Title: Last Ascension (1/4)

Characters: Leo, Vincent, Gilbert, Lotti, Glen (Oswald) Baskerville, mentions of Elliot and Oz

Pairings: Elliot/Leo, Oz/Gil, Lotti/Gil, Vincent/Gilbert, Gilbert/Vincent

Rating & Warnings: M for smut (incest), non-con, dub-con, mentions of (kinky) underage sex, graphic descriptions of burning human remains, metaphysical (and very physical) angst

Kinks: non-con, dub-con, bondage, voyeurism, mind-control

Summary: In the midst of his grief over losing Elliot, Leo wants to ruin everything once associated with the Nightray Dukedom. Including its last Heir. AU. Post-Retrace 70.

Note:

Step 1: Put Nine Inch Nails and Stabbing Westward on.

Step 2: Write long, angsty smut.

Step 3: Stir to cool, then enjoy.

NOT part of the Borderlands series.

A late (but well-deserved) birthday gift for Sammie (of-blades-and-marionette/ itsonlythefairytale on tumblr). Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Jun Mochizuki and Square Enix own everything, except the lyrics.

Lyrics: "Hurt" ~ NIN

Last Ascension

you could have it all
my empire of dirt
i will let you down
i will make you hurt

Chapter 1

Memories flowed in and out through Leo's shocked mind, mixing with the echoes of strangers' voices and the floating glow of lights that never went away. There was pain. Immense pain, and then his vision aligned with the cobblestones and absorbed the expression of pure shock and horror that poured from Oz Vessalius's face, his hand extended in that killing gesture. Leo's eyes rolled backwards as the force of blinding agony radiated from his torso outwards and all was pain….

Elliot, is this how it feels to die?

There was blood, a spurt that was almost too much to seem real, and a wet thud as Leo heard his body hit the ground. Darkness crept on the edges of his vision and Leo floated towards the dark, which was so different from the piercing specks of lights from the Abyss. If this dark led to oblivion, Leo would embrace it with a smile (if he could smile, if he hadn't been choking on his own blood…)

"Live Leo, live for us…"

Elliot?

The healing process had already begun; his flesh painfully congealing around the gaping wound. Leo was a Baskerville. Of course.

Still, Leo cried out, extending fingers toward that unconscious realm, or that pale, glowing light with that inky blackness…

"Live Leo, live for us…"

The voices urged him on. No, they moved him, buoying up his weakening heart despite the rush of blood loss and the shock that rendered him immobile.

A voice, simultaneously coaching and cold, whispered, "Live Leo, live for us, live, move…"

Somehow, stumblingly, Leo rolled onto his stomach, got to his hands and knees, and crawled. He felt the slick coat of blood dragging against his clothes, catching bits of grass and dirt as he moved. He floundered, clawing and scraping to rest beneath the archway in the courtyard and lay there.

He wanted death. As his vision faded, he saw something wonderful, more beautiful than the lights of the Abyss, and encountered kind blue eyes and felt warm, warm hands touch his face….

Leo was jarred awake by the loping gait of the round-shouldered Baskerville Doug, who carried him slung over his shoulders. No, no, no, no, no…

The whiz of streets passed Leo's vision and he faded again until he woke to the cry of "Master!"

Leo found himself in a bright room, one of the many bedrooms of the Nightray manor.

The eyes of that pink-haired woman gazed into his and she was crying, her pretty face scrunched up in a foul, angry expression. "Damn them, damn them… We can't lose you again, Master, we can't…"

Between her vicious, tear-stained shouts of rage, Leo heard in his ears, the solemn voice of the previous Glen Baskerville echoing: "Welcome home, Leo. Welcome home."

He was trapped.

xxxxxxx

"Gilbert's yours," Leo told Vincent the next day. He lay on his back on the parlor's chaise lounge in the Nightray Manor's guest parlor room, dressed in a loose shirt over his bandages and simple trousers. He survived the battle, as much as he didn't want to. What remained behind was self-disgust and irritation as the voices wished him a speedy recovery (shut up shut up shut up).

The Baskervilles had escaped Pandora headquarters as well, dragging with them a shell-shocked Gilbert. The man had been reduced to mutters, cradling the last Baskerville leader's head in his arms as Vincent and Zwei carried him between them. In the aftermath, it was Vincent who had tended to Gilbert's wounds when the black-haired man eventually passed out. Currently, the Nightray heir was locked in his old bedroom across the manor.

