Chapter Text
The throne room had been cleared, not cleaned. Most of the rubble had been carted away, but dust seemed to have settled in every crook and cranny. The fearful Citadel workers who had not managed to evacuate or the MTs that had come along on the Empire invasion – neither made for very good janitorial staff. It was okay though. Ardyn doubted a few motes of dust could ruin Iedolas’ day.
The Nilfheim Emperor had originally wanted the bodies of the Lucian dead displayed in the throne room to gloat over. As if what they were about to do wasn’t gloating enough. It would have been another testimony to how truly far gone he was, how lost to the dark, so Ardyn didn’t discourage the idea, but somehow Besithia talked him out of it. It was a little of a surprise, as Ardyn never expected Besithia to be a paragon of sense and virtues, but apparently the scientist’s fickle mind could still surprise Ardyn.
Iedolas settled to use the long table where the truce was supposed to be signed as their dining table, decking it in as much red and gold tapestry as they’d brought, covering the stark austere Lucian design with typical Empire opulence. Even the silverware was brought out from Nilfheim, and though amusing, Ardyn could only watch MT axemen place tiny dessert forks and attempt to fold napkins for so long before it became boring.
Ardyn’s part of the preparation was much, much more fun anyway.
A few of Iedolas’ generals didn’t have the guts to turn up. Ravus, of course, they’d all expected to excuse himself, and Iedolas let him off easy – Ardyn supposed only so he could throw the fact in Ravus’ face later. But Aranea Highwind just plain didn’t show up, and Ardyn was pretty sure Iedolas wouldn’t dare to do anything about it – the Emperor needed the Dragoons too much to risk antagonizing their commander. Iedolas simply pulled in more people from the ranks to fill in the empty places at the dining table, and the rabbles were only too pleased to be there.
They hadn’t expected this complete a victory. They knew Regis had sent his son away hoping he would escape the attack. They’d lost the Oracle in the chaos, but in return, the prodigal Crown Prince had driven practically into their arms. Right now, he must be regretting choices made while he was wild and out of his mind with grief, especially since his whole retinue had been caught with him. The only consolation for Noctis was that he would be the one to bear the brunt of Ardyn’s punishment – or so Ardyn let him believe.
“Are you ready?” Iedolas asked. The Emperor was decked out in his best finery, dripping with oxblood velvet and decked in so much gold that he jingled when he moved. He was looking better than he usually did, the fever of triumph giving him some vitality over what he’d lost to the Scourge and old age.
“Oh, I’m always ready, Your Excellency,” Ardyn returned smoothly. He got up and took his time straightening out his scarves and tugging on his vests, relishing in the expectant looks of the dinner guests glued on him. No reason not to take a little enjoyment in his work, and Ardyn had always liked to be the center of attention, the more dramatic the better. And then, right on cue, he lifted his hand and tugged on the invisible string that tied him to their guest – the most important of them all.
The heavy double doors behind the throne room flew open. Under the cascade of light, Noctis stood, stark naked but for a few adornments that Ardyn had put on himself. The lack of decoration only heightened how perfect he was. Ardyn had ordered an attendant to scrub him down to get rid of all the grime and dirt from his aborted road trip and the soot from the burning city. Now his skin was flawless and shining like a marble sculpture, creamy and smooth enough to tempt any man to leave their grubby finger marks on it.
Ardyn crooked a finger and Noctis took a step forward. The boy knew his role well, Ardyn would give him that. When he’d first been… detained, he struggled and fought like a wildcat, even after they’d gotten the power jammer collar on him. But Ardyn had only needed to tell him what his cooperation would spare his friends – his brothers, as Regis had so well put it – and Noctis had seen sense and stopped resisting immediately.
Ardyn, well, Ardyn had strong feelings about brothers. If only his own brother had been so ready to sacrifice himself for him.
The collar was still clamped around Noctis’ neck – couldn’t risk him warping away from the fun. It was thick and sturdy, the dark material contrasting sharply with the white, fragile skin of his neck. By now Ardyn knew well the veins underneath, pumping frantically, the way the boy’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously. His face was bleached of colors and his lips looked bloodless, but his cheeks were almost fever-red. His eyes were impossibly blue in the stark light, though they darkened as his pupils dilated, taking in the scene in front of him. Now there was some feelings on his face – proof of spirit yet unbroken – as Ardyn could see first outrage, and then, inevitably, deliciously, fear of what was about to happen to him.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Ardyn said lazily, crooking his finger again. Noctis jerked as if Ardyn had touched him physically, and his eyes, when he turned them to Ardyn, were full of hate. That didn’t stop him from obeying, and he walked over with hesitant jerking steps, bare feet making no noise as he walked down the thick red carpet and over to the chair that they’d left for him at the very head of the table.
“The place of honor,” Ardyn said, making a sweeping gesture, even if what awaited Noctis was the opposite of honor. Noctis threw him a disgusted look, looking like he was fighting physically to keep from throwing up. “Come now. I have to make sure everyone has a good view, don’t I?”
