In which Veronica is outed as a fujyoshi.
(Sometimes, I wonder if I make Veronica too sadistic. Then things like 10-5 happen, and I think, nah, she's good.
I'm just going to add a blanket noncon warning to this since, while the straight-up sex acts will be generally very dubious in consent, there are plenty of noncon things of varying sexual natures that will happen (molestation, sexualized torture, etc.).)
Alfonse spends the larger part of the next day alone in his room, much to his own surprise. He speaks briefly with Felicia over breakfast, inquiring about Princess Veronica's plans for him for the day (she doesn't know) and when he'll be allowed to bathe again, as he's going on three days without and is starting to feel markedly unclean (she'll make a request on his behalf). Though she won't say it, he can tell that she isn't keen on staying longer than necessary, and he certainly can't blame her. So, for his own peace of mind as much as for her safety, he instructs her to clean her wound and then sends her on her way. He can't bear to admit even to himself that he's lonely without her.
As morning fades to noon, his anxiety at being summoned by Veronica gradually begins to wane. Perhaps she won't see him today after all. It isn't as if Bruno can predict her whims better than she can. So Alfonse settles down with a book, this one on Emblian horticulture, and tries to take some small measure of comfort in the scant pleasantries he's afforded; the soft pillows beneath him, the warmth of the sun streaming through the window, the quiet and relative privacy of his room.
Reading helps keeps his mind off the pain as well. His bottom is still swollen from his spanking, making it difficult to sit straight for long stretches of time, much to his chagrin. His knees are sore (his own fault), and his wrists (Bruno's), and his groin is a mass of sensitivity, hot and cold all at once and unpleasantly tender to the touch. He doesn't hold his bladder needlessly anymore, but he doesn't look down when he empties it, either. He's afraid of what he'll see if he does; it wouldn't much surprise him to find himself permanently mutilated by the tightness of the cord.
Despite the relative calm of his afternoon, the moment he hears the sound of the bolt on his door being drawn, he feels his heart slip into his stomach. Reluctantly, he looks up, feeling even sicker when he perceives Bruno entering his room and making a beeline for the cell door, key ring already in hand.
"Get up," he says as he fits the key into the lock. "Veronica will see you now."
Alfonse swallows, finding his throat dry. "What does she want?" he manages to get out as he warily pulls himself to his feet.
Bruno pauses for a moment, looks almost like he's hesitating. The sight puts Alfonse even further on edge.
"She wants to play," he says at last, taking him by the arm and guiding him out. "I don't know any more than that."
"O-okay," Alfonse practically squeaks, his heart setting to pounding madly against his ribcage. Though Bruno looks uncertain about the situation at large, he doesn't dare ask him for help. He has no ally here, he has to remind himself, excepting, perhaps, Felicia, who is contractually forbidden from rendering him aid. He'll have to face Veronica entirely on his own.
When they reach the sitting room, Alfonse is unsettled when Bruno orders him in alone. Thinking on it now, it's strange that he isn't tied or chained like he usually is when he's taken from his room. He isn't certain if it's a good sign or not, and he doesn't have long to consider it; after a moment's hesitation, Bruno nudges him toward the door, and he's forced to take his first steps beyond it.
Nothing about the room is particularly ominous, but a flood of memories from his last stint within it renders the space entirely inhospitable to him. He sees Veronica at once, sitting on her footstool with her back to him and her chin resting in her palm. His stomach lurches when he perceives a cruel-looking riding crop lying across her lap, still but latent. She turns her head when she hears him enter, and there's a clear frown creasing her lips.
"Oh, you're finally here!" she says, perking up at once. "What a terribly boring performance this has been, but I have plenty of fun things planned for you, Prince Alfonse!"
"Princess Veronica," he responds uneasily. "What are you-?"
But he stops when he realizes she isn't alone.
"What-what is this?" he demands breathlessly, staring, transfixed, at the show she's been putting on for herself.
He recognizes the two men despite their nudity-after all, they are two of the most distinguished individuals from their respective worlds. On the ground on his back, head turned to the side and eyes distant, is Prince Corrin of the World of Birthright, chains on his wrists and a mask of some dense, inflexible black material covering his mouth and chin, terminating in a steel collar cinched tight at his throat. Above him, kneeling between his outstretched legs, is Robin of the World of Awakening, wearing a collar as well but lacking the mask and restraints. His mouth is turned down in a frustrated grimace, one hand resting on Corrin's abdomen, the other holding himself vulgarly. Alfonse has to look away, return his attention to Veronica, but her eyes are on them again.
