Alone in his cell, Claude has little to do with his time aside from considering every bit of information he has gathered together so far, and plan for an unlikely escape.
Aurelien has certainly given him a lot to think about. That's a good thing as far as he's concerned- the more words and smiles he has to mull over, the less he focuses on the unyielding metal cage around his cock. Still, despite Claude's best efforts, his thoughts frequently wander, with his bruised throat and bottom acting as constant reminders of his utter humiliating abuse and, worst of all, pleasure, in front of a leering audience.
When metal digs painfully into his swelling cock, he has to take some slow, even breaths to calm himself down. How can he possibly find any of those memories arousing? Claude is loathe to acknowledge that Aurelien might be even a little bit right about him and his proclivities. Trying to lie to himself isn't easy though, not with the pleasant little sparks running straight downward when he thinks of strong hands digging into his hair while he kneels, or a leg sliding between his thighs and pressing upward with just the right amount of pressure.
Claude grimaces and goes back to mentally mapping out what he remembers of the manor's corridors beyond his cell.
Every once in awhile, he tries to start a conversation with the nearby guards. Each question is designed to squeeze out small drops of information, though more often than not, they completely ignore him. They respond to his requests for water, but little else.
Frustrated with them and himself, Claude tries his best to at least get some rest. He can't say when Aurelien will visit him again, but after last time, he needs to be alert and focused.
True to his word, Aurelien returns soon—but not with enough the regularity to predict. The day after their venture out of Claude's cell, he is left to his own devices; the day that follows, though, begins with the sound of those familiar boot-clad footsteps approaching before lunch.
More worrisome, perhaps, is that those footsteps aren't alone. A second pair trails behind Aurelien's: lighter, less confident, but undeniably present. Before Claude has much time to consider who they could belong to, though, the door to his cell swings open—and there stands Aurelien, flanked by a dark-haired demon in servant's clothes. She is dressed in a less militaristic fashion than the guards Claude is by now accustomed to seeing; in her hands is a small tray, covered by a cloth.
For Aurelien's part, he acts as if she weren't there at all. He steps forward, grinning, and looks over Claude's posture on his cot. "Have you been waiting for me? I'm flattered." With a wink, he sweeps closer, each movement imbued with his usual sense of theatre—but as he comes to stand before Claude, the mirth drains from his voice, mocking humor replaced by a firm authority. "Stand for me."
Lying back on his cot, Claude frowns up at the ceiling, focusing on the sounds of footsteps approaching from down the hall. It's easy enough to pick out Aurelien's heavier, confident cadence, but the second set is new to him.
He doesn't have to wait long to find out why.
The guards let Aurelien and his companion into the cell, and Claude's curious gaze wanders over to the dark-haired woman. He can only assume she must be a servant of some sort judging by her plainer clothing and the tray in her hands. Immediately, Claude wonders if she will be visiting him again in the future, and if she might be the sort to be swayed by sweet words, or promises of gold and power. For his freedom, he would offer anything... and as a prince, he has the means to provide.
Of course, he doesn't have time to think about that for more than a second. Aurelien demands all of his attention, as always- though he does allow his face to soften when he gives the woman a quick, second glance. Proper scheming means thinking on one's toes, and never letting any potential opportunity slip by.
Claude looks up at Aurelien without any further hesitation, preferring if he doesn't notice his 'pet' scrutinizing another demon.
"There isn't much else to do here," he sighs, as though he's simply bored and not constantly on edge without anything else to occupy his mind.
"Right," he grunts at the command, and pushes himself into a sitting position, then onto his feet. One day spent resting has done him a lot of good, but he's still plenty sore in all the same places. On his feet, Claude rolls his shoulders a few times, and then his neck. It's easier to flash the servant a little smile while he's standing. Although he never married, Claude has never struggled to charm women if that's what needs to be done. Maybe it can also work here?
As Claude stands, Aurelien's eyes rove over his body, taking in the flex of his muscles. It's appraising, rather than lecherous—but it still offers Claude ample opportunity to sneak a smile to the quiet servant that stands by the doorway, instead.
Her eyes are more alien than Aurelien's: a flat, monochrome red, with no distinction between pupil or sclera. It makes her chilly expression difficult to read as she stares back at him; her lips remain pressed in a flat line, revealing little. Still, at the least, she doesn't look away.
"You look steady on your feet. Good." Not that Aurelien intends for Claude to do overmuch walking. It will be more than two days ago, however—and he doesn't bother to hide how pleased the thought makes him. "I take it the salve I left you with has offered some relief?"
Lest Claude forget his act of kindness. Aurelien's hand reaches out; his fingertip brushes along the skin just below Claude's navel, teasingly light, before skimming lower.
"And I bet you're eager to be free of this little thing again, aren't you?"
Truly, it doesn't matter how Claude answers him, so long as it's anything less than a complete denial. He doesn't intend to keep him in chastity for today's game; he just wants to hear what he already knows from Claude's own mouth.
It's difficult not to keep stealing glances at the woman, with those mysterious red eyes of hers. They aren't like Aurelien's, and that makes him curious. He'll have to find a way to tease out that information without coming across as too nosy.
When it comes to potentially personal or sensitive information, he doesn't want to risk losing the chance to ever find something out because he was too indelicate about how he asked his questions.
"I've been getting by." He downplays the usefulness of the salve, but after some time passed, he's come to realize just how incredibly valuable it is. The vial is still there, under his cot, with just enough left in case he needs it more urgently another time.
Claude isn't naive. If the 'presentation' he suffered through was a mere introduction, he's probably going to face far worse at some point. A thought he really shouldn't consider while Aurelien's fingers brush gently over his skin- the absolute last thing he needs is to get hard seconds before being freed from his cage. Or to try and explain why imagining possible punishments excites him in the first place.
With a slow, grounding breath in and out, he inclines his head a fraction.
"I would appreciate that." One of his go to responses. Somehow, it feels like a comfortable medium between polite agreement and maintaining some distance.
"I'm sure you would," he answers, cruel smile inching wider on his lips. Finally, that fingertip comes to rest on the chastity cage's lock—and yet, Aurelien makes no move to open it.
It's a game Claude has endured before. Aurelien's hand lingers there, unmoving, just long enough that Claude might wonder if he has been misled with false hope. Sometimes, the suspicion isn't unfounded, and those fingers dart away with Claude's cock still bound; even now, the urge to renege tugs at Aurelien's mind, and he very nearly succumbs to that petty desire as he stares down into Claude's pretty eyes.
He doesn't, though. At the last moment, he draws in a breath of his own, hot and yearning. The lock is unbound; Aurelien gathers the newly-disconnected cage into his hand, and then he glances toward their silent observer.
"Bring it here, Severine," he says. Evidently, that is her name, as she immediately pads closer. She maintains a polite distance from Claude, standing such that Aurelien's body remains a buffer between the two of them; Aurelien wordlessly deposits the cage onto the tray, slipping it under the cloth to sit alongside whatever mystery items are hidden there.
He returns his attention to Claude. His lips peel back, smile broadening to show his perfectly white teeth.
"Bend yourself over your cot, or lie on your stomach. Whichever suits you better."
