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“Bless me with salt,” he said softly, lips a blueish hue in the pallor of his face as he watched the water darken with his dirt.
“Bless me with stone, bless me with steel.” Bless me with steel. He had been blessed with steel, if cuts and bruises were to be considered blessings, been blessed so long and so thoroughly he'd forgotten his own name, but he said the words anyway, over and over again as the water turned from tepid to cold to colder.
“Bless me with steel, bless me with steel, bless me with steel. What is dead –”
“– may never die.”
There was no splash of water, no startled shout, only a low, mournful wail as Reek buried his face in his hands and pulled his knees against his chest, curling in on himself like a conch, and wished he had a shell.
“What's that I hear, my sweet Reek?” Ramsay's grip around his wrists was gentle, yet merciless as he pulled his hands from his face, revealing streaks of tears and splotches of nervous red where smiles had used to be. Their eyes met after a moment, and now Ramsay's hands held fast, closing around skin and bone hard enough to bruise when Reek tried to move away.
“Nothing m'lord,” he said hastily, but his voice betrayed him as it always did. He tried to breathe evenly, but it was hard, with Ramsay's eyes on him like that, his eyes that saw everything. He felt a twitch in the corner of his mouth, barely noticeable to the unskilled eye, and his shoulders slumped in defeat.
“Oh, but I think you're lying.” The words were soft as a purr, but with a growl underneath, a promise. “And you know I just cannot stand lies.” A promise of something terrible. Reek winced.
One shallow breath later, Ramsay's face was very close to his own.
“Everything you are,” he said slowly, leaning over the edge of the tub until his pink sleeves turned red and heavy with water, a bad sign. Lord Ramsay never stained his own clothes on purpose. “Everything you are, you are because of me.”
Reek tried to speak, but Ramsay cut him short with a finger on his lips, a gesture so soft and playful it chilled him to the bone.
“You only have a voice when I want to hear you beg.” Their eyes remained locked when Ramsay took his hand away, brushing a strand of wet hair from his face instead, and Reek knew his cue. He licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry, and cast down his eyes before he spoke.
“My lord,” he said, and his voice quavered as he fought for enough breath to form the words, “please.” Ramsay's thumb brushed the sharp curve of his cheekbone in reward, still far too gentle.
“And I am a much kinder master than the Drowned God.” He watched him through slitted eyes, waiting for a wrong move, a cat waiting for its prey to make a dash, and Reek knew with a crushing certainty that he would not disappoint. “Am I not?”
“Of course, m'lord,” came the quick reply, so quick he almost jumbled the words. He looked up at Ramsay through a tangled curtain of hair, nodding his head. “M'lord is kinder than Reek deserves … but Reek … but he tries, he –”
“Then tell me, Reek,” Ramsay interrupted, and the smile was gone from his coarse features in an instant, and his large hand opened and trapped Reek's chin between its fingers, closing the trap. Reek swallowed as he felt his throat constrict, but he dared not flinch or complain.
“Tell me why you're not praying to me.”
Reek whimpered, tilting his head back as best he could to ease the bruising grip. His face was still above the surface of the water, yet he thought he could feel its pressure, pushing down on his eardrums, its cold mass filling his lungs, stealing his breath.
“I'll pray to you m'lord,” he said. His voice barely rose above a leaf-rustle whisper, but he lent it all the urgency he could muster. Ramsay's grip tightened, slowly, and a distressed whimper escaped his mouth. “I'll do whatever you ask, I'm your Reek, I'll pray to you, m'lord, I'll –” His words were lost in a painful moan when Ramsay's sturdy fingers dug into his cheeks, prying his jaw open.
“Do you think the Drowned God can take you from me?” Ramsay's breath was laboured with anger, his voice a low, hot breath on Reek's face as he nearly tumbled into the bath with him, both hands on his face now. “Do you want your drowning? Do you think it'll save you … Theon Greyjoy?”
He wouldn't. No, he wouldn't. Not when Reek was to ride for Moat Cailin in the morning, not when Theon still needed to live another day. He needs me, he told himself, even as Ramsay's face grew redder and his fingers harder, even as his scowl gave way to a deranged grin. In the end his lies were no use. There was only one truth, and it was written plain across Ramsay's features. He doesn't care.
Reek barely had time to protest before Ramsay renewed his grip and pushed him underwater. He struggled, he screamed, he kicked and squirmed, absurdly fighting for his life when in truth he had prayed for a chance like this on many a night before. A chance to slip away. Eventually his strength waned and his limbs went limp and light, so light he almost thought he was floating, drifting away from the cold and the dark and Ramsay's hands, until the pain receded like a heavy curtain and there was nothing left to feel.
Reality hit him like a burst of lightning when it came flooding back into his body after what could have been infinity or barely two missed heartbeats, and it crushed him with pain and sound and air. He took big, greedy gulps of it as Ramsay pressed down on his chest once more, making his limbs twist and convulse. It was done, it dawned on him as he became aware of his surroundings once more, the sharp pain in his back where he must have been thrown to the floor, the puddle that spread around him, the taste of soap still in his mouth. His drowning, it was done. He had been brought back from the dead. He had been touched by the Drowned God. And it did not change a thing.
Then their lips met and they shared a mouthful of water between them, brought up from Reek's aching lungs as he shuddered beneath his master, clinging to him like a babe to its mother, anything not to be thrown back into the tub. Ramsay kissed him deeply, sucking water and breath from him alike.
“You see now Reek,” he whispered against his neck when they broke apart, and he gathered his wet body in his arms, grinding against him to make sure Reek could feel every inch of his excitement.
“This is your god.” He giggled, the sound shrill and wrong to Reek's dazed senses, like the hand between his legs and the heat against his thigh, but he did not complain. He did not struggle, this time. He only whimpered softly when Ramsay grabbed his legs and pushed them up against his chest.
“M'lord,” he said breathlessly, and his toes curled helplessly when his body yielded a moment later, Ramsay pushing into his slick flesh with one deep thrust. “Please.”
Ramsay smiled. He stilled, giving them both the chance to truly feel their bodies join.
“And that is the only prayer you'll ever need.”