BichoBolita

He had needed to be like that to survive in the streets or even survive in his family. He took things on headfirst, by the horns, and he didn’t cower. He didn’t let the world kick him without kicking back. He stormed forward and forged his own pathway, no matter what.

Except he hadn’t been doing that for a long time. Ever since he found himself under Mard’s heel, he had been slowly losing himself to his indentured servitude. He’d been trapped in a position that destroyed his sense of power, little by little, day after day, like a drop of water eroding a stone. It had happened so slowly, but so surely, that Laxus hadn’t known when he’d given up hope. There was a point where he’d gone from thinking his employment as a coachman was a temporary roadblock, to the best he had got. He had turned from a man who would tear down a city to get what he wanted, to a grovelling, shit-shovelling spec of nothing.

Then he’d arrived at Albion House. A damn near microcosm of who he had become. A house where he was more a passenger than a participant. Where things happened to him, instead of because of him. And he had allowed it. Made excuses or denials, or simply let the madness around him happen without question.

No more.

No more ignoring that his bedroom was bigger than it should have been. No more dreams that felt too real and were too vivid to fade like all his other dreams would. No more dismissing the fact he happened to find a hidden passage at the exact right time for him to see his honour being defended. No more accepting a house that shifted and changed and made no damn sense. No more pretending he hadn’t seen a fucking demon in the moors!

Complacency wasn’t working. It was time to take life by the balls, dammit, and that would start with the lord of the house.

Knowing where to go despite never having stepped foot in this part of the house, Laxus found himself at the door to the main sitting room. He didn’t knock before entering, and charged into the room to see Lord Justine with a teacup half raised to his mouth. He turned, and watched silently as Laxus walked towards him.

Laxus towered over Freed. He towered over most people, but standing just too close to him, casting a shadow over him as he sat in his chair, Laxus truly felt how much bigger he was than Freed. The man was not small in any way, and yet in this moment, Laxus truly felt the worth of his bulk and height. Something about making Freed look up – forcing the issue and being the reason the lord had to cast his eyes upwards – had Laxus’ blood burning in a way he greatly enjoyed.

They looked at each other for a moment, and Freed raised an eyebrow as if telling Laxus to speak first. Laxus happily complied.

“It’s not just that you want to fuck me,” he stated, and saw the beginnings of forced shock bloom on Freed’s face. “Don’t. I’m not in the mood to be toyed with, so why don’t we just speak as men rather than playing whatever weird fucking games you’ve been playing.”

Freed seemed to consider the motion, then nodded. “I suppose that’s fair. What is it exactly what you wish to talk about?”

“Everything. I want to know what you want out of all of this, because I don’t think it’s just that you want me in your bed.”

“’Just’?” Freed repeated. “For such an illegal, and often considered immoral act, you seem awfully confident in accusing me of wanting it.” He leant back in his chair, still looking up at Laxus, a self-satisfied smile forming on his face. He spread his legs just a little wider, and Laxus was distracted by the movement for a second. “What exactly has given you such confidence?”

“You ain’t the first lord who wants a rough night with a man like me,” Laxus stated, and it was true. He had been subtly propositioned and looked upon by many men, all lusting for a roll with some rough man. “And you didn’t exactly look away this morning, did you?”

“Ah, that’s what that was? I did wonder,” Freed laughed slightly. “You cut a handsome figure, Mister Dreyar. If a little test allows he to see you in your entirety – and soaking wet, no less – then please test away.”

“That’s not what that was,” Laxus scoffed, then grinned a little. “I just wanted to get in your head.”

“Well, you succeeded. I’ve been thinking about it all day, truth be told,” his eyes skittered down Laxus’ figure, shamelessly lingering on his crotch just a second longer. “You’ve a body that is… resplendent. As you insist we speak plainly, I think I’ll find it difficult to think of anything else for quite some time.”

“It’s what you deserve, after that little dream you gave me,” Laxus crossed his arms, and didn’t miss the small intake of breath that the movement brought out of Freed. He’d forgone a jacket, and his shirtsleeves strained against his biceps. He flexed them a little, and grinned at the slight dilation of his eyes.

“How exactly does one give a person a dream?” Freed asked, and his smirk was almost subtle.

