Part VII
By Leenys


Warning: Violence and Rape


      The wail of agony that issued forth from Micky was unlike anything Eric had ever heard. He pressed harder on Micky's throat, cutting off any more annoying sounds. He saw the tears in the young man's eyes, full and round tears that glistened like crystals caught in firelight. He could taste the saltiness as he watched the pitiful wreck beneath him sob, and inwardly he reveled in his power. Eric lifted his foot and regarded his prisoner with a sneer on his face and an odd fluttery curiousity in his chest. He studied the specimen before him and slowly, in pain, lowered himself onto Micky's teary, gasping form. He straddled him and grabbed a fistful of curls, angling his head this way and that, taking notice of every feature.

Micky was beyond terrified. He felt a cancerous despair growing within him, comsuming him, snagging his breathing and settling like an iron fist into his stomach. This bastard had killed his friends, his friends who were his family, and now he was examining him like cattle. The despair flamed into red hot fury, and with a deep-throated cry he shoved the man off of him and managed to leap to his feet, taking a defensive wide stance and looking wild eyed at the guards advancing on him with weapons drawn. He no longer cared about himself. There was nothing left to care for. He would, however, have some small revenge for his friends before he died.

The first guard flew at him with an outraged cry and Micky sidestepped him, then rushed him from behind, slamming him against the wall. The guard fell, stunned, as Micky snatched the sword and angled it at the other two who were prepared to attack. Suddenly he heard a cry that froze the pounding blood in his veins and turned him cold. "Mike! Mike, where are you?"

Holding the sword in front of him he made his way over to a large rustic wooden door and slammed his shoulder against it. It forced open with a creak and Micky ran in, then stopped in horror and collapsed onto the ground, his sword forgotton in the pure shock of the scene before him. "Mike," Micky whispered as his dropped sword was taken then pressed against the tender flesh of his neck. "Oh my god...what have you done to him?"

"As you see. He is not dead, yet. But he will wish he were." Eric calmly walked into the room.

Mike's hands were chained high above his head so that he was nearly hanging. They looked lifeless, drained of blood and raw. His face was plum and bruised like rotton fruit, battered almost beyond recognition. He was completely naked with scratches and cuts mapping his thin body. But that wasn't the worst of it.

His cock was limp. And piercing it through was a very thin yet very splintered stick. Blood dripped from the ends of the rod like rubies, each one plopping thickly into a rich crimson puddle at his bare feet.

Micky was confused and mortified. "What have you done?" he whispered shakily, feeling faint. Again his head was snatched back, and he was forced to look his captor in the eyes.

"I've set him up for a lesson. With your assistance, of course." Eric's expression was set like a viper's. He forced Micky over to Mike's still form. Micky gagged as he witnessed the crusted injuries up close, and nearly choked when he heard the next command. "Love him."

Micky turned an astonished and incredulous expression to Eric. "Love him?"

Eric's voice hissed violently into his ear. "Talk to him. Love him as he loved you. Heal him." The point of a sword sliced into his back, drawing a line of blood as a warning.

Deep down Micky knew they wouldn't kill him. And Mike was still alive. He frowned as he gazed on his friend, wondering if cooperating would improve their chances of escape. Eric's voice continued to whisper an intoxicating incantation, filling him with a heaviness as he very gently stroked Mike's cheekbone. He wanted nothing more than to take Mike away. He continued to carefully run his fingers over Mike's face, and was surprised to hear a slight groan. "Micky?"

"Mike! Don't talk, man." He placed a finger over Mike's lips, silencing him. "I'll get you outta here. I don't know how, but I swear I will."

"Micky..." Mike sounded drugged. He stirred slightly, wincing in pain.

Micky's anger was boiling again. The sword prodded him up against Mike's battered body. Afraid they would hurt his friend worse if he didn't comply, he cautiously dotted kisses onto Mike's chest, wishing with all his heart that the touch of his lips could heal the wounds. After a few moments he began to suspect that they did have a healing effect, for Mike began to relax, and even moan as Micky kissed along his neckline, whispering assurances as he did so. He forgot about the guards, and just concentrated on making Mike feel better and forget his torture. But that was when Mike screeched in pure and savage pain.

His cock had become swollen and hard, expanding suddenly against the razor sharp splinters of the wood, driving tiny teeth-like shards into his tender flesh. Mike howled, enraged, as the splinters dug deep into him, and turned blazing eyes to Micky. "You!"

Micky backed away, screaming as the blood ran down his friend's legs, screaming at the look of agony on his friends face, and screaming because he had been a party to the torture. He continued to scream with his hands pressed to his head as Mike's wails quieted. Micky ventured a tearful look and saw his friend hanging limply by his wrists, pale and still.

"Mike! oh god, NO! NO!" Micky exploded into hysterics and was dragged from the room.




~End of Leenys Part~



On to Part VIII



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