Jul. 24th, 2009 10:53 pm
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Author: Randi
Genre: Slash
Pairings: Asher/Hannibal, implied Danica/Hannibal
Spoilers: For Blade Trinity.
Setting: After the events of the film.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Noncon. Kink. Unbetaed.

Summary: Blade and the Nightstalkers lost the final battle.

A/N: I haven't seen Blade I or II, so my vampire-related canon is probably off in places. I don't care. I just wrote this for fun, and because Ryan Reynolds' Hannibal was *$#&ing hot.

by Randi

* * * * *

King's been chained for what must be almost a full day. They swept the shattered glass from the fun chaining place before they put him back here, but it hasn't made the floor any more comfortable on his knees.

Danica hasn't turned him yet. He was kind of expecting that sooner rather than later, but she's only visited him once since the battle and she barely touched him, only smacked him around a little. She didn't stay and do all the deviant shit Danica loves to do. Not that he's complaining.

Still, being left alone is no picnic either. He has to piss like a motherfucking racehorse. He's thirsty, too. They've left him alone for hours. As thirsty as he is for water, it's nothing compared to the memory of the bloodthirst.

The thought's a grim one.

The stiff white patch of gauze taped on his chest is also grim. Last memento of his friends and the compound they shared, a bloodstained reminder of what he's lost. All the Nightstalkers but him, dead or MIA. Abby's the MIA one. He's not sure what became of her. When he was semi-conscious he's pretty sure they were talking in a self-congratulatory way about killing Blade. No one's mentioned Abby's fate to him, and he isn't sure yet if he can stand knowing she's dead. All he knows is, he got mobbed, disarmed and retaken, and something's telling him that this time, Asher was giving it to him straight when he said no one's coming for him.

He'd known. He'd known as soon as they first encountered Drake how it was gonna end. He'd known in his heart that they were fucked. But he still hoped. Abby was the toughest chick he ever met, and they had Blade on their side.

He's not sure what he looks like right now, but he's pretty sure Jarko's messed up his pretty face. His left eye feels swollen and a couple times when he's rubbed the right upper part of his cheek, which has that annoying healing-itch, dried blood's flaked off into his fingers. Plus it fucking hurts.

Jarko worked him over but good after he found Pacman and the other two hellhounds.

Not that he did any permanent damage to them. A nasty fall never killed any freakish vampire dog. But they were hurt. Jarko's apparently more sensitive than a girl when it comes to the well-being of his vampire puppies.

He still can't believe they're making fucking vampire dogs. Asher'd said they were experimenting on them. King wonders if the experimenting begins and ends at biting them, or if they have someone with actual brains and a lab, their own Sommerfield. He hopes it's the former. These bloodsucking assholes are vicious and strong enough that they hardly need a soulless version of Sommerfield.

He snaps to attention when the door opens.

"Hey, I need to piss," he says when Asher comes into the room. His heart sinks when he sees the little black bag Asher's carrying. Danica didn't share him with her brother all that often, but what he saw of Asher was enough. He could have lived a thousand years and still remembered the sight of that bag.

"Take off your clothes." Asher's voice is smooth.

"You know I thought about it, cause they probably should go through the wash. But then I realized you're an ugly fuck and despite what you may have heard to the contrary, I don't take off my clothes for just anyone."

"Your bravado is amusing."

King dips his head in a faint mockery of gratitude. "Thank you. I certainly wouldn't want you to be bored."

Asher smiles.

"You know, you have really big ears," King says. He's cranky. It's the thirst talking, making him get personal. Normally he likes to keep up semi-friendly appearances.

Asher smacks him with an uppercut, but he plows on anyway. "I mean, they're not really that big, they just stick out a lot." This time Asher's huge silver ring catches him squarely in the jaw, slicing the flesh of his chin over the bone. He can feel the blood trickling, and he's been enough of a glutton for punishment, so he stops there.

Asher stands back, regarding King with his cold, intense eyes. "Take off your clothes, and I'll give you a container."

"What kind of a deal is that?"

