Little Grantaire and Luc

A Note of Warning: I don’t usually like to do these, but…this story makes it necessary. Neither Carcajou or myself in any way endorse violence against children, sexual or otherwise. That part of the story is not written for our enjoyment. We get no sexual satisfaction from it. It is simply an unfortunate event in our version of Grantaire’s life.

Trigger warning: rape, abuse, incest, child abuse

Grantaire is working in the family's small, dusty herb garden. He's thinking, of all things, about marriage. Several village girls have made eyes at him, and he's aware that several of their fathers have spoken to his brother and mother--also aware of the answer, "No. We need him here." He is wearing a shirt despite the heat, to hide the bruises his brother gave him after the last father had come to the farm. His brother had called him a slut and accused him of leading the girls on so he could abandon his family. He was right about one thing--he didn't care about the girls, not -that- way.

One of the village boys came by, leading a goat. "Hello, Alain." he grinned. He was half naked and still sweating from the heat and his work. "Aren't you warm?"

Grantaire smiles shyly at the handsome older boy, feeling his shameful penis stir and blushing a little. He feels like one of the girls. "Hi, Luc. I, uh, actually find it cooler with a shirt on," he says, rather lamely.

Luc chuckled a bit at the younger boy's stuttering reply. He knew Alain's... leanings. He never looked at the girls. Honestly, Luc was curious to try him out, he'd been with girls before, but never with another boy. "Are you busy?"

"Um, yes..." He waves at the dry earth and the thin, yellow plants. "I'm carrying water. Usually there's more water here, but as you know, it's been a dry year, so we have to water them..." he stops abruptly, realizing he's babbling. "There are some weeds over here, if you aren't in a hurry. For the goat, I mean."

"I'll let him get those." Luc led the goat to the weeds, crouching down next to the animal to relax. "But I can't be too long, maman expects milk for supper." He takes a stick, buries it in the earth and ties the goat to it. "I can get water with you."

"Thanks!" he says, grinning. "I'll get another bucket." He hurries back with a wooden bucket, identical to the one he's been hauling for hours. "The stream is this way." He pats the goat as he passes.

"Nahhhh," says the goat, munching on the weeds. Luc takes the bucket and they head down to the stream together.

Grantaire is quite flustered to be so close to the large, tanned, handsome, muscular object of his admiration. But every time he feels...stirrings...he remembers his mother's eyes looking at him disapprovingly out of the dark of her bed, praying over him; his brother beating him. And...the other thing. He shivers in the shade of the trees near the stream.

"Cold?" Luc asked, putting an arm around the shivering boy.

"A little...I was so hot, and in the shade..." he nestles into the arm, as he's seen the girls do with boys they fancy. He imagines he's one of them, and that they're going to be married...he shakes himself, and pulls away from Luc. "Here's the stream," he says, redundantly, and busies himself filling his buckets.

Luc filled his buckets with water, then put them down next to the stream on a smooth rock.

Grantaire watches him, puzzled. "What're you doing?" he asks, struggling considerably more to get his buckets comforably balanced to carry back.

Luc took them from him, setting the buckets next to him and pushing Alain down against the cool grass, straddling him with a grin.

Grantaire's eyes go wide, and he flops helplessly. "...Luc?" he asks, bemused, "what're you doing?" His cock hardens, almost painfully quickly, and his eyes widen with horror, then just as quickly snap shut with shame, and he squirms to get away. "I, uh...we..."

Luc leans down into him and presses their lips together. So far, no different than the girls. He squirms and protests just like they do.

Grantaire is completely torn--on one hand, this is what he's been imagining since...a long time. On the other, this is exactly what his family has warned him about. He makes a brief, helpless noise, before deciding to pretend it was a joke, and pushing Luc with a laugh.

Luc grinned, pinning R gently and kissing him again.

"Stop it," he says, his voice tremulous and uncertain.

Luc sat back on R's thighs, looking down at the lump in Alain's trousers. "Really?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Yes!" he cries, going red and turning away. "This isn't funny. That's...wrong."

"I thought you liked men." Luc looked confused. "And you're hard as a rock." he touched Alain's thigh, next to his erection.

"Ah..." R sighs, his head going back, hands clawing at the grass. "I..."

Luc stood up, undoing his own trousers and standing over Alain, naked. "Yes or no?" he asked. He was semi-erect, cock starting to blush red with blood.