If he doesn't, Aurelien will simply manhandle him into the position he desires. That surely goes without saying.
Claude stares intently down at the hands hesitating on the cage's lock, hardly daring to breathe when he realizes Aurelien might not remove it after all, denying him the relief he always craves. No promises have been made- he needs to remember the young lord's rules if he ever hopes to play his game properly.
So far, he thinks he might be able to rely on promises. Anything else is up for reconsideration or abrupt change.
Claude tilts his head back to meet Aurelien's eyes with a doleful look on his face. Thankfully, he feels the fingers lingering over his cage start moving again, and seconds later he can breathe a soft sigh of relief when he's freed from the restricting metal he has come to truly despise.
Then he refocuses his attention on the servant as Aurelien calls her closer. Severine. He'll have to remember that. She steps over obediently, and Claude looks over the tray in her hands again. The way Aurelien seems intent on keeping something hidden under a cloth worries him, and the next command leaves him with no small amount of dread. Last time he had to do similar, he ended up with a bruised ass. Hopefully he hasn't done anything worthy of punishment today.
All he knows right now is that bright smile doesn't promise anything good. From his experience, the more cheery the young man looks, the worse Claude will feel.
"Why? I haven't broken any rules."
There are some orders he will follow unquestioningly, more and more as time passes, but others are too concerning for swift obedience.
The sight of Claude's eyes, silently pleading for relief, never fails to quicken Aurelien's blood. His tongue licks across his bared teeth. For now, though, this delightful frisson will have to suffice.
So, with Claude freed from his bindings, that same hand lifts to seek his face instead. Aurelien takes Claude's handsome jaw into the cup of his palm, some parody of a lover's touch; in place of the gentle brush of affection, it holds tight enough to promise pain—perhaps the harsh grip of strangulation, if that hand moves just a bit lower, or maybe the simple brutish act of slamming a skull into the nearest hard wall.
"Do you think what I am about to give you is a punishment?" Again, his voice buoys with mirth. Excitement winds him tighter, and his grin widens until it looks more like a grimace. "No — if this were about discipline, you would already know what you have done wrong."
And that is true enough. Aurelien may make up rules on the spot, at times—but still, he always ensures that Claude knows his transgression. A punishment has no weight if its subject fails to understand why he is being reprimanded, after all.
Aurelien's grip goes just loose enough that Claude may pull away, if he chooses. Still, his fingers linger, ready to grasp tight again if need be.
Claude thinks he might hate these sorts of false choices more than anything else. With a firm hand gripping his jaw in a way that could easily turn bruising or suffocating with little more than a slight shift, choosing not to obey isn't really a choice at all.
As Aurelien says, plainly as any other obvious fact, he will end up bent over the cot or lying on his front one way or another. For someone dedicated to self-preservation, he can't justify earning more bruises for something so trivial.
He grunts his assent, not bothering to mask his displeasure, and pulls away sharply from Aurelien's hand. Without needing much thought, Claude climbs back onto the cot and carefully settles himself down so he's lying down flat on his stomach, chin cradled in his folded arms. Apparently he isn't about to be punished, which is a relief, but leaves him uncomfortably clueless. So, even as Claude lies there as ordered, he continually attempts to sneak glances at the two standing nearby.
Again, he wonders about Severine. There must be a reason she is here, but why? Is it merely to hold that tray for her lord? Aurelien never brought another with him for his visits before, so why start now? He has to bite his tongue to stop himself from asking aloud- asking questions can be a nervous habit of his, and he really would prefer not to give into it.
As Claude lowers himself to the cot, Aurelien allows his eyes to wander with all the lascivious intent he had withheld before. It isn't quite as salacious as the sight of muscles moving with the stretch of limbs, but still, there is little he finds wanting in the image of Claude's tense back; he has been told that his pet prince is known as an archer, and he can see it in the strength of those handsome shoulders. Subtle, easily overlooked by those who don't know better—much like the rest of him.
Perhaps that's why he can't resist touching. His fingertips, warm as any human man Claude has known, brush the space left between his shoulder blades. They trail down his spine, plain in their appreciation, and as they come to rest at the dip of his tight waist, it might be difficult to say which is worse: the false affection with which he had cradled Claude's face in his palm, or this far more genuine admiration.
This time, he doesn't address Severine as he pulls something from the covered tray. What Claude might catch a glimpse of is nothing worse than another vial, again filled with a colorless oil; just as he had two nights prior, he uncaps it and pours it across his own fingers. However, if Claude assumes this is nothing more than another dose of salve for his aching bottom, he'll be quickly disabused of the notion.
Aurelien's fingers press between his cheeks, sliding wetly along sensitive skin. In their wake, his touch leaves behind cold, and slipperiness, and nothing else at all. No warmth or relief rises where that oil touches; there is only slick.
"If you are to be my pet," he says, conversational, "it's about time I begin training you like one." Evidently, it goes without saying for what. "Wouldn't you agree?"
The warm, soft brush of fingers down his spine takes Claude by surprise. He shivers, muscles tensing all the more as he tries to anticipate what Aurelien will do next.
It really is impossible for him to say if the young man is genuinely attracted to him, or if everything he does is completely motivated by power and control. Ordinarily, Claude wouldn't expect real interest from someone quite a bit younger than him, but the way Aurelien looks at him... there are certain qualities that are nearly impossible to fake.
He would probably be better off if that appreciation was fabricated- how might someone so sadistic and unpredictable behave if he became attached and possessive? It's an alarming thought.
Mind racing with questions, Claude falls into the trap of believing he might get off easy here when he sees another small, unassuming vial. So when he feels slick fingers press between his cheeks, rubbing against his sensitive hole, his flinch and startled little yelp are entirely genuine.
Somehow, he didn't anticipate this. At least not so suddenly, without being warned beforehand. He shrinks away from Aurelien's hands, preparing to push himself up onto his knees rather than lie so incredibly vulnerable on his front.
"No! I don't agree!" Again, Claude has reached a point of open defiance. He can't possibly agree to be trained as Aurelien's pet!
Somehow, in the face of this new intrusion, Aurelien had expected more of the stubborn stoicism he has become so accustomed to breaking. What greets him instead is naked anxiety. The yelp, the desperate scramble of his limbs as he attempts to rise—it takes him aback, in a way that earns Claude nothing more than a short bark of laughter.
"How unfortunate," he answers, the sound of his voice all but a purr, and his unused hand lashes out. It locks around Claude's throat with a speed and deftness honed through his martial pursuits, holding him firm. The strength of his grip falls just shy of blocking his lungs from drawing air—though, between their positions and Aurelien's unrelenting hold, Claude could easily choke the breath from his own throat with any thrashing. "It isn't up to you."
It's another one of those choiceless choices. Not whether or not he consents within the moment—though that is true, too—but the decision to be taken as Aurelien's personal toy in the coming months. The humor leaves his eyes as he looks down over Claude's tense form; his tongue skirts across his lips in thought.
"Listen to me." Suddenly, his voice grows serious, and calm, and level. He speaks as if to a man acting irrationally—and, to his own mind, perhaps he is. "Right now, you aren't expendable — but, sooner or later, you will be."
After all, before anything else, Claude is a test subject. A case study. What use will he be, once there is no new information to extract from him?