“Thought we weren’t playin’ games anymore,” Laxus huffed, and his arms tightened. The way Freed followed the movement was a slight balm for his irritation. “But I’d guess you’d do it the same way you do all the other… cultish things that happen around here.”

“Cultish? I feel we’re winding up for an accusation, Mister Dreyar,” Freed leant forward slightly, and Laxus felt the man’s scent with the closeness. “One that perhaps you’re not ready to deal with the implications of.”

“Not an accusation, but a lot of questions,” Laxus said plainly, flexing and unflexing a fist. “And I’m done waiting for all this makes sense, so don’t make assumptions about if I’m ready or not for the answers.”

“And if I don’t wish to give you the answers you want?” Freed asked, leaning back again. “The wrong thing said in the wrong place can have rather… ugly consequences sometimes. Perhaps it’s best to be cautious.”

Laxus stepped back, irritation flaring at the almost condescending tone Freed had spoken in. It was part of Freed’s game, being obnoxious and getting under Laxus’ skin. Laxus had realised this earlier in the morning, finally understanding what Freed had meant when he’d said he wanted to stoke a fire inside of Laxus. After a dream of having Freed at his mercy, and the realisation that Freed was the kind of man who liked men with rough hands and rougher fantasies, it became obvious that Freed was being antagonistic on purpose. He couldn’t let him be dragged into Freed’s side of the game until he knew what the end point would be.

But, fuck it would be satisfying. Just to reach down and grab him by his shirt. Maybe throw him to the ground, or split his lip, or make him crawl just for the hell of it. Slap him around and make him thank Laxus for the pleasure of it, just because he could get away with it, and maybe even because Freed would enjoy it.

No. Not now. Not yet.

“I’m gettin’ sick of being cautious. And I’m sick of rich pricks telling me what to do, actually,” Laxus said, turning back to face Freed. It looked at is Freed hadn’t for a moment looked away from him. “But you’re right about one thing. This ain’t the place to be having this conversation.”

He turned and left the room, his pulse thrumming hard and heavy as adrenaline coursed through him. He walked down the main hallway, not looking back but somehow trusting that Freed would be following him. He saw no reason to linger and hold the doors open for Freed, nor did he think it was appropriate to let Freed know where they were going. Laxus had been swept up in the tide of Freed’s control and whims for over a week now, a little revenge was allowed.

In the courtyard, Laxus pivoted and walked towards the stable yard, grinning a little at the scent of unfettered animal hit him. It wasn’t a nice scent, and the warmer weather of the day would only make it worse. He stepped into the yard and grinned; it was a mess.

After bathing in the lake, Laxus hadn’t done any of his work. He hadn’t done much of anything, really. He had lied on his bed and thought about everything. He had indulged in picturing how his little performance, as Freed had put it, might have affected Freed. He’d enjoyed the breakfast that Bickslow had brought him, which seemed to be twice the size as his regular breakfast at the house, and found himself smugly satisfied with the turn of events. As such, the stable was covered in manure, straw, and was altogether awful.

Lord Justine needed to be uncomfortable, Laxus decided. He needed to be in a place he had never been in control of, even if he might have thought he had.

There was a small, rickety old set of table and chairs tucked in the corner, with smatterings of moss growing over it and wood that might not be able to hold all that much weight. Laxus hauled them up and set them in the centre of the yard, looking back towards where Freed was for the first time. The lord wore an expression of indulgent curiosity, which Laxus didn’t mind. While there would be satisfaction in seeing him unsettled, but Laxus knew that the expected result of something would never actually happen with Freed.

Sitting in the sturdier looking chair, Laxus motioned for Freed to take the other. Freed acquiesced, walking through the yard with a bit of an upturned nose. He sat carefully, managing to still look elegant despite the surroundings.

“So,” Freed said as he straightened his waistcoat. “You have me, how do you intend to use me?”

“I’ll ask questions, you’ll answer them.”

“And if I don’t.”

“Then I’ll leave.”

A look of surprise, then displeasure, then confusion flashed across Freed’s features. It was the most honest emotions he had ever seen from him. “No.”

“You’d stop me?” Laxus challenged, hackles rising slightly.

