Path to Submission Chapter 7: Pretty, Pretty
A/N: Same drill as before. I don't own him…but damn it if I did, he'd be walking funny. All belongs to the massively divine J.K. Rowling.
Chapter song: Inside You by Stabbing Westward
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It was a strange panorama of dreams. Some a jumbled mass of disturbing images swirling, diving and bouncing round in his head…others…
Unending rounds of pain and pleasure forced upon him by the one who could very easily break him down. Break him down into a whimpering, crying wreck of his former self. Whatever his former self really was.
Who was he really? What was he?
Scabior.
Or so that little voice inside his muddled, foggy brain kept screaming at him.
Scabior.
He kept repeating the name. Over and over again, hopeful that this was who he really was. Yes, you fool! That is who you really are! Get a grip on reality, snatcher! Because if you don't…
"And if I don't?" He whispered aloud to no one at all.
The little voice laughed its usual laugh of mirth-filled deadliness.
"You really are a fool." It snickered. Scabior, Scabior…what do you think will happen if you don't keep a firm grip on what's left of your reality? Oh of course, you don't want to think about it! Let me tell you then…"
Scabior rolled slowly onto his back, cringing as a fresh jolt of pain ripped through his body despite his carefulness. Tears leaked down the sides of his pale face into his hair, mingling with his sweat and his blood.
Still the dream steamrolled on…as the little voice inside his deranged and hazy brain laughed its frightening dirge of pain and pleasure.
When would morning come? If it came at all.
"Oh you beauty, so fine, so sweet like poisoned candy…brutal and vicious on the outside…so bitter and cold on the inside…"
Steamrolled on…
"How you taste like whiskey and smoke…willing to do anything at all…precious baby…"
Scabior fought to wake from this dream. Still, he slept on…the unwilling, yet willing, participate in an opera of delusion.
"What will happen? You silly snatcher! The same thing that has happened to all the rest…all those who could not, would not, give her what she wanted."
Deranged and hazy mind…filled with visions of pleasure, of pain…of all the things he longed to do to her. Of all the things, he wanted her to do to him. Broken and damaged, pleading and begging…oh to see her above him at that very moment!
Scabior whimpered inside his head.
Scabior whimpered outside his mind.
And she laughed coldly.
Yet he did not hear this. He only heard her warm, soft voice telling him the impossible, the mental, the silliness of what she said…of what he longed to hear her say…
Just when was morning going to come?
Would he be alive to see it?
Would he still be Scabior?
She laughed again.
Am I good enough for you? He whispered the words. They dripped off his swollen lips like blood dripping from an open wound…
…like his own blood running down in his back.
Scabior cringed, whimpered…and whispered her name.
Konstantina.
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Konstantina sat as close to him as she dared. She had no intention to waking him just yet…he needed relief, the healing that sleep would bring him, if his wounds were to be nonexistent by morning.
And yet…yet, he was restless in his sleep. He dreamed that she was quite sure of…
She stroked a stray lock of dark hair from his eyes, marveling at how silky it still felt to the touch. Soon her gaze shifted to the bright red streak that dominated the right side of his head, running it slowly through her fingers. Once again, she marveled at how silky it was.
Konstantina tilted her head slightly to the side, studied him for a long moment, and then grinned ruefully. She shook him forcefully.
At first, he thought it was still part of his psychotic dream. He moaned, struggled to stay asleep and pushed at the hand that tried to wake him.
"Only a matter of hours till sunrise…till morning brings another day…another whipping, another beating. You know you want to be awake for it, Scabior…wakey, wakey you fucked up, broken little ragdoll."
She shook him again, and finally after what seemed like forever, he slowly drug his eyes open and looked around him. He didn't notice her at first…didn't notice that she watched him intently…didn't notice the collar, the cuffs and the leash that lay before her…he didn't notice…
Didn't notice as she fitted the collar round his neck, snapping the small lock closed in the back…didn't notice until his arms were jerked behind him, and his hands cuffed tightly. He lay there not noticing…until she slapped him hard across the face. His eyes watered with tears.
"Wakey, wakey Scabior! Time to get your just desserts!"
"When I want you to wake up, my lovely little pet, I expect you to do so quickly. I don't want to have to punish you for something so trivial." She smiled slowly. "Not yet."
Scabior lay half on his side, half on his throbbing back…his bound hands and arms kept him in this painful position. He grunted softly, trying to shift himself around a bit, but to no avail.
"Does it bring you pleasure, Scabior? Don't lie. You know it does."
The twitching madness in his pants made him shiver.
"Pet, I think you have a few more hours of sleep before the sun rises." She ran a hand under his black leather coat, up under the waistcoat and under another shirt, until she felt the heat rising off his broken, bleeding skin.
"As I promised, your wounds from your first punishment will be gone by that time. Already the heat from your wounds is lessening with each passing hour." She tilted her head down and studied his face. "I expect you'll feel much better when it has gone altogether, yes?"
Scabior stared blankly at her. His grey-blue eyes glittered with unshed tears, the black kohl lining those hauntingly beautiful eyes masked the cringing only a bit.
"Sleep well." She leaned down and brushed her lips softly over his. She picked the black leather leash up, walked to where a wicked looking hook protruded from the tent's pole, and looped it over it. She turned back and smiled at him.
"Nox." She waved a hand and the tent was plunged into darkness.
Scabior lay there listening to the night sounds. It all seemed so surreal now. He should be running with those sounds…embracing them…hunting down those who deserved to be hunted. After all, he was Scabior, Snatcher extraordinaire. The one who hunted by scent…who knew you…who could find you no matter where you hid yourself.
Just by your…
…scent.
And now here he was. Lying on the cold ground, collared like a mere dog, hands bound behind him as if he were nothing more than property. Nothing more than one of those he hunted without mercy.
"You are the smart one, Scabior…always lording it over the others, always putting yourself first…now what, hm? Always torturing, always killing…always misbehaving."
He lay there listening. Sleep would not come again, not for a long time…and as he lay there, the wounds from his beating throbbed mercilessly.
"Reminders."
Scabior sighed, closed his eyes and waited. For sleep to take him under once more…for whatever was to happen next.
He waited.
"Such a beauty…no wonder those Muggle and Mudblood females threw themselves at you! They wanted a piece of your candy…the sweet and sour, yet so blatantly dangerous candy. Lips soft and silky, dripping venom…those eyes, oh those eyes, how they drew them in…a viper mesmerizing his prey before he killed it. The voice…sweet like honey, vulgar and rough, coarse but lovely…sweet talked them into their own deaths…"
Scabior smiled slowly. His years in Azkaban muddled his brain…set him on a destructive course to here…to Konstantina.
Scabior.
"Scabior…you fucked up, deranged little ragdoll…"
The voice made him smile more. He laughed slowly and sweetly…
"Kontantina's pretty, pretty…"
"Slave."