In which bathing is an icebreaker, Veronica pushes the limits of cruelty, and Alfonse learns Defiant Defense.
(I implore you all to check out the AO3 posting, where I've shared some absolutely stunning (SFW) fanart drawn by the immensely talented Fluticasone! ;'D)
Alfonse dreams of Zacharias again, but somehow, he can't seem to recall his face anymore. In the dream, it's featureless and indistinct. He feels a little guilty for not recognizing it, but it's been so long.
It isn't frightening this time, his dream, not like the last one, but it is surreal in an uncomfortable, exhausting sort of way. He's sitting beside Zacharias on the balcony of some tower, and they're dangling their feet through the slots in the balustrade as they look out over the capital city's bustling market district. The sun's sinking beneath the hills on the horizon, and a chill wind has picked up.
"We ought to go in," Alfonse says, not for the first time, but Zacharias won't.
"What do you think it would be like to jump from here?" he says instead, and Alfonse doesn't have an answer for him. He gets up suddenly then, and Alfonse thinks he's really going to do it, but he merely leans over the railing, spreading his arms like a bird.
"Don't do that, Zach," Alfonse says, anxiously. "You'll die."
But Zacharias only laughs. "You worry too much, Al." He tousles his hair like he's a kid. "I'm gonna jump, then. Watch me."
But Alfonse can't. He closes his eyes before Zacharias does it and doesn't hear a crash. He opens them again only moments later, but Zacharias is already gone, and no matter where he looks, both above and below, he can't find him anywhere.
He wakes after that, but for a long while, he's too scared to open his eyes. He can feel something cool pressed to his back and underneath him as well-marble tiling, maybe, and he must be sitting on the floor, against a wall. He isn't alone, he realizes after a time; he can hear another walking to and fro, though they appear to pay him no mind. A great splashing of water startles him then, and his eyes snap open.
The room he finds himself within is small and contained, its walls and floor hewn from gray-brown marble with intricate, pearly veining. He determines it must be a bathroom, for its most prominent piece of furniture is a clawfoot washtub enameled with white porcelain. A slight young man carrying a large bucket retreats from the tub, and Alfonse feigns sleep as he passes. He hears the heavy door to the chamber drag open and then closed, and, curiously, he opens his eyes to find he's been left entirely alone.
He tries to straighten himself, but a quick roll of his shoulders informs him that his hands are bound behind him; tugging at the restraints reveals them to be sturdy iron cuffs linked tight together. He's entirely nude aside, his skin raised with goose pimples from the coolness of the marble. Reluctantly glancing down, he finds, to his dull surprise, that his privates have been released from the cord, though they remain red and sore from their imprisonment. More alarming, however, is the realization that all of his hair there has been meticulously removed. The sight is disturbing enough on its own, the thought that it was done during his unconsciousness even more so. He can't fathom a motive for doing such a thing except, perhaps, to further his debasement by stripping him of another aspect of his adult masculinity.
He lowers his chin to his breast to examine his nipples. The spots are erect and puffy with swelling, thin tracks of dried blood wending their way down over the glowing red welt left by the whip's lash. The rings are set deep into the tissue and won't easily come out, should he resort to violence against himself to attempt it, though the very thought leaves him queasy. The chain connecting them taps against his chest with his slightest movements, and, unwillingly, he recalls Veronica's words on subduing bulls with rings and grows hot with shame and disgust.
He tries shifting again, this time onto his knees so that he can ease the pressure off his sore backside, but the sudden spurt of raw pain in his leg makes him cringe. His newly exacerbated wound has already bled through the bandages. If he moves about too much, he'll succeed only in reopening it.
It's while he's considering this dilemma that the door opens again and the young man returns, his bucket replenished of water. "Ah," he says, stopping in the doorway, "you're awake."
Startled, Alfonse falls back onto his bottom.
"D-don't look at me!" he shrieks, curling into himself, trying to cover as much of his ravaged body as possible. "It-it's disgusting!"
The young man immediately sets the bucket down and kowtows. "Forgive me, Your Highness," he says in a shaky voice.
The shock of the moment soon passes, and Alfonse frowns, disappointed in himself at his unprovoked callousness. From his skittish demeanor, it's quite clear the boy is under Veronica's thrall and thus very likely a contracted hero pressed into servitude against his will.