Sure enough, the men at the table were all staring at Noctis hungrily. Iedolas looked intent, smug; Glauca somehow looked bored under the armor that he still wore, and Besithia looked pretty much like he was observing one of his experiments. The rest of them, the likes of Caligo Ullgo, were all lecherous grins and lewd expressions. Ardyn knew they would be wolf whistling and be generally much more raucous if not for the eminent presence of their betters – those who would throw them through the grinder for being rowdy.
“Sit down,” Ardyn said, feeling a little bit of temper flare in him. It was a little of a waste that Noctis’ sacrifice would be displayed in front of such a vulgar audience. He grabbed Noctis’ shoulder and flung the boy into the chair, earning a barely bit back grunt of surprise and pain. Noctis glared at Ardyn, and Ardyn smiled knowing he had what he wanted - Noctis’ attention all on him, Noctis knowing fully despite all these men present it would be Ardyn who’d take him.
Ardyn basked in Noctis’ hate, and it was easy as breathing to reach into himself and call on the Scourge. It seeped out from under his skin, crawled tar-thick over to the chair, and grabbed hold of the marble and Noctis himself, making its way up. Noctis’ first reaction was disgust, and then it bloomed into full blown fear as the Scourge kept crawling up, blossoming ink-black against his skin, and fastened him to the chair.
Who needed shackles when you have command of the Scourge? Marvelous stuff, really. Ardyn could taste the sweat from Noctis’ skin, the fear and panic, as the thick oil-like tentacles wrapped around his ankles and knees, pulling his legs close together, then around his wrists, clasping them to the arm rests. A thick strand slithered around the collar, securing it tightly against the backrest– forcing Noctis to sit up straight lest he get strangled by the collar, putting his entire lovely body on display. More darkness crawled up the side of his face, and though it was a shame to cover up his eyes, Ardyn liked the idea of him helpless and not knowing what was being done to him. Last but not least, a tentacle of darkness slithered down his throat, and Ardyn watched in satisfaction as Noctis’ throat worked around the thickness, the muffled grunts coming out of him distinctively pained.
But this was only the start.
Around him, the air was filled with the sound of food carts, the clinks of silverware and the terrified silence of the waiting staff. The servants of the Citadel, forced back into their liveries, here to serve their invaders and witness the defilement of their beloved prince. The amuse-bouche was being placed onto their fine china plates, tiny hors-d’oeuvre to whet the dining guests’ appetite, and Ardyn supposed he could also accompany that with an amuse-bouche of his own.
Leaning against the side of Noctis’ chair, he crooked his finger just slightly, sending slender tendrils of Scourge up his body. A few teases with the tip of the tentacles and his nipples were becoming hard pebbles, standing tall enough that the appendages could wrap around them, tightening more effectively than any clamp. As they began to tug and twist, another tentacle wrapped itself around Noctis’ cock. Ardyn could see the boy’s throat work, feel his muffled protest, taste the drool that lazily dripped down the side of the strand of Scourge inside his mouth, making it glisten and shine even as his lips went dry. A few strokes and his cock was standing at full attention – and now the colors on Noctis’ cheeks spread further with humiliation and shame. He made a choked, enraged noise of helplessness as the tentacle wrapped tight at the base of his cock, squeezing hard under his balls, while it continued to caress and pump around his length, giving him the stimulation but cutting off the means of release.
As the men ate, exchanging lewd remarks between themselves, Ardyn leaned in to whisper in Noctis’ ear. “You should see the way these men are looking at you, Noct,” he hummed. “Oh, wait, you don’t have to. You have me to tell you exactly how. You look exquisite, my boy, so primed for pleasure, so lost to it. They are salivating over you, but they don’t know how completely you belong to me.”
As the amuse-bouche was cleared away, it was time for another, more substantial starter. Ardyn supposed he could move onto the next stage of entertainment. With a little flair, he conjured up yet another scourge tentacle, this one half liquid, dripping with a greasy, oil like substance. It wagged around in the air, as if greeting its audience, making sure nobody could miss its purpose. Then it ducked away between Noctis’ legs, curving its way under his crotch, finding his tight entrance, and working its way inside.
Noctis started shaking in a way he hadn’t done when it had been only his cock and nipples getting the stimulations. He was tugging at his bonds now, shaking his head from side to side, as if that would stop the tentacle from working its way ever deeper. Once it was comfortably seated, it started inflating, pumping and pulsing inside of him to work him open. “You’ll be glad for this, I promise,” Ardyn whispered again, only for Noctis’ ears. “I can already tell you, those men won’t be as patient with you as I am right now.”
As Ardyn had predicted, the men were bored of the display by the time the first course was served.
“Hey, Chancellor,” Caligo spoke up, holding up a wine glass towards Ardyn in a toast. Ardyn smiled at him – By the grace of the Gods, but the man was ugly. “This is very nice and all, but from here it looks like he’s just sitting there chilling. Why not give the rest of us down here a better view? Make him work for it a little?”
“Why, commander,” Ardyn replied smoothly. It was the plus side of being infected by Scourge, he had many voices to speak with and it was easy to reach in for one that didn’t sound completely exasperated by Caligo and his big nose. “That’s exactly what I had in mind.”
