Desires of a Shadow

Title: Desires of a Shadow
Fanfiction Of: Final Fantasy Tactics Advance
Author: Genis Irving
Rating: NC-17
Special Disclaimer: For those of you that haven't seen this fic in a while, it was taken down because I was underage at the time. Well, I'm not anymore, so it's back (hopefully for good). So let me say right now: I -am- the original author of this story, back finally after a year and a half of absence.
Warnings: Yaoi/Slash fiction – That means male sex, people! MALE SEX! And it’s N/C stuff too, meaning non-consensual. That’s just a proper-sounding way of saying somebody gets raped. Do you understand? If you can’t handle it and you decide to flame me for it, it’s YOUR OWN DAMN FAULT FOR NOT READING THE WARNING! Oh, there’s also a lot of violence and blood.
Summary: For Llednar Twem, failure to defeat Marche and save his prince and queen was a killing blow to his pride. But he survived, and now his hatred is growing... becoming so strong that even he cannot control it... (LlednarXMarche)
Spoilers: YES! YES YES YES but you already knew that from the summary! This is set after you’ve at least cleared the second fight with Queen Remedi! With that known, please, don’t be scream at me for spoiling things.

A/N: I’m probably the first person to think of writing an FFTA Adult Fic (Added note: At the time I wrote this I certainly was the first one to put one up on AFF, way back when). I know, I’m f***ing insane and sick, because so many of the people are young! Just be glad I didn’t use Doned! Anyway... hey, why the hell did I bleep out the f-word? This is AFF, I can use it all I want! FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FU... sorry! ^.^ Couldn’t help myself. Anyway, yeah. Bad stuff in this – It’s LlednarXMarche after all - and some OOCness on some character’s behalves (Though I swear I wouldn’t find anything strange about it if Ritz got drunk in the game, though I don’t know why!). This is currently a one-shot, but if you guys decide you like this kind of pairing, or especially this fic, I’ll be quite happy to write more! So, review! Please?
Oh, and PS: I KNOW Llednar didn’t survive the final battle, however, in this story he did. So bare with me, okay?
PS 2: I’m not sure totally how old everyone is, though for some reason I get the feeling they’re all only about 12 years old... Though some fics write the characters at 16... @_@ I’m not sure at all what their ages are.

-~-Desires of Shadows-~-

“A cheer for another victory for Clan Nutsy!”
A rowdy cheer was raised by the various members of the clan, as several glasses of orange juice (and other liquids) were clapped together.
Ritz giggled, hanging off of Marche loosely. Apparently orange juice had some kind of intoxicating effect on her, or that wasn’t orange juice she had in her tinted glass – either way, she was slightly stumbling and had a slurred sound to her voice. “I shay... I coulds get used to thiss...”
Shara sighed, slapping her forehead. “Ritz, maybe its time to lay off the liquor... I think you’ve had enough”
Ritz turned a rough gaze on Shara. “I’ll tell you when I’vf had enouf!”
Marche sighed, but he himself had taken a few sips of the spiked punch that Ezel had brought along. That silly Nu Mou was crazy as ever, Marche noted, but when he quickly realised that he wouldn’t be able to take much before going insane, he made a point to stop drinking while he was still relatively sober.
Montblanc was busy rolling on the floor laughing at the humorous stories of the clan’s Blue Mage, and that man’s antics were pretty solidly taking care of keeping most of the room humoured. Even Babus had lightened up somewhat, and was laughing along with the rest of the crew. Excusing himself to grab a drink before he passed out from laughter, Montblanc headed to join Marche, still smiling openly.
Marche smiled. “You know... I’m glad. Most of our enemies have become our friends now...” he noted, as he looked over the team. Ritz had been dragged away by Shara, who had been shaking her head, and now him and Montblanc were relatively alone, off in their own little corner.
“Not all of them” Montblanc shrugged.
“Oh?” Marche looked at him.
“Yeah. There’s still a couple we’re missing” Montblanc sighed. “But maybe it’s better.”
