Fic: Desire's Thrall (Or, Romance Novel Nightmare), Chapter 1
Title: Desire's Thrall (Or, Romance Novel Nightmare)
Chapter 1
Author: she_burns1
Pairing: Bret/Jemaine, Bret/Jemayn, Bretta/Jemayn (...it'll make sense when you read it)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3,518
Summary: Bret gets transported into a romance novel. No, really.
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The plot is all mine. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author’s Note: Crack!Fic. Like, to the 100th degree. This is CRACK!FIC. Wrote for nonnymoose for winning my help_haiti auction.
This was supposed to be 1,000 words, but we see where this is going. *Sigh*. This is why I am envious of the newest FOTC fic I read ( These Days by posingathreat), so simple, so short, so perfect! Gah! Why can't I write like that?! Instead of going on for the length of a Bible?!
Also, this story reminds me vaguely of mechanophobia's New Way Home, which is also Bret sucked into a world he shouldn't be in. I recommend reading that, as it's a lot less cracky than this and wholly more entertaining in my opinion...also, if I promote it, maybe she'll write more...me and my evil plans...mwhaha!
LASTLY - I got the idea for this fic from these pics (1)(2)(3) check 'em out!!!
Bret was bored.
It was a Thursday afternoon and he had the apartment all to himself. Jemaine had left very early in the day and when Bret had asked him where he was going Jemaine had muttered at him to 'mind his own business' and then punctuated the sentence with slamming the front door behind him.
This had stung, because Jemaine was rude, to be sure, but never that rude and Bret couldn't understand why. Had he done something? Said something? Why had Jemaine been such a dickhead? It wasn't like him.
Bret had puzzled over this while also trying to sooth his wounded feelings and that had taken a good hour. Then he had watched some telly, made a sandwich, taken a shower, fed his pet rock, made a boat out of glue and used popsicle sticks only to end up where he was now. Bored and with absolutely nothing to do.
Bret hated being bored.
Even more so on a day like today, when he was alone and Jemaine had been unfairly mean to him. And, as if that wasn't enough, it was overcast and cold outside. Bret rubbed at his arms just looking out the window.
The whole world looked cold and gray. Lonely and boring. Bret took in a deep breath and struggled to think of something to do. Maybe he could make some sock puppets, he still had some glue left over. But then what would he glue to the socks to make them puppets? He didn't have any googly eyes. He used to, but then one day Jemaine had found them and since then had expressly stated that they were banned from the apartment.
"They're terrifying, Bret. Make you look like a right witch doctor, having eyes lying around."
"They're fake, Jemaine."
"Well...they still look like you're collecting gruesome trophies for some weird ritual."
And that had been that. No googly eyes. Bret sighed and sat at the kitchen table, hands rubbing along his jeans. He saw an old newspaper resting on the table and he took it.
He flipped through it idly when a colorful advertisement flickered out between the pages to land on his lap. Bret picked it up and perused it with mild interest. A new book store had opened up less than a block away from the apartment.
They sold and bought used books and the add cheerfully invited people to come visit. It also had a little coupon at the bottom right corner that boasted that they'd double the value of the first book you traded in.
Bret's lips screwed up to one side as he thought about this. It had been a very long time since he had read a good book. And he was bored.
He got to his feet and began to search for a book he could trade in. Unfortunately, reading was actually rather low on the scale of activities Bret and Jemaine engaged in, and it took Bret a while to find anything.
Finally he managed to dig up a beat up copy of the Karma Sutra. It had been resting under one of the legs of the bathtub, which, for some reason, was shorter than the other legs. Bret knew he'd have to find something else to go under there, but for now at least he had something to trade in.
The book itself had been a gift from Mel and while it had initially freaked the boys out, there had been times when one or the other had been caught flipping through it. It had all been very embarrassing and when the one leg of the tub had gotten suspiciously shorter than the others, the book had easily been chosen as a good replacement piece.
Bret threw on his coat and as he was leaving the apartment he saw Eugene in the hallway standing high on a ladder fixing one of the ceiling lights. He stopped, surprised, "Hey, Eugene."
Eugene didn't look away from his work, voice tired, "Hey Bret."
"Fixing a bulb?"
"Yeah. One of the tenants apparently fell down the stairs and she's trying to blame it on the light being out. Said she'd bring a lawsuit if I didn't fix it."