He raised a hand, teasing the air with his fingers. It was easy to imagine like he was playing an instrument – even if he’d never been good with any. What responded to him was the Scourge, as it started to split, expand and writhe, moving as one creature to rearrange Noctis up on his chair. The thick tentacle that had been holding his legs together now split in two, looping around his calves and ankles to pull his legs open almost obscenely wide, and they kept pulling back until Noctis’ knees were nearly behind his ears. Ardyn sensed it when his muscles protested and stopped at just the point where it would be uncomfortable but not too painful. And really, he had to admire the boy’s flexibility – Ardyn had known he had trained like a gymnast, but to see what his body was capable of was a treat.
There was even more to work with, though. The tentacles that had been shackling Noctis to the arm rests now cinched his arms together from elbow to wrist, hiking them over his head so that nothing remained in the way from them admiring his body. The one around his collar pulled tighter, and Noctis let out a choked sound as he fought frantically for the scant supply of air he was allowed. The heaving of his chest was delicious, as it left the flat smooth plane of his stomach with its scattering of soft hair all sucked in – all the better to display the outline of the tentacle sunk deep inside him, pulsing and writhing and pumping away.
With him tilted so far back, the center of the attention was Noctis’ entrance - stretched to its very limit, a smooth pink hole clinging to the girth of the tentacle that was pumping lazily in and out of him. But no one else could feel like Ardyn could feel how full the tentacle was making Noctis, how it was exercising pressure evenly on his inside and not enough on that sweet spot of his, that spot that Ardyn had grazed so often but not enough. The grip around his neck never slackened, and neither did the one around his taut, straining cock, his balls full to bursting but not allowing any release, the tentacles working precum up and down his length, making it even shinier. His nipples looked hard enough to cut glass, and Ardyn felt almost as good as if he was pressing the pad of his fingers to them himself, as the thin tendrils of Scourge flicked at them mercilessly. While the skin near the tentacles was bleached of color, the tips of his nipples were two pin-pricks of cherry red, looking almost like they would start bleeding.
When Ardyn had the tentacle thrust deeper into his throat, depriving him of air from both inside and outside, he tasted for the first time the tears of rage and humiliation, and he knew for a fact that Noctis had still so much more to give him.
*
The boy made for a delightful live statue through the dinner, getting both his throat and ass fucked slowly but relentlessly through several decadent courses, and then desserts, coffee and liquor. Ardyn didn’t eat, he didn’t need to. He dined luxuriantly on his tears, on bitter precum that was coaxed out of him even as he screamed silently at his body to stop leaking, on how full to bursting he felt, both at his abused hole and throat, and at his cock and balls which were still straining hard against the tentacles that restrained them.
When the last of the dinner was cleared away and Ardyn released him, he spilled to the floor in a graceless heap. Some of the men at the table got up to witness the moment the tentacle pulled out of him, leaving his hole slick and gaping. The glee in their eyes were cruel as Noctis pressed a hand to his collared throat and coughed, his throat working now that it was finally free from the intrusion. Ardyn could still feel him, though. After being in contact with him for so long, he owned him. Every part of Noctis felt like a livewire, his body betraying him, making him squirm when his now free cock bobbed against his thigh, twitch when his abused nipples pressed against the floor.
His blue eyes, now free from the blindfold, were shiny with unshed tears, filled with hatred and fear. Take a good look, Ardyn wanted to tell him. Take a good look at the men who would have you.
“Time for you to eat,” Ardyn cooed, and the table burst into raucous laughter. He gestured towards Iedolas, who sat smug as a bloated toad, leaning against the bag of his seat with his arms majestically on the arm rests. “Go now, Noctis. Crawl.”
With a shaky hand, Noctis wiped at the corner of his mouth. Cleaning himself up the best as he could from the drool, trying to regain some dignity. Ardyn would love the moment when he finally broke him. He probably didn’t even know it, how sexual it looked when he licked his lips, perhaps only steeling himself – but it looked very differently to his audience. And then, stiffly, he pushed himself up on his hands and knees, and as Ardyn had ordered, he crawled on the floor, passing under the table like a dog begging for scraps, until he emerged right in front of Iedolas, looking up at the old man’s face.
“Take it out, Noctis,” Ardyn said. There was something so powerful in watching Noctis balancing himself on his knees, fumbling with Iedolas’ trousers with shaky hands, pulling out his withered dick and sat staring at it. If he was unimpressed Ardyn wouldn’t blame him; it looked about as dried up as an overripe banana and just as appetizing. While all of the men at the table were already sporting hard-ons, Iedolas was still flaccid, a fact that the Emperor didn’t even bother to be embarrassed about. After all, who else was going to bring it up to his face? He was the Emperor of Nilfheilm.
“Well, look like His Excellency isn’t very impressed with you so far, princeling,” Caligo sneered. From where he sat, he could reach out with a foot, pressing with the tip of his shoe at Noctis’ hard cock, earning a wordless wince. Eyes bright with cruelty, the man moved on to Noctis’ ass next, nudging the hole open a little more to the cheers of the table. “Come now. Beg for his attention. Suck it like the little whore you are.”
The only reaction that brought out of him was a look out of the corner of the eye, a look that Caligo missed as he guffawed and leaned his head back to drain his wine glass. It was a look that promised Caligo’s throat would be laid open like one of those dissected specimens in Besithia’s lab, and since it was wasted on the oaf, Ardyn savored it, the edge and coldness of the hatred.