Vincent put down the tea tray he carried into the parlor, placing it delicately on the sideboard. "What do you mean?"

Leo's heart twisted upon seeing the silver tray. That was setting Lady Nightray would use when she would have a personal tea with Elliot whenever he'd be home from Lutwidge on holiday. Leo wondered if Vincent selected that one on purpose.

"Everything is for your brother, right? What if I gave him to you?"

A generous proposition and a selfish one. In the miserable hours and days that had passed since discovering his true self, Leo felt like he was slowly, reluctantly, becoming attuned to his purpose and all that he was meant to be. Dismantling the walls built up from years of denial, shame, fear, and rage was a simple process, actually, since Elliot Nightray had been the boy who helped take it down, brick by brick. Leo hoped Elliot would become his wall in place of those dark shields, and those few years by his side were the happiest Leo ever remembered. Elliot kept the voices at bay and made it possible for Leo to think he could actually be a live as a functional human being.

Elliot was gone and everything inside Leo had come crashing down. And Leo wanted to pull it down the rest of it, to collapse the world he ever knew and crush it, crumbling into dirt between his fingertips.

Yes, Leo was determined to obliterate the lines and logic of Elliot's entire world, because he knew he would never be able to take part in it ever again. His beloved lay in the ground, and so, to Leo, it felt only right for everything that Elliot had stood for and held dear were laid to rest as well.

Coincidentally (or, perhaps, serendipitously), Vincent had taken care of most of that already before he had fetched Leo from Pandora by killing the Duke Nightray and having the Baskervilles exterminate rest of the household staff along with the unfortunate Pandora officers stationed at the manor.

Leo recalled his first night upon his return to the Nightray manor, empty except for themselves and the bodies. As they carted away the corpses to be dumped in a shallow mass grave on estate's forestland, Leo numbly thought of how many of those servant faces became twisted and estranged by death's touch. Lotti had placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Master, it was necessary," she had begun, but he brushed off her consoling fingers with a shrug.

"It doesn't matter," he had replied listlessly.

Nothing mattered anymore.

He then added, "Burn them."

Leo had stood by the towering bonfire that the Baskervilles made (they obeyed his every command, these strange people, looking at him in admiration and awe). Leo let the greasy smoke, pungent with the scent of charred flesh and hair and bone, permeate his clothes. He stayed up all night, watching his old acquaintances roast, observing with a certain detachment how their bloodless faces and stiffened limbs blackened and curled into themselves and how the human fat rendered with the ashes to create a sickly off-white paste that congealed at the base of the dying fire after the hours of burning.

What a fitting sacrifice.

Bringing himself back to the present moment, Leo glanced over at his valet to examine his reaction. Did Vincent's hands tremble as he poured Leo's cup? "Gil's… not the sort to be given," he replied lightly, his back facing outwards so Leo couldn't view his expression.

"Yes he is. Once he accepts being a Baskerville."

Vincent had explained the truth of Gilbert's past to him already: that Gil had been selected at the next Glen (if only that plan had come to fruition, none of this would've happened…) The thought of making Gilbert his replacement tempted Leo. Would there be a way to transfer all of the souls to him, along with all of his Chains? But then what would happen to Leo? Would he be stuck inside the whirlwind of ghosts while his body morphed into a monster? Or would Leo be free? The possibilities concerning Gilbert was the only reason why he let the man live.

But he didn't have to remain a Nightray. That allegiance Leo wanted destroyed, completely and utterly. A mere disavowal would not do, not for the likes of the final Heir. The Nightray honor was ripe for desecration.

Leo observed Vincent coolly setting up his tea and brought it over in the shining little cup on its mother-of-pearl accented saucer. He extended the set and Leo swiped it out of Vincent's fingers. The cup clattered, spilling hot, amber liquid. Leo grabbed his valet's wrist.

"I know the meaning of destruction," Leo said, meeting the other's bi-colored stare. "And the hope of salvation." His grip tightened. "You wish for Will of the Abyss to undo your existence. But I can offer you the sort of salvation you crave."

A dry laugh. "Master has the most foolish ideas in his head…"

"Don't lie." Leo angled his head and said astutely, "Don't tell me your feelings for Gilbert were different than what I had for… him…?" (It was too much to say that name aloud).