“What do you mean? Cid’s kind of on our side” Marche blinked.
“I don’t mean him” Montblanc smiled. “Besides, he’s the Judgemaster. He’d never align himself with a clan.”
“Err... then Remedi?” Marche blinked, slightly confused.
“You know she never actually ever really existed” Montblanc giggled. “Did you really believe she would ever come with us?”
“No” Marche shook his head quickly. “But then who am I forgetting?”
“Llednar. You remember, don’t you?” Montblanc asked.
Marche shook noticeably. “Yes, I do...”
“What happened to him, anyway?” Montblanc wondered aloud. “I mean, when you let him go after the final battle at Ambervale... Do you suppose he’s still alive?”
“Of course he’s not” Marche said quickly. “I mean, he was just the darker, courageous side of Mewt, wasn’t he? But you’ve seen Mewt now, he’s becoming so much more powerful on his own, Llednar doesn’t need to exist”
“...I suppose so” Montblanc shrugged. “Still, though, I don’t think our battles are over yet”
“Of course not. We’re a famous clan now, Montblanc” Marche smiled. “Of course our battles aren’t over!”
*****
A lone figure stumbled through the streets, his blonde hair soaked with blood, his red clothing still with the unrepaired cuts and tears it had received during the last battle he had been in. His clothes were soaked with the rain that was falling, his feet splashing in puddles upon the streets, as lightning crackled overhead.
He turned, looking wildly. “Where are you, Marche? I know you’re still in this world... where are you, you blasted fucker? I’m going to tear you apart when I find you...” the figure growled, holding onto the sword tucked in the sheath at his side.
Llednar had now travelled the entire world, leaving him finally within Cadoan, hoping that he might be able to at last find the headquarters of the one he hated so much...
He hated Marche. Marche and that stupid moogle and all his stupid little friends.
“I was created to be perfect. Unstoppable” Llednar cursed under his breath. “How could he have beaten me? I cannot regain my honour until I have at last defeated him... but I will not spare him”
Llednar had never felt defeat. He knew he was perfect, the ultimate warrior, second only to Queen Remedi in power, because when he had been created from Prince Mewt’s wishes, he had the time to gather the power of the entire world, all the magic that held it together...
That power formed Omega... why hadn’t he just used it and killed Marche when he had the chance? He had shown weakness, shown pity to his opponent, and now he was paying for it in a big way. He was suffering inside because he had lost. The madness caused by it was driving him slowly insane.
Thoughts of hurting Marche drifted through his head in his waking moments. At night, as he tracked his prey underneath the stars, his mind grew darker and thoughts of how beautiful Marche would look in the throes of death, like so many others he had killed, made him go even more crazy. And then, when he rarely slept, came the worst.
Llednar’s mind was not that of a child, nor was his body, despite the fact that he was created to be equal to Mewt. He was adult in all aspects, and his dreams reflected that.
Dreams of torturing Marche. Of chaining him up and making him bleed. Of making Marche wish he would die. Of using Marche for relief...
“I won’t let him get away again...” Llednar growled into the streets, stepping out, and looking left and right. He didn’t care if he had to spend the rest of his life hunting him down, he would find Marche...
*****
Marche sighed, looking at the clock on the wall. It was getting late. Most of the members of his clan were sleeping, or too tired to continue the rowdy activities from earlier. Some had already left.
“...I’m going back to the hotel” Marche decided, as he spoke to Montblanc.
“Oh? Well, alright. I’m gonna stay here for a while” Montblanc told him. “Ezel said he’s got a couple things to show me about the Antilaw cards...”
“Oh, okay. Well, then, goodnight” Montblanc smiled, ruffled a hand through the fur on the moogle’s head (even though he knew how much this annoyed Montblanc) and then turning towards the door.
“Good night, take care”
“Don’t worry” Marche laughed, as he opened the door, and seeing the storm outside made him almost rethink his decision, but then he decided not to back down. It would probably only get worse, knowing this world. “It’s only a couple blocks to the inn. You know that. What could go wrong?”