“No. I suppose not. If you wanted to leave then I wouldn’t… entrap you here,” Freed looked entirely annoyed at the prospect, and his hands fidgeted in his lap. The movement was small, but Laxus noticed it. “Would you really leave, if I don’t answer you?”

“I suppose we might find out,” Laxus shrugged, and decided he wouldn’t allow Freed to dither him to distraction. “First question: why are you so shocked that I might want to leave?”

Freed ran his hands down the front of his thighs, a small nervous gesture that might almost look bashful on another man. “Well,” he said, then swallowed as if he needed the second to consider what he might say next. “Have I not made your stay here a nice one? I thought I had. I made sure your room was warm, and your baths were prepared without asking, and your meals were both hearty and well flavoured. I would have liked to do more, of course, but within the confined of this country’s rules, giving you much more of what I wanted might have shocked you.”

“Shock me how?”

“I’m given to understand that, when a person is not born into a family that has institutional power, giving them luxuries and kindnesses are seen as either mocking or inappropriate,” he scratched at his finger with his thumb. “I didn’t wish for you to feel like I was… setting you up for some sort of test simply by spoiling you. Nor did I want you to face ire by other people for the luxuries I provided you.”

Even now, Laxus felt like he was being manipulated. Just slightly. Not being lied to, nor being laughed at. But it felt like he was being guided one way in the conversation, as not to look elsewhere. Mentions of being spoiled, and hints at the injustice of the country were conversation starters, and distractions. Mulling what Freed had said told him what he was being distracted from.  

When Freed spoke of people, he didn’t speak of himself. Laxus let that settle, and decided he would play Freed’s game. For now.

“So, if we didn’t live in a country that treated men like me as if were dirt, what would you have done?”

“I shall have liked to treat you like a king,” Freed said, and the steadfast gaze in which he held with Laxus almost made Laxus believe him. “I should have lavished you with all the luxuries this world has to offer. I will have had you served by the finest men you could imagine, if only so you had something nice to look at. I should have made sure you want for nothing and never had to lift a finger, should that be how you find pleasure.”

“So you wanted to make me feel good?” Laxus asked, almost mockingly. The idea that anyone would want to do anything for Laxus simply out of some sort of kindness was a flight of fancy Laxus had long since given up on. “Then what the hell was that first conversation we had? You were fucking nasty.”

“I was,” Freed conceded. “I wanted to give you the space to be angry, and not keep that anger inside. People are all as good as they are bad, within the rules and thoughts of the moral world. I believe anger, and resentment, and cruelty are an important part of a person, and should be allowed to fly as freely as the more… acceptable emotional reactions. I admit I acted hastily, and without forethought of how you might be affected, but I wanted you to feel comfortable being yourself.”  

Laxus scoffed out a laugh, and ran a hand through his hair. “And what, you’d do that for any man who works your stables?”

“No. You’re unique.”

“Why? What would you do all that for?”

Freed looked considering. “In a word,” he said carefully. “Courtship.”

A laugh slipped out, nasty and disbelieving. “What, you want to marry me?”

“As a start, yes,” Freed said plainly, and raised hands in surrender when Laxus shot him a vicious look. “You wanted honesty, Mister Dreyar. I don’t want to risk you leaving the house before time, therefore I am being honest.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough,” Freed stated, and he sounded offended to have to say it. “I know you are strong, and beautiful, and angry, and twisted, and moral. I know you have a vicious sense of honour that isn’t in line with your countrymen, and that if you were allowed to act how you wish rather than how you are told, you would be one of the most impressive men ever to live.”

“You don’t know anythin’ about me. We haven’t even had a conversation, and you’re discussing fuckin’ courtship. You’re just… saying shit to get in my head.”

“Since I have sat down, I have not lied. I promise you.”

“Then you’re fucking deluded then. We’re not courting. We’re not getting married. We’re not anything. We’re two people who have been… somewhat close to each other for a week and now you’re saying whatever you feel like you have to get in my head, or get me into bed, or some other twisted fucking thing. You’re a… a damn stranger to me.”