Vincent kneeled down, removing a handkerchief with his free hand to mop up the spill on the carpet; Leo reined in his elbow, drawing him close.

"I want you to make Gilbert swear loyalty to the Baskervilles. I want to watch you bring the Nightray name to ruin," he said lowly. Another pull until Vincent's face was near enough to kiss. Vincent, sensing a cue, leaned in (oh, that hedonistic whore of man; how often did Leo notice him try to distract others using that body of his?). Leo withdrew, an icy smile crossing his face as he let Vincent's arm go.

"I'm ordering you as my servant, Vincent. I demand this."

For a moment, Vincent's eyes flickered with some unknown emotion, before his eyelids lowered and that serene mask of servitude covered his features once more. He gave a slight bow of his head. "Yes, my Lordship."

Leo, Vincent, and Gilbert: a wretched trinity meant to ruin the Nightray Dukedom's noble reputation, its history, and soon, its lineage.

Elliot would be so upset to hear, Leo mused bitterly. But he can't get upset anymore. Because he's dead.

xxxxxxx

Master… Master…Master…

The thought pulsed in Gilbert's mind as constant as his heartbeat. In the dimly lit bedroom, Gilbert was aware of very few things over the course of the last few hours, as the rush of memories had rammed through him with a force that had left everything numb. He remembered the feel of Glen's head in his arms, the viscous embalming fluid smearing his clothes, mixing with his blood. His childhood, his life with Vincent, his life with Jack, the Baskervilles, old crone, the Tragedy….

Who was his master now? Did it even matter?

Images and sensation rolled in and out like the tide. Sometimes, the memories were so potent that tears formed as he experienced them again. The cold wet of rain-washed streets that he wandered with his brother. The roaring fireplace in Jack's manor, snuggled in blankets and warmth. The strong and reassuring touch of Glen's hand as he led him down the hallways in the Baskerville mansion. The smell of the estate orchards in the springtime.

Glen fighting Jack. A murderous pain across his back. The appearance Jack's Chain, a giant black rabbit (that wasn't Alice but Oz, yet how could that be, how could-?) The world falling out of place in an explosion and then it was Vincent, carrying him through the darkness…

Gilbert became aware of little things, eventually. He remembered soft candlelight and the burn of alcohol as it was poured over his wound. Vincent, his full lips pressed into a tight line, glided those silver scissors across his chest to cut away his clothes. His brother had been so careful, moving with precision, plucking out the bullet before sewing him using deft stitches. Like I'm one of his dolls, Gilbert had thought before finally passing out.

He woke up in his old bedroom, and a strange sense of irony hit him. How often when he was younger had he wanted to escape the Nightray manor, but was chained there through obligation and determination? And now he was literally trapped in his former adopted home, locked in his room, his wrists tied to the banisters of his canopy bed. They took the blood seal amulet away from him too, and without a bodily connection, his access to the Raven was lost. Part of Gilbert feared that they had shattered the pendant, and if so, everything he had worked for would be gone.

No, everything was already lost.

Oz was gone (and who was Oz? Certainly not his master any longer – gods, it hurt, it hurt to even think that…. Was he a boy? A Chain?). Pandora had tumbled into chaos. The seals where broken and the consciousness of Glen had returned, muttered the various Baskervilles in their shadows. But what did this mean? If Jack were to blame for the Tragedy this whole time (Was he? Was Oz? Was Vincent, even? Gil didn't know…), then what would happen next?

Gilbert stared blankly ahead at the fireplace opposite the room, where a plush chair stood. The bedroom had been transformed into his dungeon, and Gilbert wished he had been thrown in the Nightray cellar, instead of placed upstairs. Too much was insinuated by keeping him in a bedroom (was he only counting down the hours until some perverse game would begin?) His position – sitting up, hands bound on either side to the banisters, a pillow at his back to keep his torso away from the hard wood and his legs free – was a hair away from vulnerable. His arms ached from remaining in that bound position for hours, though enough slack was given so he could raise or lower them about a foot each way to ease the stress on his muscles.

Every time the bedroom door opened, Gilbert's heart jumped. He hated waiting for the inevitable. As the hours passed, no one came except for silent Doug, who entered to give him sips of water and bites of bread so he wouldn't starve. Not even his brother made a re-appearance.