“...Yeah, right. Night!” Montblanc called over, before turning to rejoin the others, as Marche stepped outside, shutting the door behind him.
The night was dark, Marche had to take a few moments to get used to the lack of light, compared to back in the pub. Then, finally, they readjusted after a minute and he began to walk in the direction of the hotel he had obtained for their clan. Technically, they had made the Royal Valley their clan headquarters (Mewt had offered it to them, and despite their wariness of what could be lurking there, they had accepted), so when abroad they always took up rest at inns. It always made things much easier.
He smirked, his hand confidently resting on the handle of the Ayvuir Blue on his right, his other hand bumping against the Ayvuir Red as it moved. Just having the twin blades made him feel like the powerful hero that he was now. He listened to the sound of the rain, and that of his feet slapping in the puddles on the empty streets. Most of the populace of the town was asleep by now.
He didn’t even notice, on a small street that he passed, a figure standing there with blonde hair, a red cap, and looking soaked and terribly, terribly angry...
*****
Llednar stopped in the street, seeing someone pass by, and finally, with a cruel grin, he realised who it was only a moment or two later.
It was Marche, passing right in front of him and not even taking notice! Had Marche not seen him...? No, he must have! Then had he forgotten? Was he so cruel and rude as to have forgotten the ultimate opponent, Llednar? That couldn’t be!
Llednar growled, turning and standing behind Marche, to watch him walk down the street, hearing the sound of whistling. There were two blades hanging from his belt... The blades of heroes, the Ayvuir Blue and Ayvuir Red, Llednar knew. But going two-sword style, Llednar believed, made him weak in other aspects... especially defense.
Finally, Marche seemed to pause, and turn. Llednar’s grasp instantly fell to the blade at his side, the Save The Queen, and he drew it and dived towards Marche.
*****
Marche froze when he realised that there was someone watching him. He turned, his hand gripping onto the hilt of the Ayvuir Blue, as he spun.
He was glad he had pulled a weapon, because before he had even got a good look at the one who was watching him, he was being attacked, the opponent wielding a beautiful blue sword that Marche swore he recognised.
“Is that... the Save the Queen? But that would mean...”
As the two blades clashed, and Marche’s other hand grabbed onto the Ayvuir Red at his side, drawing it, a strike of lightning not far away lit up the area, giving Marche a very good look at his attacker.
At the look of pure, unbottled hatred in his eyes. At the look of vengeance. At the look of a very, very murderous Llednar.
“Llednar!” Marche gasped, when he realised who it was.
“Long time no see, Marche” Llednar growled, pushing forward strongly with his blade, using his strength to force Marche to retreat backwards, as the two blades slipped away.
“Why the hell are you here?” Marche demanded, quickly.
“To get my revenge, Marche” Llednar growled. “For what you did to my queen and my prince”
“I didn’t do anything to Mewt!” Marche growled.
“And for what you did to me!” Llednar shouted, raising his large sword above his head and bringing it down towards Marche.
Marche lifted both of his blades, forming an X with them and catching Llednar’s blade in them, over his head, as he pushed off the ground to try and force Llednar off balance. “You should be glad I spared you, Llednar”
“That was your own fault. I wanted a battle to the death, and neither of us is dead yet” Llednar growled, pushing down, and then kicking outwards with one foot, connecting with Marche’s gut and sending the boy backwards. He quickly resteadied himself, preparing for his opponent’s next attack.
“This is a matter of pride, Marche” Llednar shouted, running towards Marche, his sword poised as if to stab Marche through the heart. “You could never have defeated me!”
“I did!” Marche growled, diving to the side, and trying to go on the offensive he made a spin, the first blade knocking Llednar’s sword back a bit, and then as the second came around it was aimed for Llednar’s sides.
The evil knight was quick to recover, using his blade to slam into Marche’s, disrupting his opponent’s spin.
“How did you defeat me? I’m perfect. I was created to be the ultimate fighter. The embodiment of the fighting prowess of this world. You can not have defeated me” Llednar shouted, as he slashed at Marche again.