"Who are you?" Alfonse asks in far gentler a tone, though he continues to keep himself physically guarded.
"Gordin, sire," the young man responds, speaking to the floor. "I'm a humble archer serving in Prince Marth's forces." He pauses. "At least, I was until I and my liege and several of my fellow soldiers were seized by Princess Veronica and taken here."
He sounds so depressed about it that Alfonse feels even guiltier for his outburst. "Please, lift your head," he instructs, and warily, Gordin does, careful to avoid his eyes. Round face, youthful aspect-yes, he recognizes him now. "Forgive me for speaking to you in that manner," he says, shamefaced. "I'm upset, but not with you." He leans further into his knees, and the cool metal of the rings press into his thighs.
"No, not to worry, Your Highness," Gordin says. "I understand. It was... difficult for me as well. Adjusting to life here hasn't been easy for any of us, and I imagine it must be exceptionally difficult for you, sire."
Alfonse rests his cheek against his thigh, tries to keep his wandering mind firmly stationed in the present. "Yes," he agrees, "it has been."
Silence prevails for a long while until Gordin nervously pipes up, "Would that I could allow you your space and privacy, sire, but I'm forbidden by Her Majesty to leave you alone. I'm here to assist you in washing yourself, but if you would not have me touch you, then I will not. I've been instructed but not ordered to do as much."
Alfonse finally raises his head. "No, it's-it's alright," he sighs. "I would appreciate your help in that regard." With his hands bound, he isn't going to be cleaning himself any time soon, and it isn't as if he has never been bathed by servants before. Aside from that, Gordin has been with him this entire time; he is already privy to the state of his body and has thus far kept respectfully quiet about it. It isn't a particularly relieving thought, but it makes it a little bit easier to lower his guard around him.
So he watches in mild anticipation as Gordin rises and sets the bucket beside the tub, then slowly nears him. "By your leave, sire, I'm going to lift you and help you to the washtub. I'm stronger than I look, so don't hesitate to lean on me as you need."
Once Alfonse halfheartedly grants his permission, Gordin stoops, grips his underarms, and hoists him to his feet. He really is stronger than he looks, Alfonse realizes in awe, for he catches him when he stumbles with hardly a misstep of his own.
"Try to keep off your bad leg," he says patiently, shifting to help him better distribute his weight. "I'll redress your wounds after your bath."
"Thank you," Alfonse mutters, rather embarrassed in spite of himself to have another man wait on him so completely when he himself is utterly helpless. But Gordin doesn't appear to look down upon him for it; in fact, he seems pleased to be of service in any way that he can, guiding Alfonse over the rim of the tub and carefully lowering him into the blessedly warm water within
"Is that comfortable for you, sire?" he asks him once he has him settled, taking a seat himself on the stool beside the tub. Blushing faintly, Alfonse nods. "Then I'm going to use this cloth here to clean your body, and-and if at any point you wish for me to stop, you need only say the word."
Alfonse nods again, puzzled as to the origin of Gordin's almost excessive tact but appreciative of it all the same.
It isn't as discomfiting as he might have imagined, allowing a stranger to bathe him, and Alfonse finds himself beginning to relax. The water stings his wounds when Gordin unwraps them but otherwise feels soothing on his aching body. Gordin is mindful and deliberate when he washes him, starting, Alfonse notes, in the safe territory of his shoulders.
"Forgive me if this isn't my place, sire," he says after a while, stopping himself there but sounding very much as if he wants to continue.
"Speak openly," Alfonse says encouragingly.
Still, Gordin hesitates. "W-well, it's just that, earlier..." He trails off, pausing from where he's been washing Alfonse's back. Alfonse waits for him to gather his words.
"You said that you were disgusting," Gordin finishes at last. "But Your Highness-you must know that you've done nothing wrong-that none of this is your fault at all."
That catches Alfonse off-guard. "Yes, I-" he starts before cutting himself off. He knows that. Of course he knows that, and yet...
Gordin exhales, inaudibly, but Alfonse can feel it on the back of his neck. "You oughtn't to feel as if you are to blame for what Her Majesty has done to you, or what she has had you do. As long as you are under her power, you have no choice but to obey her. So you're not unclean, sire, for enduring her tortures. In fact, I think you're very brave and strong-and if I must be here, then I'm happy that my time is spent serving you."
