Tinkerbelle Pt. 2
Title: Neverland
Author: silver_sixpence
Rating: NC-17 for violence and gore. I made it worse.
Parings: It's Vam by now. Mostly.
Disclaimer: Fantasy is selective reality.
Summary: I don't want to leave. I just want to stay here and never grow up...
Author's Note: Because you asked for it, this is the sequal to Tinkerbelle. If you haven't read it click here. I'm keeping up with the Peter Pan themed titles. I didn't realize until now that they seemed fitting. :)
Neverland
Chills did not run up Bam’s spine as the human male kneeling on all fours in front of him shrieked until the horrible sound reverberated off the earthen walls. A guard shut him up quickly with a yank on the leash attached to the victim’s collar, the action done so fiercely that the metal came away with skin. Rivulets of blood leaked from barbs that were half dug into his flesh, coating the dermis in liquid red ribbons. Another faerie, the human’s owner he guessed, strolled towards the tortured soul with the gait of a warrior expecting an easy kill. Each step he took was a bone-rattling earthquake, and the sound of his sword slapping against his hip was an ominous funeral song. The faerie’s skin was covered in elongated thorns like a Venus flytrap-so that explained the human bleeding like stuck-pig. And it wouldn’t be long until the squealing started. The owner kneeled behind his prostrated fool and caressed the marred skin like a lover. No, that wasn’t quite right. The gaze in his greedy eyes was one of possession. Bam knew that look, reveled in it, had felt it every time Ville’s ravenous eyes raked over his body, especially his tattoo. That look promised slow caresses, long torturous kisses, and hours of hard, unbridled sex. It was the look he lived for. That he would die for. But this warrior’s eyes simmered with lust, promising a slow and torturous death before a meeting with the Reaper.
With a swift tug Thorns ripped open his pants revealing a hot, long organ that was ready to be put to good use. The audience surrounding them groaned in approval-oh, yes, there was an audience. There always was when events such as these transpired, and they happened ever so often a human fell down the rabbit hole. Everyone gathered: gentry, civilians, slaves, even the Queen-it was a family affair and everyone was expected to attend.
And the one supervising the whole ordeal was Ville.
Bam shifted in his place at Ville’s feet, trying to get more comfortable so his ass wouldn’t go completely numb on the stone floor. Ville, sensing his discomfort, could have easily called for a cushion but instead removed the robe that adorned his shoulders for this specific ceremony and handed it to him. As Bam folded and sat on the cloth, he noticed that a stillness had settled over the crowd. He looked up. The entire room was staring at him. Or more precisely, at Ville. Even the thorny warrior with his leashed human was looking at him. Bam froze, wondering what wrong he had committed. But then Ville’s hand ran through his curls and he immediately relaxed; he was not at fault. Ville sat back in his chair, not fazed by the many inquiring eyes staring at him. The Queen blinked at him as if to say get on with it.
“Continue.”
The warrior didn’t need to be told twice. He positioned himself behind hips that were so sunken and torn it was a wonder the bones didn’t break through the skin. Without any prelude the faerie rammed inside unyielding flesh and started rutting. The human bawled helplessly, trying to push himself away on hands that were slick with blood. Slowly his muscles gave out on him and he became limp as a rag doll, the reality of the nightmare finally dawning on him as he morosely accepted his fate. He let out a miserable whimper as the faerie bucked one, two, before ripping out of his person. The slave collapsed into a wad of abused flesh and broken bone, causing dark laughter to erupt from the throat of his owner and the many hungry eyes that watched the spectacle. To the underlings of the Unseelie Court, this was entertainment at its best. Bam’s eyes traveled over the prickled soldier as he refastened what was left of his trousers-and was not surprised to see that there was a spiked barb at the base of his member. An annoying gurgling sound diverted his attention; the human. Cobwebs of snot and spit dribbled out of his mouth, mixing with the crimson fluid that already coated his face. In hopes of finding some empathy, he reached out a broken hand, trembling with the last of his efforts.