Bret shrugged, "Tough break," then remembering something, remarked, "Hey Eugene, when you're done with this, d'you think you could fix our tub?"
"Hrm?" Eugene's eyes were still on his task.
"Our tub. One of the legs is shorter than the others."
"Wasn't me."
"Yeah, I...wait, what?"
"The tub. It wasn't me. I didn't break it."
"I...know that, man, I just-"
"And even if it was me, which it wasn't, but if it was, just so you know, the water pressure in your shower is amazing."
Bret blinked, "Really?"
"Oh yeah. Feels real good. Like getting a full body massage. You ever get a full body massage, Bret?"
Bret didn't answer, he just began to walk away. Fast.
* * * * *
Bret left the book store confused and disappointed.
A pretty girl had worked behind the counter and she had explained to him how the trades and used books worked but he hadn't heard a word of it, too distracted by how pretty she was to really concentrate.
She was even more lovely than the girl who worked at the cheap zoo (who he had had disastrous results with) or the one who had worked at the bakery (who he had also had disastrous results with).
So, in a way, it was only natural that he have disastrous results with this girl, though he was surprised at how quickly it became disastrous.
After she had finished talking to him and he had finished not listening, she had taken his book and in the blink of an eye replaced it with another. She had then announced that she was closing up shop so she could go on her date with a handsome Australian man she had met earlier that week.
So Bret now found himself walking home, a romance novel he did not want in one hand and girl he did want going on a date with another man in the...other? Bret frowned, confused by his own thoughts and looked at both his hands.
Then, shrugging, began to walk again.
As he got closer to the apartment he began to inspect the book that had been thrust upon him. The cover was purple and illustrated with an ominous looking castle covered in snow, the title read 'Desire's Thrall' and Bret couldn't help but scoff. Ridiculous.
He turned the book over and began to read the summary:
The invaders came from across an icy sea, led by the handsome, but brutish Jemayn-
Bret stopped reading and stopped walking, taking a moment to blink, head rearing back slightly. Had he read that right? Jemayn? He double checked and, indeed, that was the name boldly printed on the back cover. Jemayn. Huh. Bret continued reading:
-they seek to reclaim that which was stolen, Brenna, Jemayn's exquisite thrall and secret desire-
Bret stopped again, but this time to open the door to the apartment building, which he did slowly, his attention well caught by the book.
-plots vengeance, Brenna cannot ignore the wonder of his kisses - or douse the flames of passion that blaze between them like-
Bret scowled and tried to back up in his reading, positive he had missed a sentance. He stopped in the hallway to do so and standing there, absorbed as he was, he didn't hear the loud sound above him until it was too late.
* * * * *
Bret's head ached and his body felt terribly sore. He groaned and shifted, eyes blinking blearily. It was so dark. Why was it so dark? Where was he? He recognized a strange glow - sort of like candlelight - and as his eyesight adjusted he started to come to the realization that he was not where he last remembered being.
In fact, he couldn't even remember where he had been last.
Was it...the apartment? No, no, it was the book shop. Right? He had gone to a book shop.
As he sat up, he knew for sure he was not in a book shop. In fact, he was quite sure he was in a dungeon. Cold stone walls, hard floor against his back, heavy bars before him. Yup. He was in a dungeon, all right. How the flip had he ended up in a dungeon?
Mel?
Bret licked his lips, apprehensive now, as he rubbed at his arms. God, it was cold. He could only make out one or two candles and then he heard a terrible commotion coming from somewhere. Screaming and the sound of metal clashing together.
Suddenly a man appeared before him. He was tall and handsome and while Bret couldn't remember his name, he knew that he knew him. The man looked at him with a cross between disgust and anger, voice cold, "Ah, so you're awake. I should have killed you when I had the chance."
Bret blinked again, completely lost, "Pardon?"
"But no, I was a fool and listened to my mistress. She told me to keep you alive, told me we could ransom you off to that-that beast," he hissed, seething, "That very beast who, with his slobbering mongrels, has now just torn into my home. That's what I get for listening to her. For listening to a woman!"
Bret jabbed a finger in his direction, "You're...aren't you...Mark? Sally's husband?"