But he thinks it over. He really fucking needs to pee. Pissing himself is not an appealing option, since they're hardly going to bring him new clothes to wear. And even if he refuses, it's not like Asher's going to let him keep his clothes on.

Asher always used to enjoy forcing him to consent. As much as King hates Danica, grating bitch that she is, her brother's even sicker.

King sighs. "Okay, fine. But be certain you use a dye and perfume-free detergent when you wash them, okay? I have sensitive skin."

He entertains them, he knows it. Maybe if he could shut his damn mouth for once. But he really can't. It's not in his nature. As long as his tongue remains in his mouth, he's gonna keep talking. It's the only defense he has left.

His wrists are sore from wearing the manacles, and struggling a little bit at first. Danica cut off his wifebeater first thing after the firefight, before they knocked him unconscious. Danica always preferred him shirtless, he was never allowed him to wear one during his captivity. No reason it would be any different now. The harnesses for his weapons were gone too when he woke up. And they took his watch, probably when they put the manacles back on him.

"How about you give me the vase to piss in and then I take off my clothes?"

Asher hits him hard full-on in the face, and he falls onto his back, clutching his nose. "You're not in a position to bargain, idiot."

"Fine," he mutters. Asher stands back, watching him. King unlaces his boots and tosses them to the side, then peels off his socks. His chains clink as he moves his arms. He undoes his belt and pauses before taking off his khakis. The movement is awkward. The chains are just long enough for him to try to scramble up, but not quite long enough for him to stand up straight. He stands as much as he can and wriggles out of his pants. He takes off his black boxers and puts the two garments to the left a couple feet away, still within reach.

His bladder aches.

He stops once he's down to the pendant and dog tag chain around his neck and the bloodstained white gauze patch on his chest. King doesn't think of himself as the sentimental type, but he's reluctant to remove the bandage. But it's apparently naked enough for Asher, who agreeably leaves the room and comes back a couple minutes later with a quart-sized saucepan. Asher throws the pot down on the floor in front of him. It clangs and bounces a litte before King grabs it.

"Congratulations, this is really humiliating," he says. He doesn't particularly want to piss in front of Asher, but thinking about finally getting to pee has tripled the intensity of his need. So he holds the pot in front of his crotch and drops his dick in. His bladder hurts for a second, throbbing. "You should consider putting me in diapers," he suggests with a straight face.

Asher stands back and watches him, and while he pisses he defiantly looks up at Asher, daring him to interrupt. But Asher only stands there.

When he's done, King sets the saucepan as far to his right as he can manage without putting it all the way out of reach.

With one foot Asher delicately nudges it a bit farther away, then kicks King in the face. "Hey, ow!" King says indignantly.

Asher proceeds to kick the shit out of him. He gets Asher's hard-soled shoe in the cheek, the chin, the shin, and the ribs. King takes it the best he can, curling into the fetal position and covering his head with his hands.

Then Asher goes to one knee and starts touching his cock.

King turns his head to the side and spits blood, not for the first time today. He's still reeling from the abuse, but he can always manage one smartass remark or another. "Don't you want to buy me a drink first?"

God, what he wouldn't do for some water. He is so fucking thirsty. His head spins a little.

Asher ignores him, running hands over his crotch and lower abdomen where his tat is. King feels his dick stir, because while he doesn't particularly like this, his dick responds fairly easily to being touched.

Then Asher pushes him onto his back and quickly pushes a finger into King's asshole.

King grimaces at the intrusion, and there's no lube on Asher's hand. Damnit. Despite his fondness for using wacky shit during rape, Asher always used to use something slick. Not for King, but for his own comfort. King hopes that hasn't changed. Not that it matters, cause Danica never bothers. But, when it comes to bleeding from the asshole, later is always better than now.

Asher pulls the finger out and pops it into his mouth for a second.

King gets up on his elbows, into a half-sitting position, and watches as Asher stands up and goes over to the black bag.

Oh, great. Well, he knew it was coming.