Grantaire is trembling, nibbling his lip, and torn by desire and shame. His body shows this--he's sitting heavily on his haunches, keeping the bulk of his body as far away from Luc as he can, but his head and neck are arched as close to the other man as they can, with an expression of longing for the cock dangling before him. He shakes his head, violently, but it's not clear what he's saying.

Luc kneels down, touching Alain's chest. "It's okay. I won't hurt you."

Grantaire raises an eyebrow. "What do you want?" He leans into the touch, more comforted by it than he's...well...comfortable with.

"We could fuck. Or just kiss… I just want to try it." Luc shrugged, laying down in the grass next to Alain and pulling him into his chest.

"T-try what, exactly?" he stammers, because he's trembling so violently, and so anxious. He nestles against the warm, hairy chest, looking with big, concerned eyes at the larger man.

"Sex with another boy." Luc grinned down at him. "Don't you want to?"

"Yes!" he cries, then quickly claps a hand over his mouth and rolls off of Luc, landing on his knees in the grass, bright red. After a moment, he takes his hand away, and whispers, "I mean, no."

"It's okay if you want to." Luc told him, "or if you just want to touch yourself here with me," he smiled.

Grantaire makes incoherent noises, turning away from Luc so the other won't see he's crying.

Luc grabs his trousers and puts them over his lap, wrapping his arms around Alain. "I'm sorry, I thought you liked boys!"

Grantaire whirls. "Please don't go!" he cries through his tears. He leans into the hug, all but sobbing on Luc's shoulder. "I...I don't know!"

"It's okay, we won't do anything." he pulls Alain into his lap and holds him against his chest. His erection has died and now he's just worried looking.

Grantaire soon relaxes, his sobs becoming little hiccups as he nestles against Luc. "Thank you," he murmurs. "I'm sorry..."

"It's okay. You're okay." he pets R's hair

"Thank you," he repeats. "I...have you...you know..." he blushes, but more out of embarrassment than shame.

"What?"

"...have you ever slept with a man before?" he says in a rush.

"No."

"Then...what're you doing?" R asks, perplexed.

"I want to." he shrugged. "Do you?"

"It's wrong!" he exclaims, his body showing exactly the opposite.

"Why do you say that?" Luc looked confused.

"It's dirty and a sin and you'll go to hell," he whispers, eyes wide with terror at even talking about it. "Bad things will happen."

Luc laughed. "That's ridiculous. My maman would have told me if I would go to hell for that."

"...she didn't?" he asks, baffled. "But...my maman tells me I will all the time. Maybe she just didn't want to tell you, so that it wouldn't even occur to you."

"Well... I'll ask her." Luc said resolutely. “And you should come with me."

"I've got things to do...chores..." he waves a hand at the buckets.

"I'll help, then you can come meet my maman and we'll ask her." Luc said, putting his pants back on and grabbing the buckets.

"...are you sure? I suppose...Pierre won't be back for a few hours, and I've done almost everything..." Grantaire wavers--he wants to go, but knows he shouldn't and that he'll be punished. Although almost everything he does is punished, so does it really matter?

"Come on." Luc grinned. "I'm sure you can have some supper with us."

"...alright..." Grantaire agrees, smiling shyly. He grabs his two buckets and starts his slow, labored way back to the garden, trying hard not to spill.

Luc and Grantaire made it back to the Grantaire farm quickly. Then Luc takes the other boy back to his family farm.

Grantaire trails behind when the farm comes into sight--even though it's quite close to his own, he has never visited. He pretends to be herding the goat, but it's not necessary, and he's really just afraid.

Luc ties up the goat and leads R into the house, taking off his shoes.

"Maman?"

R follows his example, staying shadow-close to the larger boy, acting much younger than he is.

Luc wandered off quietly as soon as he saw his maman, smiling. She went to take Grantaire by the hand and lead him into the kitchen. "Hello, sweet boy. You're Alain, aren't you, the youngest Grantaire boy?" she smiled, cutting some bread and goat cheese for him. They could see Luc milking the goat outside.

Grantaire nods, shyly. "Yes. How do you do, madame Bahorel?" he asks, as politely as he can.

"I'd be better if my boy came home sooner with that goat. How is your maman, still sick?"

"Sorry, that was my fault. He stopped to help me." He gazes up, rather in awe of this large, competent, strong woman. "Yes, she is..." he bows his head, trying to look...sad? Pious? Like he believes she'll ever get better?

"Oh, don't worry about that, sweetheart. Luc is a bit of a wanderer and no one can stop him from doing that." she smiled, kissing his cheek and giving him some bread and cheese.

He takes the bread and cheese, then blurts, "Is it a sin for a man to want to sleep with another man?"