The man sneered at him, "How dare you address me in such a fashion! I, a Lord and you...you a filthy-" he shook his head, fingers gripping the bars tightly, "I am Lord Marcus of Devonshire and you are nothing but a disgusting thrall!"
Thrall? Why did that word sound so familiar...
"My Lady Sarah would have me spare you, but with your 'saviors' tearing apart my upper hall, I think it would be much more wise for me to remove your head from your shoulders, lest it be too late." Marcus reached into the folds of his cloak, removing a key.
Bret, however, was not to be deterred, "You left Sally for a girl named Sarah?"
Marcus just glared at him as he opened the door to the dungeon. As he stepped inside he removed a long, sharp, (and to Bret's mind, very scary), sword from the sheath at his waist, "How I look forward to ending that stream of nonsensical babble-"
Bret flinched where he lay, sort of curling into himself at the very idea of the violence, when suddenly something large whooshed by between Marcus and himself.
Bret scrabbled to his feet, startled beyond his wits to discover it was a large (and very, very sharp) axe that buried itself deep within the wall behind him. Buried into stone?! Was that even possible?
Bret wasn't quite sure he wasn't having some sort of radical nervous breakdown as he clung to one of the walls for support. Flip, his head. He hadn't realized until this very moment how much it ached.
Then he heard a familiar voice, "You had best step away from him, Devonshire."
Bret blinked, mouth flapping silently as Jemaine, but not Jemaine strode into view.
It was Jemaine because the face and the voice was unmistakable, but it was not Jemaine because Jemaine had never looked, well, like this. Big and fierce and in armor, a group of scary men crowded behind him.
Jemaine/not Jemaine spoke again, "What a pleasure this will be...craving my name into your skull."
Mark, or Lord Marcus, or whatever, rotated his head on his shoulders, his grip on his sword tightening as he pointed the end of the blade at the other man menacingly, "You think I will give you the chance, heathen? I am the best swordsmen in all these lands. Come, try it."
Jemaine/not Jemaine smirked and yet, somehow, this smirk only served to freak Bret out even more as he growled, "Who needs swords, when I have this?"
Jemaine drew out the biggest and most frightening axe Bret had ever seen and brandished it about. Bret slid back down to the floor and cradled his head in his hands. Oh flip! He had lost it! Lost it, lost it, lost it entirely!
This couldn't be real.
A girlish shriek suddenly filled the air and Bret couldn't help but look up from his hands to see Sally burst in. But, fitting within the setting, she was not Sally, for while she certainly had the face and voice, her attire was entirely uncharacteristic.
Instead of a smart blouse and skirt, she wore a flowing dress, a strange circlet upon her head. She did her best to weasel between the men who swarmed behind Jemaine, her voice sharp and unpleasant, "No! No! Do not touch him!"
"Silence, wench!" One of the men roared and look ready to backhand her when Jemaine cried out, "Stay your hand, Davion! We shall deal with the Lady Sarah soon enough! But first...there is blood to be had! And I shall be the first to taste it upon my cold steel."
Marcus' lips quirked in one corner, his face cocky as he beckoned with one hand, "Come then, let us be finished!"
Jemaine roared and came at the other man. Bret rose to his feet once more and skirted away, unable to squeak out a curse that would normally make him blush. But...they were...fighting! Not feet from him!
And not the fighting Bret was used to. Not simple jabs and ineffectual swatting. This was fighting. Sword and axe meeting one another with such loud clangs it hurt Bret's ears and it was terrifying. The looks on both their faces, such anger, such hatred. Marcus got a swipe at Jemaine's arm and at the sight of blood Bret pressed a hand to his mouth. Sick, sick, oh, he was going to be sick!
But the burst of blood only seemed to incense the man who was Jemaine but not, his cry of outrage unmistakable as he advanced forward. And while Marcus was, indeed, accomplished with the blade in his hands, he was no match for the bigger and much more forceful opponent he faced.
Eventually the sword was knocked from his hands and Marcus fell to the ground. Jemaine, victorious, glowered over him, "At last! You should have known better, Lord Marcus, than to steal from a man such as me. And what you stole..."
Jemaine bent and took a handful of Marcus' tunic, raising him one fisted off the floor as he snarled into his face, "...what you stole, which is priceless beyond measure," he laughed cruelly, shaking his head ruefully, "Tis only fair I take from you what you attempted to take from me. Your heart shall be a fine trophy for my wall."
