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fellowshippers2003-08-09 09:51 pm
beizy.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2003-08-09 09:51 pm
Defy the Dark -- 16-30/? (DM/OB, DM/BB, AU)
Title: Defy the Dark
Part: 16-30/?
Author: Beiz
Website: http://geocities.com/beizy20
Pairing: Dominic Monaghan/Orlando Bloom, eventually (and more importantly) Dominic Monaghan/Billy Boyd
Rating: NC-17 (mentions of rape and sex)
Disclaimer: Don't know 'em, made this up.
Author's Notes: Woo! Here we go, ya'll. You can find the first batch here.
*
There is a great variety in the men that pay for use of Dominic. He doesn't notice it at first and doesn't care to, but a combination of well-placed defiance and inner strength leads him to a more observatory nature. The more time that goes by the more types of men he sees. Most are darkly violent and want something small and willing to hold down; others want to lay still and be held down themselves; others are pathetically desperate and don't last more than a few minutes. He feels nothing; but deep down a powerful rage is being cultivated.
*
Greek or Latin makes for better linguistic currency than Italian in many cases, Dominic learns. He pays attention and he adapts well, because many prayers he knows in both Greek and Russian. Memories of the countryside float back; choice bits of gray and green fringed by the hazy light of cheap animal fat candles. The monk with the heavily accented Russian and the round belly teaches him the Lord's prayer. But he is not in that place; he is many thousands of miles away and these memories are as distant as the stars. Perhaps his is merely beginning to forget.
*
"The governors still have control here," Orlando whispers in the middle of the night, hands petting down Dominic's belly. "The others, they try and flaunt their wares —Florence, Milan. Pah. They are held around the throat by the wealthy families that own them. There is no equality for men there. Here at least there is stability." Dominic wills Orlando's hands lower and shudders when they go. "Merchants and the Council, that is what makes Venice unique." Dominic smirks and replies, "You have too much faith. We are the playthings of wealthy men." Orlando says, "We can be much, much more."
*
The flirtatious notes of the lute accompany the gentle tinkle of the Virginal's keys, and the combined sound teases Dominic's ears. He strains his hearing to stay with the noise and succeeds somewhat over the low chatter of the boys around him. Through the narrowly tipped arched windows he watches the indifferent moon disappear behind the canal. The sight of the men and boy patrons —bedecked finely in stockings, short belted jackets, tunics with bold trim, and swords —seduces him because they are a glimpse of grander things; freer things. He's beginning to think that maybe Orlando has a point.
*
"I have seen the Great Council of Venice process along the Molo. I have seen High Mass at the very foot of the San Marco altar. And yes, the merchant ships striking out over the Adriatic Sea. The water is like glass, Dominic." Orlando's voice is like poetry. He won't stop talking; won't risk allowing Dominic to recall the evening. It had been particularly horrible. "Those were good times. When my cousins and I used to sneak out on hot afternoons to gamble in taverns and drink bad wine. We knew they'd drag us back, but we did it anyway."
*
Weeks pass and Dominic's reputation shifts subtly. His more submissive patrons turn to younger, softer boys. Crueler men are sent his way instead because they can enjoy his flying fists and biting mouth. He takes silent pleasure in the scattered occurrence of his blows finding their marks before he can be stifled and violated. He begins to enjoy their fury and rises above the crimson pain it culminates in —simply because he now knows that he can make them react. This small measure of power asserted over them goes to Dominic's brain like fine wine; and still Orlando doesn't understand.
*
Dominic discourages Orlando's questions with lovemaking. It's never rushed between them; there's enough of that with their customers. A night can start with kissing and end there, or it can go on to needy couplings that involve rubbing and the slippery grasp of fingers. Dominic savors Orlando's low whimpers and compares them to a cat's contented mewls. He likes best holding Orlando's trembling body from behind while working the Italian with his fist until Orlando bucks into their blankets and sobs once, spending himself over Dominic's fingers. He wonders, though, why Orlando never overwhelms him the way he overwhelms Orlando.