Bolstered now with hate, Noctis leaned forwards, his ass on display for all to see, hole gaping, waiting to be filled, cock bouncing against the front of his thighs. He took the entirety of Idolas’ cock in his mouth at once, his throat now used to the intrusion and offering no resistance at the greedy gulps. Soon he worked up a steady pace, bobbing his heads and hollowing out his cheeks, sucking and swallowing steadily around the length. Ardyn watched Noctis’ throat worked and knew he was only going as hard to get this soon over with, and kind of regretted having given him the means to do so. Indeed, sucking a cock like this was far too easy, a luxury compared to what he had already gone through. With the Scourge filling his throat to the very bottom Noctis hadn’t even had a chance to swallow, not offered even the small decency to tidy himself up, only able to drool over himself like an animal. The men at the table, unable to appreciate the subtle difference, were satisfied throwing out lewd encouragements to what they only saw as enthusiasm. When it was Ardyn’s turn to have Noctis, he would not make that mistake so easily.
It was not for lack of trying, but it seemed ages after Noctis worked on Iedolas’ dick. When he pulled back, breathing hard with a string of saliva between his lips and the tip, it was still as flaccid as when he’d started. The men had grown bored, only throwing out the odd taunts. Iedolas, exasperated, silenced them with a gesture of his hand, and looked to Ardyn. Of course. Ardyn got up and, bowing at the waist with a slow flourish of the hand, sent a thread of darkness soaring over the air towards them. Noctis flinched when he saw it, but this time the Scourge wasn’t meant for him, at least not directly. The Scourge sheathed itself around Iedolas’ wrinkled soft excuse of a dick, stiffening and thickening it, propping it up so it stood gleaming in the lamplight, still shiny like it had been worked by Noctis’ spit all this time.
In the end, Ardyn would still get Noctis first.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Iedolas spoke, his voice hoarse and gravely. Excited, no doubt, to be able to have a semblance of a hard on after all this time. Time truly was the greatest humiliation to mankind. He gestured towards his lap, and Noctis stood, following his instructions with a steely face but trembling knees. “Sit. No, face the company, boy.” Noctis straddled the Emperor’s lap awkwardly, hands gripping the edge of the table for balance. He kept his eyes downcast, not looking at them, until Iedolas seized the back of his collar and forced his head up. “I said, face them. Where are your manners? Have you forgotten how to entertain your guests?” That got a chorus of laughter, and Noctis bit on his lip until it was white, but he raised his head and faced them. “Good. Now put your hole to good use.”
He was already lined up, and Noctis only had to lower his hips to get his cock slotted in. It was easy, far too easy. Ardyn could feel how much slack there was, and he held Noctis’ gaze as he smirked and crooked a finger. The Scourge thickened to fill in the blank. Noctis was doing his best to keep his face impassive, Ardyn knew, which only made it more satisfying to watch his expression twist in pain. He could look down now at himself now and see at the bulge that the cock had made against his belly, measure for himself the depth of the violation.
“Good boy,” Iedolas said. Ardyn could feel him dip the tips of his thumbs past the rim, and the soft noise Noctis made at just that much extra stretch. The rest of Iedolas’ fingers were already claws – his transformation into daemon nearly complete despite his still mostly human form – digging into the white skin at Noctis’ hips, drawing the first blood. He would be the only one allowed to make Noctis bleed this night, Ardyn would make sure of it. “Now move. Show your obedience to me, to the Empire – show them exactly how much of a little whore you are for Nilfheim.”
Noctis’ hands were gripping onto the edge of the table so tight the joints seemed to bend at unnatural angles, his knuckles white. In wordless defiance he started to move his hips, pulling himself up and pushing back down. The noise that he let escape when he sank down showed exactly how much he didn’t expect the sensation, how different this was compared when it had been only the tentacle inside him, spreading him. Ardyn crooked his finger, and the Scourge sheathing Iedolas’ cock shifted ever so slightly, molding itself against Noctis’ body until it curved towards his prostate. When he pulled himself up and lowered down again, the tip pressed against the sweet spot, and Noctis couldn’t keep quiet this time, the sound that he made was definitely a moan for all that it sounded punched out of him.
Noctis glared, but even that much defiance was pale considering how debauched he looked. The blush had spread all the way to his shoulders, and the lighting was doing a very good job drawing attention to it. His cock was bobbing hard with each of his movement – adding just that much stimulation to already stretched thin nerves. His lips were parted with the effort to move himself; his ragged breathing drew more attention to how red and spit-slicked his lips were, drool marks still messy down the corners of his mouth. With each thrust now Noctis let out a whimper, the incoherent noises of a hurt animal, and all of a sudden it spiked into a louder, helpless cry as his cock twitched and he came messily, spilling himself all over his front and over the table.
The table exploded in cheers as Noctis froze and stared, his face turning from red to ashen white, then red again. The evidence was just there, painted on his skin, spread in front of him, giving him not even a moment of denial over what he had just done. As if he’d needed that spelled out for him, Caligo whistled. “Look at that! Nobody even touched you and you’re already bursting to cum. You really are enjoying this, you dirty little slut!” His men weren’t far behind as they picked up the chorus of jeers, describing in graphic details what else Noctis might like done to his hole. Ardyn had to admire the creativity of some of those.