Danica was bad enough with her self-proclaimed dick envy, stuffing him with unlubed buttplugs and fucking him with dildos all the time. Then there was Asher, who didn't fuck him half as frequently, but made up for that with the sick fetish shit, torture and needles, hardcore bondage gear, sensation play, golden showers. King doesn't know whose happy naked fun time action was worse. They both beat the shit out of him. And they both, being vampires, were of course into bloodplay up the wazoo. But only Asher used razors and knives for it. Asher was a sucker for bringing in the weird foreign objects.

Asher opens the bag he brought in with him and pulls out a set of urethral sounds held in a black leather fold. He selects one and comes back, holding the silver rod at his side like a scalpel. King stares at it--five inches of medical-grade stainless steel, with a marble-sized ball at the far end to prevent overinsertion. King remembers these.

He draws as far away from Asher as the chains will allow him.

It's not far enough.

King looks at him warily, every muscle tense. His body's in fight-or-flight mode, and as always he's more tempted to fight. But it never changes a situation like this one for the better. His half-a-hard-on has totally deflated. Not that that's a bad thing. He doesn't particularly want his dick hard.

Asher goes to one knee in front of him. "This can be easy, or it can be difficult."

"Goddamnit, you sick fuck," King says, but he doesn't fight. He doesn't like the kinky shit Asher comes out with, but urethral play generally doesn't hurt enough to be worth fighting over. "I hope that's sterile," he adds for good measure. Last time this happened was probably three years ago, when he was still a vampire, and it couldn't really hurt him. But now. He could get a serious fucking infection now. Thing could scratch up the inside of his cock and get infected and fucking well give him a blood infection, and he could die.

Asher smiles at him.

On the other hand, it seems highly unlikely King's going to get out of this mess with his humanity intact. Maybe he shouldn't worry about it.

But no. Of course he's going to worry about it. Hopeless as things may seem, he wants to prolong his potential to go on living as long as he can. While keeping his sexual parts in good working order, also very important on the checklist. There's only one thing he truly intends to physically fight, and that's being bitten and turned. Other than that, half-hearted cooperation is the way to go.

He hopes the metal rod is lubed up, too, but he knows Asher, and if it's not slicked up already, asking probably won't change anything. King's never been one for begging, anyway, and he's sure as shit not going to start now.

He isn't aware he's making a face until Asher laughs at him. Asher takes King's flaccid cock, smoothing his hand over the head and then the shaft. King resists the temptation to struggle while Asher takes the silver rod and starts to slowly feed the tapered end into his urethra.

The temperature of the cold metal inside his cock makes him gasp. The sensation is almost too much on the sensitive skin inside, but he can tell Asher did put lube on it or it wouldn't be sliding in so easily, it'd hurt a fuck of a lot worse. How kind of the guy. It bodes well for the anal rape he's almost certainly about to get. King shudders as the rod reaches new depths inside him. When Asher twirls the instrument around on the way in, King's back arches and he swears.

Once the metal is as far in as it can go, hilted in King's cock by the round part at the end, Asher quickly, skillfully tapes over the head of his cock, trapping the metal rod inside it.

"What is that, boob tape?" Previous times when Asher'd done this kind of shit to him, he'd been handcuffed to a bed. But now... he could just reach down and pull the tape off and the sound out.

Asher seems to read his mind. "If you touch that, I'll cut your dick off and feed it to Pacman."

He hates when they threaten to cut parts off. Weighted, his dick dangles straight down towards the floor. "And make your sister sad? I thought you were a better brother than that."

Asher strolls across the room, away from him, and takes off his black jacket in a swirl of fabric. He hangs it on the back of the chair and slowly starts unbuttoning his shirt.

King shifts uncomfortably. "Speaking of your sister, isn't she going to want first crack at me?"

"She's with him now."

Drake? "Oh yeah? She do something to make Daddy proud?"

"Something like that." Asher doesn't elaborate. His heavy-looking silver belt buckle makes a soft clinking noise as he removes his belt. "So I'm going to break you in a little for her." He stares at King with an appraising look in his eye. "There's no reason not to, right? She'll have all the time in the world for you, when she's ready.

"But I'll be sure to tell her you were asking for her," Asher adds, sounding amused.

