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Prisonstuck XI
[The invitation comes to the hive in drapings so rich, the Psiioniic knows it is worth more than the lives of some trolls. With it comes bad news.]
[Things up until this point have been... Well.]
[With her wiring removed, their little Helmsgirl has learned to move with her own limbs again in short time. She'd not been a Helmstroll long, after all, before they'd taken her away from it all. She clings to his side like he's a pillar or a shield, more often than not, only harder when Dualscar is about however muuch the Psiioniic tells her he's no threat to them, not right now at any rate. He stays patient best he can; it was a lesson he needed time to adjust to as well after all. There's the lusus too, fetched from its plains, and he's seen it poking its nose out from its den some nights to snuffle suspiciously at the smell of the sea.]
[Those same nights have him wishing he's not so used to it himself.]
[Yet he is, and only part of it is because he was raised in a port town where the smell of the ocean permeated even past the scent of blood and sweat in the factories. The other part is in the form of the handsome seadweller troll he takes to pail whenever he returns from his seas, that same scent flowing deep into the Psiioniic's lungs as he presses his mouth to Dualscar's throat as welcome.]
[Funny, he thought he'd have to worry about pain and humiliation only the first time he laid eyes on the lightning-horned troll who had stepped into his cell with a cold violent slash of a smirk and eyes that glittered malice. Some days as the two of them lay in the same recuperacoon and he's tracing literary quotes against Dualscar's spine, he wonders if maybe that weren't more preferable. Pain and humiliation from highbloods, he knows that well. All those in the slave caste do. It's being treated so carefully, so tenderly and with those violet eyes gazing at him in trust, that's new and he wonders if maybe this isn't a trap of its own.]
[Because he keeps making excuses. They both do. He pours through all of Dualscar's books and takes advantage of that royal station and blood to get access to information he'd have to work for if he were out and free, and he keeps telling himself This is all for when I leave, it'll be useful then. Except leaving never happens. He needs to make sure Sonica gets better, he needs to make sure the lusus is fine, he needs to make sure Dualscar will be fine when he inevitably sets off. He needs to do this, he needs to do that, and he knows it's just bullshit, so much bullshit, and it's terrifying.]
[Tomorrow. I'll leave tomorrow is what he's telling himself for perhaps the 52nd time when Dualscar enters the library with that envelope with its ocean purple seal and gold stationary and pretty handwriting probably written by a domestic slave whose life was worth less than the price of the ink used. It puts him on edge even without seeing the look on Dualscar's face.]
[It's an invitation to some fancy highblood party, which he would normally not even give two shits about save for the fact that he's mentioned. Politics amongst nobility aren't something he's care for but it's impossible to not see between the lines here. This is some reputation bullshit- to see that the great Orphaner Dualscar really has done his job correctly, to see that he's really broken the runaway-slave-turned-rebel. Maybe there's really some genuine curiosity there too. He'd known that taking a title like his was both a boast of power and also a pair of big middle fingers to the Empire where the word "psionic" also meant "battery". There has to be some vague interest in what sort of mouthy little lowblood would do something like that... and how far he's fallen.]
[Finishing the letter has his mind screaming at him leave leave right the fuck now because the prospect of being paraded (however acted out) like some glorified prize in a room full of highbloods and seadwellers with his only protection being Dualscar makes him want to vomit pure acid.]
[He says no and nearly refuses to budge on it at first. The entire affair nearly puts him on the tipping point of a manic swing, fingers jittering with energy and eyes bright. He comes around within the hour, reluctant and nervous, but what can he do? Highbloods and their goddamn reputations- failure to provide is humiliation on a best case scenario and culling on worst. He can't run away with that possibility weighing heavy. Logic says it's because Dualscar is their best link into the system, but really it's because the idea of him dying makes him want to set an entire fleet and maybe a few major cities on fire.]
[At least the invitation leaves plenty of forewarning, because fuck knows he needs to get into the act of being a slave again and also figure out how to act the part of a domestic slave. There are apparently a thousand and two utterly ridiculous rules a domestic slave needs to follow and know. They get into an argument about forks. Everything is ridiculous.]