She chuckles. "Oh sweet boy, no of course not. It's quite normal."

"...oh. My maman and my brother always say it is, and that if I ever even think about it, God will know and I'll go to Hell, so I try really hard not to, but..." he blushes. "I'm sorry...." In carrying the buckets, his shirt has shifted, exposing the edge of one of his bruises.

"Well, god forgive me for saying so, but your brother is a pig-fucking piece of shit." she said matter-of factly.

Grantaire's eyes go wide. "W-what?" He gives a startled laugh, watching her a little warily.

"I grew up with your maman and she was a fine woman. But she hasn't been well for a long time. She's not raising that boy right. I don't think anyone else has been beating you."

"Oh..." he says, "Well, you know, I'm clumsy, and I make mistakes, and I talk back when I shouldn't..." He's backing away toward the door, a charming smile plastered on his face. "He's right to beat me...you know."

"He's not your father and he doesn't own you, boy. You need to stick up for yourself."

Grantaire shakes his head violently. "No, he's always been like a father to me. He's always taken care of maman and me. I have to listen to him, respect him, and abide by him. I have to please him," he says, rather more significantly than he had intended to.

Marie frowned. "Oh, Alain, I didn't know he was doing that." she wrapped him gently in her arms. "You can stay here, you know. To get away from him." she said quietly.

Grantaire blinks, startled by the warm, woman-smelling scent of her. His mother smells like a shadow of this woman, and he's never been held by her like this. "W-what do you mean?" he asks, somewhat smooshed by her bosom.

"He ...hurts you. He rapes you. Am I right?" she kisses the top of his head.

Grantaire's eyes widen, and he tries to pull away, horrified. "No!" he yells. "I never said that! Why would you...I mean...I don't know what you're talking about! I don't know what that means!" He's almost hysterical, shaking and trying to push her away.

"Shh, it's okay, petit Alain." she sat him down, firmly. "You can be honest."

Grantaire suddenly finds himself in a chair, tears streaming down his face, which is buried in his hands. He shakes his head, whispering, "I'm sorry," over and over again.

"It's not your fault, there's no need for apologies," she murmurs.

"No! It is my fault! It has to be!"

"It's not. It's his fault, petit. You're not the one to blame."

"It's not his fault. He took care of me...of us...we would've died without him. He needed it. He couldn't afford to marry, he couldn't leave us, so I needed to take care of him."

She grabbed him by the chin. "Do not apologize for that horrible boy. You have never needed him and if your maman was well, she'd have beaten him senseless for what he's done to you." Marie told him.

Grantaire falls forward into her arms, so still that except for his slow, slow breathing, he could be a corpse, his face still wet.

"Mon petit." she smiled. "You'll stay here tonight."

"Alright," he says, without any intonation, clearly not caring at this point.

She stood up and left as Luc came in, letting him take over comforting the boy. She gave him a stern look as she passed though. Luc smiled at her, picking R up and carrying him to his room.

Grantaire passively allows himself to be carried, snuggling against the larger boy's chest. "Luc?"

"Mhm?"

"What'cha doin'?" he asks, sounding rather exhausted by the events of the day.

"Tucking you into bed." he took off Grantaire's shirt and tucked him under the quilt. Luc sat at the edge of the bed and stroked Alain's hair.

says: (11:04:47 PM)

"Oh. 'k." Grantaire snuggles into the bed, yawning, then scootches over to Luc, pressing against him with all his might.

Our Grantaire has a Fucked Up Past

A Note of Warning: I don’t usually like to do these, but…this story makes it necessary. Neither Carcajou or myself in any way endorse violence against children, sexual or otherwise. That part of the story is not written for our enjoyment. We get no sexual satisfaction from it. It is simply an unfortunate event in our version of Grantaire’s life.

Trigger warning: rape, abuse, incest, child abuse

Combeferre placed a stool in the middle of his room, grabbing a sharp pair of medical scissors and gesturing Grantaire over.

Grantaire looks...hesitant...but approaches.

"Your hair is... a bit dishevelled. I'm just going to fix it."

Grantaire puts a protective hand on his long, curly/wavy mane, tied back (as much as possible) by a slightly threadbare ribbon.

"Sit." Combeferre told him, raising his eyebrow and opening the scissors menacingly.

Grantaire laughs a little at his lover's gesture, but sits on the stool. "...you're just trimming it a little, right?"

"Yes. A trim." Combeferre told him, throwing a sheet over him and combing out his hair.