"What do you think will happen to you without my protection?"
Claude doesn't stop trying to squirm away from Aurelien and the hard grip around his throat until he realizes anything but insignificant movements leave him choking and gasping for air. He has no choice but to tamp down another surge of fear, falling still and focusing instead on drawing in whatever slow breaths he can manage through the brutal, nearly suffocating pressure.
He despises how easy it is for the demon to control him. With such casual strength, choking him is a simple matter that will always be effective. Even if he really isn't expendable now, as Aurelien claims, he must either calm down or risk losing consciousness and dealing with a huge amount of pain later on.
Like before, in the audience hall, Claude feels staggered by another frightening wave of helplessness. Whatever defenses he tried to repair between their sessions threaten to fracture once more, his arms and shoulders trembling like a tell for his anxiety.
There's nothing to do but keep as still as he can and listen to what Aurelien has to say.
He expected cruel taunts and crueler promises. Instead, Aurelien's serious tone and very unexpected words leave him stunned silent- even his ragged breaths begin to even out somewhat. He sounds so unlike his usual self... and while Claude's thoughts are hazy at the moment, it almost seems like Aurelien is implying something else is behind his motivations. Someone else, maybe? He can hardly begin to imagine why he would want to protect Claude once he's no longer useful, but even so, his mind is whirling with questions and speculation.
All he can really manage past the constricting hand around his throat is a weak sounding whimper, only meant to let Aurelien know he heard him. He is noticeably calmer, however; that there might be something more to his treatment, an unknown variable behind this young lord's behavior, allows him to feel slightly less helpless. It's a mystery to grasp onto. He can work with that.
Even if it means giving into this humiliating 'training'.
The hand around his neck loosens. It slips down low enough to settle against Claude's shaking shoulder instead. Such terror, over the littlest touch! For a moment, Aurelien's palm rests there, unmoving as an oddly ambivalent mood settles over him. Amusement, exasperation—it's only that pathetic little whine that tips the scales from one to the other. He supposes, so long as he stays still and pliant, Claude can loathe him as much as he wants.
Aurelien exhales through his nose. Again, his tongue darts over his lips, this time in anticipation. That strong hand at Claude's shoulder pushes down, just firm enough to press his chest back to the cot beneath him. It isn't the sort of touch that's meant to pin him there—and, indeed, that hand soon draws away, falling to rest atop the dip of Claude's waist instead.
"There. Much better." His expressed desire to take Claude under his banner had been perfectly genuine—but so is the self-satisfied tone that curls his voice, now, its tenor far closer to the mocking cruelty Claude had anticipated moments before. The hand at his waist rubs a gentle, soothing circle into his skin, and the hand still pressed between his thighs resumes the spread of cool oil around his sensitive hole.
"Was 'pet' too demeaning for the poor prince?" The snideness of his voice is inescapable, but he asks that question in earnest, too. His hands lift away, and something rattles against the metal of the tray as his hand dips beneath the cloth concealing it; if Claude brings himself to look over his shoulder, he will see Aurelien withdraw a simple plug with a tapering tip. "Perhaps if you try hard enough, you can work your way up to concubine."
When Aurelien moves his hand away from his throat, Claude tries take deep, careful breaths to keep himself focused and less likely to give into panic again. Even so, he must not be thinking straight, when he realizes he wants to interpret the lingering touch against his shoulder as something meaningful. A silent communication of sorts.
Claude realizes that he's been grasping at straws for days now, even as he leaps onto this new line of conjecture. He reasons with himself that curiosity always pays in the end- and hasn't he always gotten himself out of trouble before? If there's something there, no matter how faint, he needs to keep investigating.
With a slow exhale, he releases some tension in his arms and allows himself to be guided back down until his chest is flat against the cot again. He folds his arms in front of himself the same way as before, and rests his chin in them. Keeping himself relaxed is going to be key if he doesn't want to end up hurting.
Barely any time passes before he's buried his face in his arms instead. It doesn't nothing to muffle the hitch in his breath when Aurelien's fingers get back to work between his cheeks, agonizingly gentle touch reminding him of just how long it's been since he was fucked by another man. One partner, a muscular mercenary who favored axes, loved to drive Claude wild by fingering him for long periods of time, as he apparently responded 'very well' to that sort of teasing.
Claude bites his bottom lip at the memory, and his hips twitch so subtly that the movement could almost be overlooked.
With his face hidden in his arms, he doesn't see whatever item Aurelien retrieves from the tray.
"Who wants an old concubine?" In return, his retort isn't as snide as it might seem on the surface. He actually would like to hear the young man's response.
"Why, Claude — if I didn't know any better, I'd say you want to be fucked open on my fingers!"
His stuttering breath, the almost imperceptible squirm of his hips—it's alluring, in a way that nearly makes him want to skip the game and cut right to its inevitable conclusion. If he sunk those strong fingers deep, would his resolve crack? Or would he remain as he is now: face down, eyes buried, desperately silent to conceal the shameful pleasure of his submission?
It makes it all the more jarring as Claude suggests his maturity should be a turn-off. It doesn't sound snide, to Aurelien; it sounds like a joke, and he laughs like it is one, loud and bright.
"'Old'? If you ask me, you're barely ripe!" Even as Claude's face remains hidden, he grins. His hands come away, and as he speaks, they busy themselves with smearing the remaining lubricant over that little toy. "Or have you not gotten over your first wrinkle? Personally, I'd say the furrow on your brow is one of your most charming features... I'm sure it will look even better once you have some gray in your hair to match."
He could wax poetic about the weight of experience reflected in the aging of his face, or the appeal of wisdom and skill only accumulated through age. Instead, he positions that plug at the entrance of Claude's waiting hole, pressing the very tip inside it.
"Only an idiot would want some youth who barely knows how to please a man." His free hand gives Claude's ass a casual, generous squeeze. "Now, spread your legs wider for me."
His only response to Aurelien's gibe is a muffled grunt. In the moment, he can't come up with a good response- if he denied it, Aurelien might decide to prove him wrong, and if he allowed himself to respond even a little positively, he would give away a weakness of his. If he hasn't given it away already. The taunt itself implies a discovery, and Claude isn't thinking clearly enough just then to keep track of each and every movement and reaction.
The line of his shoulders visibly tenses up at the unexpected, boisterous laughter, however. He doesn't know what to make of such a surprising response, but soon he starts to relax again as he's met with baffling praise.
Claude is so used to older noblemen and women seeking out young, beautiful people as their lovers or concubines. The very idea of someone preferring a more mature option hadn't crossed his mind. And yet, if Aurelien truly values traits associated with age... well, maybe he is genuinely attracted to Claude rather than attempting to humiliate him even more by forcing him to submit to a significantly younger man.
That shouldn't make a difference to him, but it does, if the heat in his belly means anything.
"Oh..." It's a breathless word of acknowledgement, but only thanks to the light nudge of something against his tight, slick hole. Now that he's managed to calm down, Claude can't deny how pleasant that feels.
He takes another slow breath, in and out, face still buried in his arms as he obeys and slowly shifts his legs apart. Even if he's decided to comply for now, he doesn't want to come off as eager, or pleased about it. Of course, his cock is determined as ever to betray him, beginning to swell where it's pressed against the cot.