He resumes scrubbing, and Alfonse is left feeling a mixture of surprise and embarrassment, though not without a glow of tender warmth. This isn't his fault-of course it isn't. It seems so obvious and yet why had he never really considered it until now? He signed the contract under duress, with the expectation that he would be treated with some amount of dignity, and Veronica has consistently denied him it. Not only that, she has abused, demeaned, and manipulated him through her words and actions and shown no remorse whatever for her actions, despite his best attempts at decency and compassion.
"Thank you," he says. "I… I needed to hear that."
"As did I, at one point in my life, sire," Gordin says. "So please, don't lose heart. Your cause is noble, and so you have as much of my support as I am able to offer under the restrictions of my contract."
"As long as you don't endanger yourself in assisting me," Alfonse says with a small smile, "then I will gladly accept it."
Feeling considerably more at ease, he leans back, allowing Gordin access to his chest. He has to close his eyes as he feels the cloth against his abdomen, carefully cleaning the healing wound there before moving up to wipe the blood from the lash mark. He flinches when the cloth brushes just beneath his right nipple, but Gordin is cautious when he cleans around it, never touching the spot directly and avoiding the ring and chain almost entirely. He moves to the other one quickly enough, then down to his groin. Unlike the cleric, he handles him gently there, remaining silent throughout the process, and Alfonse mentally thanks him for it. Somehow, Gordin's disinterest with the state of his body makes him feel much less filthy and degraded.
It's when they're finishing rinsing the soapy water from his hair with the clear water from the bucket that Veronica enters without so much as a knock on the door, Bruno trailing behind her and looking strangely morose.
"Oh, good!" she exclaims, clapping her hands together. "You're almost finished!"
Alfonse jerks his hands against their restraints, instinctively moving to cover himself. Thankfully, Gordin has a towel at the ready, stretching it across his waist under the pretense of drying him.
"Princess," Alfonse says frigidly once he regains his composure. "What do you want with me now?"
"Oh, don't be vexed with me!" she says, tapping something rhythmically against her palm-the handle of her riding crop, he realizes with a fresh bout of dread. "I'm not here to play with you today. Rather, I've come to drop off a couple of gifts. I think you should like at least one of them."
Alfonse doesn't at all like the sound of that, but Veronica doesn't wait for his response as she summons Bruno over and directs him to set a small wooden chest on the floor between them.
"As I promised, I've brought you some lovely new clothes," she says. "And I think that they should suit your fancy just fine. But before I allow you to put them on, we have a few matters we must attend to."
Gordin is only halfway through drying him when Veronica shoos him away, and Alfonse is forced to lean back against the washtub to support himself. He shrinks under Veronica's gaze as she examines him, her eyes coming to rest on his chest.
"Wow!" she exclaims. "Your cute little nipples stand straight up now!" She flicks one, and Alfonse gasps, clenching his fingers behind his back. "They should heal quite nicely over the next month or so, I think. Oh, I can't wait to play with them!"
The near-certainty of his remaining here a month, most likely more, is a sickening realization that momentarily steals his breath from him.
Veronica continues on anyway, addressing Gordin as she points to Alfonse's leg. "It's still bleeding, you fool!" she snaps. "Go wrap it! Now!"
Gordin hastens to obey, fumbling with a roll of bandages left beside the washtub and then dropping to his knees before Alfonse to tend to the wound. It's uncomfortable, having someone this close to his naked form, but for both their sakes, Alfonse says nothing.
With the bandages applied, Gordin stands and moves aside, head bowed low, as Veronica approaches to examine his handiwork. She makes no comment on it but, after studying Alfonse's neck for a while, orders Bruno to release him from his restraints. Gratefully, Alfonse brings his arms to his front, moving to rub his sore wrists, but Veronica catches his hands before he can.
"You're perfectly fine," she determines after a moment, tossing them aside and folding her own arms over her breast. "They've healed quickly enough, and we mustn't waste resources on such trivial things! But do tell-what is the cause of those ugly wounds on your knees? I was far too worked up to inquire about them earlier!"
Alfonse glances down at his scraped legs. "I fell," he says simply, scowling at her dismissive assessment of him.