"Can't you just stick it in him?" she asks, gesturing crudely with her hands. "Aren't you a man?"
"You're… despicable," Robin bites out, side-eyeing her with the utmost venom. "To do something like this to fellow humans is… And aside from that, what you demand is absolutely impossible in my state. There's no way, in this situation, that I could possibly be…" He shakes his head. "Even if you attempt to force me by way of the contract, I promise you, nothing will come of it."
Veronica sighs loudly. "Alfonse, show them how it's done!" she says, looking to him again. "Put that thing of yours inside that boy!"
Alfonse is cold, almost to the point of numbness, with anger and disgust and a shade of fear, though he tries to force the latter back as he addresses her. "Princess Veronica," he says, struggling to maintain even a modicum of civility, "you may possess your heroes by magical contract, but you do not own me in that same way. I still have the capability of acting on my free will, and I would rather die than oblige you in that horrific request."
Veronica stares at him for a long while, but he does not waver. "Then I suppose," she says at last, "that I will just have to have my army march down to Askr and show it a bloodbath for the ages."
Alfonse clenches his fists but says nothing. She's trying to bait him, he tells himself. She won't break the contract for so little.
And, you know," she goes on, "I think that your dear baby sister, little Princess Sharena, would make for a perfectly agreeable slave, don't you?"
Alfonse starts forward but stops himself just short of actually reaching her. "You-you leave my sister out of this!"
Veronica doesn't appear afraid; in fact, she seems positively ecstatic. With a snap of her fingers, she has him on his knees, an unseen force bearing down on him from above, and it takes him all his strength to keep from fully prostrating himself before her.
"I think you forget that I am an accomplished mage, little prince," she says lightly, reaching out to stroke his hair with the tips of her fingers. "What did you mean to do? Attack me? Kill me? How droll."
She crouches before him, cupping his face in her hands. "I don't want your slut of a sister," she whispers, nuzzling her cheek against his. "I want you, Alfonse. More than Bruno, more than any of these fools"-she gestures outward toward Robin and Corrin-"more than Askr, more than even Embla itself-I want you."
Alfonse shivers as she presses her lips against his ear, slowly licks a trail along the outer edge. "I won't make you do anything you don't like," she says, releasing him from both her hold and the magic binding him and standing up. "I don't want you to hate me."
He doesn't bother telling her it's far too late for that.
Shakily, he climbs to his feet. "I won't comply with anything you demand," he says, "unless you release them. They have nothing to do with this." He can't look at them. It feels like a violation if he does.
Veronica laughs. "I'm afraid you don't have much of a say in that. What do you think they would do if I released them?" She approaches Robin, carding her fingers through his hair. "Kill me, perhaps. Take you away from me, certainly-they're so terribly noble that they would, you know."
She kicks Robin in the side, knocking him to the floor with a grunt. Then she lifts her leg over Corrin and settles herself on his bare stomach, her gown spilling over him like black water. "This one is especially dangerous-he killed his own family, were you aware? He isn't even human, so I had to muzzle him." She slides her hands up along the mask, and he twists his head to the side. "Naughty dragon-boy!" she says, swatting him across the chest with her riding crop. He whines, the sound muted by the mask.
"Please," Alfonse begs, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. "Please, don't hurt them anymore. If you're angry with me, then punish me."
Veronica's eyes light up at that. "How very delightful it is to hear you ask to be punished!" she exclaims, slipping off Corrin and returning to stand before him. She reaches out, lightly brushes her fingers against his cheek. "Beg for me, then. Beg for your punishment, and I might be gentle with you."
Alfonse licks his lips, staring at the ground with pink cheeks. "P-please punish me, Princess," he whispers, but her fingernails are quick to find his skin.
"Louder," she orders. "With all the passion of one speaking to a cherished lover."
Unwillingly, his mind leaps to Kiran, but he just as soon chases the thought away.
"Please punish me, Princess Veronica," he says again, cheeks growing warmer.
"And why do you need to be punished, Alfonse?" she asks, slipping her thumb between his lips and tugging at the corner of his mouth, forcing it into a lopsided grin.