There was a time when such a sight would have terrified Bam, but he couldn’t remember when. That piece of his life was long gone now, an empty footnote in the book of his life, facts that seemed as dull as they were hollow. He looked upon the scene with jaded, callous eyes and settled deeper into the soft pillow of Ville’s lap, the faerie’s talons passing over the curly wisps of his hair, careful not to prick his skin. Mystified, Bam watched the light die out of the bloody human’s eyes knowing all hope was lost.
The dull sound of bone giving way under pressure echoed in Bam’s ears as a leather heel slammed into the human’s cheek, blood splattering in a twisted arc near his feet, a lovely and gruesome halo. The slave flopped around like a repulsive sac of meat that didn’t meet the grade, and still he sniveled for mercy. Unfortunately, he wasn’t going to get it. After slicing the tendons in his knees so he wouldn’t run away, Thorns picked up the human underneath his arms and twisted the limbs 180° so he looked like a clock with broken arms. The howl of pain that bubbled from the victim’s throat was operatic, a soprano tripping over a high note and falling flat on her face. And that was the beginning. One thing Bam learned about torture in front of an audience was that you didn’t rush through it; you would quench your own bloodlust, and you would win favor with the audience. The latter was more important as the audience was known to rebel, and the person doing the torture would just as quickly become the entertainment.
When Bam feared he was going to succumb to boredom as the beating went on, the faerie unsheathed his blade. At this point the human was nailed to the ground, crucifix style. There wasn’t much blood left in him as most of it was on the floor; his skin held the waxy pallor that only those close to death could pull off. Bam watched avidly as the weapon was raised high, gleaming like a beacon of light before a cloud of darkness fell over his eyes; Ville’s hand had clamped around his face so tightly he had to claw at them so he could breathe, and even then the air that seeped through wasn’t enough for his quaking nostrils. There was the swift, almost silent crunching sound of ripping bone and sinew, and if Bam weren’t so rapt with attention he surely would have missed it. The screaming stopped. Ville’s fingers didn’t budge but he imagined the human’s battered and contorted body lying in a messy heap. It would take days of mopping before the floor would be cleaned of the blood, but that was assuming that the inky crimson wasn’t the original color of the marble stage. The head would be gone-to be roasted on a spit, kept safe in a jar, who knows?
Even after he was sure that most of the mess was cleaned up Bam had to politely ask for Ville to remove his hand from his eyes so he could see again, please? The action was done immediately, albeit begrudgingly Bam thought, and when he was able to peel his eyelids open to view the scene before him the body of the human was indeed, beheaded. Tendrils of matted hair peaked out of a velvet drawstring bag. Thorns was kneeling in front of the Queen presenting something to her. Whatever it was the Queen seemed pleased with the gift, a tiny sardonic smile tilting her painted lips. Bam peered closer. Small milky pearls were cradled in the warrior’s soiled hands. Were those…?
Bam swallowed, not particularly disturbed by the dismemberment but conscious of the vulnerability of his own organs, and leaned into Ville’s thigh for comfort. When his eyes traveled up the faerie's leg he saw those long elegant fingers tightened into a fist, all knuckles and sharp bone under nearly transparent skin. They were trembling.
Faeries were a vicious lot.
* * *
Hours later after the ordeal as Ville called it, as if saying for what it actually was would be like wielding a verbal sword that drew blood when unsheathed, Bam was splayed out on Ville’s bed trying to count the spider webs that designed the ceiling. The excitement that had been rushing through his veins after watching the entertainment dulled to a slow burn, leaving him feeling tired with monotony. For some reason when he had first entered Ville’s abode he had expected velvet drapes, silken sheets, the whole nine yards. Instead the room was small and ordinary just as any other. Bam rolled over and hugged a pillow to his chest, inhaling a heady scent that had now become as familiar to him as his own skin; sweet pine, earth, and something that was distinctly Ville. The faerie was standing in front of a polished pane of crystal that served as a makeshift mirror, removing a robe he had worn to the ceremony. The garment was shucked into a closet with obvious anger.
“Bam,” the tone of the voice that reached Bam’s ears was flat and hard, harder than steel, and obediently the human sat up and lifted his eyes.
“You remember when you first met the Queen, don’t you?” Malachite eyes shifted to the chiseled form on the bed, watching as several emotions crossed his face. Bam’s shoulders stiffened with unease. Of course he remembered when he had to appeal to that Bitch Queen. How could he forget? Yet when he opened his mouth to speak his voice was eerily devoid of emotion.