"It's true," Bruno chimes in. "The fool tripped in the garden and split his knees. Maddeningly, he can't seem to go long without getting into some sort of trouble."
Alfonse redirects his glare toward Bruno while Veronica chortles.
"In any event, I grow weary and wish to retire soon," she says. "But before that-Prince Alfonse's first gift!" She whirls about, catching sight of Gordin. "You!" she barks. "Boy! Hold him!"
Gordin shrinks back. "I-I can't," he says. But just as soon as the words are out of his mouth, he grabs at his chest, doubling over as if in pain.
"Are you disobeying me?" Veronica asks, sounding more amused than angry. She turns to Alfonse. "Do you see this, prince of Askr? This is the dark magic that binds my slaves to me. See how he foolishly tries to resist?" Even as she says it, Alfonse watches as Gordin begins taking heavy, unwilling steps toward him, still holding his chest, head bent forward. "How futile."
"Gordin, stop!" Alfonse cries. "Do as she says! I know you don't act under your own power!"
Gordin drags his head up, brow glinting with sweat. "Your Highness," he pants. "I-I don't want to. I don't want to hurt you!"
"How crass," Veronica snaps. She storms forward and grasps Gordin by the neck, drawing him in close. "What a willful, defiant boy you are. I won't tolerate it!" She closes both hands around his throat, squeezing till he splutters for air. "Would you care to spend some time in the dungeons? I think I would quite enjoy whipping that attitude right out of that frail little body of yours!" She gives him a quick, brutal shake that makes his head loll back, as if he were nothing more than a rag doll.
"Let him go!" Alfonse demands, starting forward on his good leg. "Please, we'll both comply, just let him go!"
Veronica does, thrusting him to the floor. "Resisting is for lords and princes-not mangy little street-rats like you!" She delivers a kick to his chest, and he curls inward, coughing and clutching at his throat with one hand and his chest with the other. "Now beg for my forgiveness. On your knees."
Weakly, Gordin crawls onto his hands and knees and bows his head low. "Please forgive me, milady."
She lashes out with her riding crop, striking him on the backside. He lets out a squeak before hastily pressing his fist to his mouth to silence himself.
"Cretin," she sniffs, lifting her foot and bringing it down on his head, forcing it to the ground. "You're not even fit to grovel at my feet!" She kneads her heel into his scalp, eliciting from him a soft whimper. "Alfonse," she says, finally glancing up, "come here."
Alfonse gives a start, dragging his attention away from the cowering Gordin. "Yes, Princess?" Tentatively, he limps closer, fearing an incident like that which occurred with Prince Corrin should he disobey. To his surprise, then horror, Veronica holds out her riding crop, the handle facing him.
"Take it," she orders.
He doesn't move. "I-I can't..."
Her lower lip twitches. "Was that a request?" she asks, her voice falsely sweet.
Alfonse stares at his hands. "No, Princess..."
"Then take it." She proffers the item again. Hesitantly, he reaches out, closes his fingers around the handle. It isn't heavy in the slightest, but the untold burden it forces upon him is immeasurable.
Veronica lifts her foot from Gordin's head and uses it to kick him onto his side, then his back. He stays silent as she crouches down and manhandles him into the position she wants with his legs drawn out and his wrists pinned above his head beneath her hand.
"He didn't seem to mind it much when I whipped him," she says once she's satisfied with his arrangement, "so I have a better idea on how he ought to be punished." She draws up his tunic with her free hand, bunching it under his arms and exposing his pale, slender torso.
"No," Alfonse says, dry-mouthed. "Please, no-don't make me-"
He's interrupted by Gordin's sharp, stifled cry as Veronica reaches down and plucks his right nipple between her thumb and forefinger.
"Should I do the same to him as I did to you?" she queries, pinching and jerking at the spot while Gordin valiantly endeavors to keep his lips pressed shut. "His are so tiny, though-I might end up tearing them out on accident!"
"Please," Alfonse begs, his voice breaking, "what must I do to get you to discontinue his needless torture? Is it not me you wish to punish?"
"It is not," Veronica responds candidly. "It is this detestable little cur that requires punishment today, not you-for once. But I need you to mete out his punishment, Alfonse," she adds, sounding suddenly almost coquettish. "I am only a frail woman, as you can plainly see, and so I cannot adequately administer to this wretch the punishment he rightly deserves."