"B-because," he stammers around her intruding finger, struggling to come up with an answer that will satisfy her. "Because I've displeased you, Princess."
Veronica draws back, releasing him from her grasp. She begins to laugh, a hearty chuckle at first that soon devolves into a veritable fit of mirth. She doubles over, clutching at her stomach, and Alfonse starts to feel almost lightheaded by the rising heat in his face.
"It seems your mouth isn't always dreadfully unpleasant," she says once she manages to calm herself. "You can be so very amusing at times, Alfonse!"
He ducks his head, but she clicks her tongue and pushes his chin back up with her hand. "None of that," she says severely. "I need you to keep your head held high when you strip for me."
Alfonse blanches. "I-I can't do that, Your Majesty, I-"
"But if you strip for me now," Veronica interrupts, sauntering back to her seat on the footstool and plopping down onto it, "then I will allow you to wear smallclothes and trousers from here out." She leans back on her hands, smiling up at him. "I think that's more than fair, don't you?"
Nothing in this situation is fair, he thinks, when he's a captive with no rights whatsoever. Further, he has no way of knowing whether or not she will deliver on her promise or if she only means to manipulate him for the moment. It would not be unlike her to do so, after all.
And yet there's a chance. If he refuses, she will simply strip him anyway and have a reason to punish him. If the result will be the same either way, then he would prefer to at least have the possibility, no matter how small, of securing something for himself. He doesn't relish the thought of unnecessary pain, either.
"You swear on your honor as Embla's imperial princess that you will stay true to your word?" he asks her anyway. She grins.
"I love seeing you get so serious with me! Yes, yes, I swear on my honor! Now, off with your gown-undergarments, too."
In spite of his sudden resolve, Alfonse glances to the side at Robin and Corrin. Both are on their knees now, spared for the moment from Veronica's wrath and trying their hardest to act as if they are paying no attention to the scene unfolding before them. Futile though it may be, Alfonse is touched by their effort.
"Pretend as if they weren't here," Veronica says, following his eyes. "Your body is much lovelier than theirs, anyway. So soft, yet firm where it ought to be. And this-" He flinches back when she slips her hand between his legs, patting his groin. "You have such a cute little cock-it really makes me want to torture it!"
The way she talks about his body makes his cheeks burn and his stomach roil with indignance and repulsion. He says nothing, however; protesting will only further incite her sadistic passions. Instead, under the pretense of needing space to shed his clothing, he takes a few steps back so that he is no longer within her reach.
He hates the sensation of his heart speeding up as he forces himself to cross his arms over his front and grip the hem of his gown with both hands. It's hard enough doing this in front of Veronica alone; it's only with the knowledge that Robin and Corrin are also nude that he can even attempt to do this in front of them as well. He closes his eyes as he raises his arms, drawing the garment up and over his head before tossing it to the floor. Mechanically, he undoes the strap of the breechcloth, then the belt around his waist, and drops it on top of the gown. He quietly exhales, then opens his eyes to find Veronica's upon him. He doesn't look down. Her reaction is enough.
"Look how big it's gotten!" she cries. "And red, too! My, how filthy you are!"
Alfonse curls his hands into fists. The throbbing in his groin has not abated, and her comments, detestable though they are, almost make him want to touch himself, despite the cord holding him in.
You weak-willed whore, Kiran whispers to him, and he swallows against the lump in his throat.
"I want to put my hands around it," Veronica continues, "and wring it dry. I bet it's so full up that it would squirt everywhere!" She says this last part with a giggle, rising from her seat, and Alfonse feels his heart beat even faster, the stinging pressure growing in his groin. He won't be able to expel anything tied up like this, he thinks, so if she teases him in this state, what might happen? Will he simply burst?
Veronica bounces on her heels in front of him. "Corrin," she nearly sings. "Come. On your hands and knees, now, like a good dragon-boy."
Corrin, by what can't be anything other than the contract's influence, scrambles toward them on all fours, chains rattling, palms and knees slapping against the marble. Alfonse is ashamed to find himself staring at the other man's penis as it swings and shakes beneath him in the vulgar, oblivious way of beasts. It isn't as if he can help his presentation.
Indeed, when he comes to a stop before them, Alfonse perceives a cold fire in his eyes, an admirable yet hopeless defiance.