The cynic winces and bites his lip whenever Combeferre comes to a sensitive tangle--Grantaire would have to spend -way- more time than he's willing to in order to keep his hair completely tangle-free--and tries not to make noise.

Combeferre finishes combing it out and starts to snip. Grantaire starts to realize that long lengths of his hair are falling to the floor.

Grantaire's eyes go wide, and his lips draw together into a pout as he watches clumps of hair fall past his face, but he still keeps quiet.

Ferre soon finishes the haircut, after making sure all the ends were perfectly straight. He took Grantaire straight to the tub, not letting him look in the mirror.

The newly-trimmed Grantaire sits quietly in the tub, the only indication that he's upset by the loss of his hair. He tries to reach up to feel how short it is, unconsciously.

Combeferre gently put a hand over Grantaire's, guiding his hands to his thighs so he can't feel his hair. He fills the pitcher with water and slowly washes his lover's hair. Grantaire can still feel it on his shoulders, but not down his back the way he used to. Combeferre poured on some sort of soap and started to scrub and massage R's scalp. "Grantaire... who gave you that ring?" he indicated the metal ring pierced through R's left nipple.

Grantaire sulks a little as his hands are pushed down, but more playfully--as the water runs down it, he can feel that his hair is still long enough to be tied back, only it's now to his shoulders, rather than to his shoulder blades. He makes happy noises as his scalp is vigorously rubbed. When Combeferre asks his question, his head snaps around, almost painfully quickly. "I...uh..."

Combeferre just let him sputter, hoping that eventually he'd come out and be able to talk about it. Bahorel had told him vague details about R's lover, but not enough to satisfy his curiosity.

"...why do you ask?" Grantaire says, somewhat more coherently.

"I'm curious." Combeferre said, rinsing the bubbles out of R's hair and pouring on more soap.

"You've never asked about it before..." he says, wondering what could have triggered Combeferre's sudden interest.

"That doesn't mean I wasn't curious." Combeferre said, getting a comb and getting the tangles out of Grantaire's hair while it was still soapy and wet.

Grantaire nods, bowing his head a little. He's enjoying the combing, but is still quite distracted by the question. "I know, I'm sorry...I knew you would ask eventually, I just..." he laughs, "I guess I was hoping it would be later, rather than sooner..." He's clearly stalling, and feels terrible for doing so to his dominant lover.

"Are you not ready to talk about it?"

The darker-haired boy sighs, and places a hand on Combeferre's arm. "I love you," he says, "and...I guess that means...I wanted to keep some of the...things that have happened to me secret...I know that doesn't really make sense."

"I want to know everything about you, Grantaire." Combeferre leaned down, wiping water from his lover's lips before kissing them gently. "I can wait if you can't tell me yet, but I don't want to be kept in the dark forever."

Grantaire nods, and returns the kiss. "I know. And I want you to know everything...I just wasn't sure how to start," he says, making a helpless gesture. "Maybe we should get out of the bath?" he says with a little smile.

Combeferre nodded, rinsing Grantaire one last time and passing him a towel. He took a second towel to dry R's hair, brushing it once more.

The cynic allows himself to be dried, and dries his body with the other towel, snuggling against the medical student.

Combeferre chuckles. "Sit for one more minute." he said, getting a long, thin strip of green cloth.

"Alright..." Grantaire smiles a little more confidently, though he's clearly still upset.

The medical student wrapped his hair up tightly in military-style, then handed Grantaire a mirror. *

Grantaire's eyes widen. "Wow. I'm sorry I doubted you!" He's pleasantly surprised by what he sees in the mirror--he looks neat. Trim. Respectable, almost. He gives his lover a kiss on the cheek. "You're brilliant."

"That's you. And it can still be scruffy if you tie it with a ribbon." he gave Grantaire a wry smile. "Now, to bed with us."

Grantaire grins at Combeferre. "Thank you." He tucks himself cozily into bed, nestling against Combeferre's side. With a deep breath, he asks, "...what do you know about my early life?"

"Not very much." he admitted. "You grew up on a farm, your mother was ill and you left when you were quite young."

Grantaire nods. "I never knew my father. He left, or died, I was never sure, before I was born. Losing him made my mother...not quite right..." He glances at his lover to make sure the medical student understands.

Combeferre nodded, not wanting to interrupt.

"So I was mostly raised by my brother..." Grantaire visibly flinches when he mentions his brother, and he pauses before he can continue.

Combeferre wrapped Grantaire up in his arms, holding him as he spoke.