Jemaine threw Marcus from his roughly and raised his axe. Just as he seemed prepared to bring it down with swift, hard vengeance, Bret cried out, "No!"
Jemaine froze and the look he shot Bret was...it felt...almost physical. The force of it made Bret want to shrink away into nothing. It was so...hot, somehow. It was as if Jemaine had just become aware of his existence.
Bret swallowed thickly, feeling breathless with fear as all eyes suddenly landed upon him. Before this moment it had all almost felt like a dream. A movie he had been watching. Past his interaction with Marcus, it had been as if he had not been there at all. But now...all eyes on him...
Jemaine's grip on the axe tightened, his voice full of disbelief, "Bretta?"
Bret reared back slightly. Bretta? He shook his head, licking his lips, voice a hoarse whisper, "No...Jemaine, man...'s me...Bret."
Jemaine glared at Marcus, face murderous as he hissed, "What have you done to him?"
Another man suddenly stepped forward and Bret shrank away from him. This man was just as big as Jemaine but Bret had never seen him before. His skin was golden, his hair dark, and Bret could see various tattoos gracing parts of his body, though most of this was hidden by the armor. The man inspected Bret carefully, "He has suffered abuse, Jemayn. I can see some markings about his head. I imagine his right eye will swell full to close before the night is out."
"Well then," Jemayn almost purred at Marcus, "I shall take your right eye as another adornment."
He brought the tip of the axe near Marcus' eye and Bret let out another squeal. Jemayn turned, looking at him again with that look. The one that made Bret feel it from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. The man near Bret looked at him curiously, "Bretta? You do not wish to see your master take revenge on your captors?"
Bret looked at the man near him and wanted to scream that not only was that the last thing he wanted but he wanted someone to explain to him what the hell was going on. But all he could manage was to shake his head weakly.
Davion (who Bret was resigned to admit looked like Dave) spoke up, "The thrall is weak willed, as is the nature of his lot. Do not listen to him, Jemayn! Rend the bastard limb from limb!"
"Or," the man near Bret spoke up, "Or, the thrall is clever...mind you, I enjoy watching Jemayn take his axe to our enemies more than most, but...at the end, we are men of trade. Men who seek good profit...we could spare the wretch's life, use him for sale," he looked at Bret conspiratorially, "Is this what you had in mind, you cunning little thing?"
Bret took some offense to being called 'little' but at the man's wink, couldn't help but nod weakly. After all, anything was better than seeing someone diced up in front of him.
Jemayn huffed and puffed and generally reminded Bret of the big bad wolf as he glared down at the man near his feet, "I'd rather gut him."
Davion let out a whoop of encouragement.
"But," Jemayn conceded, lowering his axe slowly, "Tis a fitting punishment," he kicked at Marcus, "Better you live a long life as a slave than die quickly under my axe."
Marcus, who, up to this point, had been trembling as he prepared for death, now laughed shakily, all bravado, as he crowed, "Too much of a coward to finish what you started? What sort of spineless fool would listen to-"
Marcus' words were cut off as Jemaine swiftly rammed the knob end of the axe hard into his jaw. The sickening snap that accompanied it almost made Bret vomit and he turned away. Broken. Yeah, yeah, that's what that sound was...jaw being broken...
Jemayn's voice was cold, "I said you would live. I did not say it would be comfortably," then, "Ah...a tooth. So, there is a prize to be had, after all."
Bret put a hand to his mouth. Okay, okay, he was gonna puke...
"Taika, if you would..."
The man nearest Bret, the one with the wink and the golden skin, moved in Jemayn's direction. Bret pressed a hand to the cold dungeon wall, his head throbbing, his stomach sour, and his vision blurry, that sound still in his ears. So much so that he could barely hear the procession of people leaving and, when he finally turned, he was a bit surprised to find himself alone.
Well.
Not alone.
Not entirely.
Jemaine - no, not Jemaine - Jemayn stood there. Tall and proud and big (god, was Jemaine really that big?), with his axe loose in his grip. He dropped the weapon and Bret swallowed, nervous and bewildered and then Jemayn was in front of him, dizzyingly close and he was in his personal space, touching him, cupping his face and, really, Bret wasn't sure he could take any more of this weirdness as Jemayn whispered hoarsely, "I feared I would never see you again."