“Yes,” he quipped tightly.
“I’ve been thinking…”
“About?” He asked even thought he already knew.
“She was right. It’s time that I let you go.”
“Oh,” was all Bam could say. He remembered feeling the eyes of the crowd staring at him. At this point it was a well known fact that Ville had a favorite that followed him around everywhere he went, but it was thought to be a temporary affair. It was mandatory to show one’s ownership of another being publically in the Unseelie Court, otherwise it was assumed that your trinket had lost your favor, and your pet was up for grabs. But to make your affection for another known, especially publically…not only was it seen as trivial and stupid, but an exposed weakness. Love was viewed as an open festering wound, and no amount of stitches could fix the problem. The best method was amputation.
And he was going to be amputated.
Ville walked over to a corner of a room where an out of place jeweled goblet was sat on a table. He swirled the cup around a bit, probably to rouse the sediment that had settled at the bottom. As Ville turned around and handed him the cup Bam took it without question. The faerie’s eyes were downcast, a look of remorse he had never seen before reflecting in those turbulent orbs.
“Drink.” Funny, he had been waiting for something more gruesome, something dramatic like a dagger to the heart, going out with a bang. He realized that he had accepted this long ago. Although not explicitly stated in the contract, Bam knew that being with Ville would be a double edged sword, one where he may be end of the blade. But he had never expected Ville to be the one holding the hilt. He sighed. Death by poison wasn’t such a gruesome demise he decided; fate could be so much crueler. He was thankful that he was at least able to spend some time with. At any other time Bam would not have hesitated at the command, would have executed the demand willingly. But this time he didn’t. Something stopped him. He sniffed the drink and couldn’t detect any lethal scent. He frowned as his instincts started to roar that something, other than the fact that his lover was trying to kill him-but why?-wasn’t right.
But there were worse things than death, weren’t there?
“What is this?” A cold sense of dread paralyzed his body as the epiphany dawned on him.
“Something that will erase your memories. Permanently.”
“…What?” There was a wetness at his feet. His hands were shaking. Ville blanketed his hand around Bam’s, holding the glass so he wouldn’t completely loose the liquid, but even the action wouldn’t still the tremors.
“Drink.”
“Is this about earlier?” He always knew that the torturing episodes never sat well with Ville. If the potion was going to make him forget about that, sure that was fine, whatever, but-
“No,” He shook his head as if he were trying to reason with a petulant child. “I can make you forget. It can all be a dream. A ghastly, wonderful, dream.” Bam’s grip suddenly tightened around the chalice and with one swift move he sent it hurtling against the wall. Ville stared unblinkingly as if he expected the rash movement, wasn’t roused by the splintered sobs that began to wrack his lover’s chest.
“Why?”
Ville’s eyes took on a glazed look as if he were speaking to someone else. “My world-it’s too ugly for you. I’m-I thought that since you were human you’d understand. But I forgot how malleable your kind is. And how fragile. I’m too cruel for you.”
“So you’re leaving me?” Bam shouted, aghast that the faerie had the audacity to make this decision on his own. Ville hadn’t even said a word. Since when had he started planning on letting him go? Why hadn’t he come to him sooner telling him what was wrong? Bam felt the muscles in his legs stiffen, ready to bolt, when he saw Ville’s hand had started to glow. No…
“Yes.”
“No…no, you can’t! Please! You can’t do this to me!” he screamed, grabbing the male by the front of his shirt as if the shake some sensibility into him. It was the wrong move because it only made Ville’s job easier. The faerie grabbed his face as if to crush his skull, but instead held his gaze for the longest time. Bam didn’t realize he was crying until the faerie brushed at his cheeks with thumbs that came away wet. He tried one last time as a glowing hand passed over his eyes.
“Ville, I lo-!”
A white light overcame him before total darkness enveloped his sense. As Bam sunk limp in his arms, Ville had to wonder if what he did really was for the best.
“I love you,” he found the words slipping past his lips for the first and last time. The only thing he regretted is that his human, Bam, his Bam, would never be able to hear them.
