his hands cupping Joachim's ass. There was some kind of oil on his hands, and Joachim couldn't stop himself squirming as Walter squeezed and rubbed his abused flesh. That his freedom of movement extended only to wriggling in place, chest to chest with Walter, was to be expected but still somehow galling.
"If you could only see yourself. It's positively obscene, these lurid welts on your lovely skin. Perhaps next time I'll bring in a portrait artist, and immortalise the sight of you with your ass in the air, all striped in red." He whispered the words into Joachim's ear, as if they were endearments rather than a taunt, while Joachim choked on a howl of outrage.
The howl rose in pitch to something more like a shriek as Walter poured more oil on his hands and started to work one finger into Joachim's hole. Joachim tensed immediately, but Walter slapped him on the ass and said "Stop that," reinforcing the command with a mental push, forcing Joachim's body to relax.
Joachim swallowed his moan the first time Walter's finger brushed over that spot inside him. Walter smirked and touched it again, and again, until Joachim was writing in his lap, panting and moaning like a bitch. "I hate you!"
That earned him another jarring slap on the ass, and Walter's fingers went still inside him. "Is that so?"
With a frustrated snarl Joachim canted his hips, trying to hit that angle that felt so good, but Walter made a disappointed noise and withdrew his fingers entirely. "That's not how we ask for something we want, is it now?"
Clamping his mouth shut on a needy moan, Joachim stared over Walter's shoulder at the back of the throne. He wasn't begging. He'd rather go back to his dungeon unsatisfied.
Walter cocked his head, feigning puzzlement. "Are you sure?" He drew one sharp nail down the side of his neck, raising a shallow line of blood. The scratch healed as fast as he made it, but those few drops lingered on his skin, the scent of his blood in the air. Joachim swayed a little, dizzy with the sudden force of his hunger.
"Decide quickly. I'm a busy man." Walter brought both hands back down to Joachim's ass but only rested them there, the lightest of touches against bruised and welted skin.
Pride, or blood. Joachim could only choose the former over the latter for so long before his body betrayed him, and Walter knew it. Counted on it. Forced Joachim into this corner again and again and he was so hungry...
"... Please." Joachim's voice cracked, his throat painfully dry. All he could see was the vein pulsing in Walter's throat, the blood he wanted so badly just beneath that thin layer of skin. "I want..." No. Those weren't the right words this time. This was a different game.
"Please fuck me." At Walter's raised eyebrow, he groaned in defeat, letting his forehead fall forward to rest against Walter's shoulder. "Please fuck me, Daddy."
"Anything for my favourite child." Walter kissed the top of Joachim's head, and Joachim felt him shift one hand away, heard the rustle of his breeches being unbuttoned.
If Walter's hands had been too warm against Joachim's skin, his cock felt almost as hot as a branding iron as he pushed the tip into Joachim. He knew the pain was only an illusion, but his mind still screamed that he would burn. He could only cling to Walter's shoulders and whimper pathetically as Walter's oil-slicked cock slowly slid into him, stretching him and filling him, and it was too much. And then the entire length was inside him and Walter paused, chest rumbling with a little growl of pleasure. "Such a good boy. Go on, then."
The moment Joachim sank his fangs into Walter's neck, Walter began to thrust. But from the first taste of the rich liquor of Walter's blood, everything was good. Heat spread through Joachim, relaxing instead of burning, warming him from the inside out, and he rocked his hips to meet Walter's. His thighs trembled with the strain, Walter's fingers dug into bruises that were only just beginning to heal, but Joachim didn't care because Walter's blood was like lightning in his veins and Walter's cock was hitting that spot inside with every thrust and everything was just so good. So when Walter came inside him, Joachim shuddered and came as well; neither of them moved for a few heartbeats, sated and lazy with it.
And then Walter noticed the sticky mess Joachim had left on his black silk shirt and stood abruptly, dumping Joachim out of his lap and onto the floor. Joachim's ass hitting the floor was like a bucket of ice water to the face, shocking him awake in an instant. What had he been doing?
Walter wasn't even looking at him, preoccupied with the stain on his fine shirt, and Joachim's vision went red with fury. The portrait above the throne shredded into a thousand bits of mangled canvas, and the frame cracked into jagged pieces that rained down on Walter; Walter realised what was happening a second late, and his shield failed to deflect two of the wooden slivers. The pieces Walter missed struck him in the arm and shoulder, biting deep, blood welling from the wounds.