[But he's clever and a goddamn genius, so it's not as hard as it could be. The night comes for the whole affair. Dualscar looks fucking resplendent, as they both know he should be, and him, well, he gets clothes good enough to not be an eyesore but drab enough that it's clear as moonlight he's property. He shakes, violently, when the seatroll pins his sign to his clothes to mark who he 'belongs' to. The quiet apologies can only help so much.]
[For blatantly obvious reasons, he's never been inside a proper highblood estate during one of their little get togethers. Read about them in books, seen glimpses of them in advertisements for movies he never had money to see, things like that, but nothing more. It's nothing like seeing it for real and even when they're still approaching, he's hit with the sudden painful feeling of being outclassed and surrounded. Thank god he's not in a manic swing- he gets the thought to jump out the window and haul ass the opposite direction and in a swing like that he'd probably do it.]
[But he's stable, he's stable and he can do this, and he does his best to remember all the bullshit he's had to stuff into his mind on the short amount of time they've had. He does his best to act a good slave for all he wants to scream at it all, obeys Dualscar's curt orders and follows quietly just behind him with his head bowed. Living with the seadweller, he thought he'd be used to riches but the sight of just the entrance hall is... Shit. Holy shit. He just barely catches himself before he can swear that sentiment out loud. It's obnoxious extravagance, that's what it is, and he can't properly articular why it terrifies him.]
[Good thing no one wants him to fucking talk. He just sticks to Dualscar's side, or at least as close as he can manage under this farce of theirs, and tries not to scream at being surrounded by so many hues ten times as high as his.]
[No one touches him, is the good thing, or at least no one touches him much, Dualscar the protective bastard he is, but there's enough words and actions that Psii knows it's only because of his immediate presence there that it hasn't happened yet. It's both a relief and a worry when he's finally dismissed to go assist the other slaves, and he hopes his hurry is seen more as an eagerness to please. At least he can do the other thing that had encouraged him to attend: put a finger to the pulse of the collective slaves here, see if there's any trustworthy, see if there's any other followers amongst the collection.]
[It keeps him busy for most of the night, doing what work he can and getting a feel for the other lowbloods here. But eventually, inevitably, he's regulated to simply standing at the side and trying to play invisible while something deep inside him won't stop trembling. He's left hoping that another lowblood will have him work and keep his hands (and his mind) busy, or that Dualscar will give him some form of a break from all this.]
[He tries his best not to think about what he might have to do if another highblood comes to fetch him for whatever reason first.]
[Things up until this point have been... Well.]
[With her wiring removed, their little Helmsgirl has learned to move with her own limbs again in short time. She'd not been a Helmstroll long, after all, before they'd taken her away from it all. She clings to his side like he's a pillar or a shield, more often than not, only harder when Dualscar is about however muuch the Psiioniic tells her he's no threat to them, not right now at any rate. He stays patient best he can; it was a lesson he needed time to adjust to as well after all. There's the lusus too, fetched from its plains, and he's seen it poking its nose out from its den some nights to snuffle suspiciously at the smell of the sea.]
[Those same nights have him wishing he's not so used to it himself.]
[Yet he is, and only part of it is because he was raised in a port town where the smell of the ocean permeated even past the scent of blood and sweat in the factories. The other part is in the form of the handsome seadweller troll he takes to pail whenever he returns from his seas, that same scent flowing deep into the Psiioniic's lungs as he presses his mouth to Dualscar's throat as welcome.]
[Funny, he thought he'd have to worry about pain and humiliation only the first time he laid eyes on the lightning-horned troll who had stepped into his cell with a cold violent slash of a smirk and eyes that glittered malice. Some days as the two of them lay in the same recuperacoon and he's tracing literary quotes against Dualscar's spine, he wonders if maybe that weren't more preferable. Pain and humiliation from highbloods, he knows that well. All those in the slave caste do. It's being treated so carefully, so tenderly and with those violet eyes gazing at him in trust, that's new and he wonders if maybe this isn't a trap of its own.]
[Because he keeps making excuses. They both do. He pours through all of Dualscar's books and takes advantage of that royal station and blood to get access to information he'd have to work for if he were out and free, and he keeps telling himself This is all for when I leave, it'll be useful then. Except leaving never happens. He needs to make sure Sonica gets better, he needs to make sure the lusus is fine, he needs to make sure Dualscar will be fine when he inevitably sets off. He needs to do this, he needs to do that, and he knows it's just bullshit, so much bullshit, and it's terrifying.]