"'Kay, you do that." His dick feels heavy and sensitive with the metal rod inside.

Asher removes his expensively cut pants and gently drapes them over the chair, then turns and busies himself again in his little black bag. All King can see is his long slope of back, ass and pale legs.

"Nervous, King?"

He's not nervous, not exactly. Well, his heart is beating fast and he feels a little sick, but he's resigned. He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, like a virgin on my wedding night, here. Don't keep me waiting, baby."

Asher turns around, and King takes his dick in at a glance. Eight inches of shiny, and the shiny part is a relief, anyway. He doesn't let the relief show on his face.

Asher comes up behind him, grabs his hair and gently pulls his head back, the movement incongruous with the tight grip on his hair.

"Welcome back," Asher says mockingly, and leans over to lick up the side of his face. Asher pushes him down onto his stomach, and King feels Asher's cock press at his asshole.

"Will there be rectal bleeding? Oh please say there'll be rectal bleeding." Oh god, how he hates this.

"Aww King, would I let you down?" Asher answers. Asher takes him by the hips before pushing into him roughly, sinking his cock inch by inch into King's ass. King grunts but keeps himself from shouting out in pain. No help for it and yes Mary, there'll be rectal bleeding.

Isn't there always?

"Say, do I give off slut vibes?" King asks, the pain making it an effort to get the words out. "Really, be honest with me."

His cock hurts too, pinched between the cold metal floor, the rod inside it and the combined weight of both their bodies on top of it. Asher never answers him.

When Asher's all the way inside, he reaches under King to tweak his right nipple. Feels like he's pinching the damn thing off. God, he hates vampires.

Breathless from the internal burn and the various other little hurts, King squeezes his eyes shut. He wonders why he hasn't been bitten yet. Asher must be well-fed to not even be a little bit tempted. He wonders why Danica hasn't come.

King knows no one's going to turn him but Danica. None of the others would dare.

Except possibly for Asher.

And unless the rules have changed. Is Danica with Drake now? In an exclusive way? It seems impossible, vampires are all total sluts. But then, it is Drake, ultimate Vampire Daddy Prince of Darkness. He can imagine Dani going for that sort of thing in a big way. And it'd explain why it's Asher here welcoming him home instead of her.

Asher rolls his hips, and King loses his breath.

He wonders again why they haven't turned him yet, but he thinks maybe he already knows. Leaving him human, at least temporarily, gives him something to keep hoping for. Danica's going to enjoy threatening to take it away from him before finally making good at some point down the line. The better to break your spirit with, my dear.

It also occurs to him that keeping him human a while longer means extra time to degrade him with his need to drink and eat and shit and piss. How could they pass up on that kind of good clean fun?

The pain is lessening as his body's forced to accept Asher's thrusting into his insides. "I've dreamed of this moment so many times, lover," King says in the most bored tones he can manage.

Asher grabs him by the hair and yanks his head back, hissing at him. "Danica may enjoy the constant flapping of your mouth, but I've had enough. Shut up or you'll be sucking on a ball gag so big it'll dislocate your jaw."

Asher presses him into the floor with the weight of his body. "Now, if you'd like to fuck yourself on my cock, I'll let you have some water," Asher says in his ear.

King sighs, twisting his head around slightly. He's really goddamn thirsty. "How enthusiastic do I have to pretend to be?" What's a little change of position between rapist and victim, right? He desperately wants some water.

Asher doesn't answer, just pulls out of him and sits up.

"Watch it buddy, you're going to get my chains all tangled," King says.

King twists his wrists in the manacles, struggling to alter his position while his strong general feeling of shittiness makes it difficult for him to maintain his balance. When Asher lies down next to him, pillowing his head on his hands, King awkwardly slings a leg over him. He tries in vain to line up Asher's dick with his asshole, which has been opened like a fucking flower.

He really hates vampires.

After a few seconds, he gets the angle right and Asher slides back up into him, easily this time. King pauses for just a heartbeat before starting to move up and down slightly on the pale white cock. His dick lolls on Asher's hips, heavy with the metal inside it.

After about thirty seconds, Asher pinches his nipples again. "OW! HEY!"