Both Walter and Joachim froze for a moment, staring at the impossible sight of Walter's blood soaking into the dark fabric of his sleeve. How long had Joachim been free to act and not known it? Could he have torn out Walter's throat, if he hadn't been too stupid with blood and sex to try?
Joachim attacked again, but Walter was a heartbeat faster to recover from his shock. This time, the wooden fragments shot through empty air as Walter disappeared, reappearing beside Joachim. Joachim saw the kick coming and twisted away, but not fast enough, and the metal plating of Walter's boot connected with the side of his face. His vision exploded into red and white and he felt something break in his cheek.
He tasted blood, and felt it trickling down his neck. Somehow he was flat on his back, the ceiling spinning and dancing above him, and he couldn't remember why he needed to focus, to summon his power, but it kept sliding out of his grasp... Walter loomed over him, suddenly, and Joachim remembered too late what was happening. Walter's bootheel ground into his crotch, hard enough to do real damage, and Joachim would have screamed but Walter's mind was wrapped around his again, so tight that he couldn't draw breath. He didn't need to breathe, but it still felt wrong, horribly wrong, to go without air.
Walter, meanwhile, was breathing hard, his face dark with wild anger as he pulled the bloody wooden slivers out of his arm. Joachim would have laughed, if he could--such little pieces of nothing, but they had hurt him, had drawn blood, because Walter hadn't been paying attention. The Stone's protection was not absolute, and Joachim would value that knowledge later. Right now, all he cared about was the look on Walter's face, the shock and genuine rage replacing his usual smug boredom. It was hilarious.
"That. Was uncalled for." Walter struggled to steady his breathing, leaning his weight onto his bootheel again. The fresh flash of pain wiped away Joachim's mirth. "Shall I send you to your room to think about what you've done? Take away your toys?"
Any trace of amusement flickered and died in Joachim, replaced again by white-hot rage. So Walter would take even that from him? Leave him truly alone in that pit? No! Never! He would bring the castle down around their heads first!
... And the Stone would no doubt keep Walter alive, while Joachim was buried alone in that dank prison. No. No. He knew Walter could be hurt now. His chance would come, but he had to be close to Walter to seize it. And so he smothered his anger, for now.
After watching him warily for a moment longer, Walter finally released a measure of his control and took his heel off Joachim's crotch. The rush of blood back to the injury brought with it a new throb of pain, and Joachim groaned.
"Convince me why I shouldn't."
Rolling onto his hands and knees, Joachim had to pause as the room dipped and swam around him nauseatingly. He was nearly at full power, having fed from Walter, and healing rapidly--to still be this dizzy, how hard had Walter kicked him? A human's head would have been caved in like a rotten pumpkin. Bastard. The world steadied again, but Joachim stayed on his hands and knees.
Not looking up at Walter, he crawled closer, his head bowed, his hair falling to hide the hate on his face. Bending low, he kissed the top of Walter's foot. "I'm sorry. Please forgive me." The humiliation burned, but it would be worth it for the day he plunged his swords into Walter's heart, and drank his blood down until not a drop remained, and the light left Walter's eyes and...
"The other one, too. It's dirty." Walter's voice was cold, but it was the old arrogance creeping back in. The anger was all but gone.
'Dirty', he said. The other boot was stained with Joachim's blood, was what it was. Gagging at the thought of licking up his own cold, congealing blood, Joachim hesitated. Walter began to tap his foot impatiently, and Joachim swallowed his nausea. He'd come this far.
It was every bit as disgusting as he'd expected, the taste of metal and the feel of drying, sticky blood under his tongue as he licked Walter's stupid, ugly boot clean.
When he was done, Walter made a show of examining the boot for spots. Finding none, he sighed tiredly. "I suppose that will do. I seem to be incapable of staying mad at you."
Joachim sat back on his heels, wary still. Walter leaned in, catching his chin with one hand and turning his head to look at the healing mess he'd made of Joachim's cheek. "I do wish you wouldn't make me do these things." With no more warning than that, Walter jerked Joachim's chin up so that their eyes met. Joachim cursed and fought, but it was Walter's own blood that fed his strength and it was like trying to put a fire out with a match.
As he tumbled back into the endless dark, Joachim heard Walter say, "Until next time, my most endlessly entertaining, favourite child."
-fin-