Sadness weighed down Gil's chest, aching beyond his wound in thinking of his younger brother. Vincent knew all these years about Gil's memories and he never told. Everything made sense now: all those disappearances late at night, his obsession with what Gil knew and what he didn't, that look of shock and resignation at the very end, right before the last seal exploded.

But why hadn't Vincent visited him since? Again, when Gilbert thought he knew everything about his younger brother, mystery obscured his actions once more. Even as their childhood of loneliness and suffering played out in his head, Gilbert couldn't predict what Vincent was doing at this moment.

"Hello traitor."

A sharp beam of light cut through the gloom as the door opened. Gilbert turned his head. The Baskerville woman sauntered in, carrying a basket in her hands. Gilbert only saw her during the final battle at Pandora but suddenly recalled a vision of this woman in hoop skirts and flowing pink taffeta, kneeling down to ruffle his hair, smiling and asking: "Hi there, cutie, can you tell me where Master Glen is?"

The name rose up from his past. "Lotti."

"Traitor," she repeated again, lowering the basket on the side table. "Master Leo wants you cleaned up." She removed the items: bandages, a glass flask of alcohol, clean rags and several smaller bottles.

The folds of her red cloak parted and he saw that she wore nothing decent underneath: the tight corset, a short ruffled petticoat that exposed the sheer silk stockings that stretched over her legs. She removed the cloak from her shoulders and tossed it aside.

Gil, tied to the bed, could only avert his eyes from her cleavage as she undid the clasps of his shirt to reveal his bandages. Her touch felt invasive and foreign, making his skin crawl.

Lotti snipped at the old bandages with a pair of scissors roughly and tore away the bloody wrappings. There was no tenderness as her long fingernails raked across his skin when she swapped the healing flesh with a damp cloth. Gil flinched and she smirked.

"Poor thing," she tsked. "Would you rather have your brother do this?"

The reminder of his brother's hands moving along his torso made him blush even more. She grabbed Gil's chin and jerked his face toward her as she continued to swab his wounds. Gil jerked at the ropes, helplessly, as she pressed against him. "Lily wanted to rip your heart out for stealing the Raven. You deserve nothing better. Master should have his Chain returned. But he won't do it."

Was that anguish in her voice? "It's all for Master Leo. You understand, right? He's not my Lord Glen, but he's all we have." Lotti's delicate fingertips lingered down Gil's open shirt. "He's giving you a chance to redeem yourself. You should be grateful."

A hand suddenly grabbed at him from behind. Gilbert yelped, lifting his hips in reaction, and she smiled. "Stay there, traitor," she ordered as she unrolled a strip of clean linen around his chest over the injury. Gilbert bit his lower lip, tolerating her actions. Quickly, she re-tied the fresh bandage, but her hands wouldn't leave his body.

She smoothed out the linen beneath her dainty fingers, trailing her long nails against his skin. Her perfume, musky and deep and too strong, touched his nostrils, making his stomach twist. Rubbing down the front of his chest, tendering grasping the muscles of his abdomen, trailing further and further down…

Gil shut his eyes as the flash of memory came to him: laughing emerald eyes and a playful fingers dancing down his torso. "Gil makes the cutest faces when you rub his belly," Oz murmured, lying beside him. That was their signal in the morning, when they woke in each other's arms and Oz wanted to…to…

Oz.

Gilbert didn't want to give her the satisfaction of a verbal response, but finally, he growled, "Are you done?" How dare this bitch remind him of his master like that-

"One more thing." Slim fingers stroked down the front of his trousers. Gilbert recoiled, twisting his pelvis to the side, but his bound arms hampered him from further escape. "What are you-?"

"You don't deserve anything from him," she hissed gripping him by the sides. Gil cried out, "No-"

"Not even this." Roughly, she clambered on to the mattress, her heels sinking into the covers as she climbed over his waist to straddle his thighs. She yanked at his member through his clothes, causing him to grunt and sending a flush blooming on his cheeks. He kicked out and Lotti gave a little laugh as she rolled with the motion, her fingers kneading him down here.

"Stop," he choked out, feeling a sudden, inevitable horror. This was it, wasn't it, this was it- The arrival of one of Gil's fears almost felt like relief; at least he could resist this, he wouldn't give her any joy at seeing his discomfort.

He ducked his head, trying to keep Lotti out of his line of sight. His pelvis bucked; he arched his spine and writhed, grunting; Lotti bent and grabbed at the edges of his open shirt, using them like reins as he thrashed, yelling.