Part 3: The Lost Boys
Author: silver_sixpence
Rating: NC-17 for violence and gore. I made it worse.
Parings: It's Vam by now. Mostly.
Disclaimer: Fantasy is selective reality.
Summary: I don't want to leave. I just want to stay here and never grow up...
Author's Note: Because you asked for it, this is the sequal to Tinkerbelle. If you haven't read it click here. I'm keeping up with the Peter Pan themed titles. I didn't realize until now that they seemed fitting. :)
Neverland
Chills did not run up Bam’s spine as the human male kneeling on all fours in front of him shrieked until the horrible sound reverberated off the earthen walls. A guard shut him up quickly with a yank on the leash attached to the victim’s collar, the action done so fiercely that the metal came away with skin. Rivulets of blood leaked from barbs that were half dug into his flesh, coating the dermis in liquid red ribbons. Another faerie, the human’s owner he guessed, strolled towards the tortured soul with the gait of a warrior expecting an easy kill. Each step he took was a bone-rattling earthquake, and the sound of his sword slapping against his hip was an ominous funeral song. The faerie’s skin was covered in elongated thorns like a Venus flytrap-so that explained the human bleeding like stuck-pig. And it wouldn’t be long until the squealing started. The owner kneeled behind his prostrated fool and caressed the marred skin like a lover. No, that wasn’t quite right. The gaze in his greedy eyes was one of possession. Bam knew that look, reveled in it, had felt it every time Ville’s ravenous eyes raked over his body, especially his tattoo. That look promised slow caresses, long torturous kisses, and hours of hard, unbridled sex. It was the look he lived for. That he would die for. But this warrior’s eyes simmered with lust, promising a slow and torturous death before a meeting with the Reaper.
With a swift tug Thorns ripped open his pants revealing a hot, long organ that was ready to be put to good use. The audience surrounding them groaned in approval-oh, yes, there was an audience. There always was when events such as these transpired, and they happened ever so often a human fell down the rabbit hole. Everyone gathered: gentry, civilians, slaves, even the Queen-it was a family affair and everyone was expected to attend.
And the one supervising the whole ordeal was Ville.
Bam shifted in his place at Ville’s feet, trying to get more comfortable so his ass wouldn’t go completely numb on the stone floor. Ville, sensing his discomfort, could have easily called for a cushion but instead removed the robe that adorned his shoulders for this specific ceremony and handed it to him. As Bam folded and sat on the cloth, he noticed that a stillness had settled over the crowd. He looked up. The entire room was staring at him. Or more precisely, at Ville. Even the thorny warrior with his leashed human was looking at him. Bam froze, wondering what wrong he had committed. But then Ville’s hand ran through his curls and he immediately relaxed; he was not at fault. Ville sat back in his chair, not fazed by the many inquiring eyes staring at him. The Queen blinked at him as if to say get on with it.
“Continue.”
The warrior didn’t need to be told twice. He positioned himself behind hips that were so sunken and torn it was a wonder the bones didn’t break through the skin. Without any prelude the faerie rammed inside unyielding flesh and started rutting. The human bawled helplessly, trying to push himself away on hands that were slick with blood. Slowly his muscles gave out on him and he became limp as a rag doll, the reality of the nightmare finally dawning on him as he morosely accepted his fate. He let out a miserable whimper as the faerie bucked one, two, before ripping out of his person. The slave collapsed into a wad of abused flesh and broken bone, causing dark laughter to erupt from the throat of his owner and the many hungry eyes that watched the spectacle. To the underlings of the Unseelie Court, this was entertainment at its best. Bam’s eyes traveled over the prickled soldier as he refastened what was left of his trousers-and was not surprised to see that there was a spiked barb at the base of his member. An annoying gurgling sound diverted his attention; the human. Cobwebs of snot and spit dribbled out of his mouth, mixing with the crimson fluid that already coated his face. In hopes of finding some empathy, he reached out a broken hand, trembling with the last of his efforts.
