Fic: Untouchable (7/?)
Title: Untouchable
Author: Isolde13
Rating: NC-17
Characters and/or Pairing: Peter/Neal, Neal/OMC, Peter/Neal/Elizabeth
Spoilers:None
Warnings: AU. Issues of consent of sexual slavery. Non-con. Violence. Nothing on page for now. Memento type timeframe
Summary: Peter is in love with someone he can't have. Someone he can't even touch . . .
Notes: I'm not sure if anyone's even reading this. There's no feedback so it's hard to tell, but here is the next chapter regardless.
Previous chapters here http://archiveofourown.org/works/514334/chapters/907411
“He’s leaving soon,” Moz says.
“I know,” Neal replies. He’s standing by the window, staring out into the courtyard below. He doesn’t bother to turn around when he asks, “Why do you say that like I don’t know?”
“Because I worry about you.” Moz says. “I think maybe you care about this guy too much.”
“And what am I supposed to do? Not care?”
“I think you should protect yourself, Neal. You’re going to get hurt if you don’t start protecting yourself.”
Sighing, Neal turns to look at Moz. He appreciates the concern but it’s not as if he can simply stop what he feels for Peter. He’s in love with the man and yes, maybe he has fallen too hard, too fast, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s real.
He’s about to reply to Moz when he hears someone pounding at the door.
“Company?” Moz asks.
Neal holds out his hand. “Stay here.” He crosses from the bedroom suite into the living area, just in time to see the doors opening and two of the guards entering.
“Can I help you gentlemen?”
One of the guards, Aric, strides forward and places a strong hand on Neal’s right arm. “The Khan requests your company.”
“Now?” Neal asks, confused. “He didn’t say anything about an afternoon-“
“Now, whore.” Aric tugs, pulling Neal forward.
“Excuse me?” Neal balks at the word and the sneering tone with which it was delivered. While it’s true that he is little more than a glorified whore, no one ever calls him that. Ever.
“Just come along.” The other guard has grasped Neal’s left arm, both of them now pulling him forward, their grip strong as iron.
It hits Neal then, just as they’re escorting him out of the room and down the hall, that they are touching him. It’s a simple thing and yet so monumental. No one touches him but the Khan, no one would ever dare.
He’s led into the throne room where he’s forced to kneel in front of the Khan. He looks around briefly, seeing that there are two other guards in the room, behind and to either side of the Khan. Seated to the left of Temur Kahn is a man Neal recognizes as Keller. There’s something about the man that has always reminded Neal of a treacherous, poisonous snake. His mere presence is enough to make Neal shudder.
“Neal.” Khan Temur’s voice is imperious and cold. And frightening. Everything about this is frightening.
“My lord,” Neal manages to say, somehow keeping his voice level.
“I needed to speak to you, Neal.”
“Those men, the guards, they touched me,” he blurts out, almost without thought.
“Yes. That is no longer of any consequence.”
The words chill Neal to his very core. If his being touched is of no consequence, it can only mean one thing: that he is no longer the favored concubine. He has dreamed of this day, of finally being free, but something tells him that he is not going to be pleased with what the Khan is about to say to him.
“My lord?”
“Keller here came to me with a very interesting story a few days ago. Can you imagine what that story was, Neal?”
Neal doesn’t dare speak, can’t speak. His throat has gone bone dry, his heart pounding too quickly in his chest to even attempt speech.
“Keller, why don’t you tell Neal?”
Keller’s smile is victorious and smug. “I saw you. And Peter. In the hallway, kissing.”
No . . . oh no, no, no . . .
“Of course, I didn’t believe him,” the Khan says. “Not right away. Not my favorite. Not my Neal,” the Khan says.
He pauses, allowing Neal a glimmer of hope.
“So I had you followed.”
Neal’s heart sinks as the last of his fragile hope vanishes. They’d been so careful, always so careful. They had thought their upcoming separation the worst of their problems, but that was nothing compared to what would come now.
“What do you have to say for yourself, Neal?” the Khan prompted.
Knowing that there is no point in denying the accusations, Neal pitches forward, hand upturned in supplication. “My lord, please . . . I beg for your forgiveness, your mercy.”
Temur Khan shakes his head slowly, a dangerous hint of a smile on his face. “Really, Neal . . . when have you known me to show either one?”
If he cannot save himself, and he knows now that he cannot, then perhaps he can help Peter. If he takes all the blame, then maybe, just maybe . . . “It was a foolish mistake on my part, my lord. But it was all me. He wanted no part of it. I seduced him. I tricked him into it.”
There’s silence for a moment as the Khan seems to consider Neal’s words. Then he raises his hand and with a slow gesture, beckons for Neal to come closer. Neal does, knowing instinctively to stay close to the ground and crawl.
He moves until he is kneeling in front of the Khan then settles his head against the man’s knee. He looks up at him, trying desperately to plead for mercy with his eyes. This face won over the Khan once, maybe it will again.
When the Khan speaks, it is not to him.
“I’ll deal with Peter and his associates in a moment, but for now, Keller, Neal is all yours. Be sure to share him with all your men. Do as you wish, but give no killing blows. He is to survive this night. And perhaps many others, until misery and wretchedness drag him to his death.”
Neal whispers ‘no’ and startles back, but is stopped by the hand cruelly gripping his hair and holding him in place.
“Thank you, my lord,” Keller says.
“On second thought, Keller, don’t ruin his face too badly.” The Khan pats Neal’s face lightly, almost tenderly, a contrast to the hand in his hair. “It always was my favorite thing about him. Except for his tight ass, of course.”