And then Jemayn kissed him.
Chapter 1
Author: she_burns1
Pairing: Bret/Jemaine, Bret/Jemayn, Bretta/Jemayn (...it'll make sense when you read it)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3,518
Summary: Bret gets transported into a romance novel. No, really.
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The plot is all mine. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author’s Note: Crack!Fic. Like, to the 100th degree. This is CRACK!FIC. Wrote for nonnymoose for winning my help_haiti auction.
This was supposed to be 1,000 words, but we see where this is going. *Sigh*. This is why I am envious of the newest FOTC fic I read ( These Days by posingathreat), so simple, so short, so perfect! Gah! Why can't I write like that?! Instead of going on for the length of a Bible?!
Also, this story reminds me vaguely of mechanophobia's New Way Home, which is also Bret sucked into a world he shouldn't be in. I recommend reading that, as it's a lot less cracky than this and wholly more entertaining in my opinion...also, if I promote it, maybe she'll write more...me and my evil plans...mwhaha!
LASTLY - I got the idea for this fic from these pics (1)(2)(3) check 'em out!!!
Bret was bored.
It was a Thursday afternoon and he had the apartment all to himself. Jemaine had left very early in the day and when Bret had asked him where he was going Jemaine had muttered at him to 'mind his own business' and then punctuated the sentence with slamming the front door behind him.
This had stung, because Jemaine was rude, to be sure, but never that rude and Bret couldn't understand why. Had he done something? Said something? Why had Jemaine been such a dickhead? It wasn't like him.
Bret had puzzled over this while also trying to sooth his wounded feelings and that had taken a good hour. Then he had watched some telly, made a sandwich, taken a shower, fed his pet rock, made a boat out of glue and used popsicle sticks only to end up where he was now. Bored and with absolutely nothing to do.
Bret hated being bored.
Even more so on a day like today, when he was alone and Jemaine had been unfairly mean to him. And, as if that wasn't enough, it was overcast and cold outside. Bret rubbed at his arms just looking out the window.
The whole world looked cold and gray. Lonely and boring. Bret took in a deep breath and struggled to think of something to do. Maybe he could make some sock puppets, he still had some glue left over. But then what would he glue to the socks to make them puppets? He didn't have any googly eyes. He used to, but then one day Jemaine had found them and since then had expressly stated that they were banned from the apartment.
"They're terrifying, Bret. Make you look like a right witch doctor, having eyes lying around."
"They're fake, Jemaine."
"Well...they still look like you're collecting gruesome trophies for some weird ritual."
And that had been that. No googly eyes. Bret sighed and sat at the kitchen table, hands rubbing along his jeans. He saw an old newspaper resting on the table and he took it.
He flipped through it idly when a colorful advertisement flickered out between the pages to land on his lap. Bret picked it up and perused it with mild interest. A new book store had opened up less than a block away from the apartment.
They sold and bought used books and the add cheerfully invited people to come visit. It also had a little coupon at the bottom right corner that boasted that they'd double the value of the first book you traded in.
Bret's lips screwed up to one side as he thought about this. It had been a very long time since he had read a good book. And he was bored.
He got to his feet and began to search for a book he could trade in. Unfortunately, reading was actually rather low on the scale of activities Bret and Jemaine engaged in, and it took Bret a while to find anything.
Finally he managed to dig up a beat up copy of the Karma Sutra. It had been resting under one of the legs of the bathtub, which, for some reason, was shorter than the other legs. Bret knew he'd have to find something else to go under there, but for now at least he had something to trade in.
The book itself had been a gift from Mel and while it had initially freaked the boys out, there had been times when one or the other had been caught flipping through it. It had all been very embarrassing and when the one leg of the tub had gotten suspiciously shorter than the others, the book had easily been chosen as a good replacement piece.
Bret threw on his coat and as he was leaving the apartment he saw Eugene in the hallway standing high on a ladder fixing one of the ceiling lights. He stopped, surprised, "Hey, Eugene."
Eugene didn't look away from his work, voice tired, "Hey Bret."
"Fixing a bulb?"
"Yeah. One of the tenants apparently fell down the stairs and she's trying to blame it on the light being out. Said she'd bring a lawsuit if I didn't fix it."