Grantaire relaxes as he feels his lover's arms around him, as he tries to consider how to explain the next part. He decides to just say it outright. "He basically became the man of the house, and it would have been very difficult for him to find a wife. He was ten years older than me, and he...you know..."

Combeferre frowned, not quite... getting it.

Grantaire closes his eyes. "He raped me."

Combeferre hugged his lover tightly. "R... I'm so sorry." he kissed his temple.

Grantaire smiles, but his eyes are a little red. He presses himself even closer to Combeferre, as though he'll crawl inside. "...it was a long time ago," he says, nearly whispering.

"I wish I could make it better." Combeferre murmured, stroking R's back.

"You do, mon amant," he says, kissing Combeferre's chest where he's pressed against it. He continues with a sigh. "...anyway. One day, a man came driving by in a coach, looking for a local boy to be a whipping boy. My brother sold me, but I overheard and I got scared, so I ran away."

Combeferre kissed him. "Brave boy." he smiled.

Grantaire grins. "Well...I might have been better off if I'd gone, who knows. I'm definitely glad I left. I don't remember much of the next few years, I just travelled from place to place, but I eventually made my way to Paris."

"How old were you?"

"About nine, I think, when I got here."

"So young, how did you live?" Combeferre nestled into R's shoulder, stroking his chest.

Grantaire kisses Combeferre's head. "I was a gamin, I begged." He shrugs, trying not to let his lover know how close he came to not making it.

Ferre kissed R all over, petting and loving him.

Grantaire giggles and squirms in his lover's arms, nuzzling him with his wet hair. He's not sure if he should continue, or if Combeferre has heard enough.

Combeferre and him snuggle for a few minutes before they stop playing. Ferre rests on R's chest, looking up at his unshaven chin.

Grantaire helpfully rubs his stubble on his lover's smooth face, then glances down. Seeing that Combeferre is serious again, he continues. "But...well..." he's trying to tell the medical student everything, without being too graphic..."you can only be a gamin for so long. I got to an age where I could either become a criminal or..." he grits his teeth for a moment before saying it, "a whore."

Combeferre nodded, still serious. He wasn't sure what Grantaire wanted from him as a reaction. He tried to treat it as if it was an obvious solution.

Grantaire smiles appreciatively at Combeferre, then laughs, sounding a little pained. "...I think it's pretty obvious which one I was."

"It's alright, m'amant. That's behind you now."

"Yes. It is." He plays with the nipple ring for a moment, thoughtfully. "One day, a man came. A well dressed man, not at all my...usual clientele. He didn't have any servants with him, either, which I thought was odd. He came right up to me, and asked if my name was Alain..." He pauses, realizing he's left out part of his story. "Have you wondered why I always go by Grantaire or Capital R, never by Alain?"

"Yes, but I assumed it was part of your history." Combeferre nodded, playing with his lover's chest hair.

Grantaire looks down, amused by how fascinated his lover is with his chest hair--Combeferre has very little. "In a way, yes. It was my father's name. Anyway. I said that I was, and he told me to come with him. I did, of course, but..." he sighs, closing his eyes again. Somehow, this part is almost more painful. "He didn't want to sleep with me. He took me to his chateau, and took care of me. He took in boys like me, who...enjoy pain...and kept them for a while, made sure they got good educations, let them do what they wanted with their lives."

"That's amazing." Combeferre managed, surprised. "So he was the one that gave you this?" he ran his fingers over R's nipple ring.

"Yes. If you see someone with one, chances are they belonged to him. He's the reason I'm able to go to university. Luckily, he set that up before he died." Grantaire swallows hard, his eyes tearing up again.

Combeferre gathered R to him again, stroking his hair and murmuring gentle things to him. He let him cry for as long as he could.

Grantaire hadn't been about to cry, until Combeferre clutches him. He cries freely, clinging to his lover for dear life. After a while, he's able to continue. "I stayed with him for a few years. I would have stayed longer--some of the boys he took in stayed, some didn't. He never had sex with any of us..." he clarifies. "But...I can't tell you why, I'm sorry. He made me promise. Anyway. When he died, his family came and took everything. Like I said, luckily he had made secret arrangements for us, so I have a modest allowance, and school and things."

"I'm sorry you lost him." Combeferre kissed Grantaire gently. "But I'm glad that you met him."

Grantaire smiles and kisses his lover back. "Me too. ...thank you. I hope that wasn't too much." He takes Combeferre's hand and lightly draws it down his chest, nails first.

Combeferre laughed. "You've got it all out, now you want to play? I have one more question."

Grantaire nods. "Yes. ...oh, alright."