[Tomorrow. I'll leave tomorrow is what he's telling himself for perhaps the 52nd time when Dualscar enters the library with that envelope with its ocean purple seal and gold stationary and pretty handwriting probably written by a domestic slave whose life was worth less than the price of the ink used. It puts him on edge even without seeing the look on Dualscar's face.]
[It's an invitation to some fancy highblood party, which he would normally not even give two shits about save for the fact that he's mentioned. Politics amongst nobility aren't something he's care for but it's impossible to not see between the lines here. This is some reputation bullshit- to see that the great Orphaner Dualscar really has done his job correctly, to see that he's really broken the runaway-slave-turned-rebel. Maybe there's really some genuine curiosity there too. He'd known that taking a title like his was both a boast of power and also a pair of big middle fingers to the Empire where the word "psionic" also meant "battery". There has to be some vague interest in what sort of mouthy little lowblood would do something like that... and how far he's fallen.]
[Finishing the letter has his mind screaming at him leave leave right the fuck now because the prospect of being paraded (however acted out) like some glorified prize in a room full of highbloods and seadwellers with his only protection being Dualscar makes him want to vomit pure acid.]
[He says no and nearly refuses to budge on it at first. The entire affair nearly puts him on the tipping point of a manic swing, fingers jittering with energy and eyes bright. He comes around within the hour, reluctant and nervous, but what can he do? Highbloods and their goddamn reputations- failure to provide is humiliation on a best case scenario and culling on worst. He can't run away with that possibility weighing heavy. Logic says it's because Dualscar is their best link into the system, but really it's because the idea of him dying makes him want to set an entire fleet and maybe a few major cities on fire.]
[At least the invitation leaves plenty of forewarning, because fuck knows he needs to get into the act of being a slave again and also figure out how to act the part of a domestic slave. There are apparently a thousand and two utterly ridiculous rules a domestic slave needs to follow and know. They get into an argument about forks. Everything is ridiculous.]
[But he's clever and a goddamn genius, so it's not as hard as it could be. The night comes for the whole affair. Dualscar looks fucking resplendent, as they both know he should be, and him, well, he gets clothes good enough to not be an eyesore but drab enough that it's clear as moonlight he's property. He shakes, violently, when the seatroll pins his sign to his clothes to mark who he 'belongs' to. The quiet apologies can only help so much.]
[For blatantly obvious reasons, he's never been inside a proper highblood estate during one of their little get togethers. Read about them in books, seen glimpses of them in advertisements for movies he never had money to see, things like that, but nothing more. It's nothing like seeing it for real and even when they're still approaching, he's hit with the sudden painful feeling of being outclassed and surrounded. Thank god he's not in a manic swing- he gets the thought to jump out the window and haul ass the opposite direction and in a swing like that he'd probably do it.]
[But he's stable, he's stable and he can do this, and he does his best to remember all the bullshit he's had to stuff into his mind on the short amount of time they've had. He does his best to act a good slave for all he wants to scream at it all, obeys Dualscar's curt orders and follows quietly just behind him with his head bowed. Living with the seadweller, he thought he'd be used to riches but the sight of just the entrance hall is... Shit. Holy shit. He just barely catches himself before he can swear that sentiment out loud. It's obnoxious extravagance, that's what it is, and he can't properly articular why it terrifies him.]
[Good thing no one wants him to fucking talk. He just sticks to Dualscar's side, or at least as close as he can manage under this farce of theirs, and tries not to scream at being surrounded by so many hues ten times as high as his.]
[No one touches him, is the good thing, or at least no one touches him much, Dualscar the protective bastard he is, but there's enough words and actions that Psii knows it's only because of his immediate presence there that it hasn't happened yet. It's both a relief and a worry when he's finally dismissed to go assist the other slaves, and he hopes his hurry is seen more as an eagerness to please. At least he can do the other thing that had encouraged him to attend: put a finger to the pulse of the collective slaves here, see if there's any trustworthy, see if there's any other followers amongst the collection.]
[It keeps him busy for most of the night, doing what work he can and getting a feel for the other lowbloods here. But eventually, inevitably, he's regulated to simply standing at the side and trying to play invisible while something deep inside him won't stop trembling. He's left hoping that another lowblood will have him work and keep his hands (and his mind) busy, or that Dualscar will give him some form of a break from all this.]