Iedolas didn’t give him long to ponder this, though. Noctis cried out when the old men dug his nails into him again, his thumbs stretching his hole around the girth of the Scourge-sheathed cock, pushing his limits. “I haven’t said you could stop, boy,” Iedolas grunted. There was something in that wizened old man’s voice, something like a stir of actual interest. “Are all of Lucis this ill-mannered as to satisfy yourself and leave a guest hanging? Finish what you’ve started. You’re not to stop until I say so.”
Shakily, Noctis picked himself back up. He braced his hands on the table again – slipping a little in the mess of cum and didn’t dare to do anything about it, didn’t dare to make a spare gesture to draw attention to the evidence of his lecherousness, plain on the marble for all to see. Instead, he just gripped harder, and when he pulled his hips up for another thrust, the noise that escaped him was a sob.
Ardyn didn’t keep track of how long it went on. It was exquisite to watch as Noctis’ shame and despair grew, as his body seemed unable to stop the sparks of pleasure that continued to come from having the Scourge-reinforced cock slammed against his bruised prostate. His hips started making wild twitching, rolling movements – probably his instincts trying to get himself away from the source of the stimulation, even as he continued to force himself towards it, and accidentally courting even more sensations. His cock was already half hard again, which the men didn’t waste any time in pointing out.
It just went on and on. Iedolas let out the little odd grunts, but even the Scourge couldn’t bring his bodily functions back to its peak. In a way, Ardyn could keep this going forever. Iedolas felt no physical strain, and the Scourge-cock could be stiff for as long as Ardyn cared to make it. He could make it go on for a long time, feeding on the torturous pleasure that each movement was forcing like electric currents from the Crown Prince’s body. Noctis was crying now, big wracking sobs each time he dropped himself down and great heaves of inhalation like a drowning man in the effort to pick himself up and try again. Sweat was matting his hair into spiky tips, and big fat drops were rolling down, leaving shiny tracks on his face along with the tears. He was trembling and twitching, and it took an enormous effort of will to keep doing this to himself, to be the instrument of his own torture.
Even the men at the table grew tired, bored of the tedious display. And then a miracle happened. Ardyn wasn’t sure what set Iedolas off. Perhaps it was the triumph of power finally traveling from his brain to his cock, or the tightening spasms of Noctis’ body as the boy brought himself over and over to the brink. Perhaps it was the sight of droplets of blood traveling down the curve of the narrow waist that even Iedolas’ wizened hands could encircle so easily, or maybe the old man had started to sync up with the Scourge and could feel exactly how deep he was inside Noctis’ body, the tip pounding against the same spot of his inner walls. Perhaps it was the sight of the great scar from the Marilith attack, a wound that could mark Noctis as the Empire’s forever, and the sight of those sharp shoulder blades, straining each time Noctis leaned on his arms for another thrust, moving up and down like fragile wings. There was so much to admire, and it was one of all of these things that stirred life into Iedolas’ withering member. Ardyn could feel the spark of interest, and he encouraged it – and that was when Iedolas grunted and spilled his seed inside of Noctis.
Could the boy feel it? Ardyn didn’t think so, the constant stimulation so far must have made him numb. Still, he could probably feel the thick cum as it overspilled, running down his thighs, making him sticky. He didn’t stop though – obedient to the last, and in the end it was Iedolas that shoved him off. The cock was pulled out of him in one single squelching movement, and Noctis let out a scream as if his insides were coming out with it. He barely had time to catch himself against the table and slowly crumpled to the floor, leaking cum from his hole as he lay there and sobbed, his own cock now fully hard and pressed painfully against the smooth marble tiles, trapped under his body.
“Spare me your ceaseless whining,” Iedolas grunted. Ardyn lazily gestured and the Scourge retreated – carrying with it his spoils, which Ardyn would surely put to good use. Iedolas righted himself and got up with uncharacteristic vigor and fluidity, as if he’d been temporarily revived from his usual arthritic old man self. He made an imperious, benevolent gesture over Noctis’ crumpled form – an invitation for the assembly to help themselves, before he turned and left with a dramatic furl and swish of his robes.
Noctis looked, against all odds, surprised, when Glauca pulled him up on his feet. The poor boy, did he think that they were done with him? Did he ever entertain for a moment that they might have mercy? His eyes widened as he was held aloft by the collar, hissing like a strangled cat, legs swinging and hands scratching uselessly at the gauntleted arm that held him up. Glauca didn’t even notice. With a mighty sweep of his arms, he cleared the table in front of him of any remains of the dinner. Crystal wine glasses shattered with chimes like bells, and the tiny dessert forks and spoons added to the concert, almost drowning out the now desperate wheezing that Noctis was making.
Glauca slammed him down on the table, knocking the breath out of him – if there had been any left. Ardyn would have scolded him for damaging the goods, except the force of the blow had been perfectly controlled, and Ardyn did enjoy the little noise that forced out of Noctis – a broken little gasp that still somehow held onto a little bit of surprise, like he still didn’t believe this was happening. His eyes were glazed over from the brief air deprivation, but they sure did snap back to attention as Glauca raised his other hand, hooked his fingers under the hem of his helmet, and pulled it off.