Forcing his legs to bend at the knees, despite the weight on his thighs, he pushed the woman off his legs; her hold on his shirt tightened and she tumbled off; cloth tore and ripped.

Hands like claws, she gripped Gilbert's bare sides to keep her balance and pressed the heel of one shoe right in the center of his bandage. Red bloomed onto the white linen and Gil roared, eyes tearing up from the agony. He couldn't breathe; colors flashed before his vision. And then the dagger heel eased off him.

Between his wheezes, Gil felt her weight settle across his thighs again, her legs hooking beneath his strained knees to keep them locked and immobile. Her short skirts were hiked up over her hips in this new position, and Gilbert saw the lace of her under-things flash in his face and she reached down to seize him again.

"You traitor. I don't understand what he'd want you for." She undid his belt and his fly (don't look, don't look, pretend this is nothing, she's not there…). Slipping her hands down the front of his drawers, her sadistic grin widened at the expression of embarrassment and anger that crossed Gil's face. The soft pads of her fingers rubbed against his delicate skin and he flinched, choking back his response. She had him in her grasp, and Gil couldn't think, fighting pain and shock as she taunted him in a sneering voice.

"You were my Lordship's most precious servant, his chosen one, but after the Tragedy, you abandoned us to crawl to the next person you saw. Pathetic little boy." The next three words she snapped out, each accompanied by a jerk of her palm. "Pathetic. Little. Boy."

Her words did nothing to arouse him, but as the pain from his chest eased to a low throb, Gil could not avoid that sensation of her digits along his member. A different musky smell joined that of her perfume and Gil noticed a patch of wet seeped through the lace in front of her crotch. Lotti tossed her head as she shifted her hips forward, rubbing the silken lace panties against the underside of Gil's cock as she pumped him in a firm grip.

"The traitor feels so good, doesn't he?" Lotti said throatily. "Does he enjoy how wet big sister's getting?"

Disgust overwhelmed him. "Don't-" he gasped, his face flushing entirely.

The smell of her arousal mixed with the headiness of her perfume and the moisture from her body. Tightness began to form at the base of Gil's stomach. He clenched his jaw to stop from crying out as her steady grinding continued. Lotti smirked. "From what I gathered from Vincent, I thought you couldn't get it up for a woman."

She spread herself on top of him in a feline motion, dipping her back low and presenting a generous view of the rise of her breasts. Lottie continued to press her feminine parts against Gil's member, angling the slowly hardening tip to press against the slick lace. She rubbed her body along his torso, and then straightened up leisurely. Her head dipped and an agile tongue licked below his navel. His forced gasps made his injured chest ache; he arched his spine and pushed again, contorting his torso in an attempt to throw her.

"Get away, get off, leave-"

But she didn't, nestling herself further, giving little nips along the tender skin at edge of Gil's bandages that made his hairs stand on end. "Oh no, this is so much fun." Reaching across him, she grabbed a vial of one of the oils on the table and removed the stopper with her teeth.

"Little Gilbert just needed to find the right woman, maybe," she said, drizzling the oil over her fingers and returning her hands to his crotch.

"Damn you, damn you." The sensation of her lubed warm fingers encircling his exposed member sent little ripples of pleasure. No, he thought, Not for her, not for this bitch. Lotti's fingers were deft and supple. Her thumb rubbed against the head of his shaft as the rest of her fingers gripped firmly, moving sensuously up and down, up and down…

Gilbert closed his eyes but the lack of sight only made him focus more on the sensation. "No," he said, lowly, shaking his head and resisting that warm pooling down his torso and gathering between his legs. "No, no, no-"

"But darling, yes." A scornful giggle from the woman on his lap. "Look how large little Gilbert can get."

Out of pure humiliation, Gilbert opened his eyes, realizing how useless it was to keep them shut. Against his will, the aching pulse between his legs became more intense, and Lotti's strokes turned adamant. Gilbert tried staring to the side, zoning out as he gazed at the marble mantle piece and traced the veins of grey running through the stone. He had to beat this, he had to draw his mind from her, from this place…

When her other hand cupped his balls, Gilbert slammed against the wooden headboard, biting his tongue to keep from enjoying the pleasure of her touch.

"You only prove my point," she panted. "You're not a true Baskerville. We're loyal. But you cling to anyone who shows you the least bit of affection."

