13/6/13

Hey, right then! This is a fanfiction that I have had the first section written for a long time now. But it was always missing something, just little details but it was just not right without them. But the fanfiction "A View From The Barricade" by soldurios on LiveJournal helped me find the two things that were missing from it. Go read, it is gruesome but amazingly written! And I thank her for her help!

WARNING: This is not for the faint hearted! Contains: electro-magnetic sex, knifeplay, none descriptive rape, general abuse, fireplay! Do Not Read if you are disgusted by any of those things! You have been warned!

Also Pre-established e/R!

Speechless

Chapter 1

The back of the Musain had been blown open and the seriously outnumbered students were making a hasty retreat. Jehan was running with Marius hobbling along next to him. Courfeyrac was bleeding severely from the head and was hung suspended between Joly and Bossuet. The last to leave were Enjolras and Combeferre. Enjolras did not want to leave his barricade. It was cowardly to retreat and no one in their right mind would ever call Julien Enjolras cowardly. Or they would face his wrath. But yet he was a sensible man; what was the point in them all sticking around to die. They would be better running then regrouping to strike against the oppression another day. Feuily and Bahorel hadn't made it. They had both perished at the hands of the National Guard and Enjolras' heart was filled with remorse. He knew people were going to die in this attack; everyone knew that there might be a chance that they would not get out of this street alive. Enjolras just prayed that they would; and it seemed his prayers had been answered, to a certain extent.

Enjolras sat stoically as Combeferre patched up his wounds. He hadn't been seriously injured but the bruises and little cuts still needed care to stop them becoming infected. His mind carried on whirring away at how they could improve the barricade; and how long they should wait before striking again. He didn't even notice as Combeferre moved on to help more pressing patients as more injured revolutionaries filtered into their hidden base underneath the Corinth. Enjolras then looked around at all his friends that had survived. Combeferre and Joly were running around the room treating people. Courfeyrac was sat up with the whole of his head strapped up but he seemed his usual self. Marius was laid in his Cossette's arms; she had come into the Cornith as soon as she knew her lover was alive but injured. Bossuet was trying unsuccessfully to help and Combeferre currently had him handing out water with Jehan. However, Enjolras could feel something missing, something important to him. Eventually he just presumed it was Feuily and Bahorel that were gone; but it took Jehan to notice for him.

"R? Grantaire! Does anyone know where Grantaire is?" Jehan cried out from the centre of the room. Panic and concern were evident on his face as he hunted desperately for his best friend. Enjolras jumped up instantly, and joined Jehan in searching for his love. He cursed himself for forgetting about the winecask in the mad frenzy. He was nowhere to be seen.

XXX

All Grantaire could remember was clambering to the top of the barricade to help Enjolras. Then a bang; then it all went dark. Grantaire inched open his eyes but all remained a deathly black. Was he dead? Was this some sort of hell? He could still smell the gun smoke surrounding him and the clang of muskets. He tried to turn his head but his neck was pinned in place. Was he trapped? That had to be it; the barricade must have fallen on him when he climbed it. Grantaire struggled trying to move his neck and arms, when a shot of pain fired through his shoulder. He cried out in agony but was instantly silenced with an amused chuckle. "So our little revolutionary is awake, boys," a man chuckled and the blindfold was ripped off his face. Five national guardsmen stood before him in their tattered blood coated uniforms, none of it their own blood. Their muskets and hats discarded in a pile and them all hanging about casually, looking at Grantaire.

He looked around with the minimal movement of his neck and examined his situation. He was most certainly a prisoner. The barricade was silent so either, everyone else was dead or they had got away. He prayed his friends had escaped, unlike him. Grantaire found himself tied to their mighty barricade; his arms and legs spread and his neck pinned behind a wedged floor board. Blood trickled, like a small stream, down his arm from a gaping hole in the centre of his shoulder. "Your friends have left you little boy. All ran off without a thought to where you were," the head of this little group laughed, forcing Grantaire to look him in the eye. "And the boss says that any traitors we catch, we can do whatever we want to," he grinned menacingly and it took all Grantaire's self-control to keep the panic off his face. He knew what men like this did to people and needless to say, it was never pleasant.

Silent tears streamed down his face as the monarchist brute pressed himself into Grantaire once again. He could feel his body wanting to respond to the basic need but he couldn't. This had been going on for what felt like hours to the victim as what remained of his already dented dignity was torn to shreds. But he couldn't react; to react would give them all they wanted and crush him once and for all. "He doesn't seem to like this, lads," the thug sighed as he pulled himself out once again and Grantaire's body collapsed against his bonds. His eyes began to flicker shut from pure exhaustion when the guard pressed his fingers into Grantaire's wound, sending agony though out his body and making him spasm against the restraints again. He let out a blood curdling scream; he couldn't keep it in anymore. The scream slowly died down to be replaced by laughing from all the men. "You're such a sad bastard," one of the other men laughed and everyone chuckled along. Grantaire panted and whimpered in the residual pain and at the loss of his pride.