"Straighten your back and lower your head!" Veronica snaps, grasping his hips and jerking them upward to level out the plane of his back. Corrin grunts but still says nothing; Alfonse isn't even certain he can speak through his mask, or perhaps Veronica has simply prohibited him from doing so.
"Please wait," he interjects then. "I'll do as you ask, so please, don't involve him in this." He remembers what Felicia said to him yesterday; now the words burn on his tongue like hot ash. "I don't want others to suffer on my account."
Veronica looks amused. "Don't you worry," she says. "They're here only as props for your grand show!" She jabs him in the chest with two fingers. "Now take a seat on your royal throne, Your Highness."
At first, he doesn't comprehend her meaning. There's no throne in the room; in fact, other than the footstool behind her, there is the no other place within reach where he can sit. Then he recognizes Prince Corrin's position and how he himself was ordered into it just the other day, and understanding dawns on him as he comprehends the true meaning behind the term "royal throne." He shudders in disgust.
"I-I can't do that," he says, but before he can object more coherently, Veronica whips her crop twice across the backs of Corrin's legs, causing him to cry out.
"You don't need to worry," she says silkily. "See how he maintains posture even through the pain?" She hits him again, this time flipping the crop up against his stomach. He whimpers but somehow remains upright, though his arms are quivering. "He has the strength of a dragon. You need not be afraid of him dropping you like how you did with me."
No-of course that isn't it. Why would she think that was his only objection-or even one of them at all? He feels dazed, vaguely nauseous. He doesn't want to be complicit in this. He can't stand the thought of innocents getting dragged into his mess. That's why he gave himself up-so that no one else would have to get hurt. This isn't how he wanted it to go at all. But if he doesn't obey, Corrin will be tortured. Veronica is really and truly forcing his hand.
"Take a seat," she repeats quietly, dangerously, caressing Corrin's backside with the crop.
Hating Veronica, hating himself perhaps even more, Alfonse perches on Corrin's back, light as a bird, supporting as much of his weight as he can in his own legs. Corrin scarcely acknowledges him, holding remarkably steady. His skin is warm against Alfonse's bare backside; the intimacy makes him blush.
"Good boy," Veronica practically purrs, rubbing circles into his cheek with her thumb. Then she directs her attention behind him. "Robin, dear-won't you come help me hold Prince Alfonse still? Take his arms, please."
Scarcely before Alfonse can react, he feels Robin's heat against his back as his wrists are gripped and deftly maneuvered behind him.
"Forgive me," Robin mutters, his breath hot against his ear.
"There is nothing for me to forgive," Alfonse assures him, leveling a glare at Veronica. Her eyes, however, remain on Robin.
"Shut up," she snaps at him, lashing him across the shoulder with the crop, so close that Alfonse hears its whistle as it flashes by. "That's an order."
Robin makes an involuntary, almost imperceptible noise of pain. Veronica either doesn't catch it or doesn't care enough to acknowledge it, much to Alfonse's relief. He has yet to be on the receiving end of her riding crop himself, but he's certain she's itching for an opportunity to use it on him and is merely waiting for an excuse.
"What do you mean to do to me?" he asks resignedly, hoping that his passive compliance will take her focus off Robin and perhaps even lighten his own sentence.
"Hmm? Oh, just a few things." She seems distracted all of a sudden, her discontent with Robin apparently forgotten as she moves to the chest of drawers across the room and rummages through it, returning after a moment with a small, nondescript box that she leaves on the footstool. Alfonse finds his eyes lingering on it until she slaps his leg, drawing his attention back to her.
"Eyes on me, prince," she says, kneeling before him. "You'll find out what's in the box in due time, I assure you."
He doesn't relish the thought of that at all, but he has no occasion to think on it further; Veronica has started to touch him, fingers plucking at the inside of his left thigh, applying pressure to his wound.
"Let's get this off," she says, unwinding the bandage. Once she drops it to the floor, she wrinkles her nose. "How unpleasant. It's all crusted over."
Alfonse grits his teeth. "What did you expect? Had you used a stave-"
"Hmm," she says over him, tapping the spot with her pointer finger. "Let me fix it for you now, then." She flattens her hand over the wound, and he flinches. Slowly, she begins rubbing it, gradually lengthening her strokes, moving her hand higher and higher until she nearly reaches his groin.