Marche knew he didn’t have time to stop the attack fully, so he made a feeble attempt by slamming both his smaller blades up against Llednar’s attack. The older warrior had too much force, however, and both of the Ayvuir blades flew aside, scattering into the street and clanging against the side of a nearby house. A crack of thunder sounded around them.
Marche stumbled backwards a bit, looking around. Their fight had pushed the two into a lonely alleyway, and Llednar was blocking the only exit. Well, unless Marche could jump a fifteen-foot wall, which he very much doubted he could.
Marche looked at Llednar, who was standing, smirking confidently and victoriously, and then his eyes shifted towards his swords, which were only a short distance away... What if he could...
Marche jumped, and Llednar slammed the Save the Queen down into the soft ground in front of him, startling Marche and halting his movements.
“See? You’re pathetic. How the hell could you have beaten me that once?” Llednar growled.
“Because I had my friends with me” Marche cursed. “If they were here...”
“Then that does mean I’m the superior warrior” Llednar smiled. “All true warriors duel solo. The only reason you ever had a shot at winning was because of your blasted friends... well... they’re not here to help you this time, are they?”
Marche grit his teeth, backing up slowly, feeling his clothes become even more soaked in the puddles he was now in. He’d have to change when he got back. If he got back.
“What’s wrong, Marche?” Llednar withdrew his sword from the ground, and slowly stepped towards Marche, in sync with the other blonde moving backwards. “You’re not afraid, are you?”
Think, Marche, think. You know how to fight without a weapon! What about the stuff that Ritz taught you about elemental magic? And Montblanc’s black magic lessons? There has to be a way I can fight...
Suddenly, Marche’s eyes lit up, and he began to mutter something under his breath, holding out one hand. A spark of flame began to form in it.
Llednar noticed it, though, and he was very fast to react. He swung the sword teasingly, cutting along Marche’s arm just barley, but enough to cause the boy to jolt out of his spell with a cry of pain.
“Don’t you try anything like that, Marche” Llednar laughed. “If you do, I will not stop myself from using my own magic... like Omega, perhaps...”
Marche’s throat caught, and he found himself unable to speak any farther at this threat. One of the members of his clan had been hit by the ‘ultimate magic’, and even the judges had not been able to revive him afterwards... He backed up, clutching his wounded arm, as Llednar approached him, a predatory look in his eyes.
“...What are you going to do to me?” Marche asked.
“I’m going to make you suffer, Marche” Llednar growled, still approaching, his now-bloodstained weapon slowly swinging at his side, in tune with his steps and in tune with the falling rain. An ominous crack of lightning sounded around them. “Do you know how much I’ve suffered since you defeated me, back at the Royal Valley? Can you ever believe the hatred I’ve built for you? Nobody is supposed to defeat me. Ever. But you ruined it. You ruined the perfect world that was created and made it... made it good.”
Marche gulped, as he suddenly realised that he had gone as far back as he could, when his back hit the wall behind him.
“Marche, I’m going to make you suffer, I’m going to make you feel the pain that you put me through...”
The Save the Queen clattered to the ground at Llednar’s side, and then he had grabbed the collar of Marche’s shirt and pulled him up, then his hand slammed Marche backwards into the wall behind him.
Marche gasped in pain as his head collided with the solid wall behind him, then gave another sharp yelp as Llednar smashed him with a balled up fist, a bit of saliva flying out of his mouth and down into the puddles below.
“I’m going to make you want to die. But I’ll spare you that death, like you did to me. And you’ll wish I hadn’t, Marche...”
There was the sound of metal shifting around, as Llednar manoeuvred the Save the Queen back towards himself, then reached down for only a split second to pick it up. The way Llednar was now, blade in hand, maniacal look on his face, bloodlust in his eyes, and no apparent escape...
Llednar growled deeply, moving the blade down towards Marche’s chest, just below his hand, and then cutting a gash that went only barely above the boy’s nipples. Marche gasped in pain, though he stopped struggling, afraid of having the blade cut deeper. A red line slowly became uneven as hot blood dripped downwards, along Marche’s chest, which was now revealed because his shirt was largely torn.