A stranger who had a house that didn’t make sense. A stranger who had infested dreams that Laxus was unable to forget. A stranger who had defended Laxus while he seemed to know Laxus could hear. A stranger who didn’t seem possible.

Fuck it; Laxus had promised himself he would be the one in charge again. No more dancing around the topic.

“What the hell are you?” He demanded, and the moment the question burst from him, he found himself unable to stop. “Because you don’t make any sense, and you speak about people like you aren’t one, and this house keeps fucking with my head, and the thing I saw in the moors was a damn demon, and I’m not stupid just because I learned not to ask questions in places like this. I know that there’s more to the world than most people know about – I’ve seen Mard casting spells, and sacrifices and people being dragged into portals, so I’m not some stupid fuckin’ kid who-”

“Laxus,” Freed spoke with a calm authority that cut Laxus off entirely. “I am what you think I am.”

Leaning back, Laxus nodded. He ran a hand over his jaw, looked Freed in the eye and demanded, “Which is?”

“A demon.”

Laxus nodded again. “That was you in the moors?”

“It was.”

“Show me.”

Freed seemed to consider, before he rolled his jacket sleeve up to his bicep, then did the same with his shirtsleeve. Laxus glanced just for a moment at his forearm, noticed the strength of it, then schooled himself. Freed gave him a quick look as if to confirm he wanted this, then whispered a word Laxus had never heard before.

Purple lettering burned into his skin, and warped the flesh into jet blackness. Scales and feathers burst out, and Laxus winced as if he were feeling the inevitable pain of it himself. Freed’s fingers cracked and snapped, the bones breaking and reshaping into longer, sharper, gnarled claws. He flexed them and moved his arm, and rolled his shoulder, accommodating for the added weight. The scent of sulphur and ash filled the courtyard.

Instead of succumbing to the fear he felt building, Laxus fell back to fascination. He reached forward without thinking, running a nail through the groove between scales. He heard Freed breath in sharply, and smirked a little.

“You’re really a demon,” Laxus whispered.

“Yes,” Freed nodded slightly. “I would have fully transformed, but I rather like this outfit.”

Laxus turned Freed’s arm over to look at the underside of it. He tightened his grip, feeling scales digging into the palm of his hand, and grinned when he felt Freed tried to pull away just slightly. The demon could still feel pain. Good.

Being confronted with undeniable proof of what Freed was, it was as if his brain kicked into gear. Whispered conversations and explanations of forbidden tomes came back to him, and answers came to him without having to ask questions. For a demon, their home was their domain, and they had complete control over it. That explained the room that didn’t make sense, the passageway that can’t have been there the night before, and the hot baths and lit fired that appeared from nowhere. Demons had magics that made doctors look incompetent, which would allow Laxus to heal from such a terrible fever overnight.

“So,” Laxus said, still with a firm grasp on Freed’s arm. “Courtship?”

“That is my desire, yes.”

“I don’t know anything about you. Don’t know if you’re worth my time.”

“I’d like to prove that I am, now that I can be myself around you.”

Laxus considered, then released Freed’s arm and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small coin, which he flipped around his fingers as he thought through the best way to do this. Freed was still Lord Justine, even if he was a demon, and Laxus wasn’t going to forget that. He might be beautiful, and dangerous, and interesting in a way nobody else had been, but Laxus wasn’t going to fall for the tricks of a lord who might just want a shag with someone bigger than him.

But Laxus was smart, and he’d spent his whole life learning how to read people. Who he needed to be careful around, who he could pickpocket, and who he could trust not to waste his time. And if Freed was as desperate for a chance at Laxus’ attention as he seemed, then Laxus could bait him into a little test of sorts.

“This is a double-sided coin,” he said. “It’ll always fall on heads no matter what; won be a lot of bets and got me out of a lot of trouble when I was living on the streets.” He showed Freed the coin to prove he wasn’t lying. “I don’t know who you are; that’s the issue I’m havin’ right now. I don’t know you. But I believe that you can judge a man based on how he works and how true he is to his word. That’s all I need to know if someone’s worth my time. That make sense to you?”

“It does,” Freed nodded.