"What was his name?"

"Oh!" Grantaire laughs. "Alexandre. One of the reasons his family left him alone until he died was that he agreed not to use his family name. I don't know what it was."

"Thank you." Combeferre smiled, grabbing Grantaire by his neat ponytail and pulling it back violently.

Grantaire gasps, his cock coming to life at the sharp tug, sprawling flat on his back.

Combeferre got him up onto his hands and knees, pulling lover's ass back into his hips, grinding.

Grantaire moans furiously, grinding back as much as Combeferre will allow, tilting his head back and offering his neatly wrapped hair for pulling.

Combeferre grabbed his hair like it was a leash, controlling Grantaire's movement with it. He dragged his nails down R's back, making him arch and gasp.

Grantaire groans deeply, his body loosening and tightening at his lover's whim, his feet spasming.

Combeferre knelt over R's ankles, spreading his legs and forcing his front end down so he was kissing the sheets. Now his ass was in the air, at a perfect height for an inspection. Combeferre chuckled and bent down to taste R's asshole.

Grantaire squirms, kicking his feet more and giggling helplessly, trying to rock his ass back against Combeferre's tongue.

Combeferre bit the hole very gently.

R's eyes go wide, and he squeaks a bit, going still.

"Good boy. Stay still." Combeferre chuckled, licking around the edge of it and slowly sliding in his tongue.

R whimpers and tries to obey, his feet arching and tensing with the effort, his hands gripping the sheets in an attempt not to rock. He gasps when he feels the tongue, his anus clenching around it.

Combeferre smiled, pulling back and sliding in his thumb.

Grantaire bucks a bit, crying out as he fights not to push back against it, pulling against the hand on his hair.

The hand on his hair tightened, pulling him back further onto the penetrating thumb.

R lets out a long, low moan, relaxing completely, caught between the thumb and the hand. "Thank you...." he sighs.

"You're welcome. But I'm not done yet. Tell me about your last class."

"Ahh...what?" Grantaire gasps.

"What did you study? What notes did you take?"

Grantaire pouts, just for a moment. "Ahh...I...the Italian Renaissance...Michaelangelo..."

"What did you learn about the Italian Renaissance?"

"B-buildings became associated with a person..." he gasps, helplessly grinding against the thumb.

"What sort of person?" Combeferre removed his thumb and slid in two fingers, brushing against R's prostate.

"The architect..." he pants, "instead of just being a building...people knew who had designed it..." R cries out when the fingers reach his prostate, and he bites a mouthful of sheet to keep from cumming on the spot.

"Are architects still associated with the buildings they designed today?"

"...yes...!"

Combeferre curled his fingers. "What else did you learn?"

Grantaire's noises are almost screams by this point, and his hips are starting to move against his volition. "Architects, engineers and artists were all the same!"

"Good, you may finish." Combeferre rubbed his fingers over R's prostate again and again.

Grantaire unclenches his teeth from the fabric and begins to violently buck against the fingers, almost throwing himself backwards. One hand wraps, almost tentatively, around his cock.

Combeferre lets him spasm and rock and stroke himself to orgasm, teasing his boy's prostate until he's sure R is empty.

Grantaire comes all the more for having waited, bucking again and again until he's finally finished and flops flat on his belly.

Combeferre turns him over, kisses him and then goes to wash his hand and sweep up the hair they left on the floor.

*(We tried to find a picture of this to explain it...but apparently it's impossible. Basically, it's the cloth wrapped ponytail, like in Master and Commander or Pirates. It seems to be a Navy thing. If anyone has a picture of this, please send it to us!)

Gregor's abduction

Gregor wakes in a small, dark, enclosed space. He realizes that there's a gag shoved almost painfully tight in his mouth, he's blindfolded, and his wrists and ankles are tied. He has a moment of vertigo before realizing that he's moving, and he can dimmly see light flashes passing through the cloth--he's in a car trunk. Then he remembers the men...and the note...

The car slows to a stop and he hears doors open and close as men get out. The trunk opens and he sees silhouettes of men standing above him.

He braces himself, glad that the sudden brightness is tempered by the blindfold. He lays as still as possible, hoping to learn something if they think he's still unconscious.

"You carry him." one of them said, stepping back a little. The other man grabbed Gregor around the waist and threw him over his shoulder roughly.

"Do you think Ivar will come after him?"

"Not if he's left a note. I'd rather just mail bits of him to Ivar afterwards."

Gregor is small enough that he can be easily carried, and he feels that the man is quite a bit larger than him. His eyes widen for a moment behind the blindfold, but he forces himself to stay limp and keep his breathing even.