Before Marche even had time to get used to this pain, another cut was being made, along his shoulder, then cutting farther down and along the side of his shirt, cutting into his waste, and then into the hem of his red shorts, just a bit. Marche’s shirt flapped open, revealing his bleeding chest and young body, a sight for Llednar’s eyes.
He hadn’t meant to do that, but suddenly, seeing Marche like that, in reality, brought back flickers of Llednar’s memories... Llednar’s dreams...
He growled possessively, as he brought the blade around again, watching the previous wound he had made as he did. Blood was now flowing along Marche’s left side, dripping onto the beautifully-adorned sheath of the Ayvuir Red. Llednar smirked at the sight, seeing Marche still cowering in fear, unmoving.
Then Llednar mimicked the movement on the other side, tearing another gash into Marche, and this time Marche couldn’t just bite back the pain. It was becoming too much. The boy let out a scream.
“Oh, shut up” Llednar growled, muttering a spell under his mouth. Marche’s throat felt dry, and nothing came out. He had been silenced... now even if he wanted to call for help...
Marche looked at him with a look of pleading, as the front of his shirt fell away and into a puddle, becoming nothing more than loose fabric, and no longer hiding anything. Blood dripped down onto it from above, as Marche’s wounds were flowing steadily.
Marche tried to speak, he tried so hard, but he couldn’t. It wouldn’t matter how much he tried, he knew. He was silenced until the spell wore off... And being cast by someone as powerful as Llednar, he didn’t know how long that could possibly take...
Llednar’s smirk widened as he looked at Marche, somehow finding himself more and more inclined to act out his dreams. Marche couldn’t stop him, now. He was no Bangaa monk, he couldn’t fight unarmed and hope to win. He was silenced, he could use no magic. And his two swords were lying far out of his reach.
So why not? Llednar decided on his course of action, and looked at Marche, who was still shivering, especially against the lack of protection his upper body now had against the weather. The two peaks on his chest were pointy from the cold.
Llednar looked at him, then slammed his weapon into the ground again beside him, watching the water wash and mix with his prey’s blood, as he pulled the loose fabric of the sleeves down Marche’s arm. The boy’s eyes were confused at this action, but he’d understand soon enough. Marche’s discarded half-shirt (now nothing more than a back strip of fabric and two sleeves) fell to the ground, into another puddle at Marche’s feet.
Marche tried to mouth something, and Llednar picked up on it. “What am I doing?” he laughed. “Why should I tell you?”
Llednar then moved his hand off of Marche’s chest and slid it up one of his arms, grabbing Marche’s small wrist and pulling it up over Marche’s head. The boy tried to struggle, but Llednar grabbed onto Marche’s other hand and pulled the two together, then caught the sodden remains of the front piece to Marche’s shirt over his foot, and brought it up, catching both wrists in one hand and using the other to fetch the shirt.
Quickly, Marche’s hands were tied together over his head. Marche gave a scared look.
“You’re not doing anything anytime soon, Marche...” Llednar laughed, the look on his face very... feral and predatory, and it scared Marche. Because the boy was afraid of what Llednar might do to hurt him... he had no clue about how Llednar intended to hurt him any more than he already had...
Then Llednar drew himself in closer, to the point where their two bodies were almost pressing. Marche could feel the taller Llednar’s breathing tickling his forehead and some wet strands of hair. Marche shook instinctively.
“Am I making you nervous? Good” Llednar growled, lowering his head just a bit and catching Marche’s mouth in a kiss.
Marche was too shocked to resist, and Llednar forced Marche’s lips open and thrust his tongue into the other boy’s mouth, claiming it for his own, enjoying how sweet and innocent and young Marche seemed...
And then Marche let out a silent gasp, as Llednar ground his body against Marche’s, and Marche could feel his opponent’s chest through his shirt, feel his legs through his pants... feel the hot erection that was pressing up against his groin lustfully. Marche had no clue what was going on, or why Llednar seemed to be so... hard... but he was soon to find out, as Llednar pulled away from him.
