Mine Alone, Euron/Ramsay, warnings for torture and dub-con, Part IIhousecreepyJune 12 2013, 23:22:12 UTC
So accustomed to watching over the saltire and the rack, Ramsay had been broken, but not through something so common as ordinary torture. No, Euron had insinuated himself into Ramsay’s existence, his tacit approval as he watched his new pet strike at a disobedient thrall with the cat so different from Roose’s harsh criticisms. Instead, he shared with Ramsay the cold thrill as they watched the blood run in ribbons down the man’s back, and when Ramsay had taken things a step too far, bathing the wounds with saltwater to exacerbate the pain, their laughter had quietly mingled, a hideous music breaking the quietude aboard the Silence. It had not been too hard for Ramsay to accept the man as a bedpartner either, for he was as gifted with hands and mouth as he was with rods and lashes, and in his weaker moments that he would not confess to anyone, he could imagine that the lips on his flesh belonged to another, long dead, and the fingers that found him in the darkness were his as well, flesh returned to what was now surely bone.
It was all so gradual that he did not notice that the control that he had thought to possess slipped away, bit by bit. He had not really mastered this man, for Euron Greyjoy had seen far more than he, and had done far worse things that Ramsay’s most elaborate fantasies could even imagine. And his talent was not so much the knife as it was the mind. Ramsay had become his now, body and soul. It had not taken much in the end for the seduction to work. It had only taken the approval of a better. A smile and a nod had conquered all.
*
“Mine,” Euron murmurs. “Mine alone.” Ramsay’s hands are already fumbling with the fastenings on his leggings, fingers eager, mouth almost watering at the thought that he has pleased this strange man, at once so remote and so cloying, a poison presence, but an alluring poison, nonetheless. Gone is the finery, gone is the presumption, gone is the rage. There is only the darkness, and his lord, his lover, his master.
It was all so gradual that he did not notice that the control that he had thought to possess slipped away, bit by bit. He had not really mastered this man, for Euron Greyjoy had seen far more than he, and had done far worse things that Ramsay’s most elaborate fantasies could even imagine. And his talent was not so much the knife as it was the mind. Ramsay had become his now, body and soul. It had not taken much in the end for the seduction to work. It had only taken the approval of a better. A smile and a nod had conquered all.
*
“Mine,” Euron murmurs. “Mine alone.” Ramsay’s hands are already fumbling with the fastenings on his leggings, fingers eager, mouth almost watering at the thought that he has pleased this strange man, at once so remote and so cloying, a poison presence, but an alluring poison, nonetheless. Gone is the finery, gone is the presumption, gone is the rage. There is only the darkness, and his lord, his lover, his master.
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