*
The Venetian winter is mild compared to what Dominic is used to. It is heavily damp, and despite the healthy breeze, it is dreary. Everything is chilly and quiet; the sky is a gray frothy mist. Dominic thinks it's funny that everything in Venice is softer except for the most important part —his forced occupation. Ah, to be in one of the most impressive cities in the world and be banned from all its grandeur. His rage couples with regret, forming an impressive blend. He wonders what the masters would do if he stopped tending his wounds, or refused food.
*
There is a morning when Dominic wakes and sees that Orlando is gone. Life skips a beat; the absence goes to the very core of wrong. The loss twists his chest up in knots. The explanation he gets from the others is that Orlando was finally able to buy his freedom. He doesn't understand, at first, why this is a betrayal, even though his heart tells him so. Orlando never spoke of this, never told Dominic that it could be done. Dominic cannot comprehend Orlando's special circumstance because he was never made privy to it; nor will he ever be.
*
He goes a little crazy that night. A young man with a thick, unidentifiable accent wants the services of Dominic's mouth; and when the man slides his fingers through Dominic's hair to pull him further inward, Dominic grabs the man's right hand and snaps it backwards. Amidst the howls of pain and blows from the man's uninjured hand there is a commotion in the hall that quickly spills into the room —lanterns bob in the hands of heavily muscled guards that grab Dominic and pull him roughly upward. The ugly light illuminates the signore's hand, twisted at an unnatural angle.
*
It's a harsh offence and he knows it. Is it enough to get him killed or sold? The reaction of the masters is queer to him. He doesn't understand what's going on. They lock him, bound around the wrists and ankles, in a room off to the side of the lower offices. He can hear them talking in rapid, frustrated tones, but cannot catch any specific word; they often lapse into dialects he doesn't recognize. He's prepared for physical punishment and prepared to die. Hours pass. New voices chime in; others fall away, and still no one comes for him.
*
They push him forwards until he's on his knees. There is a circle of bright lanterns around him. An immediate slap whips his face to the side before he can steel himself against it. "Filth," the master hisses. "You've done your last performance here." Dominic looks around at the crowd; one of the men reminds him of the one he injured, only older. That very man steps forward and grabs Dominic by his hair. "Do you know what you have done? Do you!" Dominic growls and tries to get away. "My son is a violinist. And you have ruined him!"
*
They force him to wash and dress. He's taken back to the office where the crowd was, but only a single master remains there. "Money will not quiet this man. He's a very influence banker with a good reputation. You've picked the wrong night to give sass, boy." The master stuffs Dominic's tunic with personal papers that Dominic cannot read. "For your transgression, you are to serve their household. For as long as they want, and in whatever manner they choose. You are their property. And while this is an embarrassment, I can't say I'm sad to see you go..."
*
There is a period of several days in which Dominic receives the punishment that the brothel didn't give out. At the hands of the banker, under the man's own roof, it is much worse than it would have been. The banker has no interest in keeping Dominic looking well for customers; indeed, he is filled with rage and vinegar, and his large hands are quickly splattered with Dominic's blood. When the beating stops, Dominic is cleaned up and given clothes that are only slightly better than his brothel attire. He's told to do whatever is asked of him without question.
*
He stands with the new servants. Members of the house wander in from various rooms. The staff is there simply for the sake of learning their betters' faces. The banker's wife and also several cousins stroll past, sparing the employees nary a glance. The violinist son is not there. Instead, a pleasant voice with the banker's brogue tickles Dominic's ears. This boy is young —immaculately dressed, brown hair and watery-vibrant green eyes: beautiful. "My youngest son, William," says the banker. Green eyes pass straight through the crowd and lock with stormy gray. Around Dominic, Venice grinds to a shuddering halt.
*
Part: 16-30/?