"Oh be quiet!" one of the men moaned when they were on a torture break. Grantaire was still whimpering in pain and had now resorted to softly begging to be released. He couldn't take it anymore; he would do anything to be let go free. But the men showed no intention of letting him do that. "Can we shut him up boss?" another man asked, wielding a strip of cloth off a dead revolutionary's jacket.

"Nah what would be the fun in gagging him?" the boss stated standing up and prowling towards Grantaire. "We won't be able to hear his screams anymore," he chuckled and the rest of the men nodded in agreement. The leader pulled out the largest and most menacing pair of scissors Grantaire had ever laid eyes on. "I have a much better and much more painful way," he smirked stepping forwards. Grantaire tried to pull on his final reserves of energy to get away; he knew what they were going to do. Yet his muscles betrayed him and he was left helpless in front of that maniac. "One of you hold his mouth open and stop his head tilting back!" the boss shouted and there was practically a fight to decide who got the honour. Grantaire tossed his weak head around but the man's grip was too strong as his mouth was wrenched open and held firmly in place. The scissors were pressed into his mouth and almost instantly the agony blazed through his skull like a forest fire. He tried to scream but the blood was filling his mouth too quickly. The thug threw Grantaire's head forward and the blood flowed from his mouth all over the rest of his clothes to mingle which all the blood he was already coated in. The last thing his remembered before it all went dark was a bundle of bandages being thrust into his mouth to stem the bleeding.

XXX

"But we need to go find him!" Jehan screamed, fighting against Combeferre's grip.

"Jean! Please calm down. There is no use going back," Marius hobbled over, speaking softly.

"More of us will get killed or caught, and … it is exceedingly doubtful we will find anything more than another body," Combeferre sighed, holding the weeping Jehan to his chest.

"But, but … he was one of us," Jehan sobbed onto Combeferre's shirt as the room fell into a troubled silence.

"He's gone Jehan,"Combeferre whispered into his golden brown locks and the room remained silent as if in mourning for their fallen comrade. Jehan sat with silent tears streaming down his face as Cosette tried to comfort his broken soul. Enjolras sat staring at the floor. Things hadn't ended well between the drunkard and the revolutionary and he genuinely regretted the things he had said. If you can hear me now R … then I am sorry. I really am and I am so sorry I never had the courage to say this when you were around. I-I am so pleased that you helped us, that you woke up to fight amongst your friends. We'll miss you winecask … And I still love you! I didn't mean any of it! … Goodbye Nicolas Enjolras thought, staring up at the ceiling with a heart full of remorse. Tear streamed silently down his cheeks.

XXX

When Grantaire awoke again his mouth throbbed; it took a few seconds before he remembered what had happened. He slowly and cautiously tried to move his tongue and let out a sob when only a stump moved in the back of his mouth. "We fixed it up for you and stopped the bleeding," the leader stated bluntly. He found himself facing the barricade this time which his bare back exposed to the men. Tears continued to stream down his face as he tried unsuccessfully to form words in his mouth. "Now my friends here are bored … you have not been screaming enough lately for them," he chuckled menacingly as Grantaire struggled against the overly tight bonds. He pulled away we fear glimmering through in his eyes as heard a knife was drawn out of the guard's sheath and the other four of the crowd heckled him on. "How about we send a little message to your friends when they find you, if they find you," the man chuckled as he dug the knife into the top of Grantaire's back. The drunkard froze in place, scared to move in case it did more damage that it was going to do anyway. Silent sobs wracked though his body and he let out another scream as the knife was dragged down and around tearing the skin and muscle causing more of his vital crimson liquor to drip on the blood stained ground. The next few minutes passed in a blur of pain and screams until the knife was drawn out of his back for the final time.

He could hear the men talking behind his back but their words were just a blur to his pain dulled senses. He just wanted it to end. He wanted to die. He was jolted out of his poisonous thoughts by and over round of screaming pain. Boiling alcohol was thrown all over his back and burned in the rivets that the knife had left. "Now our message will be there forever," one of the men whispered in his ear as they untied him and spun him round so he was facing them again and his burning back was scraped and podded by various pieces of furniture which just intensified the pain tenfold. He screamed out and his eyes squeezed shut with tears forcing their way out from under the closed lids. He was retied to the former symbol of hope and stripped back down naked again. "We don't have much time before your friends dare to return here for their dead," the leader stated and one of the other guardsmen stepped forwards undoing his belt. Grantaire winced before letting his body fall slack against the restraints. His head was forced backwards by the man's brutal fingers in his hair and Grantaire just squeezed his eyes shut even further as the man prised his mouth open and thrust into it. He wanted to bite, to put up so sort of resilience; but the fight had left him, every spark had been battered out of him and his soul smashed into thousands of pieces.