[He tries his best not to think about what he might have to do if another highblood comes to fetch him for whatever reason first.]
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If you weren't tho impatient, I could've gotten them off before you thoved your hand down my pantsh.
[And now he doesn't want to move that hand off his bulges. He swears, his stupid and ridiculous seadweller doesn't think ahead sometimes. Shifting his grip around Dualscar's shoulders until its just one arm clinging tightly, he tries to shove his pants down his hips with just one. If only he didn't have to wear that stupid psi-canceling piece of trash- this is exactly the sort of situation you want psionics for.]
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[Instead, Dualscar tightens his arm around his waist and boosts him up, lifting his scrawny nerd matesprit off the table so he can push his pants down on his own.]
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Wouldn't mind you lifting me up more...
[Nice to see that fit body at work. Very nice.]
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[Dualscar likes hoisting Psii around! He waits until he gets his pants off, and then settles him back on the desk, dropping down to his knees in front of him. Time is short, and he needs to get to business here, so he gently pushes Psii’s knees apart and licks a long stripe over one of the bulges curled around his fingers.]
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[The words are accompanied by the rake of his claws through Dualscar's hair, just lightly scratching at his scalp. They dig in just a bit when that tongue makes contact, and he bites down on his own moan to muffle it. Can't have anyone hear and get curious, after all. His bulges tighten around the fingers trapping him.]
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Damn straight I do.
[And now it’s back to business. He tries to uncurl one of the bulges from around his fingers a little bit, the better to stroke up its coiling length, and devotes his tongue’s attention to the other one. Sexual multitasking is hard, but never let it be said that Orphaner Dualscar is a quitter.]
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C'mon, 22, thow off that mouth you're tho proud of...
[Dirty talk, just to encourage him because he knows how much his partner loves praise.]
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God, 22, look tho hot like thith, on your kneeth with your mouth full... The thingth I'd do to you to make you thquirm...
[The dirty praise gets cut off by each particularly skillful twist of Dualscar's tongue or his fingers, but he presses on regardless even as his teeth dig into his lip from the shocks of pleasure.]
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[One of Psii’s bulges almost manages to get loose, slick and wiggly between Dualscar’s fingers, and he guides it towards his mouth, sucking on the tip, slowly working his jaws further open so he can take in both of them. It’s as much a move of practicality as it is something he knows Psii will like: whatever fluids Psii releases, Dualscar’s going to need to swallow, so it’ll be easier if they’re both in his mouth when he lets go.]
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Yeah, yeah, you'd make thothe fucking amazing noithes with every bit of heat that'd center in on your gillth, nothing hotter than the thound of your moanth echoing in the library I thwear-
[Of course, then it's him moaning, one hand pulling back to press against his mouth while the other tightens in Dualscar's hair. Shit, shit, his bulges pressing against one another, the feel of those lips wrapped so tightly around both of them and the suction-]
God, 22...
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[He never knew it could be so good, giving to another troll. He'd had no idea until this treasonous rebel, this traitor, this former slave, had come into his life and taught him about the other ways. It's not something Dualscar likes to dwell on, but he wonders, sometimes, when it's late and he can't sleep, what their world could be, if everyone followed the Signless.]
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[Another stroke of his claws through hair, more murmured praise- so good, 22, you're so good- and he feels himself longing all the harder for the different Alternia they work towards. An Alternia where they don't have to hide this relationship, where he could grab this thickheaded stubborn seadweller by his pompous lapels and kiss him in a room full of highbloods and get away with it.]
[He swallows thickly, trying to shove aside the anger and sense of unfairness that boils up at the thoughts, and scrapes his claws a little closer to Dualscar's hornbeds.]
Nnnn- a little more, 22, you're tho good, almotht- god, almotht...
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[He draws his head back, teasingly, letting most of Psii slide out of his mouth, and uses the tip of his tongue to play along the tips of both bulges.]
Wwhat’s the matter? Too much for you?
[He arches an eyebrow, then dives back down, taking both bulges deep and swallowing around them. He can’t hold this for long, not unless he’s underwater and can use his gills to breathe, but if there were ever an occasion to pull out all the stops, this is it.]
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Oh, I'll thow you "too much" when we get back home, you'll be thcreaming my name- Fffffffffffuck!
