Part 29; To Fall into Past Truths.
The more it hurt,
The more it taught.
Reek
Haziness crippled—haunted—impure dreams.
Tainted-fingers grasped upon trembling, seared-flesh. Screams ripped from hoarse-vocals—horror ensued.
Everything came full circle in the darkness. Unimaginable pain surfaced. Tore.
Crimson-blood coated him. Surged out of him.
Poured. Stained. He heard taunts—cruel, unkind words. Thoughtless.
Wetness splashed—spilled over him. From him.
Insurmountable agony; prevailed.
Finally, fretful-eyes shot open. Cries ripped from his already hoarse, vocals.
Realization that his bladder had spilled in his dreams—came far later.
"Shh, Reek..I am here. You are safe. Safe." Whispered coos were made into his ear-shell. Fingers traveled along his back. Through sandy-curls. Anywhere—everywhere.
"I-I felt t-them…They were h-hurting me…"
"No one will hurt you again, I promise. It was just a night terror."
Ripples of shame flooded his belly—when the realization, finally hit. They were naked—both of them. Bare. Warm skin—pressed upon his.
They were both drenched.
Green-optics lowered, refused to meet hers.
"Do not think on it, come on, let us wash down with a rag, Hm? We will be clean, again…It was merely an accident." Reassuring tones came forth. Yet—all he could think on, was his own inability to train himself.
Ramsay ruined him—made him a hound. A bitch.
He was damaged.
Despite his bath, the night prior, his pain level was still intolerable. The same as when Ramsay—
He could not think on it.
That single-most cruel act, was why he became incontinent in the first place. After Sansa went to such trouble—to think she asked servants to run him a bath—! And he was unable to uphold her expectations (that he would stay clean) for more than a couple hours.
Reek was so ashamed.
Traumatized-eyes paired with ocean-blues. Skin crawled over his shoulders—down his back. Everywhere.
He twitched. Remembered how Ramsay would taunt him for his hound-like behavior. How was Sansa so kind? Why was she so kind to him? It was underserved. Creatures like him deserved no kindness.
"Can you stand?"
Torn from hollow thoughts, Reek's eyes sparkled with tears. He did not desire to move. Filth. Agony. This was where he belonged. Right here—cleanliness was not a piece of who he was.
Silently, his head shook. He nestled back down—into the unclean bedding. Curled into a balled-up bundle—and hid his face in his arms.
No. He would not move.
His mind longed to be elsewhere, but his other personalities would not emerge. Despite how he prodded them—pleaded with them—neither of them would come forth to take his place.
'You belong in filth, Reek. Look at you. You like it down in that filthy straw…'
Remnants of Ramsay's voice made clear resonance, within fractured-barriers of his mind.
Where he belonged.
Warm-soothing hands met with curves of his back. Straight up—over—shivering, shoulders. Words sounded—yet were far from his grasp. All he wanted was to be left alone. His mind was overloaded. Skin unclean—again. And he never felt more shame than he did, right now.
Why did she keep trying? He was not a part of her. He could never be Theon. Not a Lord, just a thoughtless, hound
Highborn ladies did not mix with cock-less hounds.
It was the way of things.
Sansa
Despite the puddle of wetness, she awoke in, Sansa did not panic. Refused to become upset with Reek. She knew it could not be helped.
His skin was suffering—his mind split in half. It was a wonder he was able to move at all—let alone speak. After the intense-trauma that he was forced to endure at the hands of literal monsters, she could not imagine how Reek must feel.
How he coped.
There were no proper words to describe the sight of him. Now that the bruises upon his face had swollen—and countless more had sprouted up all over his front, and back. The burned spaces along his skin were angry, red-welts. His rear-end had the distinct-appearance of a warzone.
She would have been stunned if he had made it to a privy, or chamber pot. She expected his unhinging. However, it did not devastate her any less, to witness.
Curled in on himself, Sansa watched, helpless, as he broke apart on the bedsheets. His head shook, indicating he had no intention of leaving the soiled sheets. Far worse, she doubted he could even hold himself upright, had he attempted to stand.
"Tell me what you need, Reek. I…I only desire to help, you. Please…Let me help." Without hesitance she settled back upon the stained sheets—encompassed his fragile-form within the warmth of taut-arms.
Shudders rustled throughout his form. Sansa could feel the strain of his battered flesh. However, no response ensued.
Rather, Reek sobbed. Thick—Deep, things in the back of his hoarse, vocals.
All the while, Sansa nestled, warm—heated. Right up against his form.
Let the bareness of her skin press in on him. Ignored the pound of distress in her own beating heart. Reek needed to be held.
He needed reassurance.
Love. Compassion.
He needed his dignity to be restored, unto him.
"Reek, we can lie here all day, upon these soiled sheets if you desire to, but I will not leave you alone. I made you a promise. And I intend to keep it. You are safe. And we belong to each other—just as we always will." Whispered little breaths, tickled his ear.
She would keep speaking. Continue to whisper—until he grasped what she meant.
What she felt in her very pit, and core.
Still, he only shuddered—then sobbed—deeper in his throat. Clearly—gutted.
Wispy-fingers curved across the line of his stubble-clad, jaw. Brushed just over the coarse texture. Let him feel how soft, her touch was—how warm.
Reassuring.
He settled.
His sobs ceased—however, no motion was made to uncurl from the ball-like shape, he took.
Still, something told her—she had his ear.
"Reek? Do you recall the night Ramsay had you bathe me?" A rippling, shudder which encompassed the entirety of his form, answered for him.