“Then I propose a wager,” Laxus released Freed’s arm and leant back, flipping the coin between his fingers again. He grinned a little, and found his legs spreading slightly, cocksure in a way he hadn’t been for years. “We flip this coin, and if it lands on heads, you have to clean the entire yard. You muck out the stables, change the water in the trough, brush away the hay. All of it. You do it to my standards, or I make a mess of it, and we start all over again.”

“An unwinnable wager with a threat of a task you yourself despite,” Freed surmised.

“Yessir.”

“I agree to the terms.”

Rather than giving him a chance to back out or debate terms, Laxus flipped the coin. It clattered onto the table, one of the two heads landing upwards. Laxus made a motion for Freed to get to work, and Freed did.

It was a hell of a sight, truth be told. To see a clean, beautifully dressed, demonic lord grabbing a shovel and cleaning up the worst a horse had to offer. Laxus had done this work  time and time again, and hated it every time, and it was clear Freed wasn’t enjoying it either. But he put in the effort, allowed his clothes to be made dirty despite claiming he liked the outfit, and didn’t gripe. He was made a sweaty, ruffled mess by the end of it, and Laxus thought it might be the most beautiful form of the man.

“Well,” Laxus hummed. “You shut up and did the work. No complaining, no arguing the terms. You did better than I thought you would.”

“Thank you.”

For as long as he was dreaming – he assumed that’s what was happening, but Albion House did have a way of surprising him – he would be entirely himself with neither sensor nor reprieve.

“Everythin’ I’m about to do to you,” Laxus said, rolling up his sleeves as he approached Freed, “is all for me. Not because you might want it. Not because you deserve it.” He grabbed a fist full of Freed’s hair and pulled it, sharp and nasty, and forced Freed to look at an angle that had to hurt with his binds. “It’s just because I want this.”

Freed lips parted slightly, and Laxus spat on his face. He released his hair and watched as Freed’s head fell back onto the mattress.

After procuring a sharp knife from the shelves, Laxus ran a taunting finger down Freed’s clothed back, making sure to trace the line of his spine. Freed writhed as much as he could, raising his arse slightly as Laxus neared it. Freed was dressed in one of the more ostentatious outfits he owned, which flattered his figure to perfection, and the plumpness of his firm arse had Laxus wanting nothing more than to smack it black and blue. But not yet. He had a man to put in his place.

With perfectly calculated pressure, Laxus placed the tip of the knife between Freed’s shoulder blades, and pushed through the fabric. Once blade hit skin, he slid it down, again tracing the ridges of Freed’s spine, revealing inch after inch of skin as threading split and stitches parted.

The coat, waistcoat and shirt cost more than Laxus made in a year, and he’d destroyed it in seconds.

Taking either side of the split in hand, he pulled them apart and wrecked the clothing fully. Freed’s back – perfectly curved, pale, and tapered down to his hips – presented itself to him like an unmarked canvas. He made quick work of splitting open the sleeves and left the remnants of fabric spread out under Freed, offering him no dignity of protection.

A firm slap on the mans lower back pulled out a moan from him, followed by a pitifully needy, “Laxus.”

“The fuck d’you think your doin’, speaking to me?” Laxus demanded fuelled by an anger that had been stoked after years of patronising gentry speaking how they pleased while he was forced to hold his tongue.

Not affording Freed the ability to answer him, he took hold of Freed’s hair and held him firm against the mattress, entirely face down. It would hurt, just a little, Laxus hoped. He reached around and yanked out Freed’s cravat from under him. The damn thing would have fed Laxus for a week if he’d been able to sell it on the streets, and the fucking lord had the balls to wear it around his neck.

He stuffed the cravat into Freed’s mouth and yanked it back, tying it so tight Freed retched around it. Good.

Happy with the pliancy of his plaything, Laxus took the knife in hand again and sliced down the lengths of his trousers. He made sure to push in just enough for Freed to feel the graze of the blade, but not so far that he should bleed.

Wonderfully, Laxus was presented with the fact that Freed wore no underthing’s below his trousers, a tantalising thought that he hoped would be true in the waking hours. Laxus now had an uninhibited view of the firm, muscled ass of a man who was powerless against him. Hefty balls and a hard cock could be seen, pushed down by the position and signifying that Freed wanted to be nowhere else but here.