His smile turns mischievous. He casts a glance up Claude's back, admiring taut muscles and the sheepish press of his face into his arms alike. It's only a moment of indulgence, though, and a second later, he returns his attention to those thighs cautiously opening up for him.
Voice lifting with cheerful mockery, Aurelien wedges the plug a fraction deeper.
"Unless... Your fantasies are of something else?" In Claude's surprise, he has let an implication slip. A low, hungry purr wells from Aurelien's own throat as he considers the possibilities. "Perhaps you dream of being under some young buck with strong arms and a thick cock, completely overwhelmed by his youthful appetite?"
More akin to the probing of a finger at first, even as Aurelien sinks that plug near to its base, its size doesn't compare with the huge tip Claude had gagged and struggled against just a day-and-a-half prior. Still, it is by no means small; as that last inch pushes inside, bulbous shape easing past the tight ring of Claude's hole, it stretches him wide enough to be felt with every breath.
"What a dirty old man you are, aching for boys practically half your age!" Suddenly, his hand lifts up. He cracks it against Claude's flank, and though the blow is positively gentle by his standards, it's hard enough to fill the air between them with a sharp crack—and to send those already-sore muscles clenching, forcing them to squeeze hard around the plug filling his ass. "Is that any way for someone your age to act?"
"I didn't-!" He cuts himself off, practically choking on a gasp when Aurelien presses the object deeper, forcing him open wider to accommodate its surprisingly large size. Oil helps it slide in without hurting him, but it really has been awhile since anyone paid attention to his ass, and straight away he feels uncomfortably stuffed. He doesn't dare try to compare the size of the toy filling him with the cock that had fucked his throat raw, if even this skirts the edge of too much.
Claude finally lifts his head, panting softly, and starts to rise on his elbows. Each movement shifts the toy around inside him, and his cock throbs where it rubs against the cot.
The thought of a much younger man seeking him out due to simple attraction never occurred to him as a realistic possibility. That such a young man would want to fuck him into exhaustion and beyond would seem even less likely. And yet, if he believes what Aurelien has to say, that's exactly what's happening here.
He has a passing thought about what Aurelien's age might actually be. Cruel and sadistic as he is, Claude can't reasonably deny the appeal of his handsome, youthful face, chiseled musculature, and, well... his thick cock. When it isn't busy making him choke and gag.
Heart pounding in his chest, he starts trying to shift onto his knees, only to draw a sharp breath when one of those strong hands he's growing to know so well slaps his still-sore bottom. His muscles clench around the toy, hugging it deeper, and his nerves sing with a momentary flicker of pleasure. The shoulders Aurelien seems to admire tense up again, and Claude drops his head back down with a soft moan. He's relieved he can hide his red face in his arms.
"And how should I act?" he retorts, then instantly regrets it, abruptly changing the subject to the plug filling him. "What's the point of this thing?"
"If your heart knew your place as well as your body, that might be a start."
He glances away, and for a moment, it might seem that Claude's true question has gone ignored. In the space of his silence, Aurelien again seeks for a tool concealed beneath that plain cloth—and this time, the object withdrawn is one already familiar to both of them. Aurelien turns the plain, harsh leather of that collar around in his hands, unfurling it in preparation to bind it around Claude's throat once more.
"You're dismissed, Severine," he says, gaze already turned again to Claude's hunched figure. Sadistic warmth creases the corners of his eyes, and his smile remains sharp on his lips—yet, when he addresses the servant, he speaks as warmly as he might to the nearest wall. "Go ahead and take that up to my room."
He doesn't turn to watch her leave, and he perceives her passage in only the same way that Claude likely does: by the sound of the cell door opening and closing behind him. With her absence, Aurelien shifts closer to the bent shape of Claude's body, wrapping that unyielding leather around his vulnerable neck.
"I've told you already," he answers, finally. "You've made it more than clear that you've never taken a man of my... magnitude, let us say." A note of boyish pride finds its way into his voice as he declares, "Therefore — if you're to be anything more than a tool to me, you'll require training."
Claude hears the sounds of Aurelien retrieving something else, and if he wasn't caught so far off-balance by the frustratingly pleasurable shift of that thick plug inside him with each movement, he would have turned to look this time. Instead, he tries to turn the majority of his attention to steadying his breathing, hoping he won't notice the toy as much if he refuses to focus on it.
He won't be able to ignore it entirely, after all- the idea of pretending something of that size isn't there is absolutely laughable.
Aurelien dismisses his servant, and Claude realizes he'd forgotten she was there. Vaguely, he wonders what she must think of all of this, and whether or not she's witnesses similar events before. Considering how the demons he's met so far behave, he guesses she probably has. He has no idea whether that will help him or hurt him if he manages to speak to her one day.
As he listens to Severine leave the room, Claude startles slightly when he feels the same stiff, harsh leather collar secured around his neck. It rasps against his skin, over-sensitive from the bruising grip Aurelien had around his throat only minutes before. With a tinge of fear, he remembers this collar is only meant to be worn when he's taken out of his cell. Does Aurelien really expect him to walk around, and in public, while stretched wide by a thick plug?
His face burns in his arms. He didn't think being led around a manor on a leash, naked, could get any more humiliating. Clearly his imagination is lacking in certain areas.
"I doubt... I don't think any amount of training will help me there," he says into his folded arms, still refusing to lift his head. It doesn't occur to Claude that he might have accidentally complimented the young man.
"Please take it out before we go?" He must have strong feelings about it if he said please without prompting.
"No?" The collar fastens shut, but Aurelien's hand still lingers near the base of Claude's throat. "In that case, shall I have my way with you here and now? I see no reason to delay, if it will all be the same in the end."
He casts a toothy, mischievous smile over Claude with the suggestion—though his eyes remain too predatory for that expression to be mistaken as benign. Still, his hand moves away, sliding down to Claude's shoulder with the brush of a thumb along his collarbone. It nudges him over only slightly, and Aurelien's free hand hooks the end of a familiar leash to the leather collar binding him, any question of why receives an immediate answer.
"You want me to remove it already?" Again, Aurelien laughs—and this time, cruel mirth turns the sound harsh. "Mm, perhaps you ought to get down on your knees and ask me again from there."
Not that Aurelien has any intention of complying with Claude's wishes. He merely wishes to test his pet's desperation. The leash is held loose in one hand; with his other, Aurelien threads fingers into Claude's dark hair, firm grip drawing his eyes up from the protective cradle of his arms. His own gleam where he leans close, forcing Claude to meet his gaze.
"Well? What would you give for my mercy, dear prince?"
With the click of the leash fastening onto the collar, Claude feels like his fate has been sealed. A shiver runs down his spine as the urge to resist grows increasingly powerful.
Aurelien laughs at him mockingly, but he does seemingly open the door for bargaining. Thoughts racing, he merely grunts at first when those strong fingers dig into his hair, forcing him to raise his head from its hiding spot in his folded arms. He meets that sinister stare with distress shining through green eyes, openly searching for any hints of reason in the young man's face.