"I was so frightened when he ordered you away. I feared that he would kill you for the kindness you offered me. When you held my hand, it made all of the pain he inflicted before, lessen inside of me. Like, your touch, could cure what he fractured within me. And the mere thought of losing that—losing you—was unthinkable. So, when you knelt there, mortified, soaked in your own accident—" He shuddered, bodily again. "—Cleaning my skin, all I could think about was how deeply you were beginning to mean to me. How profoundly I had begun to fall in love with you. I wanted to kiss you, then, Reek. Had I not feared that Ramsay was spying upon us—I would have. Every little brush of that rag over my skin, made me tingle. Lust—for you. I wanted you, Reek. Just as I will always want you. I have kept this secret, Husband. Such a secret…For the duration of time since I came to know you were separate from Theon. Do you want to know what the secret is? Hm?"
His shuddering had come to an end. Finally—she held his full, undivided attention.
"W-What s-secret?" He uncurled—turned in her coiled-arms.
"I loved you, first. Not just as a childish, crush where we tussled in the grasses. I loved you with a woman's heart. I knew—if I could free us from this hell, I would find the courage to offer you my heart in return. I would find a manner in which we could be one." Their lips were mere, inches apart. Hot-breath tickled his lips.
Her hands lifted; skin found purchase against skin.
Broadness, of his chest—burned with scorched-heat, underneath her eager-fingers. His skin shivered.
"L-Lady…S-Sansa…" His throat tightened. She could see it.
"I touched myself that night. I thought of you, as I touched. I never told a soul, not even, you. I burned for you, Reek. It does not matter to me, if you are not whole—I am no more whole than you are. Ramsay made certain I would bear the brunt of his abuse for the rest of my days. Just the same as he did for you." Neck, tilted, pink-lips brushed Reek's.
He whined.
"So, tell me Reek. Do you think I mind waking up alongside of you, like this? I am your wife. If you cannot stay clean, I will clean you. We will clean each other. Or, if you prefer the filth, then we stay like this. Both of us. I care not, Reek. But you are my husband. I love you. Dirty. Clean. It does not much, matter to me. Understand?"
She needed him to comprehend what she meant. How far she was willing to go, to protect his sanity. His heart—Him.
Brisk-fingers lowered. Grazed the sticky-wet, prod of his stub. Rubbed easing-circles around sensitive-skin. Reek jerked.
Whined—anew.
"W-We…c-cannot…l-ladies are m-meant to be c-clean…"
"I am not just a lady, Reek. I am your wife. And you are my husband. You are a Lord, Reek. And you have been through a trauma. Many traumas…But I still find you attractive. I want you, Reek. I yearn to take away your agony. I know you must be sore. Just a little taste of pleasure should quell you, for a few moments. Hm?"
Unable to answer, bruised-arms reached for her. With a subtle roll—He was atop her frame. Needy-fingers spread her. Thighs wide—He pushed down against the swell of her pearl.
How she needed her husband—Needed this.
Fingers wormed into the uneven strands of thick—cut—curls. She pulled. Drew him down to pair with her reddened-lips. Tasted his lips as he kissed.
Sought. Needed.
"I wanted you to take me—just like this—that night. Your touch burned me, Reek. It made me swollen—slick—between my thighs. Will you take from me, now, Reek? Husband?"
Care was thrown to the wind. Respectability—Virtue, right along with it.
Who would know if they rutted upon, unclean sheets?
Who would care?
Her intent was to distract. But she also spoke truth. Every word—held truth.
She fell deep in love with this soul—His spirit.
Reek could not restrain his urges—that became clear.
She awoke something in him. Something primal. His wrecked-form—made little ruts. Screamed. Heaved. Needed.
His whines were loud, heaving things.
"Yes! More, Reek…Let go, for me." Coaxed into submission. Reek rutted. Caved.
Lowering his chin, he suckled from her teat. She felt the strong pull of her milk as it surged between raw-lips. Her nipples heightened in sensitivity. Pearl-throbbed against his needy-stub. Every buck made her wilder—needier. She ignored the feeling of wet on her back. Between her thighs, where they met.
Her focus was on Reek.
His needs—His lusts.
He drooled on her. Lost conscious control. Trembled. Took. Throbbed.
She never felt—never needed—this badly. Never like this. But Reek felt good, atop her.
And she needed him. Craved his touch. His kisses. All of him.
"R-Reek…Gods…" Warm-fingers tugged on hair-curls. Their skin melded—sweltered with the combination of their sweat.
Moans emitted forth from exerted-lips. Disconnecting from her teat, the cracked things met with her soft-petals. Her tongue flicked out—tasted sweet-milk on the circumference of those lips.
Her milk.
Still, his ruts continued. Needful, spiked things. She did not know how he found the energy he sought. But, he did.
She was soaring high with bliss. Heart beating against her ribcage. Her thoughts run-rampant in her mind.
"S-Sansa…Mmm…C-Close…" Strained words formed. In-between heated kisses.
Strong—depleted arms, gathered her up. And with a final tremor, Reek spent.
Throbs twitched against her pleasure-pearl. And her back arched as she released in unison.
Fiery-pulses surged through every surface. Her entire core.
Spent. Lingering in each other's embrace. Sansa could sense that his trepidation was long forgotten. She had finally reached him.
All she needed was to tell him the truth.
The whole truth.
Appeal to the needs that pattered right underneath his skin.
Just where his heart was. Where his needs as a man—as a physical being—laid.
"I love you, Husband. More than I could ever hope to say."
He shivered. Tingled—laid motionless, heaving for air atop her bodice.
"I-I l-love you t-too…L-Lady…S-Sansa…" Reek burrowed into her neckline.
Held himself together by her will.
She held him. Gave him strength as she could.
And knew it would take a long while for him to recover from his traumas—but now—held hope that he would indeed—recover.