There was a time when such a sight would have terrified Bam, but he couldn’t remember when. That piece of his life was long gone now, an empty footnote in the book of his life, facts that seemed as dull as they were hollow. He looked upon the scene with jaded, callous eyes and settled deeper into the soft pillow of Ville’s lap, the faerie’s talons passing over the curly wisps of his hair, careful not to prick his skin. Mystified, Bam watched the light die out of the bloody human’s eyes knowing all hope was lost.
The dull sound of bone giving way under pressure echoed in Bam’s ears as a leather heel slammed into the human’s cheek, blood splattering in a twisted arc near his feet, a lovely and gruesome halo. The slave flopped around like a repulsive sac of meat that didn’t meet the grade, and still he sniveled for mercy. Unfortunately, he wasn’t going to get it. After slicing the tendons in his knees so he wouldn’t run away, Thorns picked up the human underneath his arms and twisted the limbs 180° so he looked like a clock with broken arms. The howl of pain that bubbled from the victim’s throat was operatic, a soprano tripping over a high note and falling flat on her face. And that was the beginning. One thing Bam learned about torture in front of an audience was that you didn’t rush through it; you would quench your own bloodlust, and you would win favor with the audience. The latter was more important as the audience was known to rebel, and the person doing the torture would just as quickly become the entertainment.
When Bam feared he was going to succumb to boredom as the beating went on, the faerie unsheathed his blade. At this point the human was nailed to the ground, crucifix style. There wasn’t much blood left in him as most of it was on the floor; his skin held the waxy pallor that only those close to death could pull off. Bam watched avidly as the weapon was raised high, gleaming like a beacon of light before a cloud of darkness fell over his eyes; Ville’s hand had clamped around his face so tightly he had to claw at them so he could breathe, and even then the air that seeped through wasn’t enough for his quaking nostrils. There was the swift, almost silent crunching sound of ripping bone and sinew, and if Bam weren’t so rapt with attention he surely would have missed it. The screaming stopped. Ville’s fingers didn’t budge but he imagined the human’s battered and contorted body lying in a messy heap. It would take days of mopping before the floor would be cleaned of the blood, but that was assuming that the inky crimson wasn’t the original color of the marble stage. The head would be gone-to be roasted on a spit, kept safe in a jar, who knows?
Even after he was sure that most of the mess was cleaned up Bam had to politely ask for Ville to remove his hand from his eyes so he could see again, please? The action was done immediately, albeit begrudgingly Bam thought, and when he was able to peel his eyelids open to view the scene before him the body of the human was indeed, beheaded. Tendrils of matted hair peaked out of a velvet drawstring bag. Thorns was kneeling in front of the Queen presenting something to her. Whatever it was the Queen seemed pleased with the gift, a tiny sardonic smile tilting her painted lips. Bam peered closer. Small milky pearls were cradled in the warrior’s soiled hands. Were those…?
Bam swallowed, not particularly disturbed by the dismemberment but conscious of the vulnerability of his own organs, and leaned into Ville’s thigh for comfort. When his eyes traveled up the faerie's leg he saw those long elegant fingers tightened into a fist, all knuckles and sharp bone under nearly transparent skin. They were trembling.
Faeries were a vicious lot.
* * *
Hours later after the ordeal as Ville called it, as if saying for what it actually was would be like wielding a verbal sword that drew blood when unsheathed, Bam was splayed out on Ville’s bed trying to count the spider webs that designed the ceiling. The excitement that had been rushing through his veins after watching the entertainment dulled to a slow burn, leaving him feeling tired with monotony. For some reason when he had first entered Ville’s abode he had expected velvet drapes, silken sheets, the whole nine yards. Instead the room was small and ordinary just as any other. Bam rolled over and hugged a pillow to his chest, inhaling a heady scent that had now become as familiar to him as his own skin; sweet pine, earth, and something that was distinctly Ville. The faerie was standing in front of a polished pane of crystal that served as a makeshift mirror, removing a robe he had worn to the ceremony. The garment was shucked into a closet with obvious anger.
“Bam,” the tone of the voice that reached Bam’s ears was flat and hard, harder than steel, and obediently the human sat up and lifted his eyes.
“You remember when you first met the Queen, don’t you?” Malachite eyes shifted to the chiseled form on the bed, watching as several emotions crossed his face. Bam’s shoulders stiffened with unease. Of course he remembered when he had to appeal to that Bitch Queen. How could he forget? Yet when he opened his mouth to speak his voice was eerily devoid of emotion.