"No," he gasps, trembling from the surge in sensations in so intimate an area. "Please, stop…"
She does. He's about to breathe a sigh of relief when a sudden, intense pain at the site of his wound draws all his breath out of him. For a moment, he thinks she's pulled back the scab to let him bleed. But when he looks down, he sees with a flood of revulsion and horror that she's stabbed a small dagger into his wound, almost up to the hilt. Blood seams around it, winding its way down his leg. He cries out in alarm, jerks back, but Robin, hands sticky with sweat, holds him fast.
"Why?" he demands, tears of pain obscuring his sight. "Why did you do that?"
"It looks much better now," Veronica says, leaning in close. "Cleaner. And so beautiful, too." Her head is too close to his crotch; again, he tries to pull back, and again, he's restrained where he sits. Veronica flicks out her tongue, licks a long stripe up his leg, through the blood and carefully around the blade.
"You taste good, Alfonse," she breathes against him, tickling the hairs on his leg. Then she sits back on her knees, and without warning, wrenches the dagger from his leg. The sensation is agonizing; he groans as the cold steel tears through the skin and flesh of his thigh. Veronica lets the dagger clatter to the floor.
"There is a med kit atop that chest of drawers," she says to Robin, standing and brushing off her dress. "Bring it here." To Alfonse, she adds, "As soon as he releases you, I want your hands on your legs. Do not move them, or I shall stab your palms and cut your wrists."
He has no doubt that she will, and so when Robin releases his hold on him to oblige her request, Alfonse braces his hands against his thighs, fingers curling up and nails pricking skin. The pain is staggering; blood pools from the wound now, running down Corrin's side before hitting the ground in drops. Alfonse wants to apologize to him but doesn't dare to, for fear of both their safety.
When Robin returns with the med kit, Veronica orders him to treat Alfonse's freshly opened wound, which he does with a tender efficiency that's wholly appreciated. It takes eight gauze pads to finally stanch the bleeding. Alfonse tries not to make a sound as Robin winds a bandage snugly over a clean sheet of gauze, then ties it off. As soon as he's finished, upon Veronica's orders, he returns to his place behind Alfonse and takes his wrists once again.
"Now then," Veronica says, clapping her hands together jovially. "It's time for some fun!"
To his mortification, she suddenly lifts his penis into her hands, admiring it up close. "I can't believe you've had this on for two days and haven't died yet!" she laughs, running her left hand down its length and then pinching the tip between her thumb and forefinger. Alfonse groans, sinking back against Robin before he can stop himself, face flushed and groin throbbing along with his heartbeat. Veronica moves to grab his testicles, suspended away from him by the cord, and begins to knead them between her fingers, dragging from him long, mewling whines.
"Are your boy-parts very tender, Alfonse?" she asks him, tugging harder at his penis to further separate him from himself. "Might they fall off if I keep pulling?"
Somewhere in his delirium of pleasure and pain, he finds it in himself to gasp out, "Please-I-I need to-please let me-" He stops himself there, his pride catching up with him. Why does he bother? She'll keep him tortured and aroused for as long as it pleases her, and she simply loves to hear him beg.
But this time, she seems strangely satisfied. "Oh, very well," she sighs, as if his suffering were a mere inconvenience to her. She returns both hands to his base and begins to work them down his shaft, soft fingers playing him like a flute. She doesn't undo the cord, though, and the beginnings of panic, first a seed, then a sapling, take root. He needs a release, and the bindings won't allow it-at least, he thinks they won't.
But it only takes a few more moments before he experiences the familiar, dizzying sensation of expelling himself. For half a second, he fears catching Veronica in his spray and the punishment that will unquestionably follow. But this time, there is no propulsion; his fluid emerges from his tip hot and fast, and yet in the restriction of his bonds, all it can do is spill over the top and dribble over Veronica's hand, down Corrin's side, and onto the floor where it joins with the blood. What little pleasure he managed to derive in anticipation of the act has slipped out of reach, giving way to an almost overwhelming pain and a heightened sense of desperate, unsatisfied arousal.
He's breathing hard without realizing, shaking like a kicked dog without realizing. His hands are curled up and sweaty behind him. His feet left the ground at some point-he can't remember when-and yet despite supporting all his weight, Corrin has scarcely wavered. He hardly even has a chance to feel guilty about that. His penis aches with both need and its abuse. His body craves Veronica's touch on him again, but his mind is repulsed, horrified, ashamed. What was that?