Bret shrugged, "Tough break," then remembering something, remarked, "Hey Eugene, when you're done with this, d'you think you could fix our tub?"
"Hrm?" Eugene's eyes were still on his task.
"Our tub. One of the legs is shorter than the others."
"Wasn't me."
"Yeah, I...wait, what?"
"The tub. It wasn't me. I didn't break it."
"I...know that, man, I just-"
"And even if it was me, which it wasn't, but if it was, just so you know, the water pressure in your shower is amazing."
Bret blinked, "Really?"
"Oh yeah. Feels real good. Like getting a full body massage. You ever get a full body massage, Bret?"
Bret didn't answer, he just began to walk away. Fast.
* * * * *
Bret left the book store confused and disappointed.
A pretty girl had worked behind the counter and she had explained to him how the trades and used books worked but he hadn't heard a word of it, too distracted by how pretty she was to really concentrate.
She was even more lovely than the girl who worked at the cheap zoo (who he had had disastrous results with) or the one who had worked at the bakery (who he had also had disastrous results with).
So, in a way, it was only natural that he have disastrous results with this girl, though he was surprised at how quickly it became disastrous.
After she had finished talking to him and he had finished not listening, she had taken his book and in the blink of an eye replaced it with another. She had then announced that she was closing up shop so she could go on her date with a handsome Australian man she had met earlier that week.
So Bret now found himself walking home, a romance novel he did not want in one hand and girl he did want going on a date with another man in the...other? Bret frowned, confused by his own thoughts and looked at both his hands.
Then, shrugging, began to walk again.
As he got closer to the apartment he began to inspect the book that had been thrust upon him. The cover was purple and illustrated with an ominous looking castle covered in snow, the title read 'Desire's Thrall' and Bret couldn't help but scoff. Ridiculous.
He turned the book over and began to read the summary:
The invaders came from across an icy sea, led by the handsome, but brutish Jemayn-
Bret stopped reading and stopped walking, taking a moment to blink, head rearing back slightly. Had he read that right? Jemayn? He double checked and, indeed, that was the name boldly printed on the back cover. Jemayn. Huh. Bret continued reading:
-they seek to reclaim that which was stolen, Brenna, Jemayn's exquisite thrall and secret desire-
Bret stopped again, but this time to open the door to the apartment building, which he did slowly, his attention well caught by the book.
-plots vengeance, Brenna cannot ignore the wonder of his kisses - or douse the flames of passion that blaze between them like-
Bret scowled and tried to back up in his reading, positive he had missed a sentance. He stopped in the hallway to do so and standing there, absorbed as he was, he didn't hear the loud sound above him until it was too late.
* * * * *
Bret's head ached and his body felt terribly sore. He groaned and shifted, eyes blinking blearily. It was so dark. Why was it so dark? Where was he? He recognized a strange glow - sort of like candlelight - and as his eyesight adjusted he started to come to the realization that he was not where he last remembered being.
In fact, he couldn't even remember where he had been last.
Was it...the apartment? No, no, it was the book shop. Right? He had gone to a book shop.
As he sat up, he knew for sure he was not in a book shop. In fact, he was quite sure he was in a dungeon. Cold stone walls, hard floor against his back, heavy bars before him. Yup. He was in a dungeon, all right. How the flip had he ended up in a dungeon?
Mel?
Bret licked his lips, apprehensive now, as he rubbed at his arms. God, it was cold. He could only make out one or two candles and then he heard a terrible commotion coming from somewhere. Screaming and the sound of metal clashing together.
Suddenly a man appeared before him. He was tall and handsome and while Bret couldn't remember his name, he knew that he knew him. The man looked at him with a cross between disgust and anger, voice cold, "Ah, so you're awake. I should have killed you when I had the chance."
Bret blinked again, completely lost, "Pardon?"
"But no, I was a fool and listened to my mistress. She told me to keep you alive, told me we could ransom you off to that-that beast," he hissed, seething, "That very beast who, with his slobbering mongrels, has now just torn into my home. That's what I get for listening to her. For listening to a woman!"
Bret jabbed a finger in his direction, "You're...aren't you...Mark? Sally's husband?"
The man sneered at him, "How dare you address me in such a fashion! I, a Lord and you...you a filthy-" he shook his head, fingers gripping the bars tightly, "I am Lord Marcus of Devonshire and you are nothing but a disgusting thrall!"