It felt as if it went on and on and on but Grantaire's mind was just a blank until the damnable object was removed. But his respite was only short as a long sleek object was shoved inside him from behind and he screeched in pain once more. His muscles still remained slack on his head rolled forwards; he had truly given up. "Seen as though you didn't seem to enjoy our little fun earlier with me," the leader chuckled and pressed a button on the end of the tube. Grantaire instantly knew what it was, he had heard about them, set a bolt of charge through you and made you react in unsavoury ways. His head shot up in pure fear with his eyes showing pure despair. The charge tore through his body and burnt though his mind, provoking him. Grantaire had stopped fighting with his whole body as the unwanted orgasm destroyed what was left of his pride along with the cackles of the men. But Grantaire just didn't care anymore; he didn't protest, he didn't fight the latest thug as he ran his hands down Grantaire's abused back and shoved his tongue down the broken man's throat. "How about we have a deal, traitor?" the leader chuckled when Grantaire was released. At that point in time, Grantaire would do anything for a respite to this agonising pain. He had no dignity remaining, nothing to lose anymore.

"We stop hurting you in such bad ways if you humour us, and we'll untie you," the man suggested and Grantaire nodded slowly, ignoring how the world spun. He thumped to the floor once his bonds were untied and was passed a tattered and torn pair of trousers. It took him a long time and his mind swam with pain before he pulled them on; the men were laughing all the way through. They were all sat on cannons and rocks around a fire. Grantaire needed the warmth; his muscles were involuntarily twitching from the cold night air. "Come here!" the leader ordered and Grantaire slowly crawled towards the men, ignoring their cackles, scraping his knees raw as he went. He never looked up, his head hung low in shame and defeat.

"Who's a good little dog," one of them teased ruffling Grantaire's hair as he crawled past in absolute agony. He was just a shell now, and somehow his mind had decided he was unworthy; decided that maybe he deserved to be ordered around like a slave or a pet. He was like a dog, he had that much pride. He stopped and knelt with his head dropping in front of the guardsman. That was all he deserved now.

"You will listen to every order we give you," the leader commanded as he clicked a spiked collar tightly round Grantaire's neck and pulled on the chain attached, to lift up Grantaire's drooping head. He let the chain go slack and offhanded shooed Grantaire's hunched form away. Grantaire sat their confused until his new master kicked his bruised ribs. "Go rest Rover," he ordered as Grantaire shuffled away and curled up by the fire.

Grantaire became a sex toy the next day. He was passed around the five men to satisfy their lusts without even a murmur of complaint. His mind was dull and his senses broken. Nothing mattered anymore, even when he was whipped he hardly felt the addition to the pain. He wasn't only used for sex; entertainment was sometimes needed. Making him kneel on the raging fire was another one of their favourite tricks, the skin on his skins was slowly peeling off but not once did he cry out anymore. "But boss! Can't we take him with us? No one else on the squad will have a fully trained revolutionary," one of the men whined and Grantaire's ears perked up in confusion. They were leaving.

"No you cannot take him. And his friends will be returning soon. Leave him here it will send a message to crush any hope they had of another revolution," the leader chuckled and the rest of the men laughed.

"Can I just have one more go with him then?" the man asked with a sigh.

"All right then," the leader compromised as he was packing up their supplies. Grantaire instantly crawled to the makeshift bed as soon as the chain was passed over. One more time; that was all.

As soon as the man was finished the chain attached to Grantaire was passed over to the leader and instantly shortened. An alcove in the barricade was open and Grantaire was pulled over to it. "Get in there!" the leader ordered harshly and Grantaire slowly climbed up and sat in the too small hole. He had to lie on his side to fit in. His chain was tied tightly around an outcrop so he couldn't move. A little paper sign was hung round his neck and he received a little pat to the head before the leader stepped back. A thick wooden table was wedged in the hole and he was submerged into pitch black darkness.

XXX

The amis had finally recovered enough to brave approaching the barricade to collect the dead. Enjolras and Combeferre led the way as the leaders followed by Jehan and Bossuet. Courfeyrac and Marius were not well enough to come and Joly had volunteered to keep watch for them. The barricade was eerily silent. It still stood looming over the surrounding landscape and it reeked of death and decay. Jehan and Enjolras carried Bahorel's body and wrapped it up laying it inside the Musain. Feuily's body soon followed along with other students that fought with them. Combeferre climbed the barricade and jumped the other side looking for any off their dead. But instead his notice a giant table with a big white cross drawn onto it. They didn't do that; X marks the spot. Combeferre carefully pulled it down and let out a choked sob at what he saw. Grantaire's battered and bruised half naked body lay chained to a post. Tears sprang too his eyes as he stood there, mouth agape. However he hurriedly wiped then away when he spotted the shallow rise and fall of Grantaire's chest. "Ferre? Are you alright down there?" Enjolras shouted from the top and Combeferre flinched. No one could see Grantaire until Combeferre had cleaned him up slightly.

"I'm fine, don't come down. I need you and Jehan to go back to the Corinth and tell Joly to clear a private table and gather all the medical supplies we have!" he shouted.

"Why? What's wrong Ferre?" Jehan asked poking his head over the top.

"I've found Grantaire, and he's alive," Combeferre stated.