Being led through the halls like this feels like a step too far. In moments like these, its easy to forget he felt the same way about each previous step leading up to this one. And perhaps that's the point- part of his training. Claude doesn't have the clarity of thought to read all that deeply into his actions when he's purely focused on avoiding one thing in the here and now.
He presses his hands flat against the cot and brings his legs in, carefully rising into a kneeling position. The plug presses in deeper, and he shudders. His traitorous cock remains nice and swollen, slick at the tip from pre-cum.
"My mouth." His response is simple and concise. As much as he wants to avoid any further harm to his throat, this is something that's happened before, so he thinks he knows what to expect. And, at least, it'd be within the privacy of his cell this time.
His mouth makes a poor bargaining chip when Aurelien had already intended to take it at his leisure—but Aurelien doesn't tell Claude as much. It's better like this. Now, when Aurelien orders him onto his knees to cut today's training a few minutes short, Claude will believe it was his own idea. He may even feel grateful.
Instead, Aurelien makes a show of considering the proposition. His eyes roll up, and he tilts his head from one side to the other, dragging out the suspense of the moment as long as he may without it becoming ostentatious. In the end, Claude will know his answer before Aurelien opens his mouth to speak it; as he at last allows his gaze to loll down toward Claude's kneeling form beneath him, he winds the end of the leash tighter around his palm.
"Unfortunately," he purrs, the voice strained just slightly by the humor it conceals, "I've yet to eat lunch yet, and I am quite hungry. I'm afraid I'll have to defer my decision for a little while yet."
He gives the leash a single, sharp tug.
"Come quickly — while I'm still in the mood to let you walk on two feet."
When Aurelien doesn't respond immediately, Claude thinks there is a possibility he might accept the offer. He keeps his gaze upward, waiting to see what he decides.
It isn't long before he has his answer.
Claude's nerves reignite when Aurelien not only rejects his proposal, but mentions lunch. He's going to take him out there, like this, while he has a meal?
"But-!" He only gets the one word out before the hard tug on his leash forces him to stumble to his feet to avoid being yanked right off the cot. His legs quiver slightly as he carefully straightens, though his rougher breathing is a more obvious sign that the sudden change in position adjusted the way the plug sits inside of him. And not in an altogether bad way.
In the end, Claude decides not to push the issue further, even as he huffs quietly and shifts from one foot to the other. He reaches a hand down, wanting to prod at the base of the plug, curious if he might be able to remove it himself at some point when Aurelien isn't looking.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Aurelien has certainly given him a lot to think about. That's a good thing as far as he's concerned- the more words and smiles he has to mull over, the less he focuses on the unyielding metal cage around his cock. Still, despite Claude's best efforts, his thoughts frequently wander, with his bruised throat and bottom acting as constant reminders of his utter humiliating abuse and, worst of all, pleasure, in front of a leering audience.
When metal digs painfully into his swelling cock, he has to take some slow, even breaths to calm himself down. How can he possibly find any of those memories arousing? Claude is loathe to acknowledge that Aurelien might be even a little bit right about him and his proclivities. Trying to lie to himself isn't easy though, not with the pleasant little sparks running straight downward when he thinks of strong hands digging into his hair while he kneels, or a leg sliding between his thighs and pressing upward with just the right amount of pressure.
Claude grimaces and goes back to mentally mapping out what he remembers of the manor's corridors beyond his cell.
Every once in awhile, he tries to start a conversation with the nearby guards. Each question is designed to squeeze out small drops of information, though more often than not, they completely ignore him. They respond to his requests for water, but little else.
Frustrated with them and himself, Claude tries his best to at least get some rest. He can't say when Aurelien will visit him again, but after last time, he needs to be alert and focused.
no subject
More worrisome, perhaps, is that those footsteps aren't alone. A second pair trails behind Aurelien's: lighter, less confident, but undeniably present. Before Claude has much time to consider who they could belong to, though, the door to his cell swings open—and there stands Aurelien, flanked by a dark-haired demon in servant's clothes. She is dressed in a less militaristic fashion than the guards Claude is by now accustomed to seeing; in her hands is a small tray, covered by a cloth.
For Aurelien's part, he acts as if she weren't there at all. He steps forward, grinning, and looks over Claude's posture on his cot. "Have you been waiting for me? I'm flattered." With a wink, he sweeps closer, each movement imbued with his usual sense of theatre—but as he comes to stand before Claude, the mirth drains from his voice, mocking humor replaced by a firm authority. "Stand for me."
no subject
He doesn't have to wait long to find out why.
The guards let Aurelien and his companion into the cell, and Claude's curious gaze wanders over to the dark-haired woman. He can only assume she must be a servant of some sort judging by her plainer clothing and the tray in her hands. Immediately, Claude wonders if she will be visiting him again in the future, and if she might be the sort to be swayed by sweet words, or promises of gold and power. For his freedom, he would offer anything... and as a prince, he has the means to provide.
Of course, he doesn't have time to think about that for more than a second. Aurelien demands all of his attention, as always- though he does allow his face to soften when he gives the woman a quick, second glance. Proper scheming means thinking on one's toes, and never letting any potential opportunity slip by.
Claude looks up at Aurelien without any further hesitation, preferring if he doesn't notice his 'pet' scrutinizing another demon.
"There isn't much else to do here," he sighs, as though he's simply bored and not constantly on edge without anything else to occupy his mind.
"Right," he grunts at the command, and pushes himself into a sitting position, then onto his feet. One day spent resting has done him a lot of good, but he's still plenty sore in all the same places. On his feet, Claude rolls his shoulders a few times, and then his neck. It's easier to flash the servant a little smile while he's standing. Although he never married, Claude has never struggled to charm women if that's what needs to be done. Maybe it can also work here?
no subject
Her eyes are more alien than Aurelien's: a flat, monochrome red, with no distinction between pupil or sclera. It makes her chilly expression difficult to read as she stares back at him; her lips remain pressed in a flat line, revealing little. Still, at the least, she doesn't look away.
"You look steady on your feet. Good." Not that Aurelien intends for Claude to do overmuch walking. It will be more than two days ago, however—and he doesn't bother to hide how pleased the thought makes him. "I take it the salve I left you with has offered some relief?"
Lest Claude forget his act of kindness. Aurelien's hand reaches out; his fingertip brushes along the skin just below Claude's navel, teasingly light, before skimming lower.
"And I bet you're eager to be free of this little thing again, aren't you?"
Truly, it doesn't matter how Claude answers him, so long as it's anything less than a complete denial. He doesn't intend to keep him in chastity for today's game; he just wants to hear what he already knows from Claude's own mouth.
no subject
When it comes to potentially personal or sensitive information, he doesn't want to risk losing the chance to ever find something out because he was too indelicate about how he asked his questions.
"I've been getting by." He downplays the usefulness of the salve, but after some time passed, he's come to realize just how incredibly valuable it is. The vial is still there, under his cot, with just enough left in case he needs it more urgently another time.
Claude isn't naive. If the 'presentation' he suffered through was a mere introduction, he's probably going to face far worse at some point. A thought he really shouldn't consider while Aurelien's fingers brush gently over his skin- the absolute last thing he needs is to get hard seconds before being freed from his cage. Or to try and explain why imagining possible punishments excites him in the first place.