Veronica reaches out to touch him, and instinctively, he retreats as far back as he can. She wipes her sullied hand on his mouth anyway, smearing his seed over his lips, his gums, his tongue. Stupefied, he allows her to. The taste is strong, utterly vile, and he gags, tears forming in the corners of his eyes before spilling onto his cheeks. Veronica smirks.
"You look beautiful like that," she informs him, and her tone is cruel, mocking. "Alfonse, the whore-prince of Askr-willing to do anything for even the smallest sliver of pleasure!"
He emits a sob at that, realizing that she's right, he even asked for it. He really is a whore-prince.
"Ah, ah, don't cry," she coos, scooping his face into her hands. But her wicked grin is anything but sympathetic. "Just accept it," she says, squishing his cheeks together. "Just accept that you're filthy, needy, useless little slut."
"No-I'm not!" He doesn't know where his burst of defiance comes from, only that he's tired of being called a whore, tired of being abused and degraded. Without really thinking, he jerks his head away, bashing Veronica in the forehead in the process. Corrin's arms tremble, but Robin somehow manages to keep them both from tumbling over. Veronica steps back, sliding her hand just below her hairline where Alfonse is sure a bruise will blossom, if the pain in his own head is any indicator.
For a moment, there's silence. Then:
"What a naughty boy you are!" She retrieves her riding crop from the footstool, and before he has the chance to even attempt to shield himself from it, she lands a cutting blow across his chest, leaving behind a stinging red welt. He moans, folding forward as much as Robin's hold on him will allow, clenching his teeth against the pain. It's too much, he thinks. She's gone too far in tormenting him. Kiran wouldn't allow it. Kiran has pride. And, shattered though it may be, he does, too.
So he looks up through his hair at Veronica, eyes fierce, challenging. Her lips curl into a sneer.
"Did you have something you wished to say to me, little prince?" she asks, lifting his chin with the handle of the crop.
It takes him a moment to get his lips working enough to make sound, but when he does, his voice is cool and determined.
"You're wrong. I am not a whore."
For a moment, Veronica looks taken aback. She wasn't expecting him to talk back, he realizes. Then her eyes harden, and her mouth twitches.
"Why don't you just shut up?" she growls. She swings out her palm and slams it into his face, knocking his head to the side so fast he gets whiplash. Before he can recover, she does it again on his other cheek, then back across the first. He chokes on what he thinks is only saliva until he spits a mouthful out and finds it sticky and red. Veronica pays it no mind and continues to hit him again, then again, and again. He can't speak to beg her to stop, can hardly even catch his breath. His ears are ringing, and his cheeks are smarting, and his head is heavy and unsteady, feeling as if it's been bashed several times against a wall.
By the time she finally stops, shaking and out of breath, his face is numb, tingling with what feels like thousands of tiny, blunted needles. It takes him several moments to regain his bearings, and once he does, he realizes Veronica has left him to once again search through her chest of drawers. She returns this time with two decorative silk handkerchiefs. Weakly, he lifts his head, only to have her pinch his nose, closing it off to air and forcing him to part his lips. The moment he does, she forces in one of the handkerchiefs, easily filling his mouth, then pulls the second over his lips, ordering Robin to tie it tight behind his head. Bunched up and soaked with saliva, the material soon becomes thick and obstructing, and Alfonse fights with his own reflexes to keep from gagging on it.
"I was right," Veronica says softly, tipping his face up to meet hers. "You look much better like this." She leans forward, kissing his bound mouth. He remains as still as he's able, trying to keep from panicking as he struggles to breathe solely through his nose. She releases him a moment later, sinking to her knees.
"Since you're so misbehaved today, I suppose it's time we finish up here," she says, and he isn't certain if he should be relieved or afraid. Afraid, he decides, when she brings a hand to his chest, feeling his clammy skin. She splays her fingers across his right nipple, pinching and pulling it without any regard to his discomfort. The skin there is so sensitive that it soon erects itself into a little mound, much to her delight.
"You enjoy being touched like this, don't you, Alfonse?" she murmurs, lowering her face to his chest before she can see him shake his head. "Disgusting boy."