Author: Beiz
Website: http://geocities.com/beizy20
Pairing: Dominic Monaghan/Orlando Bloom, eventually (and more importantly) Dominic Monaghan/Billy Boyd
Rating: NC-17 (mentions of rape and sex)
Disclaimer: Don't know 'em, made this up.
Author's Notes: Woo! Here we go, ya'll. You can find the first batch here.
There is a great variety in the men that pay for use of Dominic. He doesn't notice it at first and doesn't care to, but a combination of well-placed defiance and inner strength leads him to a more observatory nature. The more time that goes by the more types of men he sees. Most are darkly violent and want something small and willing to hold down; others want to lay still and be held down themselves; others are pathetically desperate and don't last more than a few minutes. He feels nothing; but deep down a powerful rage is being cultivated.
Greek or Latin makes for better linguistic currency than Italian in many cases, Dominic learns. He pays attention and he adapts well, because many prayers he knows in both Greek and Russian. Memories of the countryside float back; choice bits of gray and green fringed by the hazy light of cheap animal fat candles. The monk with the heavily accented Russian and the round belly teaches him the Lord's prayer. But he is not in that place; he is many thousands of miles away and these memories are as distant as the stars. Perhaps his is merely beginning to forget.
"The governors still have control here," Orlando whispers in the middle of the night, hands petting down Dominic's belly. "The others, they try and flaunt their wares —Florence, Milan. Pah. They are held around the throat by the wealthy families that own them. There is no equality for men there. Here at least there is stability." Dominic wills Orlando's hands lower and shudders when they go. "Merchants and the Council, that is what makes Venice unique." Dominic smirks and replies, "You have too much faith. We are the playthings of wealthy men." Orlando says, "We can be much, much more."
The flirtatious notes of the lute accompany the gentle tinkle of the Virginal's keys, and the combined sound teases Dominic's ears. He strains his hearing to stay with the noise and succeeds somewhat over the low chatter of the boys around him. Through the narrowly tipped arched windows he watches the indifferent moon disappear behind the canal. The sight of the men and boy patrons —bedecked finely in stockings, short belted jackets, tunics with bold trim, and swords —seduces him because they are a glimpse of grander things; freer things. He's beginning to think that maybe Orlando has a point.
"I have seen the Great Council of Venice process along the Molo. I have seen High Mass at the very foot of the San Marco altar. And yes, the merchant ships striking out over the Adriatic Sea. The water is like glass, Dominic." Orlando's voice is like poetry. He won't stop talking; won't risk allowing Dominic to recall the evening. It had been particularly horrible. "Those were good times. When my cousins and I used to sneak out on hot afternoons to gamble in taverns and drink bad wine. We knew they'd drag us back, but we did it anyway."
Weeks pass and Dominic's reputation shifts subtly. His more submissive patrons turn to younger, softer boys. Crueler men are sent his way instead because they can enjoy his flying fists and biting mouth. He takes silent pleasure in the scattered occurrence of his blows finding their marks before he can be stifled and violated. He begins to enjoy their fury and rises above the crimson pain it culminates in —simply because he now knows that he can make them react. This small measure of power asserted over them goes to Dominic's brain like fine wine; and still Orlando doesn't understand.
Dominic discourages Orlando's questions with lovemaking. It's never rushed between them; there's enough of that with their customers. A night can start with kissing and end there, or it can go on to needy couplings that involve rubbing and the slippery grasp of fingers. Dominic savors Orlando's low whimpers and compares them to a cat's contented mewls. He likes best holding Orlando's trembling body from behind while working the Italian with his fist until Orlando bucks into their blankets and sobs once, spending himself over Dominic's fingers. He wonders, though, why Orlando never overwhelms him the way he overwhelms Orlando.
The Venetian winter is mild compared to what Dominic is used to. It is heavily damp, and despite the healthy breeze, it is dreary. Everything is chilly and quiet; the sky is a gray frothy mist. Dominic thinks it's funny that everything in Venice is softer except for the most important part —his forced occupation. Ah, to be in one of the most impressive cities in the world and be banned from all its grandeur. His rage couples with regret, forming an impressive blend. He wonders what the masters would do if he stopped tending his wounds, or refused food.