With a slow, grounding breath in and out, he inclines his head a fraction.
"I would appreciate that." One of his go to responses. Somehow, it feels like a comfortable medium between polite agreement and maintaining some distance.
no subject
It's a game Claude has endured before. Aurelien's hand lingers there, unmoving, just long enough that Claude might wonder if he has been misled with false hope. Sometimes, the suspicion isn't unfounded, and those fingers dart away with Claude's cock still bound; even now, the urge to renege tugs at Aurelien's mind, and he very nearly succumbs to that petty desire as he stares down into Claude's pretty eyes.
He doesn't, though. At the last moment, he draws in a breath of his own, hot and yearning. The lock is unbound; Aurelien gathers the newly-disconnected cage into his hand, and then he glances toward their silent observer.
"Bring it here, Severine," he says. Evidently, that is her name, as she immediately pads closer. She maintains a polite distance from Claude, standing such that Aurelien's body remains a buffer between the two of them; Aurelien wordlessly deposits the cage onto the tray, slipping it under the cloth to sit alongside whatever mystery items are hidden there.
He returns his attention to Claude. His lips peel back, smile broadening to show his perfectly white teeth.
"Bend yourself over your cot, or lie on your stomach. Whichever suits you better."
If he doesn't, Aurelien will simply manhandle him into the position he desires. That surely goes without saying.
no subject
So far, he thinks he might be able to rely on promises. Anything else is up for reconsideration or abrupt change.
Claude tilts his head back to meet Aurelien's eyes with a doleful look on his face. Thankfully, he feels the fingers lingering over his cage start moving again, and seconds later he can breathe a soft sigh of relief when he's freed from the restricting metal he has come to truly despise.
Then he refocuses his attention on the servant as Aurelien calls her closer. Severine. He'll have to remember that. She steps over obediently, and Claude looks over the tray in her hands again. The way Aurelien seems intent on keeping something hidden under a cloth worries him, and the next command leaves him with no small amount of dread. Last time he had to do similar, he ended up with a bruised ass. Hopefully he hasn't done anything worthy of punishment today.
All he knows right now is that bright smile doesn't promise anything good. From his experience, the more cheery the young man looks, the worse Claude will feel.
"Why? I haven't broken any rules."
There are some orders he will follow unquestioningly, more and more as time passes, but others are too concerning for swift obedience.
no subject
So, with Claude freed from his bindings, that same hand lifts to seek his face instead. Aurelien takes Claude's handsome jaw into the cup of his palm, some parody of a lover's touch; in place of the gentle brush of affection, it holds tight enough to promise pain—perhaps the harsh grip of strangulation, if that hand moves just a bit lower, or maybe the simple brutish act of slamming a skull into the nearest hard wall.
"Do you think what I am about to give you is a punishment?" Again, his voice buoys with mirth. Excitement winds him tighter, and his grin widens until it looks more like a grimace. "No — if this were about discipline, you would already know what you have done wrong."
And that is true enough. Aurelien may make up rules on the spot, at times—but still, he always ensures that Claude knows his transgression. A punishment has no weight if its subject fails to understand why he is being reprimanded, after all.
Aurelien's grip goes just loose enough that Claude may pull away, if he chooses. Still, his fingers linger, ready to grasp tight again if need be.
"Now, do as I say — before I do it for you."
no subject
As Aurelien says, plainly as any other obvious fact, he will end up bent over the cot or lying on his front one way or another. For someone dedicated to self-preservation, he can't justify earning more bruises for something so trivial.
He grunts his assent, not bothering to mask his displeasure, and pulls away sharply from Aurelien's hand. Without needing much thought, Claude climbs back onto the cot and carefully settles himself down so he's lying down flat on his stomach, chin cradled in his folded arms. Apparently he isn't about to be punished, which is a relief, but leaves him uncomfortably clueless. So, even as Claude lies there as ordered, he continually attempts to sneak glances at the two standing nearby.
Again, he wonders about Severine. There must be a reason she is here, but why? Is it merely to hold that tray for her lord? Aurelien never brought another with him for his visits before, so why start now? He has to bite his tongue to stop himself from asking aloud- asking questions can be a nervous habit of his, and he really would prefer not to give into it.
no subject
Perhaps that's why he can't resist touching. His fingertips, warm as any human man Claude has known, brush the space left between his shoulder blades. They trail down his spine, plain in their appreciation, and as they come to rest at the dip of his tight waist, it might be difficult to say which is worse: the false affection with which he had cradled Claude's face in his palm, or this far more genuine admiration.
This time, he doesn't address Severine as he pulls something from the covered tray. What Claude might catch a glimpse of is nothing worse than another vial, again filled with a colorless oil; just as he had two nights prior, he uncaps it and pours it across his own fingers. However, if Claude assumes this is nothing more than another dose of salve for his aching bottom, he'll be quickly disabused of the notion.
Aurelien's fingers press between his cheeks, sliding wetly along sensitive skin. In their wake, his touch leaves behind cold, and slipperiness, and nothing else at all. No warmth or relief rises where that oil touches; there is only slick.
"If you are to be my pet," he says, conversational, "it's about time I begin training you like one." Evidently, it goes without saying for what. "Wouldn't you agree?"
no subject
It really is impossible for him to say if the young man is genuinely attracted to him, or if everything he does is completely motivated by power and control. Ordinarily, Claude wouldn't expect real interest from someone quite a bit younger than him, but the way Aurelien looks at him... there are certain qualities that are nearly impossible to fake.
He would probably be better off if that appreciation was fabricated- how might someone so sadistic and unpredictable behave if he became attached and possessive? It's an alarming thought.
Mind racing with questions, Claude falls into the trap of believing he might get off easy here when he sees another small, unassuming vial. So when he feels slick fingers press between his cheeks, rubbing against his sensitive hole, his flinch and startled little yelp are entirely genuine.
Somehow, he didn't anticipate this. At least not so suddenly, without being warned beforehand. He shrinks away from Aurelien's hands, preparing to push himself up onto his knees rather than lie so incredibly vulnerable on his front.
"No! I don't agree!" Again, Claude has reached a point of open defiance. He can't possibly agree to be trained as Aurelien's pet!
no subject
"How unfortunate," he answers, the sound of his voice all but a purr, and his unused hand lashes out. It locks around Claude's throat with a speed and deftness honed through his martial pursuits, holding him firm. The strength of his grip falls just shy of blocking his lungs from drawing air—though, between their positions and Aurelien's unrelenting hold, Claude could easily choke the breath from his own throat with any thrashing. "It isn't up to you."
It's another one of those choiceless choices. Not whether or not he consents within the moment—though that is true, too—but the decision to be taken as Aurelien's personal toy in the coming months. The humor leaves his eyes as he looks down over Claude's tense form; his tongue skirts across his lips in thought.
"Listen to me." Suddenly, his voice grows serious, and calm, and level. He speaks as if to a man acting irrationally—and, to his own mind, perhaps he is. "Right now, you aren't expendable — but, sooner or later, you will be."
After all, before anything else, Claude is a test subject. A case study. What use will he be, once there is no new information to extract from him?