Her performance with the crop yesterday belies her assertions now, Alfonse bitterly thinks, and she well knows it.
"I'm also weak in the wrist," he tells her, presenting both of his cut and abraded wrists again for her examination, "since you deem it necessary to near-constantly keep me in some restrictive form of bondage. I can't help you with this."
He prays that might make her reconsider, or at least direct her ire toward him instead, but she merely sighs. "Such a foolish boy you are. I'd hoped you hadn't forgotten the consequences of your defiance so soon. Now this poor child has to suffer even more."
She releases her hold on Gordin's chest with a final cruel tug, then slips her hand down to his crotch. She roughly gropes between his legs for a moment before giving him a hearty smack there. He shudders, lets out a soft, strangled cry.
"Already hard, and probably wet, too," Veronica muses. "Pathetic. Simply vile."
"Enough!" Alfonse cries, but she pays him no heed.
"What would you like?" she murmurs into Gordin's ear. "Would you like to play with me some more? Or would you like for dear, virtuous Prince Alfonse to whip you raw?"
Gordin responds too quietly for Alfonse to hear, but his answer causes her to erupt into a fit of laughter. "Go on, then!" she cries. "Tell him! Tell him exactly what you want!"
Gordin turns his eyes up, his lips quivering. "Please whip me, sire," he chokes out, sweat glinting off his brow.
Alfonse bites his own lip. "No, I-I can't! Please, Princess," he applies to Veronica, "don't make me do this! I'm begging you!"
"You heard the boy say it himself!" she laughs. "He wants you to whip him! Come now, only, let's say, ten lashes. No-five. I'm feeling merciful today."
"But-"
"My patience is wearing thin," she interrupts, eyes flashing dangerously. "If you do not do as I command, then I will drag this boy down to the dungeons and have him tortured within an inch of his life! And I'll ensure you have a front-row seat to the show, Alfonse!"
"Your Highness-please!" Gordin cries out suddenly, before Alfonse can respond. "Please-whip me! I-I don't mind, and I don't blame you!"
"Shut up, you!" Veronica growls, clapping a hand over his mouth. "Do you enjoy pain? Hmm?"
"A-alright," Alfonse relents, before Veronica can do any more harm. He feels faint with nausea, struggling to keep himself upright. "Princess Veronica, leave him alone. I-I'll do it."
A grotesque grin stretches across her face. "Now that's a good boy," she purrs.
Alfonse ignores her. He stares at the soft, unblemished expanse of Gordin's skin. No-mostly unblemished. There's a scar, white and nearly invisible against the pallor of his flesh, stretched from his sternum all the way across to the right side of his abdomen. A battle scar, most likely, but a curious one for an archer, Alfonse thinks. Something doesn't seem quite right about it. He'll avoid that area if he can at all help it.
He breathes in, then out, trying hopelessly to prepare himself. Struck by a sudden idea, he passes the crop into his left hand. "I-I'm going to start now," he says. Gordin remains silent, and Veronica raises no objection. Alfonse exhales quietly in relief; she hasn't noticed.
"Five lashes," she reminds him. "As hard as you can."
He nods, swallows. Then he flicks back his wrist and releases.
Gordin doesn't make a sound, but the whip meeting flesh does. Alfonse flinches. Even in his left hand, that felt far too powerful-has he underestimated his own strength? A red flush creases Gordin's chest, but there seems to be no mark there-yet.
"Prince Alfonse!" Veronica chastises. "Surely you can do better than that!"
"I told you that my wrist is weak!" he retorts hotly. He wants this to be done. He wants to get it over with. Partially in anger at Veronica, he draws back his arm and whips Gordin again. This time, he elicits from him a scream that sobers him at once.
No-he wants this to be over with, but not at Gordin's expense.
"I'm sorry," he gasps, his hands shaking, bile rising in his throat. "Oh, gods, I'm so sorry!"
Veronica giggles. "Now that's the way, Alfonse! Come now, only three more!"
He can't stop shaking. Weakly, he flips the crop down across Gordin's stomach. The noise is small, and Gordin stays quiet.
