Ch. 1
Disclaimer: "I'm bound to you by love, and it cuts like razor wire."
Zhang He stared at the drop of blood on his sheets. It wasn't such a big deal, really. After all, Sima Yi had done much worse to him in the past. For some reason, though, this particular drop seemed to stand out—no, scream out---to him, a single splash of red on the pure white expanse of linen. He touched an elegant finger to his split lip, presumably where the blood had come from. It had re-opened itself after healing nicely for a few days. He had a lot of cuts and bruises these days, and if people asked, he told them they were from battle, or sparring. They weren't. The split lip he had gotten when Sima Yi had backhanded him across the face for taking to long to undress. The bruises and cuts he'd acquired during the brutal onslaught of violence and savage desire that passed for sex with the sadistic strategist. Not that Zhang He was complaining; he had invited it, after all. Begged for it, really. He thought back to the first time Sima Yi took him. It had been just after the particularly stunning defeat at Chi Bi, when the notoriously bad-tempered genius had confined himself to his room. Zhang He had been younger then—they both had---and had thought he could change the other man for the better. He had thought he could make him happy. Now, he wasn't so sure. His infatuation with Sima Yi had been long standing; ever since he had first met him, brooding and serious and totally unlike Zhang He, he had found himself instantly drawn to and intrigued by him, living proof that opposites attract.
He had gone up to Sima Yi's room that day, against his express wishes that no one disturb him, because he couldn't bear knowing that the man he loved was upset and alone. It was foolish, really. What could have possibly made him think he was in love when he'd barely had more than a conversation with the man in the entire three months since he'd defected to Wei? But that was how he had felt—and still did, improbable though it was (except now, he'd had a good deal more than a conversation or two). At any rate, he had simply let himself in when no one had answered his knocking, and found himself greeted by a rather unfriendly death glare. "I thought I made it clear that I didn't want to disturbed, General Zhang He." The Butterfly General looked at the ground, shy and nervous to be speaking to his object of affection. "I thought I could make you feel better," he mumbled. Sima Yi sneered. "Did you? How sweet. What were you planning, pray tell? Were you going to dance for me?" Zhang He recoiled from the biting sarcasm, but secretly rejoiced. He was a glutton for abuse. "I thought it might make you feel better if you could… hit something." He minced delicately to the strategist's side, losing some of his shyness. Sima Yi cocked his head and stared at Zhang He, as if seeing him for the first time. Zhang He gathered his courage and stepped closer, their bodies just barely touching.
"You could hit me," he breathed, trembling. "I don't mind. You can call me names, too. I won't get upset…" The slap was open-palmed and without warning, and the force of it rocked Zhang He's head back. He tasted copper in his mouth, and the pain was sharp, stinging, delicious. He looked at Sima Yi and smiled, eyes bright and shining. It was to be the first of many blows he would receive, and the first of many smiles he would give for them. The second slap was more powerful than the first, and then he was being forced to his knees by his ponytail, feeling fingers wind themselves painfully tight in his silky black hair. He knelt, looking up at Sima Yi with wide-eyed worship, like a devotee before a god, hands clutching at the divine robes, and Sima Yi looked at him with nothing but empty coldness tinted with desire. If Sima Yi was a god, he was a cruel and heartless one, and that made Zhang He love him all the more. When Sima Yi was finished with him, he had gotten dressed and left Zhang He on the floor of his study, naked, bruised, bleeding, and overcome with joy. The offering had been accepted, the god had deemed it worthy and found it pleasing. Their trysts were frequent and increasingly violent, and always ended with Zhang He being alone. At some point, their meetings had been moved to the dungeon, where Sima Yi had made use of the various chains, shackles, and gags. One incident that stood out in recent memory was the time he had almost been choked to death by a chain collar Sima Yi had wrapped around his throat, pulling it tighter and tighter as he neared his climax.
Zhang He remembered clawing at his throat, his vision fading and going black around the edges, unable to beg for it to stop, and Sima Yi pleasuring himself with Zhang He's helpless body, smiling and laughing. He pretended he thought it was hot, and that it hadn't bothered him, but after Sima Yi left, he had cried. He had spoken to Zhen Ji, his close friend and confidant, about the incident the next morning. She told him what she had said the very first time he'd asked what she thought of his relationship: "He's going to end up killing you." Up until that point, he hadn't believed her. Now he thought she might be on to something. He stared hard at the drop of blood that screamed and screamed and screamed at him, and realized with a start that he had no idea what it was trying to tell him.
For those of you who are familiar with "Beautiful" and want to know why I'm not being a good little author and working on it, it's simply because I need a break from that story for a while. This one is completely unrelated, just a random idea that was bouncing around in my brain and refused to leave. I was originally going to make this a one-shot, but now I'm not sure. What say you, eh? Leave it, or keep going and do the Sima Yi POV?