Thrall? Why did that word sound so familiar...
"My Lady Sarah would have me spare you, but with your 'saviors' tearing apart my upper hall, I think it would be much more wise for me to remove your head from your shoulders, lest it be too late." Marcus reached into the folds of his cloak, removing a key.
Bret, however, was not to be deterred, "You left Sally for a girl named Sarah?"
Marcus just glared at him as he opened the door to the dungeon. As he stepped inside he removed a long, sharp, (and to Bret's mind, very scary), sword from the sheath at his waist, "How I look forward to ending that stream of nonsensical babble-"
Bret flinched where he lay, sort of curling into himself at the very idea of the violence, when suddenly something large whooshed by between Marcus and himself.
Bret scrabbled to his feet, startled beyond his wits to discover it was a large (and very, very sharp) axe that buried itself deep within the wall behind him. Buried into stone?! Was that even possible?
Bret wasn't quite sure he wasn't having some sort of radical nervous breakdown as he clung to one of the walls for support. Flip, his head. He hadn't realized until this very moment how much it ached.
Then he heard a familiar voice, "You had best step away from him, Devonshire."
Bret blinked, mouth flapping silently as Jemaine, but not Jemaine strode into view.
It was Jemaine because the face and the voice was unmistakable, but it was not Jemaine because Jemaine had never looked, well, like this. Big and fierce and in armor, a group of scary men crowded behind him.
Jemaine/not Jemaine spoke again, "What a pleasure this will be...craving my name into your skull."
Mark, or Lord Marcus, or whatever, rotated his head on his shoulders, his grip on his sword tightening as he pointed the end of the blade at the other man menacingly, "You think I will give you the chance, heathen? I am the best swordsmen in all these lands. Come, try it."
Jemaine/not Jemaine smirked and yet, somehow, this smirk only served to freak Bret out even more as he growled, "Who needs swords, when I have this?"
Jemaine drew out the biggest and most frightening axe Bret had ever seen and brandished it about. Bret slid back down to the floor and cradled his head in his hands. Oh flip! He had lost it! Lost it, lost it, lost it entirely!
This couldn't be real.
A girlish shriek suddenly filled the air and Bret couldn't help but look up from his hands to see Sally burst in. But, fitting within the setting, she was not Sally, for while she certainly had the face and voice, her attire was entirely uncharacteristic.
Instead of a smart blouse and skirt, she wore a flowing dress, a strange circlet upon her head. She did her best to weasel between the men who swarmed behind Jemaine, her voice sharp and unpleasant, "No! No! Do not touch him!"
"Silence, wench!" One of the men roared and look ready to backhand her when Jemaine cried out, "Stay your hand, Davion! We shall deal with the Lady Sarah soon enough! But first...there is blood to be had! And I shall be the first to taste it upon my cold steel."
Marcus' lips quirked in one corner, his face cocky as he beckoned with one hand, "Come then, let us be finished!"
Jemaine roared and came at the other man. Bret rose to his feet once more and skirted away, unable to squeak out a curse that would normally make him blush. But...they were...fighting! Not feet from him!
And not the fighting Bret was used to. Not simple jabs and ineffectual swatting. This was fighting. Sword and axe meeting one another with such loud clangs it hurt Bret's ears and it was terrifying. The looks on both their faces, such anger, such hatred. Marcus got a swipe at Jemaine's arm and at the sight of blood Bret pressed a hand to his mouth. Sick, sick, oh, he was going to be sick!
But the burst of blood only seemed to incense the man who was Jemaine but not, his cry of outrage unmistakable as he advanced forward. And while Marcus was, indeed, accomplished with the blade in his hands, he was no match for the bigger and much more forceful opponent he faced.
Eventually the sword was knocked from his hands and Marcus fell to the ground. Jemaine, victorious, glowered over him, "At last! You should have known better, Lord Marcus, than to steal from a man such as me. And what you stole..."
Jemaine bent and took a handful of Marcus' tunic, raising him one fisted off the floor as he snarled into his face, "...what you stole, which is priceless beyond measure," he laughed cruelly, shaking his head ruefully, "Tis only fair I take from you what you attempted to take from me. Your heart shall be a fine trophy for my wall."