The reaction was immediate.
“You!” Noctis screamed. In different circumstances, it might have been a perfectly human thing to say, even screamed, full of rage but still coherent. Right now though, after all that he’d gone through – and Ardyn wasn’t just talking about the physical abuse that his throat just got – the screech that came out was eerie, like the sound of fabric tearing, like something from inside Noctis that was being ripped apart. “No, no, no! It’s not possible! It can’t be—You couldn’t have done this—You!”
It was easy for Glauca – formerly Captain Titus Drautos of the Kingsglaives, one of King Regis’ most trusted officers – to hold Noctis down with one hand even as the boy struggled with all his might against him. Noctis’ hands could barely reach Drautos’ face, but he tried to scratch with fingers like claws regardless, which only seemed to amuse Drautos more. Ardyn could see Noctis’ teeth gritted with effort, the outline of his body went blurry in a blue shimmer as the boy tried to warp, tried to force himself out against the power of the collar, and immediately got punished for it. He made an aborted noise, not unlike a kicked puppy, as his body jerked once, stiffened, then went limp all at once, dropping back onto the table and now all he could manage was great, gulping, soundless sobs.
“The powers of the Old Kings can’t help you now, can they, boy?” Drautos whispered as he pushed Noctis further back on the table. He pulled his hips up so high he was folding Noctis in half, his ass held aloft, his legs sprawling open. “Yeah, I thought so. Didn’t seem to do your old father any good, either.”
It seemed to have the same effect as a shot of adrenaline, Noctis limp one moment and then struggling, scratching and screaming the next. Ardyn wondered if they’d broken his mind so fast, as the boy seemed to have lost the capacity of words. The screams that escaped him now were only animal noises. But of course, it’d been about his father. Boys were sensitive about their fathers, weren’t they? He even got in a kick to Drautos’ chin, which made the General growl. The man shot Besithia an exasperated look, and the scientist snorted.
His gesture was a pale imitation of Ardyn’s summoning of the Scourge, but the result was just as material: metal tentacles shooting out from under Besithia’s robes, looping around Noctis’ knees, ankles and wrists, securing them, digging into the marble table top to keep him bolted there. Noctis struggled against his bonds, but he quickly realized that it was useless. When he stilled, tears of impotent rage ran down the side of his face and he shook his head as if trying to chase away a dream. “No. No. He trusted you. He trusted you.”
It was picture perfect to Ardyn. Noctis was held up like an offering, a vessel ready to receive the torment that the man who had betrayed his father was about to pour into him. His arms were tied together above his head, secured into the table, and his hands kept flexing close and open, useless and helpless like the fluttering of a butterfly’s wings. His lower body was held aloft, most of his weight bore by the back of his neck, which must be suffering being ground into the hard marble, and by his shoulders, which meant his arms must be screaming in their sockets. Not to mention the awkward fold of his body meant that the collar was digging painfully into his chest, which had him struggling for breath even more than he had already. His legs were held wide open at the knees, the ankles secured onto the table top with metal, and he could not even begin to move them, to close his knees to cover up the mess of cum on his body – his own and Iedolas’, lazily leaking from his hole and traveling down his skin.
“Good for him.” Drautos growled. “As for me, the only trust I place is in my hatred.” There were the sounds of metal clanking against each other as Drautos moved his armor out of the way and pulled out his cock, stroking it to full hardness. Only a glance at his face told Ardyn that this man would not call on the Scourge for anything. He would make sure to show Noctis his contempt with his own body – and his body alone. He was tall enough that he lined up easily against Noctis even at that angle, and he shoved all of him inside Noctis in a single brutal movement. His eyes gleamed when Noctis screamed – and Noctis must have caught that too, because he clamped his mouth shut so hard they could hear his teeth click. The only defiance he had was impassivity, and he turned his head to the side, willing himself to think of something else, to be somewhere else, as he left the shell of his body for Drautos to do with as he would.
Of course, Drautos wasn’t the kind of man to let it fly.
“Verstael?” He said again. Besithia looked up at him with mild interest, as if they were discussing some improvements they could make to the MTs. “The prince is forgetting his manners. Please remind him it’s very rude to look away from people as they talk to him.” The smile widened, baring teeth. “I want to look him in the eyes as I tell him how I killed his father—while I fuck him.” That got a ‘mm, yes, quite’ noise out of Besithia, and he was already sending a metal tentacle forward when Drautos added, “And while you’re at it can you make sure he holds his tongue? All that accusation and whining about how unfair life is, it ruins the mood.”
Besithia tapped his fingers on the table, and more slender metal tentacles drifted out from the folds of his robes. Four of them curled into Noctis’ mouth, forming a perfect spider gag, holding his mouth open, going so far as forcing his tongue out in a lewd display, taking Drautos’ instructions very literally. Two other thicker tentacles held him down at the forehead and chin, and now there was no way he could look away, no matter how hard he tried.