They carry him inside, then down some stairs. He can see some bright lights through the blindfold. He is dropped to a concrete floor that slopes down to a drain and he hears one of the men grab a pair of chains or shackles. There's a clink and a cold sensation as they are closed around his wrists. The chain is long and goes off somewhere behind him. Gregor gets a kick in the ribs. "Wake up."

Gregor feels himself start to fall, and positions himself to land as best he can, as inconspicuously as he can. He gives an exagerated groan when he's kicked, making it sound like it bothered him far more than it did.

The english accent had given away at least something. "Get up, you piece of shit." he got another kick, this time in the groin. "Ivar's bitch."

Gregor actually does groan at that--he'd never been able to handle much pain in that particular area, though he's accustomed enough to pain in general that he isn't rendered helpless. He sits up, slowly.

The blindfold is removed and he's sat in a chair, forcefully lifted by his collar and pushed down into it. The man who's further away from him is holding a large and heavy looking hammer. "Gregor." he smiled. "I'm Percy. This is my brother, John. You're not the first bitch Ivar has had, you know, but you're the first that lasted so long. Our brother lasted four months." he hissed.

"Ya ne govoryu po angliĭski," he says, shaking his head and shrugging apologetically; he wants to learn as much as he can before committing himself to anything.

"We know you speak english. We know a lot about you, Gregor. We were planning on going after Lydon instead, but his place was pretty tough to even get to." he hefted the hammer experimentally, dropping it into his palm.

Gregor shrugs inwardly; he hadn't really expected that to work. "I am...sorry...about your brother," he says, thickening his accent intentionally.

"I don't really care if you are or aren't. This isn't about you. This is about the man who owns and seems to like you."

"You can kill me. Ivar can always find another. I'm not sure what you hope to do here."

"We want him to realize that he can never have another boy. If he replaces you, we'll kill the next one. If he ever loves one of you, he will feel it when we send you back in parts." the hammer was hefted again and this time came down on Gregor's thigh.

Gregor screams freely; even Ivar had never used something like this on him, and he's always found screaming helpful when dealing with pain.

The hammer raises and descends probably a dozen times before the sound of his femur breaking can be heard. There is blood staining his pants and the man is panting, still holding the hammer.

Gregor closes his eyes and breathes deeply throughout, swaying back and forth gently. The crack of his femur snaps him out of his concentration and he screams again, head spinning as he looks at the mutilated leg.

Now the men stand him up, forcing him to put weight on the leg by kicking at his good leg.

Gregor instead lets his good leg drop, keeping the knee of his bad leg bent as much as possible so it doesn't hit the floor or anything else. It hurts, and the world swims, but he hasn't put weight on it.

They drag him up by his hair, forcing him to his foot. One of them holds him by the hair while the other undresses him, ripping off his shirt, buttons flying. When he gets to his pants, he takes special care to peel the material away from the bloody wound.

Gregor stands, a little shakily, not trying to hide his pain, keeping his the knee of his bad leg cocked to keep it off the ground still. He doesn't move, letting them undress him, staring into space. Only his ragged breathing shows that his control isn't perfect.

The brothers exchange a look, then both of them unzip their pants.

Gregor swallows hard, mostly out of surprise--this, he had not been expecting.

They bend him over the chair, one of them behind, the other in front. The one in front opens Gregor's mouth, hooking a finger behind his teeth and pulling, forcing his cock in the other's mouth.

The one behind grabs Gregor by the thighs and forces his way in.

Tears run freely down Gregor's face when he's bent over the chair--there's no way his leg won't be jostled, and the pain is unbelievable. His vision explodes in black and white spots and he passes out for a moment. The feeling of being forcefully, painfully entered brings him round with a sharp groan. Panicked, and realizing with what's left of his rational mind that he probably won't survive, he bites as hard as he can.

"Fuck!" the man screamed, forcing Gregor's teeth apart, removing his cock and kicking Gregor in the face, mostly hitting his cheek and nose. Blood started to pour from his nose. The one behind him didn't stop, in fact he tightened his fingers in the wound.

Gregor screams over and over until his voice gives way to ragged panting, his eyes huge. He's thrashing as best he can, tears coming in such a flood that he can't even see, trying only to desperately get away, no longer thinking at all.

After awhile, the man behind him finishes up. The one in front left to go tend to his injury. Gregor was left bent over the chair, thigh and nose dripping quite a lot of blood on the floor.