“This is what you want, ain’t it, fucker,” Laxus growled, slapping Freed’s right arse cheek then squeezing it tight to draw out the pain. Freed raised his hips up as if desperate for more. “Pain. Punishment. Attention.”

He slapped Freed’s arse five times fast, grinning at the crack of skin against skin that each spank brought. Freed let out a gargled sound in response.

“You wanna know what I want?” Laxus asked, trailing a thick, probing finger down the creese of Freed’s cheeks, but not breaching them. Freed moaned like a whore in heat. “What I want, more than anything, is one moment. One small, deniable, little moment.” He removed his finger, walked to the head of the bed and forced Freed to look at him with a hand full of his hair. “Where I make you scared of me.”

Freed’s eyes rolled back slightly in a look that could only be described as incumbent bliss, Laxus’ spit still smearing his face and his mouth still firmly gagged.

From the wall of toys, Laxus picked out a gnarled wooden cane, with knots and splits running down the length of it. He sliced it through the air to get a sense of it, and grinned a little madly at the vicious whip that filled the silence. A good weapon that could cause a lot of pain, no doubt. Freed must have thought so too, as he writhed and humped into the ruins of his clothing.

“Let me make somethin’ clear to you, fucker,” Laxus snapped, and Freed froze, seemingly in obedience. “If you spend without my permission, I’m locking your cock in one of those cages and throwing the key to the moors, so you have to crawl around in the mud to procure it. You understand me?”

Freed gave a nod, and made a sound that Laxus was sure meant, “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Then let’s have some fun.”

Laxus cracked the cane down onto Freed’s lower back without further warning. Then again. Then again.

The reverberations that shot up Laxus’ arm with every strike had Laxus blood thumping. His cock plumped in his breeches as he lined up his next hit, making sure to strike where previous hits had landed. It was the most vicious strike yet, and Freed lurched upwards despite his binds and roared out in gagged pain. Laxus teasingly stroked the reddened line, dragging a knot of wood to further agitate the pain.

He left Freed alone for a few moments. Not to allow himself relief from the pain, but toy with him. He walked to the shelves and pulled a thick black spool of fabric from it. Treading lightly, he walked back to Freed’s head and yanked it back from the mattress. He covered Freed’s eyes with the fabric and tied it up, blinding him completely.

“You suit a gag,” Laxus commented as he picked up the cane again. “This country’d be a lot more tolerable if all you lords lived like this. Quiet and hurtin’.”

Freed moaned through his gag and raised his arse up again as if presenting himself for agreement.

“You’d like that, My Lord?” Laxus asked, voice scornful and derisive. “You want me to wake up, hunt you down and treat you like a dirty fuckin’ whore? Hurt you and make you scream for real?”

With a nod and a slight split of his legs, Freed gave his agreement. Laxus tightened his grip on the cane and, given that Freed’s new position granted him perfect access, whacked it as hard as he could against Freed’s contracted balls. The roar of pain and the hampered crumpling of Freed’s body was one of the most sensual things Laxus had ever seen, and he wanted more.

Spurred by cruel energy and gusto, Laxus began a barrage of pain. He caned Freed wherever he pleased. His back, his thighs, his arse, his arms. Freed could do naught but writhe and moan and rut as he was marked by the cane again and again.

Lost in a maelstrom of pain – pain he was finally safe to give and indulge in after years of shortened fantasies and bitter moments – Laxus unleashed everything he could think of. The racks of toys gave him much to enjoy and to consider, and ideas flew wide and wonderful on how he could hurt his bound little lord.

With whips and chains, paddles and canes, candles and clamps, he hurt Freed however he pleased. He beat and bruised him. Made him moan and roar and desperate for more. Freed’s cock never once wavered, and he all but begged with his eyes for the next source of pain. He was Laxus’ toy entirely, and it was as if he were meant to be so. Like he was fuelled by the pain. Like he had been waiting for it all his damn life and wanted nothing more than to indulge, and take his damn fill.

Laxus himself felt like he was a burning fire. A sun fuelled by spite and vitriol. A man who had been pushed around, and fucked up more times than he could count, now had the power he wanted. A willing man to hurt and claim. A man who could take Laxus, not from fear, but from desire. A man made for him.