Then the evil warrior was down on one knee, licking his tongue across the large wound on Marche’s chest. Marche let out a literal silent scream, because something about Llednar’s tongue only helped to renew the pain, make it feel worse...
But as Llednar’s mouth passed one of the boy’s nipples, Llednar got a cruel idea. He moved his head down just a bit farther, grabbing onto the nipple with his teeth, and then biting into it. Marche would have screamed again if he were able, because the pain was surprisingly strong from that point, as blood began to flow from the torn nodule.
Then Llednar moved his mouth to the other and did the same, enjoying the taste of the torn flesh in his mouth, the feel of the wet body he was still pressed up against...
Desire was taking over, and one of Llednar’s hands grabbed for Marche’s shorts, and pulled them down, leaving the boy exposed to the elements. He lifted up Marche with two strong hands, putting a foot down on each boots and also having one standing on his short, and literally lifting Marche right out of the rest of his clothing, leaving him naked.
Llednar looked at the boy quickly, and realised just how perfect he was. How sexy he looked with his wounds, with his hands bonded... how he was still but a mere child...
“Marche...” Llednar growled huskily and lustfully, his hands falling to the belt on his pants, as he quickly worked to open it up, forcing down the front of his trousers and anything he had on underneath to reveal his hot, throbbing erection. Marche gasped again, soundlessly, as he tried to figure out what was going to happen.
Then Marche felt two strong hands on his shoulders, and he was pushed down onto his knees, which scraped hard against the ground. Marche shut his eyes against the pain, shivering, before he felt some fingers at the front of his lips. Then his mouth was pried open, and as he opened his eyes up, startled, he saw Llednar push himself into his mouth.
Marche nearly choked as Llednar thrust into his mouth, forcing the highly inexperienced and highly confused Marche to deep-throat him, and Llednar let out a gasp of pleasure. Marche tried to catch his breath, and Llednar caught that sound – the one of heavy, strangled breathing – and loved it. It made him only hotter, and he pressed deeper into Marche’s mouth, before beginning to thrust in and out rapidly.
Marche choked each time that Llednar’s erection slammed into the back of his throat, and he found that even trying to breathe through his nose wasn’t working. He was starting to feel somewhat faint from his lack of air, as Llednar continued to pound him, each thrust knocking Marche’s head against the wall.
Marche didn’t know what to do, his mind was on panic mode, but his body was frozen from the cold and from fear. He had no way to defend himself. Llednar could kill him any moment he wanted. If he wanted even the slightest chance to live, he had to go through with this...
Llednar’s thrusts were becoming more and more frantic, his hands gripping tightly at Marche’s scalp and pulling at the blonde hair. His breathing was deepening. “Do you like that, you little asshole?” he growled, down, spreading his legs a bit farther and shoving himself even deeper into Marche’s mouth.
Marche wondered why his face especially felt wet, but then he realised that he was crying, though he didn’t fully understand why, and he wished he could stop. His vision was blurring, all he had now was the sensations of the hands on his hair, the cold and the bleeding wounds on his body, and the feeling of his mouth being invaded by Llednar’s throbbing need.
Llednar gasped suddenly and thrust himself so hard into Marche’s mouth that Marche thought he might never come out again, his head being knocked strongly against the back wall, as the more mature warrior reached his climax with a hoarse, lusty growl. Marche could taste a hot, sticky fluid coming out of Llednar’s cock, and it was painting the back of his throat and clogging it, coming out in large, gushing loads. So much of it came out that it filled Marche’s mouth, dripping out and down his chin, then getting washed off and landing on Marche’s legs below him, then in the puddles with his discarded clothing.
Marche couldn’t breathe, suddenly, because of the incoming fluid. His nose was buried in the tuft of hair in Llednar’s groin, his mouth filled with a hot cock and hot release, and he found himself nearing fainting. Was this what Llednar meant? He felt like he was going to drown in the cold rain around him.