Author: Isolde13
Rating: NC-17
Characters and/or Pairing: Peter/Neal, Neal/OMC, Peter/Neal/Elizabeth
Spoilers:None
Warnings: AU. Issues of consent of sexual slavery. Non-con. Violence. Nothing on page for now. Memento type timeframe
Summary: Peter is in love with someone he can't have. Someone he can't even touch . . .
Notes: I'm not sure if anyone's even reading this. There's no feedback so it's hard to tell, but here is the next chapter regardless.
Previous chapters here http://archiveofourown.org/works/514334/chapters/907411
“He’s leaving soon,” Moz says.
“I know,” Neal replies. He’s standing by the window, staring out into the courtyard below. He doesn’t bother to turn around when he asks, “Why do you say that like I don’t know?”
“Because I worry about you.” Moz says. “I think maybe you care about this guy too much.”
“And what am I supposed to do? Not care?”
“I think you should protect yourself, Neal. You’re going to get hurt if you don’t start protecting yourself.”
Sighing, Neal turns to look at Moz. He appreciates the concern but it’s not as if he can simply stop what he feels for Peter. He’s in love with the man and yes, maybe he has fallen too hard, too fast, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s real.
He’s about to reply to Moz when he hears someone pounding at the door.
“Company?” Moz asks.
Neal holds out his hand. “Stay here.” He crosses from the bedroom suite into the living area, just in time to see the doors opening and two of the guards entering.
“Can I help you gentlemen?”
One of the guards, Aric, strides forward and places a strong hand on Neal’s right arm. “The Khan requests your company.”
“Now?” Neal asks, confused. “He didn’t say anything about an afternoon-“
“Now, whore.” Aric tugs, pulling Neal forward.
“Excuse me?” Neal balks at the word and the sneering tone with which it was delivered. While it’s true that he is little more than a glorified whore, no one ever calls him that. Ever.
“Just come along.” The other guard has grasped Neal’s left arm, both of them now pulling him forward, their grip strong as iron.
It hits Neal then, just as they’re escorting him out of the room and down the hall, that they are touching him. It’s a simple thing and yet so monumental. No one touches him but the Khan, no one would ever dare.
He’s led into the throne room where he’s forced to kneel in front of the Khan. He looks around briefly, seeing that there are two other guards in the room, behind and to either side of the Khan. Seated to the left of Temur Kahn is a man Neal recognizes as Keller. There’s something about the man that has always reminded Neal of a treacherous, poisonous snake. His mere presence is enough to make Neal shudder.
“Neal.” Khan Temur’s voice is imperious and cold. And frightening. Everything about this is frightening.
“My lord,” Neal manages to say, somehow keeping his voice level.
“I needed to speak to you, Neal.”
“Those men, the guards, they touched me,” he blurts out, almost without thought.
“Yes. That is no longer of any consequence.”
The words chill Neal to his very core. If his being touched is of no consequence, it can only mean one thing: that he is no longer the favored concubine. He has dreamed of this day, of finally being free, but something tells him that he is not going to be pleased with what the Khan is about to say to him.
“My lord?”
“Keller here came to me with a very interesting story a few days ago. Can you imagine what that story was, Neal?”
Neal doesn’t dare speak, can’t speak. His throat has gone bone dry, his heart pounding too quickly in his chest to even attempt speech.
“Keller, why don’t you tell Neal?”
Keller’s smile is victorious and smug. “I saw you. And Peter. In the hallway, kissing.”
No . . . oh no, no, no . . .
“Of course, I didn’t believe him,” the Khan says. “Not right away. Not my favorite. Not my Neal,” the Khan says.
He pauses, allowing Neal a glimmer of hope.
“So I had you followed.”
Neal’s heart sinks as the last of his fragile hope vanishes. They’d been so careful, always so careful. They had thought their upcoming separation the worst of their problems, but that was nothing compared to what would come now.
“What do you have to say for yourself, Neal?” the Khan prompted.
Knowing that there is no point in denying the accusations, Neal pitches forward, hand upturned in supplication. “My lord, please . . . I beg for your forgiveness, your mercy.”
Temur Khan shakes his head slowly, a dangerous hint of a smile on his face. “Really, Neal . . . when have you known me to show either one?”
If he cannot save himself, and he knows now that he cannot, then perhaps he can help Peter. If he takes all the blame, then maybe, just maybe . . . “It was a foolish mistake on my part, my lord. But it was all me. He wanted no part of it. I seduced him. I tricked him into it.”
There’s silence for a moment as the Khan seems to consider Neal’s words. Then he raises his hand and with a slow gesture, beckons for Neal to come closer. Neal does, knowing instinctively to stay close to the ground and crawl.
He moves until he is kneeling in front of the Khan then settles his head against the man’s knee. He looks up at him, trying desperately to plead for mercy with his eyes. This face won over the Khan once, maybe it will again.
When the Khan speaks, it is not to him.
“I’ll deal with Peter and his associates in a moment, but for now, Keller, Neal is all yours. Be sure to share him with all your men. Do as you wish, but give no killing blows. He is to survive this night. And perhaps many others, until misery and wretchedness drag him to his death.”
Neal whispers ‘no’ and startles back, but is stopped by the hand cruelly gripping his hair and holding him in place.
“Thank you, my lord,” Keller says.
“On second thought, Keller, don’t ruin his face too badly.” The Khan pats Neal’s face lightly, almost tenderly, a contrast to the hand in his hair. “It always was my favorite thing about him. Except for his tight ass, of course.”