“Keep your eyes open, too,” Besithia advised boredly. “Or I will keep them open for you. I’ve tried them with the clones, you wouldn’t want to hear the racket they make.” He sat back, folding his arms over his stomach, his fingers steeped serenely. “Or I could do it to one of your friends. Some Royal retinue. One of them is a Nilf, isn’t he?” He looked to Noctis, to the protest that he could easily read in his eyes. “Oh, I don’t know what bargain you struck with the Chancellor, but every Nilf by default belongs to us. I can take him back easily, fair and square. Not very useful, is he, I can tell from the reports. But a warm body is a warm body, and we can put it to good use.” He held Noctis’ eyes for a moment. “As you well know.”
“A Nilf in his retinue,” Drautos barked out a laugh. He was pushing into Noctis unceremoniously. There was no build-up at all; he started with a punishing pace and he kept it up. But then again, Ardyn supposed he’d had all the time since the start of the dinner to work on his hate, to fantasize about the satisfaction. Even now as he fucked Iedolas’ cum from inside Noctis, it was as if he wanted to remove all the hurt that’d already been done to the boy, if only so he could fill in the blank with his own infliction. All his energy was poured into working his hate as artfully as his sword. Each movement was designed to hurt; even the pleasure he teased out of Noctis’ body was only so the cut would go deeper. Noctis was helpless against his grip, and it seemed like with each push he was bent back even more, which was nearly impossible. And yet Drautos never once lost control, never once overstepped his bounds. “His family just loves picking up strays. Just thinks that everyone is bound to worship the name Lucis Caelum, even the ones they’d treated like trash, trodden on for years.”
“Man, back of a bit, won’t you?” One of the men from the table, unimpressed by the monologue, complained. “I can’t see shit with you hovering over him like that.”
Drautos’ head snapped up and Ardyn – well, Ardyn was proud of the venom in his eyes. If looks could kill and all that. The speaker shrank in his seat (as did his boner, probably, just withered from terror.) “You will have your turn later,” Drautos bit out each word clearly, and if Noctis had had any doubt about his fate, these words were the last nails in the coffin. “Interrupt again, and I will have your entrails over this table.”
A beat of silence to make sure his advice was heard. Then Drautos returned his attention to the object of his revenge. He bent over Noctis to look closely in his face – white, stricken, terrified, streaked with tears. His armor dug into Noctis’ skin as he pressed down, pinning the boy hopelessly to the table. “Think about it, Noctis. The Glaives that you trained with. The Glaives that surrounded your father. They hated him, as they hate you, and they were only too happy when I ran him through, back to front.”
With the gag in his mouth, the noise that Noctis made was a terrible keen, coming from the depth of his chest. It was as if all of him was an open wound and the noise was the sound of air being sucked through the opening. That got a slow smile out of Drautos, and, still keeping up with his thrusts, he reached a gauntleted hand between them, grabbed hold of Noctis’ cock, stroking him. The pain from the metal plates moving over his sensitive skin made Noctis flinch, even if he didn’t have much room to. Ardyn could see his fingers tense, reaching for some means of release in the aether. His toes curled, and his whole body was piece of rigid resistance, fighting off the pleasure that somehow Drautos was conjuring up in him. His breathing was more ragged and Ardyn realized with a slow satisfaction that spread like warmth from the roots of his hair to the tips of his fingers that Noctis must be nearing yet another orgasm. Drautos must know it too, and he adjusted the angle of his hips, fucking Noctis deeper, slower, each deliberate thrust aiming for his prostate until Noctis arched against his bonds and, with an awful sucked in breath, came.
The table applauded. And okay, maybe Ardyn gave in and clapped his hands too. Just a bit.
“What a slut you are,” Drautos crooned, his voice hoarse as he picked up the pace once more. With the over stimulations, Noctis’ body was clutching hard desperately around his cock, and Ardyn could see Drautos shiver with pleasure at the tight spasms. Noctis tugged against his metal shackles hard enough that Ardyn had to ready himself to step in, in case the boy might break his own bones – but it didn’t happen. “You love it, don’t you? Perhaps you would love to hear it, too, that your father died just as he always lived – as a battery for that useless shield of his. Perhaps you would love to know that the Ring that meant so much to you – I pulled it off of his finger. After I’d cut them from his living body.”
Ardyn had no doubt at all that it was the chasm of pain that had opened in Noctis’ eyes that finally let Drautos achieve his release. He marveled at how completely a man could be corrupted by hatred and revenge. He watched Drautos’ face in its parody of pleasure as he pumped his seed inside Noctis’ body, and he wondered if he could ever break Noctis so completely he would find as much joy in revenge as this man did.
Drautos pulled back when he had filled Noctis to the brim and the boy was too paralyzed with pain to give any more. He left Noctis like that for a moment, displayed for the dinner guests to admire the cum leaking out of him, the spatter of his own cum now running down his chest, to his neck, some even into his open mouth, the drool and tears mixing together covering his face. When Drautos finished dressing himself, Besithia also stood, and with his tentacles retracted Noctis just dropped heavily onto the table, sprawled obscenely like something out of pornography. “Have fun,” Drautos said to Noctis, and the boy couldn’t even manage one of his looks in return.
*
After the big men had had their turns, it was the turn of the beasts.
They understood quickly enough their boundaries. One of the men moved to slap Noctis, tried to get a reaction as the boy lied catatonic on the marble slab. Ardyn had his hand severed from his wrist before the blow could land. The blood splattered one side of Noctis’ face, and the boy didn’t even twitch as the man clutched his bloodied stump and screamed.