“Yes,” he quipped tightly.
“I’ve been thinking…”
“About?” He asked even thought he already knew.
“She was right. It’s time that I let you go.”
“Oh,” was all Bam could say. He remembered feeling the eyes of the crowd staring at him. At this point it was a well known fact that Ville had a favorite that followed him around everywhere he went, but it was thought to be a temporary affair. It was mandatory to show one’s ownership of another being publically in the Unseelie Court, otherwise it was assumed that your trinket had lost your favor, and your pet was up for grabs. But to make your affection for another known, especially publically…not only was it seen as trivial and stupid, but an exposed weakness. Love was viewed as an open festering wound, and no amount of stitches could fix the problem. The best method was amputation.
And he was going to be amputated.
Ville walked over to a corner of a room where an out of place jeweled goblet was sat on a table. He swirled the cup around a bit, probably to rouse the sediment that had settled at the bottom. As Ville turned around and handed him the cup Bam took it without question. The faerie’s eyes were downcast, a look of remorse he had never seen before reflecting in those turbulent orbs.
“Drink.” Funny, he had been waiting for something more gruesome, something dramatic like a dagger to the heart, going out with a bang. He realized that he had accepted this long ago. Although not explicitly stated in the contract, Bam knew that being with Ville would be a double edged sword, one where he may be end of the blade. But he had never expected Ville to be the one holding the hilt. He sighed. Death by poison wasn’t such a gruesome demise he decided; fate could be so much crueler. He was thankful that he was at least able to spend some time with. At any other time Bam would not have hesitated at the command, would have executed the demand willingly. But this time he didn’t. Something stopped him. He sniffed the drink and couldn’t detect any lethal scent. He frowned as his instincts started to roar that something, other than the fact that his lover was trying to kill him-but why?-wasn’t right.
But there were worse things than death, weren’t there?
“What is this?” A cold sense of dread paralyzed his body as the epiphany dawned on him.
“Something that will erase your memories. Permanently.”
“…What?” There was a wetness at his feet. His hands were shaking. Ville blanketed his hand around Bam’s, holding the glass so he wouldn’t completely loose the liquid, but even the action wouldn’t still the tremors.
“Drink.”
“Is this about earlier?” He always knew that the torturing episodes never sat well with Ville. If the potion was going to make him forget about that, sure that was fine, whatever, but-
“No,” He shook his head as if he were trying to reason with a petulant child. “I can make you forget. It can all be a dream. A ghastly, wonderful, dream.” Bam’s grip suddenly tightened around the chalice and with one swift move he sent it hurtling against the wall. Ville stared unblinkingly as if he expected the rash movement, wasn’t roused by the splintered sobs that began to wrack his lover’s chest.
“Why?”
Ville’s eyes took on a glazed look as if he were speaking to someone else. “My world-it’s too ugly for you. I’m-I thought that since you were human you’d understand. But I forgot how malleable your kind is. And how fragile. I’m too cruel for you.”
“So you’re leaving me?” Bam shouted, aghast that the faerie had the audacity to make this decision on his own. Ville hadn’t even said a word. Since when had he started planning on letting him go? Why hadn’t he come to him sooner telling him what was wrong? Bam felt the muscles in his legs stiffen, ready to bolt, when he saw Ville’s hand had started to glow. No…
“Yes.”
“No…no, you can’t! Please! You can’t do this to me!” he screamed, grabbing the male by the front of his shirt as if the shake some sensibility into him. It was the wrong move because it only made Ville’s job easier. The faerie grabbed his face as if to crush his skull, but instead held his gaze for the longest time. Bam didn’t realize he was crying until the faerie brushed at his cheeks with thumbs that came away wet. He tried one last time as a glowing hand passed over his eyes.
“Ville, I lo-!”
A white light overcame him before total darkness enveloped his sense. As Bam sunk limp in his arms, Ville had to wonder if what he did really was for the best.
“I love you,” he found the words slipping past his lips for the first and last time. The only thing he regretted is that his human, Bam, his Bam, would never be able to hear them.
Part 3: The Lost Boys