Gregor lays completely limp, all his energy spent in his wild and futile struggle. His breathing is shallow and infrequent, his eyes swollen shut. If anyone were looking, they would see his eyelids twitch occasionally as his eyes move underneath, but that's the only sign of life. He dimmly hears a dog barking, and assumes he's dying. He smiles, slowly and painfully, and inhales deeply, preparing to breathe his last.

***

Ivar's face slowly swam into view. "Master?" Gregor murmured, bewildered. "...are you dead, too?"

"No, Gregor." Ivar bent down, pressing a cool cloth to Gregor's forehead. "And neither are you."

"But...how...my note...I'm so sorry, sir!" The manservant suddenly found himself sobbing hot, noisy tears as he clung desperately to his beloved master's hand.

"Shh, Gregor, you'll hurt yourself." Ivar soothed him. "Everything is alright."

Gregor can only nod helplessly until his tears subside. "What happened?" he croaked, voice tight with pain and sobbing.

"I found you. I told you I would find you if you ever left me." Ivar's face swam out of Gregor's sight for a second, then he returned with a syringe, injecting it into Gregor's arm. "I am glad I got there when I did. If I had been much later, you wouldn't have made it." he stroked Gregor's forehead gently.

"I thought I was dead," Gregor admitted, turning away from the shot. "What's that? ...I had always assumed that if you came looking for me, it would be to kill me, not to save me," he said, wryly.

"It would depend on the situation." he chuckled. "You were obviously not there of your own free will. No matter what the situation, I was going to find you."

"I'm very glad you did," Gregor whispered, blinking away more tears. "They're dead?"

"Yes." he gently brushed the tears off Gregor's cheek with a pale finger. "It's alright, boy." he smiled a little.

"Good," the manservant said, fiercely. "I don't care what you did to their brother," he avoided looking at Ivar, "I didn't do anything to them."

"Do you want to know what happened to their brother?" Ivar asked softly.

"Yes. If you want to tell me." Gregor shrugged, wincing a little as the movement hurt him.

"Don't move too much. The pain killer won't kick in for a little while longer." Ivar stroked Gregor's hair, trying to relax his manservant. "Their brother was one of the most extreme masochists I'd ever met. He came when I slit his throat and he did so with a smile."

Gregor nodded, soothed by Ivar's hand on his hair. "Really? That's...wow." He laughed. "I don't imagine they knew that about him. Or wanted to. I didn't think you enjoyed, ah...back then..."

"Enjoyed willing boys?" Ivar smiled, weaving his fingers through Gregor's soft hair. "It was rare, but when an opportunity presents itself... it's always fun to take advantage."

"That makes sense. Um...will there be...permanent damage? I'm almost afraid to ask."

"Yes. You'll limp. Probably for the rest of your life." Ivar said bluntly. He'd never believed in cushioning a blow when it came to one's health (which may have helped to drive a wedge between him and Lydon).

Gregor nodded again, turning his face away for a moment to hide his pained expression. "Thank you," he whispered.

Ivar stroked his chin. "You'll still be every bit as useful to me, Gregor, if that's what you're worried about."

The manservant's eyes widened in pain; he hadn't even thought that far ahead yet. "I would understand if you wanted to let me go."

"No. You'll need time to recover, but I'll be taking care of you." Ivar sighed. "I will make it as easy for you as I can."

Gregor shook his head violently. "No. You hired me to do a job. If I can't do it, I shouldn't be a burden on you."

"You will still do your job. And, if you remember, you have full health benefits if any accidents occur. I'm only sorry I didn't keep you safe."

"Yes sir. I'm sorry," Gregor murmured, mollified. He abruptly sat up and clung to his master. "It's not your fault. You saved me, even though for all you knew I had just left. ...ow."

Ivar pushed Gregor back down, getting up on the hospital-style bed and holding his servant in his arms, against his chest. "You rest, Gregor." he kissed the other man, surprisingly tenderly.

Gregor nodded, feeling a little foolish for his outburst, but slowly relaxing as the drug kicked in and he was comforted in Ivar's arms. "Thank you, sir," the stocky Russian said, fiercely. "I would do anything for you, you know," he murmured, getting a little less than lucid.

"I know, darogoi." he said, stroking his lover's hair and humming a lullaby.

"Even...fight off the invading chipmunk army..." Gregor blinked, realizing what he had just said made no sense. "Ah...sorry...must be falling asleep..."

Ivar chuckled. "Good boy. You sleep."

"Mmm-hmm..." Pressed safely to his master's chest and pleasantly drugged, Gregor is soon asleep.