Fandom: Wicked Gentlemen
Characters/Pairing: Belimai, references to Belimai/Sariel
Word Count: 524
Warnings: References to torture
A/N: For frantic_mice ♥ Love to scrtkpr for pointing me towards Wicked Gentlemen and for betaing this drabble for me.
Belimai's skin was so much softer than parchment. The needles tore it, engraving strings of letters into words, words into sentences, sentences into prayers. Each word of devotion had ripped another piece of his soul away until Belimai felt the best of himself begin to wither and crack.
Still, he'd fought.
He'd spit and glared and roared at the dark men in their dark coats as they strapped him down, first his arms and wrists, then his waist and legs, finally one thick leather band pressing flat across his throat. They handled him roughly, bruising him, giving him less care than they would an animal.
He had thought of Sariel, and that sustained him through the torture. As he screamed his throat raw, scarlet tears clouding his vision and dribbling down his cheeks, he thought of Sariel and knew he would never give him up. He'd die before letting the Inquisitors tear the betrayal from him.
He dwelt on Sariel with his crimson eyes, bright and hot; hot as the needles piercing Belimai's skin. He sucked strength from his memories. Cradling the secret like an infant, he'd held his lover's name tight inside, holding it safe from the Inquisitors. Sariel's beautiful face -- fierce and proud; his soft hair -- wild as flame. Sariel's fingers running down Belimai's back, making him shiver and burn; his kisses hungry and consuming.
The gears of the engines spun, filling the air with a mechanical hum, and Belimai withstood the pain. He bit his tongue instead of letting it slip. And then the pain was gone, and he'd survived it once again. He hadn't let the three syllables that would set him free and condemn his lover pass his lips. He hadn't let them break him.
Until they'd turned a dial and fed him ecstasy instead of anguish.
He would have withstood an eternity of torment for Sariel. When the blissful glory of the ophorium began to fade from his veins, however, Belimai could see the end. It was like a candle being snuffed. Still, he'd fought. He reached back for his memories, but they were smeared and faded. The need was bigger than he was. He was left with nothing, just a grey and desperate craving, beating a pulse of terror in his temples. The fear left him clammy with sweat, trembling and weak enough that he was willing to give them anything, give them even Sariel, just so they'd let him rise once more into heavenly oblivion.
And now Sariel was gone, their bond crumbled and cold as ashes.
Belimai still had the ophorium, though. Bliss and sublime beauty were still available at the point of a needle. One little prick and the world went purple and dreamy. He could kill himself, rid himself of pain and memory, without going so far as to actually die.
He deserved no better than this false ecstasy, so night after night he let it take him.