There is a morning when Dominic wakes and sees that Orlando is gone. Life skips a beat; the absence goes to the very core of wrong. The loss twists his chest up in knots. The explanation he gets from the others is that Orlando was finally able to buy his freedom. He doesn't understand, at first, why this is a betrayal, even though his heart tells him so. Orlando never spoke of this, never told Dominic that it could be done. Dominic cannot comprehend Orlando's special circumstance because he was never made privy to it; nor will he ever be.
He goes a little crazy that night. A young man with a thick, unidentifiable accent wants the services of Dominic's mouth; and when the man slides his fingers through Dominic's hair to pull him further inward, Dominic grabs the man's right hand and snaps it backwards. Amidst the howls of pain and blows from the man's uninjured hand there is a commotion in the hall that quickly spills into the room —lanterns bob in the hands of heavily muscled guards that grab Dominic and pull him roughly upward. The ugly light illuminates the signore's hand, twisted at an unnatural angle.
It's a harsh offence and he knows it. Is it enough to get him killed or sold? The reaction of the masters is queer to him. He doesn't understand what's going on. They lock him, bound around the wrists and ankles, in a room off to the side of the lower offices. He can hear them talking in rapid, frustrated tones, but cannot catch any specific word; they often lapse into dialects he doesn't recognize. He's prepared for physical punishment and prepared to die. Hours pass. New voices chime in; others fall away, and still no one comes for him.
They push him forwards until he's on his knees. There is a circle of bright lanterns around him. An immediate slap whips his face to the side before he can steel himself against it. "Filth," the master hisses. "You've done your last performance here." Dominic looks around at the crowd; one of the men reminds him of the one he injured, only older. That very man steps forward and grabs Dominic by his hair. "Do you know what you have done? Do you!" Dominic growls and tries to get away. "My son is a violinist. And you have ruined him!"
They force him to wash and dress. He's taken back to the office where the crowd was, but only a single master remains there. "Money will not quiet this man. He's a very influence banker with a good reputation. You've picked the wrong night to give sass, boy." The master stuffs Dominic's tunic with personal papers that Dominic cannot read. "For your transgression, you are to serve their household. For as long as they want, and in whatever manner they choose. You are their property. And while this is an embarrassment, I can't say I'm sad to see you go..."
There is a period of several days in which Dominic receives the punishment that the brothel didn't give out. At the hands of the banker, under the man's own roof, it is much worse than it would have been. The banker has no interest in keeping Dominic looking well for customers; indeed, he is filled with rage and vinegar, and his large hands are quickly splattered with Dominic's blood. When the beating stops, Dominic is cleaned up and given clothes that are only slightly better than his brothel attire. He's told to do whatever is asked of him without question.
He stands with the new servants. Members of the house wander in from various rooms. The staff is there simply for the sake of learning their betters' faces. The banker's wife and also several cousins stroll past, sparing the employees nary a glance. The violinist son is not there. Instead, a pleasant voice with the banker's brogue tickles Dominic's ears. This boy is young —immaculately dressed, brown hair and watery-vibrant green eyes: beautiful. "My youngest son, William," says the banker. Green eyes pass straight through the crowd and lock with stormy gray. Around Dominic, Venice grinds to a shuddering halt.
no subject
no subject
no subject
I can't get enough! These are fantastic - FANTASTIC!
I mourn the loss of Orlando and am filled with anxiety for the addition of Billy
eep! eep! eep!
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What I was particularly taken with is the way you managed to convey the violence without getting to graphic whilst still retaining it's true horror "The banker has no interest in keeping Dominic looking well for customers; indeed, he is filled with rage and vinegar, and his large hands are quickly splattered with Dominic's blood."
Anxiously awaiting next installment.
no subject
Thank you!