"What do you think will happen to you without my protection?"
no subject
He despises how easy it is for the demon to control him. With such casual strength, choking him is a simple matter that will always be effective. Even if he really isn't expendable now, as Aurelien claims, he must either calm down or risk losing consciousness and dealing with a huge amount of pain later on.
Like before, in the audience hall, Claude feels staggered by another frightening wave of helplessness. Whatever defenses he tried to repair between their sessions threaten to fracture once more, his arms and shoulders trembling like a tell for his anxiety.
There's nothing to do but keep as still as he can and listen to what Aurelien has to say.
He expected cruel taunts and crueler promises. Instead, Aurelien's serious tone and very unexpected words leave him stunned silent- even his ragged breaths begin to even out somewhat. He sounds so unlike his usual self... and while Claude's thoughts are hazy at the moment, it almost seems like Aurelien is implying something else is behind his motivations. Someone else, maybe? He can hardly begin to imagine why he would want to protect Claude once he's no longer useful, but even so, his mind is whirling with questions and speculation.
All he can really manage past the constricting hand around his throat is a weak sounding whimper, only meant to let Aurelien know he heard him. He is noticeably calmer, however; that there might be something more to his treatment, an unknown variable behind this young lord's behavior, allows him to feel slightly less helpless. It's a mystery to grasp onto. He can work with that.
Even if it means giving into this humiliating 'training'.
no subject
Aurelien exhales through his nose. Again, his tongue darts over his lips, this time in anticipation. That strong hand at Claude's shoulder pushes down, just firm enough to press his chest back to the cot beneath him. It isn't the sort of touch that's meant to pin him there—and, indeed, that hand soon draws away, falling to rest atop the dip of Claude's waist instead.
"There. Much better." His expressed desire to take Claude under his banner had been perfectly genuine—but so is the self-satisfied tone that curls his voice, now, its tenor far closer to the mocking cruelty Claude had anticipated moments before. The hand at his waist rubs a gentle, soothing circle into his skin, and the hand still pressed between his thighs resumes the spread of cool oil around his sensitive hole.
"Was 'pet' too demeaning for the poor prince?" The snideness of his voice is inescapable, but he asks that question in earnest, too. His hands lift away, and something rattles against the metal of the tray as his hand dips beneath the cloth concealing it; if Claude brings himself to look over his shoulder, he will see Aurelien withdraw a simple plug with a tapering tip. "Perhaps if you try hard enough, you can work your way up to concubine."
no subject
Claude realizes that he's been grasping at straws for days now, even as he leaps onto this new line of conjecture. He reasons with himself that curiosity always pays in the end- and hasn't he always gotten himself out of trouble before? If there's something there, no matter how faint, he needs to keep investigating.
With a slow exhale, he releases some tension in his arms and allows himself to be guided back down until his chest is flat against the cot again. He folds his arms in front of himself the same way as before, and rests his chin in them. Keeping himself relaxed is going to be key if he doesn't want to end up hurting.
Barely any time passes before he's buried his face in his arms instead. It doesn't nothing to muffle the hitch in his breath when Aurelien's fingers get back to work between his cheeks, agonizingly gentle touch reminding him of just how long it's been since he was fucked by another man. One partner, a muscular mercenary who favored axes, loved to drive Claude wild by fingering him for long periods of time, as he apparently responded 'very well' to that sort of teasing.
Claude bites his bottom lip at the memory, and his hips twitch so subtly that the movement could almost be overlooked.
With his face hidden in his arms, he doesn't see whatever item Aurelien retrieves from the tray.
"Who wants an old concubine?" In return, his retort isn't as snide as it might seem on the surface. He actually would like to hear the young man's response.
no subject
His stuttering breath, the almost imperceptible squirm of his hips—it's alluring, in a way that nearly makes him want to skip the game and cut right to its inevitable conclusion. If he sunk those strong fingers deep, would his resolve crack? Or would he remain as he is now: face down, eyes buried, desperately silent to conceal the shameful pleasure of his submission?
It makes it all the more jarring as Claude suggests his maturity should be a turn-off. It doesn't sound snide, to Aurelien; it sounds like a joke, and he laughs like it is one, loud and bright.
"'Old'? If you ask me, you're barely ripe!" Even as Claude's face remains hidden, he grins. His hands come away, and as he speaks, they busy themselves with smearing the remaining lubricant over that little toy. "Or have you not gotten over your first wrinkle? Personally, I'd say the furrow on your brow is one of your most charming features... I'm sure it will look even better once you have some gray in your hair to match."
He could wax poetic about the weight of experience reflected in the aging of his face, or the appeal of wisdom and skill only accumulated through age. Instead, he positions that plug at the entrance of Claude's waiting hole, pressing the very tip inside it.
"Only an idiot would want some youth who barely knows how to please a man." His free hand gives Claude's ass a casual, generous squeeze. "Now, spread your legs wider for me."
no subject
The line of his shoulders visibly tenses up at the unexpected, boisterous laughter, however. He doesn't know what to make of such a surprising response, but soon he starts to relax again as he's met with baffling praise.
Claude is so used to older noblemen and women seeking out young, beautiful people as their lovers or concubines. The very idea of someone preferring a more mature option hadn't crossed his mind. And yet, if Aurelien truly values traits associated with age... well, maybe he is genuinely attracted to Claude rather than attempting to humiliate him even more by forcing him to submit to a significantly younger man.
That shouldn't make a difference to him, but it does, if the heat in his belly means anything.
"Oh..." It's a breathless word of acknowledgement, but only thanks to the light nudge of something against his tight, slick hole. Now that he's managed to calm down, Claude can't deny how pleasant that feels.
He takes another slow breath, in and out, face still buried in his arms as he obeys and slowly shifts his legs apart. Even if he's decided to comply for now, he doesn't want to come off as eager, or pleased about it. Of course, his cock is determined as ever to betray him, beginning to swell where it's pressed against the cot.
"That's unusual. I'm, ah. Surprised."
no subject
His smile turns mischievous. He casts a glance up Claude's back, admiring taut muscles and the sheepish press of his face into his arms alike. It's only a moment of indulgence, though, and a second later, he returns his attention to those thighs cautiously opening up for him.
Voice lifting with cheerful mockery, Aurelien wedges the plug a fraction deeper.
"Unless... Your fantasies are of something else?" In Claude's surprise, he has let an implication slip. A low, hungry purr wells from Aurelien's own throat as he considers the possibilities. "Perhaps you dream of being under some young buck with strong arms and a thick cock, completely overwhelmed by his youthful appetite?"
More akin to the probing of a finger at first, even as Aurelien sinks that plug near to its base, its size doesn't compare with the huge tip Claude had gagged and struggled against just a day-and-a-half prior. Still, it is by no means small; as that last inch pushes inside, bulbous shape easing past the tight ring of Claude's hole, it stretches him wide enough to be felt with every breath.
"What a dirty old man you are, aching for boys practically half your age!" Suddenly, his hand lifts up. He cracks it against Claude's flank, and though the blow is positively gentle by his standards, it's hard enough to fill the air between them with a sharp crack—and to send those already-sore muscles clenching, forcing them to squeeze hard around the plug filling his ass. "Is that any way for someone your age to act?"
no subject
Claude finally lifts his head, panting softly, and starts to rise on his elbows. Each movement shifts the toy around inside him, and his cock throbs where it rubs against the cot.