Finally, Llednar’s climax subsided, and he pulled out of Marche, who, finally able to get air again, gasped and choked, a bit of seed flying out of his mouth as he felt like he would be sick. He wished, hoped, that perhaps that would be all.
And then Llednar grabbed his shoulders and twisted him around, so that Marche was facing the wall. Marche turned his head, looking scared at Llednar, as the older male’s greedy hands went down to molest Marche’s boyhood, making Marche gasp silently, unsure if he should be unhappy... or pleased at this, because it felt oddly good.
And then he understood what Llednar meant to do when he felt that same hot member, wet with water and seed, pressing up against his rear, insistently.
“I’m not done with you yet, Marche” Llednar growled huskily in his prey’s ear, before planting his hands on Marche’s waists for support and then pushing himself into Marche’s ass, feeling the boy’s passage open up around him, quite quickly, and split apart and begin to bleed from sudden entry.
Marche slammed his two bound hands up against the wall to brace himself against Llednar’s thrust, hating this pain even more. It felt vile and horrible, being invaded like he was, with Llednar’s dick inside of him. His insides felt split, and they felt warm... like his chest and sides... had Llednar made him bleed in there, too? Marche screamed loudly, or tried to, the silence spell still in effect.
Llednar smiled, and realised that this situation would be made only all the more sweeter by the sound of Marche screaming in pain, to know that he was hurting the kid as much as he knew he was. He drew himself back out most of the way, noticing to his contentment that his arousal was coated in red blood, and then as he thrust back into Marche again he snapped his fingers.
Suddenly, Marche’s voice was back, and he screamed heatedly, as Llednar muttered something behind him. Then he spoke more audibly. “You know, Marche... Nobody can hear you. Nobody can see us or hear us now. We’re invisible to the outside world, so scream all you want...”
Marche felt the tears running down his face again, and he let out another high-pitched scream as Llednar thrust again, pushing himself even deeper inside of Marche.
Llednar felt pure ecstasy running through him. He had never imagined that the realisation of those weird fantasies in his mind could be so good... they were almost worth the pain that he had been through since Marche had... no, had not defeated him back at the Royal Valley. They were almost worth the suffering and the solitude and the madness.
And having it be Marche beneath him, screaming as he received such pain to rival the suffering that Llednar had felt only made it sweeter. Much, much sweeter.
Llednar continued to thrust into Marche, watching the boy shake and shiver underneath of him with every thrust, screaming his little heart out, a sound that made Llednar even hotter and thicker, which was only increasing Marche’s pain and screams. The boy gave a shudder and his arms finally gave out against the pressure, and he was slammed rather forcefully against the wall, his naked body pressing against the cold stone walls, slamming into them hard with every push. Already, red stains were covering the walls, as the constant contact was opening up several new wounds on the boy.
“Do you feel my pain now, Marche?” Llednar growled huskily into Marche’s ear, moving one hand around Marche’s front to tightly grip the other’s boyhood, making him scream only louder. “Do you feel what you’ve put me through? Don’t you wish you could die?”
Marche nodded tearfully.
“But I won’t kill you, Marche. I’ll spare you...” Llednar laughed roughly, as finally the sensation became too much. His body erupted in pleasure again as he released again, even more, into Marche’s passage. Marche felt the heat of Llednar’s release, felt the sting of the hot seed coating his torn insides, and Marche screamed so loud and with such pitch that it was almost inaudible.
Finally, Llednar pulled out, and the half-unconscious Marche fell to the ground, crying and bleeding all over.
“I won’t kill you, Marche. I’ll leave you and warn you. I will be back...” Llednar smiled, forcing his trousers to go back on, and backing up to grab the Save the Queen.
He ran a hand through his wet hair, looking one last time at Marche’s naked, abused body. “I will be back, Marche. And I will make you suffer more”
Llednar turned and walked away, as Marche curled up into a ball and cried, lost there in a corner of a desolate street, his sobs being drowned out by the sound of the rain about them, the cracks of thunder.