"Tsk, that won't do!" Veronica says. "I won't accept it. Give him another!"
"Please," Alfonse nearly sobs. "I can't do this! Please, let me stop!"
Veronica's face hardens. "Pathetic," she sneers. "What a pathetic man you are, Prince Alfonse! It's no wonder your kingdom is so weak with you at the helm! I suppose you fancy yourself some sort of hero?"
That takes him unawares. "No," he says, "that isn't-"
"Oh, but it is!" she crows. "Prince Alfonse the Noble! Prince Alfonse the Kind! Tell me, do you believe that kindness will feed a kingdom? That it will help your people prosper? You're so terribly absorbed in your own heroics, you know, that you can't see the truth right in front of you! You're a weak prince who's blinded by his own self-righteousness!"
Alfonse recoils. "I-no-that isn't true," he says, lamely. "I'm not-that isn't-"
But no matter how hard he tries, he can't seem to find the words to defend himself. His mind has gone utterly blank and unresponsive.
"I don't care to hear your pitiful defense," Veronica says. "As I told you before, I wish to retire to my chambers in short order. Do not try my patience today, prince. Now continue. Three more lashes. Do them all at once if you're so desperate to get it over with!"
Without pausing to think about it first, Alfonse does, whipping Gordin three times in succession across the chest. He cries with each one but falls mercifully quiet save for the labors of his breathing once the blows have been delivered. Alfonse lets the crop fall from his hand, covers his face.
"Get up," he hears Veronica snap at Gordin. "Go hold his arms like I ordered before!"
He hears Gordin grunt in pain as he scrambles to obey, then feels his hands on his forearms, gently pulling. He allows them to be drawn behind his back as he's guided onto the stool by the washtub. Veronica crouches before the wooden chest and retrieves something from it.
"I ought to have done this from the start," she huffs. "Perhaps then you would have learned your place."
She holds out the item. It looks at first to be an oversized gold shackle, but Alfonse realizes soon enough that it's in actuality a collar much like those worn by Robin and Corrin. He flinches as Veronica brings it forward, fits it around his neck.
"It suits you," she whispers to him, softly kissing, then nibbling his ear.
She locks the collar in place with a small golden padlock that hangs down from the front like a tag. Beside it dangles a length of chain which she moves to affix to the one linking his nipples. Then she draws back to admire her work. Somehow, he manages to keep his head high and his eyes steady on hers.
"Doesn't he look positively lovely now, Bruno?" she exclaims, clapping her hands together, but that man seems disinterested in responding, staring off into a corner of the room without even acknowledging her. "Oh, and one more thing before you dress," she goes on anyway, apparently unconcerned.
Again, she crouches before the wooden chest, lifting another object out of it. Alfonse cranes his neck to see. The item is reasonably small for what it appears to be, fitting neatly across the span of her palm. It looks to be a cylindrical cage of some sort with an adjustable tube piercing straight through its center, but as to its purpose, Alfonse can only guess. Its appearance is ominous enough, however, and he retreats backward somewhat when Veronica stands with it.
"What is that?" he demands, shuddering as she brings the contraption closer to him. She hands it off to Bruno, who moves to the vanity at the other end of the room, selecting a jar filled with some kind of balm and unscrewing the lid.
"Don't fret so much," Veronica says. "Have I not already told you that I am the governess of your pleasure? Your boy-parts shall be kept under lock and key any time they are not in the service of my amusement."
Alfonse feels a bulb of cold fear blossom within his stomach. "Wh-what?"
He didn't think anything could be worse than the constant bite of the cord. Now she means to place this device on him? He fidgets in his seat, eyeing the thing as Bruno takes the balm and rubs it thoroughly down the center tube. He can't imagine where that is meant to go. It's only when Bruno kneels before him and begins to position it that realization dawns on him.
"That-that can't be going… inside of me... right?" he asks breathlessly as Bruno roughly takes hold of his penis, threading his privates through the ring at the base of the device.
"Hmm?" Veronica says, clearly engrossed in observing the proceedings. "Well, of course it is! Where else would it go? Ah, but worry not-it'll go in quite easily now that Bruno has slicked it up for you. You can still piss with it in, if that's what concerns you-that's what this little hole here is for, see?"