The thought of a much younger man seeking him out due to simple attraction never occurred to him as a realistic possibility. That such a young man would want to fuck him into exhaustion and beyond would seem even less likely. And yet, if he believes what Aurelien has to say, that's exactly what's happening here.
He has a passing thought about what Aurelien's age might actually be. Cruel and sadistic as he is, Claude can't reasonably deny the appeal of his handsome, youthful face, chiseled musculature, and, well... his thick cock. When it isn't busy making him choke and gag.
Heart pounding in his chest, he starts trying to shift onto his knees, only to draw a sharp breath when one of those strong hands he's growing to know so well slaps his still-sore bottom. His muscles clench around the toy, hugging it deeper, and his nerves sing with a momentary flicker of pleasure. The shoulders Aurelien seems to admire tense up again, and Claude drops his head back down with a soft moan. He's relieved he can hide his red face in his arms.
"And how should I act?" he retorts, then instantly regrets it, abruptly changing the subject to the plug filling him. "What's the point of this thing?"
no subject
He glances away, and for a moment, it might seem that Claude's true question has gone ignored. In the space of his silence, Aurelien again seeks for a tool concealed beneath that plain cloth—and this time, the object withdrawn is one already familiar to both of them. Aurelien turns the plain, harsh leather of that collar around in his hands, unfurling it in preparation to bind it around Claude's throat once more.
"You're dismissed, Severine," he says, gaze already turned again to Claude's hunched figure. Sadistic warmth creases the corners of his eyes, and his smile remains sharp on his lips—yet, when he addresses the servant, he speaks as warmly as he might to the nearest wall. "Go ahead and take that up to my room."
He doesn't turn to watch her leave, and he perceives her passage in only the same way that Claude likely does: by the sound of the cell door opening and closing behind him. With her absence, Aurelien shifts closer to the bent shape of Claude's body, wrapping that unyielding leather around his vulnerable neck.
"I've told you already," he answers, finally. "You've made it more than clear that you've never taken a man of my... magnitude, let us say." A note of boyish pride finds its way into his voice as he declares, "Therefore — if you're to be anything more than a tool to me, you'll require training."
no subject
He won't be able to ignore it entirely, after all- the idea of pretending something of that size isn't there is absolutely laughable.
Aurelien dismisses his servant, and Claude realizes he'd forgotten she was there. Vaguely, he wonders what she must think of all of this, and whether or not she's witnesses similar events before. Considering how the demons he's met so far behave, he guesses she probably has. He has no idea whether that will help him or hurt him if he manages to speak to her one day.
As he listens to Severine leave the room, Claude startles slightly when he feels the same stiff, harsh leather collar secured around his neck. It rasps against his skin, over-sensitive from the bruising grip Aurelien had around his throat only minutes before. With a tinge of fear, he remembers this collar is only meant to be worn when he's taken out of his cell. Does Aurelien really expect him to walk around, and in public, while stretched wide by a thick plug?
His face burns in his arms. He didn't think being led around a manor on a leash, naked, could get any more humiliating. Clearly his imagination is lacking in certain areas.
"I doubt... I don't think any amount of training will help me there," he says into his folded arms, still refusing to lift his head. It doesn't occur to Claude that he might have accidentally complimented the young man.
"Please take it out before we go?" He must have strong feelings about it if he said please without prompting.
no subject
"No?" The collar fastens shut, but Aurelien's hand still lingers near the base of Claude's throat. "In that case, shall I have my way with you here and now? I see no reason to delay, if it will all be the same in the end."
He casts a toothy, mischievous smile over Claude with the suggestion—though his eyes remain too predatory for that expression to be mistaken as benign. Still, his hand moves away, sliding down to Claude's shoulder with the brush of a thumb along his collarbone. It nudges him over only slightly, and Aurelien's free hand hooks the end of a familiar leash to the leather collar binding him, any question of why receives an immediate answer.
"You want me to remove it already?" Again, Aurelien laughs—and this time, cruel mirth turns the sound harsh. "Mm, perhaps you ought to get down on your knees and ask me again from there."
Not that Aurelien has any intention of complying with Claude's wishes. He merely wishes to test his pet's desperation. The leash is held loose in one hand; with his other, Aurelien threads fingers into Claude's dark hair, firm grip drawing his eyes up from the protective cradle of his arms. His own gleam where he leans close, forcing Claude to meet his gaze.
"Well? What would you give for my mercy, dear prince?"
no subject
Aurelien laughs at him mockingly, but he does seemingly open the door for bargaining. Thoughts racing, he merely grunts at first when those strong fingers dig into his hair, forcing him to raise his head from its hiding spot in his folded arms. He meets that sinister stare with distress shining through green eyes, openly searching for any hints of reason in the young man's face.
Being led through the halls like this feels like a step too far. In moments like these, its easy to forget he felt the same way about each previous step leading up to this one. And perhaps that's the point- part of his training. Claude doesn't have the clarity of thought to read all that deeply into his actions when he's purely focused on avoiding one thing in the here and now.
He presses his hands flat against the cot and brings his legs in, carefully rising into a kneeling position. The plug presses in deeper, and he shudders. His traitorous cock remains nice and swollen, slick at the tip from pre-cum.
"My mouth." His response is simple and concise. As much as he wants to avoid any further harm to his throat, this is something that's happened before, so he thinks he knows what to expect. And, at least, it'd be within the privacy of his cell this time.
"Deal?"
no subject
Instead, Aurelien makes a show of considering the proposition. His eyes roll up, and he tilts his head from one side to the other, dragging out the suspense of the moment as long as he may without it becoming ostentatious. In the end, Claude will know his answer before Aurelien opens his mouth to speak it; as he at last allows his gaze to loll down toward Claude's kneeling form beneath him, he winds the end of the leash tighter around his palm.
"Unfortunately," he purrs, the voice strained just slightly by the humor it conceals, "I've yet to eat lunch yet, and I am quite hungry. I'm afraid I'll have to defer my decision for a little while yet."
He gives the leash a single, sharp tug.
"Come quickly — while I'm still in the mood to let you walk on two feet."
no subject
It isn't long before he has his answer.
Claude's nerves reignite when Aurelien not only rejects his proposal, but mentions lunch. He's going to take him out there, like this, while he has a meal?
"But-!" He only gets the one word out before the hard tug on his leash forces him to stumble to his feet to avoid being yanked right off the cot. His legs quiver slightly as he carefully straightens, though his rougher breathing is a more obvious sign that the sudden change in position adjusted the way the plug sits inside of him. And not in an altogether bad way.
In the end, Claude decides not to push the issue further, even as he huffs quietly and shifts from one foot to the other. He reaches a hand down, wanting to prod at the base of the plug, curious if he might be able to remove it himself at some point when Aurelien isn't looking.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
getting this important tag done before I pack my laptop lol
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...I meant to mention unfastening the leash last tag and then forgot to. Please pretend I did that.
no worries!
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
notices more errors and edits this again,
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
I'm sorry I'm the worst :')
my hard drive died like an hour after you tagged. god is trying to put a stop to this.
we must remain defiant!!
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)