She takes his left nipple between her lips, pressing them hard together while she squeezes at his other side with her hand. He throws his head back, colliding with Robin's chest. His gag muffles his scream but only barely, and he can feel Veronica's lips twitch around him in what must be a satisfied smile.
She employs her teeth next, chewing, almost suckling him, as if she were nursing. All the while, her hand works him over, tugging and scratching and pressing not just at his nipple but at the area around it as well to the point where, when he finally manages to catch a glimpse of himself, he perceives a wound that looks as if it were left there by a beast, the skin red and inflamed and bisected by parallel slashes made by nails filed like claws. His voice hums low in his throat, a ceaseless but subdued moan punctuated by strangled gasps and sobs at each renewed sensation of pain; she's loath to let him grow comfortable.
At last, she appears to tire and removes her mouth from him, then her hand. She regards his flushed face impassively.
"Does it hurt?" she asks him, and when he nods uneasily, she smiles. "Good. This is going to hurt much more."
For one deluded moment, he doubts her, really feeling, for the first time, the full force of his aching chest. Then he sees her reach for the box on the footstool and withdraw from it a pair of long forceps, a small needle, and two golden hoops linked together by a short length of chain, and he balks at his own foolish optimism.
"Do you know where these go?" she asks him lightly, dangling the rings before his eyes, and even if he could answer her, he's too frightened to admit it even to himself.
"They go in your nipples," she explains as if he had responded. "You see, we mark bulls with rings through their noses to show who they belong to-but also to make them submit. So I thought to do the same to you, Alfonse. That way, everyone will know who is your mistress."
Her words awaken a frenzied, sickening flutter somewhere just below his stomach. The sensation is far from pleasant; the idea of being physically marked like livestock is as humiliating as it is disturbing, and he can hardly stand the thought of it, let alone the reality he's facing in short order.
Veronica doesn't dally, either. She sets the rings on Corrin's shoulder blade and picks up the forceps. Alfonse cringes when she touches the cool metal to his swollen skin, running it up and down as if she were dowsing for something. Then she opens the grip and captures his left nipple in it, stretching it out and away from him as she scrabbles for the needle with her free hand.
He whimpers his protests but doesn't dare move in his vulnerable position. Veronica ignores him anyway, leaning in close with the needle.
"Don't worry," she tells him. "I've had plenty of practice." Then she presses the needle through.
The immediate pinch of breaking skin makes him squirm, but it doesn't hurt nearly as much as he was expecting. Veronica is quick to remove the needle and slide the ring through, clipping it shut. She dabs a bit of salve from the med kit onto it, swipes the needle clean with a piece of gauze, and then takes up his right nipple with the forceps.
"Ready?" she asks him cheerfully. He doesn't dignify her with a response, but she isn't waiting for one, anyway.
The second hurts far more than the first, perhaps on account of the ravaged state of that side of his chest. He sobs into the cloth, tries to twist away before she can insert the second ring, but Robin, predicting his reaction, holds him steady. Veronica halfheartedly cleans this one as well, seeming more eager to finally step back to admire her work.
"Beautiful!" she cries, sounding, disturbingly, as if she truly means it. "Now everyone will know just who you answer to!"
He can't lift his eyes to meet hers; he's too ashamed. There's a bit of blood trailing from each of his nipples, which are now linked together by the chain. Without warning, Veronica yanks on it.
"Pay attention to me!" she snaps. Alfonse stares. He tries to do as she asks, but her face is swimming in and out of focus. He regrets eating this morning; whatever he has isn't agreeing with him anymore. Or at least, that must be what it is, for his stomach is suddenly in knots. His face feels hot and feverish, too. It's getting harder to breathe just through his nose-he needs his mouth unblocked, now.
He doesn't notice that he's falling until Robin catches him. Everything goes dark after that, and then he doesn't notice much of anything.
So it turns out I'm slow and awful when I write smut. I'm so sorry! Thank you for your patience!
Robin and Corrin won't be the only white-haired bishounen to appear in this story thanks to a certain someone making a certain lewd comment in my castle's lobby. :3 And while we're on the subject of white-haired bishounen, it's strangely cathartic to finally be able to replace "Mysterious Man" with "Bruno," so thanks, World of Radiance!
Next chapter will be drama with a side of smut. Poor boy can't catch a break. Thank you all so very much for your continued support! Your comments warm my filthy cold heart!