[Another drive of his teeth down into his bottom lip at the sudden swallow of his bulges and he tries to draw Dualscar closer. Bastard, he'll say it again, but a bastard with such a nice mouth. He can feel himself trying to twist and twine in the tight space- around each other or Dualscar's tongue, it hardly seems to matter.]
[A contrary part of him wants to hold back, just so he doesn't let his stupid seadweller lover get a more swelled head but that's both dumb and impossible. So he digs his claws into that wavy hair and presses his hand against his mouth to muffle the groan he makes as he comes straight down Dualscar's throat.]
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[He feels Psii's bulges twitch in his mouth, and knows what's coming. He opens his throat, relaxing it entirely, and he's rewarded when impossibly hot fluids pour down it. He stays relaxed, letting them come, and only swallows around Psii when it's slowed to a trickle.]
[With the sheer volume of it, his stomach feels uncomfortably tight now, but he's a grown ass troll and can handle a little discomfort. He swallows again, and teases the tip of his tongue over Psii's bulges.]
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Fuck... You're tho greedy, I don't have anything elthe in me...
[Not right now, at any rate.]
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Like you’vve evver been bothered by it before.
[He can feel blood pooling in his groin, his own bulge pounding in its sheath, but now isn’t the time or the place. With real regret, Dualscar stands up and helps Psii down off the desk.]
Come on. Wwe'll be able to leavve soon.
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I'll hold you to that. [Softly, his hand reaches up to press against the sign that's pinned to the seadweller's chest.] Don't do anything too thtupid until then, got it?
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I wwon't.
[He puts his hand over Psii's, over the sign he wears on his chest, and gives it a quick squeeze. Then, before it gets too hard, he steps back and picks up his breastplate, putting it back on and latching it in place. With one last, lingering glance, he turns and leaves, heading back to the party, his cape swirling behind him.]
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[It's a dumb desire. He knows it is. There will be questions, likely, if he stays away for too long. There's also a chance that another highblood will wander in and try to seize any chance they see. The taste of acid is on the back of his tongue as he thinks it and it's enough for him to leave a few minutes after Dualscar. His bad luck is shit as it is. He won't court it further.]
[The other slaves glance at him from the corner of their eyes as he joins them, and it doesn't take long enough to figure out they're taking in various parts of him- the flush still spread out across his ears and down along his throat, sweat against the side of his face still new, his ruffled state of clothing. He tries to straighten out his clothing like that will do anything... But he finds himself unable to be too worried, not at the understanding nods or sympathetic elbow brushes.]
[They're all thinking of the Orphaner's reputation, after all.]
[Funnily enough, a protection enough in such moments as much as the sign pinned to his chest. He can only hope it carries him through the rest of the party.]
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[It's easy to fall into the role, although Dualscar plays it now more than he ever did before. Now it's not just his life that depends upon it, but Psii's as well, and Sonica's. He has to be what they expect and want to see.]
[The party is beginning to wind down by the time he reappears, and he swirls through the thinning crowd, socializing and smirking and playing his part. He keeps an eye on the clock, though, and when it's late enough, he slips away.]
[No one notices, and if they do, they don't question it.]
[He snaps at a random slave, ordering him to go find the troll who wears his sign, and waits as the terrified slave skitters off, his stomach roiling with anxiety. Psii can't be back in his arms soon enough.]
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[He might not have been the only one keeping an eye on the clock.]
[Psii keeps his eyes focused downwards just enough, fighting down desperation away from his expression even as much as he's hoping that this is it.]
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Until wwe meet again!
[He turns on his heel, moving so his cape billows out behind him, and strides away, lugging Psii with him.]
[As soon as he’s on his ship—a smaller vessel, one he’s capable of manning on his own—he sets Psii down, carefully and tenderly.]
Just until wwe’re out of sight…
[Then he turns to steer, turning The Condesce’s Wrath into the waves and aiming her towards his hive. Towards their hive.]
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[His body locks up as he's tossed up onto Dualscar's shoulder- not from any fear or acting, but from trying to hold himself back so that he doesn't lash out or tear off the helmet to raze the entire building to the ground. When he's finally allowed on his own two feet, his fingers dig into the palms of his hands.]
[His voice is a low hiss.]
Get uth out, get uth out right the fuck now, 22...
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