It could have been minutes, or days, but Laxus never once stopped his barrage of agony. He dropped hot wax onto cold skin and let Freed sit with the burn. He slammed a wooden paddle lined with sharp metal spines against the tenderness of Freed’s already well beaten arse. He pulled at his hair so hard that he thought it might come out in great clumps.

Freed took the pain in earnest – truly hurting and in agony yet loving it in a way Laxus didn’t understand and didn’t need to – and all but begged for more. Better yet, Freed remained himself. He was still the powerful lord, not reduced to anything nor revealed to be weak in some way. In the bound man who jutted his leaking cock against a bare mattress, Laxus still saw the lord of the manor, who had put Mard in his place and ran his home how he saw fit, saying to hell with what society expected of him.

In Freed, there was an obvious truth. True power and dignity didn’t come with a title. It came with how a man held himself and was honest with himself. Freed was one of the most dangerous men in the country, almost definitely wielded powers of devilry in some capacity, and could do almost anything he wanted. He was also a man who possessed a prick and a mind that loved to be the victim of a beating, and deferred to a man like Laxus simply because he knew that was where his pleasures lay. There was no shame in that, Laxus realised. Having such predilections did not make a man pathetic, or weak, or warped. It made him unique.

That was who Freed was. A unique man who knew himself, and lived as himself without fear of judgment nor repercussions. The ideas of who he was meant to be mattered not, for he simply was who he was.

Hence why he unnerved Laxus so.

Could Laxus do that? Live life honestly. Live as a man who fucked men for his own pleasure, and liked to cause pain while doing so. Could he accept that didn’t make him cruel, or fucked in the head, or destined for solitude? Could he be himself, if given the chance to have a man who fit his needs perfectly share his bed?

This was a dream, he reminded himself. This wasn’t Lord Justine. This was a made up version of him, warped by Laxus’ desires and wants and confusion over who the man truly was.

But he felt real. So real. With every strike and tease and slap, it was as if he had a real man below him, ready and waiting for him. A real man who wanted him, and wanted his dark sides, and wanted him in his totality.

Laxus would not waste this. If this dream was all he could have, he would make use of it.

He stripped his shirt off, tossing it to the floor and standing their slightly sweat damp, glowing in the candle light. His body flexed and hummed with adrenaline as he rid himself off his boots, trousers and draws. Freed remained bound, gagged and blindfolded, but the sound of discarded clothing must have been obvious to him. He froze for a moment, before shifting as best he could in his chains, raising his arse and spreading his knees as much as he could.

Laxus wordlessly climbed onto the bed, taking a firm handful of Freed’s left arse cheek. He squoze it tight and relished the moan of pain he got. The Lord wouldn’t be able to sit comfortably for a week after all Laxus had done to him.

“Ready, My Lord?” Laxus asked, and never before had the title been said with such wonderous distain.

Freed barely had time to nod before Laxus had his thick, hard cock lined up with Freed’s puckered little hole. Laxus was a beast of a man, and his size and girth had previous lovers apprehensive and excited in equal measures. With them, Laxus had used plenty of oil and a few stretching fingers to lessen the pain. Freed would get no such mercy, and Laxus doubted he would want it.

Hands grasping Freed’s waist with blistering strength, Laxus fucked into Freed without reserve. The hot heat had his eyes rolling back in his head, and he pushed further and further. Freed accommodated him completely, in a way no man ever had before, and Laxus groaned at the feeling of his balls resting against Freed.

With mindless brutality, Laxus began to fuck Freed. Fast. Cruel. Uncaring. All that mattered was his own pleasure, which burst into sparks of fire with every thrust. The tightness of being fully taken was ecstasy, and damn Laxus loved it. Freed was meant for him. Meant for his cock. Meant for his pain!

Tightening his grasp, Laxus doubled his pace. He saw spots and stars dancing in his vision as fizzling sensations ran down his cock. Fuck, this was too much. Too good!

His eyes clenched shut.

He was close.

Releasing Freed’s waist  with one hand only, Laxus reached down and took Freed by the base of his own juddering cock and squeezed it tight.

He wouldn’t allow Freed to cum from this.