Jemaine threw Marcus from his roughly and raised his axe. Just as he seemed prepared to bring it down with swift, hard vengeance, Bret cried out, "No!"
Jemaine froze and the look he shot Bret was...it felt...almost physical. The force of it made Bret want to shrink away into nothing. It was so...hot, somehow. It was as if Jemaine had just become aware of his existence.
Bret swallowed thickly, feeling breathless with fear as all eyes suddenly landed upon him. Before this moment it had all almost felt like a dream. A movie he had been watching. Past his interaction with Marcus, it had been as if he had not been there at all. But now...all eyes on him...
Jemaine's grip on the axe tightened, his voice full of disbelief, "Bretta?"
Bret reared back slightly. Bretta? He shook his head, licking his lips, voice a hoarse whisper, "No...Jemaine, man...'s me...Bret."
Jemaine glared at Marcus, face murderous as he hissed, "What have you done to him?"
Another man suddenly stepped forward and Bret shrank away from him. This man was just as big as Jemaine but Bret had never seen him before. His skin was golden, his hair dark, and Bret could see various tattoos gracing parts of his body, though most of this was hidden by the armor. The man inspected Bret carefully, "He has suffered abuse, Jemayn. I can see some markings about his head. I imagine his right eye will swell full to close before the night is out."
"Well then," Jemayn almost purred at Marcus, "I shall take your right eye as another adornment."
He brought the tip of the axe near Marcus' eye and Bret let out another squeal. Jemayn turned, looking at him again with that look. The one that made Bret feel it from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. The man near Bret looked at him curiously, "Bretta? You do not wish to see your master take revenge on your captors?"
Bret looked at the man near him and wanted to scream that not only was that the last thing he wanted but he wanted someone to explain to him what the hell was going on. But all he could manage was to shake his head weakly.
Davion (who Bret was resigned to admit looked like Dave) spoke up, "The thrall is weak willed, as is the nature of his lot. Do not listen to him, Jemayn! Rend the bastard limb from limb!"
"Or," the man near Bret spoke up, "Or, the thrall is clever...mind you, I enjoy watching Jemayn take his axe to our enemies more than most, but...at the end, we are men of trade. Men who seek good profit...we could spare the wretch's life, use him for sale," he looked at Bret conspiratorially, "Is this what you had in mind, you cunning little thing?"
Bret took some offense to being called 'little' but at the man's wink, couldn't help but nod weakly. After all, anything was better than seeing someone diced up in front of him.
Jemayn huffed and puffed and generally reminded Bret of the big bad wolf as he glared down at the man near his feet, "I'd rather gut him."
Davion let out a whoop of encouragement.
"But," Jemayn conceded, lowering his axe slowly, "Tis a fitting punishment," he kicked at Marcus, "Better you live a long life as a slave than die quickly under my axe."
Marcus, who, up to this point, had been trembling as he prepared for death, now laughed shakily, all bravado, as he crowed, "Too much of a coward to finish what you started? What sort of spineless fool would listen to-"
Marcus' words were cut off as Jemaine swiftly rammed the knob end of the axe hard into his jaw. The sickening snap that accompanied it almost made Bret vomit and he turned away. Broken. Yeah, yeah, that's what that sound was...jaw being broken...
Jemayn's voice was cold, "I said you would live. I did not say it would be comfortably," then, "Ah...a tooth. So, there is a prize to be had, after all."
Bret put a hand to his mouth. Okay, okay, he was gonna puke...
"Taika, if you would..."
The man nearest Bret, the one with the wink and the golden skin, moved in Jemayn's direction. Bret pressed a hand to the cold dungeon wall, his head throbbing, his stomach sour, and his vision blurry, that sound still in his ears. So much so that he could barely hear the procession of people leaving and, when he finally turned, he was a bit surprised to find himself alone.
Well.
Not alone.
Not entirely.
Jemaine - no, not Jemaine - Jemayn stood there. Tall and proud and big (god, was Jemaine really that big?), with his axe loose in his grip. He dropped the weapon and Bret swallowed, nervous and bewildered and then Jemayn was in front of him, dizzyingly close and he was in his personal space, touching him, cupping his face and, really, Bret wasn't sure he could take any more of this weirdness as Jemayn whispered hoarsely, "I feared I would never see you again."
And then Jemayn kissed him.