“Have your fun as you wish, my boys,” Ardyn said, leaning lazily back against his chair, propping his feet on the table and crossing his legs at the ankles. “But if you draw a single drop of blood, or leave a single bruise, I will end you.” He winked. “Course, his hole doesn’t count. You can bruise that as much as you like.”
Caligo had the first turn, of course. He had Noctis bent over the table, gripping great fistful of silky black hair to keep him arch up painfully as he slammed into his ass from behind. They passed him in a circle like a party favor – making him crawl from cock to cock, having him on his back or on his hands and knees, with his face pushed down against the table, or pulling on his arms to make him face up. They’d all had special potions for… stamina, for this particular occasion, and it would take hours for it to wear off. Ardyn wondered how Noctis would react if he had known that much.
Eventually they were too impatient to wait their turns, and they started going at it two at a time. Noctis spit roasted between two of them, a cock in his throat and another in his ass. Fingers digging into his hair as they pulled him down as far as they could, until the tips of their cocks were hitting the back of his throat, his nose buried into their pubic hair. They held him there, waiting for his vision to grow blurry and fuzzy, waiting for his throat to tighten in panic – and they pulled him off and did it all again. Fingers digging into his ass as they used the grip to move him back and forth, deepening each stroke, teasing at his hole and fingering the rim, pulling it open so that cum oozed out. They didn’t allow him to use his hands, of course – that would be too easy, and they didn’t want to waste their energy on that. Just waiting their turns to fill his holes, to have the looseness of his ass made up by the tightening spasms of his muscles in overstimulation. And of course, when Noctis spilled himself once again from their doing, they didn’t waste any time to humiliate him for that, painting the cum in streaks across his face like a mark of shame.
At one point, Noctis blacked out, his endurance depleted by so many near-deaths, all his nerves on fire just begging for relief. But it didn’t really bother the men. They just continued to fuck him until he snapped awake. The one who had been fucking him when he slowly took in his surrounding, the closest to see recognition and despair in his eyes – he’d cummed at once, and hard.
Then just for fun, they tried to go at it two at a time. Using the same hole. Holding Noctis teetering over the edge of the table, his limbs bent at awkward angles – useless limp arms and legs that they pushed impatiently out of the way to get at the part of him they were interested in. With one man impaling him from behind, the other squeezing in from the front, they lifted and dropped him over their cocks, laughing at how easily his body seemed to accommodate the stretch. The position allowed them many more games, too. They had him play with himself, his nipples, his cock. They had him beg for their cocks, beg to be fucked, say all sorts of things from pornography. When he said it in a monotone, they fucked him harder so that the words were forced out of him in little gasps and squeaks, even in little sobs – and Ardyn wasn’t sure Noctis could tell the difference.
It went on. The men only stopped when they couldn’t drag any reaction out of Noctis – not when they pinched and twisted his nipples with their fingernails, not when they flicked at his cock, digging into the tip. Noctis was awake, that much was plain enough to see. His eyes were still open, blue as the sky, and they did all the things they were supposed to – tracked movements, blinked, squeezed shut when they were threatened. Noctis was awake and aware, and it was only the rest of his body that had somehow shut off. The Empire soldiers got bored when they tried to fit three in and the boy wasn’t even making enough reaction to make it worth the awkward position. After a few half-hearted thrusts, they flung him down, discarding him like something used once and thrown away. They left the room, filing out in twos and threes, reenacting choice bits from the dinner party, their laughter echoing in the empty halls of the Citadel.
Noctis lied sprawled on the table, his limbs at awkward angles, which he didn’t even bother to right. It was as if he had learned from his previous mistake and was expecting the soldiers to return – or perhaps for a new group to arrive, to continue where the previous group had left off. But only Ardyn was left in here with him. Ardyn did want to keep him whole, and another group right now might be over the limit of what his body could handle. So he pushed himself up from his chair and walked towards Noctis, deliberately taking the long way around so that the boy could see him from where he was lying.
The table was a mess of cum, and the floor too. Ardyn held out his hand and the Scourge leapt to his call, seeking out the presence of living cells, gathering up every drop. They swept the floor, the chairs, and the table, and then Ardyn was standing right over Noctis as the Scourge licked its way up his body. Noctis said nothing, didn’t move. If there was a fire inside him, he’d smothered it, kept it hidden. The only disgust he betrayed was a wince when Ardyn smeared Scourge on his cheek, and the black stuff expanded to suck in even the cum smeared on him there, the blood, the tears.
Not wanting to keep Noctis wondering much longer, Ardyn crooned, pressing his palm to the now clean skin of Noctis’ face. “I have the means for you to get back to every man that had had you, every single one of them. And it’s yours, if you asked for it.”
He knew he had pushed Noctis to some limits when the boy didn’t even point out that Ardyn had been one of those men, didn’t even ask what the cost was. He just batted his eyelashes once – and Ardyn flicked out the Scourge to snatch up a tear that was still caught there, savoring the last that Noctis’ suffering had to give.
Holding his gaze, the boy blinked slowly, and said steadily, enunciation each syllable, “Do it.”