This pleasure was Laxus’, and Laxus’ only.

He was allowed to be selfish here. With Freed. He could finally be selfish.

All at once, orgasm struck. Shivers and boundlessness overtook his body, and he all but collapsed as he shot cum deep into Freed. He felt it leaking around his cock, squelching as he rutted his way through the endless pleasure.

The binds holding Freed down were gone, all at once. Laxus reached up and tugged both the gag and the blindfold off him and was met with the face of a man so thoroughly fucked and beaten, and peculiarly smug about it. He took Freed by the back of the neck and acted on instinct. He leant up, pulled Freed to his body, and-

---

 Laxus woke with a start, and felt his cock covered in spend.

Things came upon him in a rush. Waking up to the sound of Mard Geer yelling at him about the horses. Traversing the moors to find Pantherlilly, and coming face to face with a demonic creature. Being sick and tended to by Mirajane. Hearing a fight break out from behind the door between Mard and Bickslow. Feeling a soft yet firm hand stroking through his hair, and a gentle voice wishing him pleasant dreams.

And then the dream. The brutality he had shown was even foreign to his own mind. The exaggeration that could only come from a dream. He wouldn’t enjoy causing that much pain to a man, no matter how willing they seemed. Would he? It had felt so wonderful in the moment. So… affirming. He had loved it.

As evidenced by the cum that stained his stomach and chest, it would seem he had. He must have kicked off his sheets in the night and had spent over himself spectacularly. Three weeks’ worth of chastity – even from his own hand – had left him rather a mess. A mess he would have to clean up.

There was no bath ready for him, nor washing jug set up. He considered the pump he’d used to wash off after his night in the moors, but that had been nary more than a trickle at the best of times.

It was dark outside though. Early morning. The house had little staff. Laxus doubted anyone would be awake at such an hour. The lake beside the house had looked oddly pristine, despite the marshland surrounding it.

Fuelled by adrenaline that lingered from the dream, Laxus did something intrinsically stupid.

He adorned his previous days clothing as best he could without letting the remnants of his spend touch him. This resulted in him walking out with draws he would have to get rid of, tied trousers and an unbuttoned shirt, striding towards the lake with a bar of soap in one hand, a towel tucked over his arm, and a complete deficit of shame.

The sun was still not close to rising, and as such he had to take a candle with him to light the way, highlighting his state of partial dress to anyone who might wake and check the grounds.

It was odd how, just one week prior, when he arrived at Albion House, he had been almost fearful of it. Now, it almost felt like the house should fear him.

He reached the edge of the lake and faced a moment of hesitation. The house looked over the marshes and the lake, and while Laxus couldn’t be sure either way, he would not be surprised if the Lord’s bedroom might look over them too. But, well, Laxus had made something of a resolution during his dream to be more himself, and stop halting his own actions to fit in with the rules of society.

A brisk bath in cold water to wipe the spend off his body was what he wanted to do, and he would do so. To hell with the consequences.

As such, he stripped himself naked then and there. His trousers, shirt and towel were hung up on the branch of a tree, and his now stained draws were left in the mud. The morning breeze struck his naked body and he felt an odd thrill. A cocky sense of power. A man of his stature, his musculature, his power was meant to be like this. Unashamed, uninhibited, unsanctioned.

He waded into the water, and loved the coldness of it. The blunt ferocity of the cold was almost taboo, somehow, and Laxus shamelessly dunked his head under the surface to wet himself fully before he started to soap himself down.

What a sight he must look. Taller and broader than most, with firm abdominals and strong pecs. The water slid down his body, which he rubbed and teased with the soap. He let his eyes fall close, cock plumping slightly despite the cold. He pumped it once, then twice, just for the thrill of doing something so obscene. He wouldn’t bring himself off, but the mere concept of doing so in such an open place had his toes curling.

When he opened his eyes, he was met with open curtains, a lit-up room, and a silhouette of a man watching him from above. Lord Freed Albion Justine.

Maybe it was adrenaline. Maybe it was lingering madness of his fever. Maybe it was the roiling power still coursing through him from his dream. But Laxus did not cower, nor cover. He was in charge here, and the lord was his voyeur.