She shows him, but it isn't relieving in the least. Bruno maneuvers the tube toward his tip, and he squirms against Gordin's hold on him.
"If you struggle," Veronica warns, "you'll only make it worse."
So he stops moving, closing his eyes instead, though he can feel right away when the tube breaches him. He jerks back without meaning to, inadvertently thrusting the tube deeper into himself. He whimpers. The feeling is almost surreal-not painful, precisely, but certainly with the potential to be. Mostly, it's a filling sensation, as if he's being stuffed up with something. He can feel himself quiver around the tube; it almost makes him panic, and he cries out again.
"Hush," Veronica snaps. "It's almost in."
He can feel the bars of the cage around him now, pressing his penis from all sides and leaving it little room to move about. The feeling of confinement in that intimate spot frightens him, and he has to force himself to stay still.
It's only when he hears the click of a lock and feels Bruno move away from him that he dares to open his eyes, and though he orders himself not to look, curiosity bids him to anyway.
The cage sits heavy between his legs, tugging down on his penis without Bruno there to support it. The device makes his genitals look entirely alien to him, and the pressure it applies to them is impossible to ignore. He feels his cheeks warm with embarrassment, though he can't entirely name the reason for it. There's simply something distressingly dehumanizing about having his privates caged and held under the princess's thrall.
"How does it feel?" Veronica prompts him, smiling wickedly.
In a small act of defiance, he turns his head to the side. "I hate it."
"Good. You weren't meant to enjoy it."
She straightens up then, stretching her arms above her head. "Oh, I'm so tired!" she complains. "You've kept me so long with your games, Alfonse!" She glances over his shoulder at Gordin. "Release him." Gordin does at once, and Alfonse has to consciously resist the urge to pull at the thing between his legs. "Get dressed with the clothes in there," Veronica tells him, pointing to the wooden chest, "and Bruno will escort you back to your room. As for me, I am going straight to bed!"
She exits the room grumbling under her breath, and for the first time since his bath, Alfonse can relax his shoulders, if only a little. Shakily, he gets to his feet, waddling toward the chest while supporting himself with one hand. In spite of all the balm, the cage chafes a little, and he understands now exactly why he was stripped of his hair. He can't imagine that catching between the bars.
He's relieved to discover that Veronica has held to her promise and left him with appropriate attire. He pulls on a pair of loose silk drawers that, despite their comfort, do little to support the new weight between his legs. After come the trousers and tunic, both of the same off-white silk and trimmed with gold. He feels a little better in knowing that now, only his collar and the chain trailing down from it are immediately visible; so long as he's careful when he walks, none of the servants or guards will be apprised of the shameful ornaments he bears beneath his clothes.
Once he's dressed, he turns to speak to Gordin-to say something, anything with the hope of conveying even a sliver of his sincerest remorse-but Bruno is there at once to take him by the shoulder and direct him toward the exit.
"Wait!" Alfonse objects as he's hurried through the door. "I need to speak with him-please!"
Bruno ignores him, virtually dragging him down a flight of stairs to his all-too familiar hallway and back to his prison. Alfonse is thrust into his cell without so much as a word of acknowledgement, and Bruno leaves before he can even speak a full sentence to him.
Dizzily, he sits down on his stool, but, feeling the unpleasant sensation of his cage pressing against the solid wood, he moves to his bed instead. He lies on his back so as not to agitate his nipples or the cage. Exhausted though he is, however, he can already determine that he will not be sleeping tonight.
He takes a pillow from beside him and smothers his face in it, trying to imagine that he's somewhere else, that he's anywhere but here. A week ago, it would have been a simple feat to dismiss Veronica's words as mere provocations, but now that he has fallen this low, that he has committed veritable acts of torture, he cannot deny that perhaps there is some truth to them after all.
I got a thing for cute boys cutely bathing each other. And Gordin is one of my fav OG Fire Emblem characters, so I had to include him. He has some rather nasty skeletons in his closet that we'll be unearthing eventually. ;)
Thank you all for your patience and support, as always! You really do encourage me to keep doing my best! 3 Next chapter will bring tooth-rotting fluff followed by heartbreaking whump, so... look forward to it? :)
Special thanks again to the marvelous Fluticasone for the absolutely breathtaking art! I really don't think I can thank you enough!