"This is pathetic," Asher says. He pushes King off him and onto his back and mounts him again. The chain holding King's right manacle ends up underneath him, cutting into the flesh of his butt, especially once Asher's weight is back on him.

"OW! My blood sugar's low, I'm all tired, what do you expect?"

Asher's thrusts come hard now. King takes them, looking at the ceiling, bored. At least his dick isn't being crushed anymore. He doesn't know if Asher's looking down at him, and he doesn't care.

He thinks about complaining that the sex is dull, but it wouldn't ruin Asher's orgasm, and it'd just lead to Asher pulling more extreme shit out of the Black Bag of Doom next time. A dozen more strokes and Asher's coming inside him. Asher drops his weight on King when he comes, which would be way less uncomfortable without the metal rod still in his dick. He groans and waits it out. Asher's lips come to rest on his throat, and King freezes. But then Asher pulls himself up a couple inches.

Asher hasn't bitten him yet. And maybe he won't. That much is good.

As Asher's starting to get up, still not having bitten him, he runs a hand down King's ass and between his legs. He pets King's balls for a moment before giving them a quick, cruel squeeze. King gasps in pain and curls into the fetal position on his side, struggling to breathe.

"Bastard," he croaks out.

"That's for your lackluster performance in the superior position," Asher says mildly. He gets up and puts his clothes on.

His hope at not having been bitten yet all but forgotten, it's a minute before he can answer. "What can I say, I'm not a fucking fag." He half-groans, half-coughs the words, clears his throat and takes a breath and tries again. "Funny thing, anal rape's not actually fun. I have trouble getting into it, believe it or not."

Once he's dressed, Asher leaves, taking his black bag with him. "The service here sucks. I'm gonna complain to management!" King calls after him, yelling the last few words as the door shuts. His voice breaks just a little.

When Asher is gone, King rests his head back on the floor. His heart sinks a little thinking about the water he may or may not get now. His throat feels parched and is starting to hurt from dehydration.

After a minute he straightens out enough to pull the tape off the head of his dick--that hurts more than your average Band-Aid--and uses the little round end of the sound to pull it slowly out. He tosses it aside and goes fetal again, groaning. His balls are throbbing but he knows it's going to be a fuck of a lot more agonizing in 30 minutes or so.

A few minutes later another vamp comes in bearing a 7-11 Slurpee cup full of water. King drinks all of it. The vampire leers but doesn't speak to him. The vamp picks up the metal rod from the floor as well as the saucepan full of his piss, and then leaves him alone again.

King thinks about putting his pants back on, more for the psychological defense than anything else, but physically he can't manage it quite yet.

He wonders if Sommerfield ever finished the superweapon Daystar shit she'd been working on.

He wonders where Abigail is, if she's dead or what happened to her. For all that she hardly talked, she was his best friend. He talked enough for both of them, anyway. And Abby's probably the only chick he's ever trusted. As much as he tries not to get attached to people, the thought of her dead makes him feel painfully alone.

He wonders if there are still samples of Sommerfield's cure back in the compound, or if the vampires utterly trashed the place, destroyed everything, maybe burned it to the ground. Maybe, just maybe, if he can get out of here, he can go back there and see. If it's gone, he can write a note on something, anything, and leave it at the emergency drop site to alert one of the other sleeper cells, then hide out nearby. He doesn't know how often they check the emergency drop, but if he could escape, that's what he'd do. They've gotta have the cure onhand. They would help him.

It's not much, but it'd be all he could do. If he could escape.

He wonders if he's going to eat Zoey.

If, if, if. He wonders how long it'll be before they turn him. That question's more of a when.

Frankly, he prefers the steady stream of ifs. They're more hopeful.

Hannibal King sits up, ignoring the butthurt and the aching of his balls. Ignoring the creeping loneliness that goes with thoughts of Abby, ignoring the fear he has of going back to his life as a vamp (and a vamp fucktoy at that). He tugs his boxers back on, one leg at a time, up to his thighs. Then he slowly puts his khakis on.

He's not giving up yet.
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