"Stop," Gil gave a grunt, "You… bitch-!"

"If I'm a bitch, at least I'm not a whore." The lubricant over her fingers increased the sensation of her warm digits over his length. She thrust her hips against his unresponsive ones, forcing him to thrust against her. Gil moved, helplessly, letting a coat of need blind him momentarily. His lips parted and he swore again and again and again as she rode him.

"Oh, talk dirty to me. Big sister loves that."

"Shutupshutupshut-" A touch just beneath his scrotum, along that sensitive area of flesh, sent a chord of pleasure vibrating through him. "You…. cunt…." he said, startling himself as his voice drained out into a dribbling whine.

"But you love this cunt, don't you?" A wicked grin. There was a sound: a disgusting, wet noise as she slapped his erection against her dripping core, laughing at the horror on his features. "Oh, whimper for me, traitor, beg for me." Her hair fell forward over her head and her hot hands grasped and her scent unleashed something alluring…so different from Oz yet so triggering….

A rush of dizziness fogged his senses and a half-whimper, half-moan escaped his throat, trying to deny, to fight this feeling. Wild fear (this can't be happening, this can't be happening) and he tried to articulate it, but other noises kept getting in the way. The sounds, stifled and bestial, leaked past this lips as his own body betrayed him.

"Hmmm, I guess you can be such a cute servant." Another lick along his obliques, further strokes with her oiled palm. Her free hand floated down his chest, rubbing that wall of muscle as she rolled her hips on top of him. "Though you turned out to be not worthy."

"L-lotti-" he stumbled, trying to get his bearings. Why was his body reacting to her? Heat rose in his cheeks, flushing down the length of his trunk as he strained against his bonds. He was better than this, he couldn't give in, he wouldn't-

"F-fuck you…" Gilbert glared at her through half-lidded eyes.

"Oh, I wish you could," she smirked. Her rocking motions subsided and Gilbert shoved his head to the side, screwing his eyes shut once more, emitting an exhausted exhalation.

Her hot breath ghosted along his ear as she whispered, "I wish I could be the one to have you screaming in the name of our Master. I would make you work to earn back our trust, weeping in splendid agony between my thighs." Her hand gave one final pull, and Gil, unwillingly, gave a soundless little cry, mouth gaping, his skull banging into the wooden headboard so hard he saw stars.

Gilbert teetered on the edge, lightheaded and sickened, feeling his stomach drop from under him. Mounting shame over his situation overwhelmed his thoughts. His eyes closed, Gilbert noticed her weight shifting, easing as her fingers released him. Thank gods…

"Good," she purred. "You're ready. I would hate for Master Leo to be disappointed in your performance."

Wordlessly, he watched as she dismounted in one swift move, wiped her hands on the sterilizing cloth, and readjusted her short skirt, leaving Gilbert hard and exposed. He glanced at that damning spot between his spread thighs and immediately averted his gaze, shuddering. I'm filth, pure filth for letting her do this, Gilbert thought. He bent his knees and rotated his pelvis to the side in a weak attempt to hide his indignity. Gilbert bit his lower lip to trap in the sob as that tight throbbing pressed needfully against his linen underclothes.

Gilbert bowed his head. Think of nothing and this will pass. Just… don't think.

"Have fun, traitor." The heels of Lotti's boots clicked against the wooden floor as she exited the room.

In the hallway, she said, loudly, "I prepped him for you. Not that it took too much trouble."

Gilbert wasn't facing the door anymore, though he heard the portal slam shut and two sets of footsteps. A shadow fell upon the bed and a gloved hand tenderly brushed away the tendrils of hair that tumbled across his face. He tucked his legs in tighter, not wanting to show any more of his horrible, wretched self, but that movement caused even more constrained aching from his stiffened length.

"Don't," he gasped, resisting the palm that tried to turn his face. "No."

"Big brother."

Gilbert peered out of the corner of his eyes at Vincent standing at the bedside. Gilbert shook his head, muttering, "Not you, please, leave me alone, please, not you too."

Vincent took the bed sheet and draped it loosely over his legs, masking the aching tent. "Brother…" he murmured again. A sag in the mattress and Gilbert shuddered. He didn't know what to think. What was Vincent doing? Was he going to use him like Lotti? What did Vincent want?

Unexpectedly, the ropes that bound his wrists slackened and dropped. Gilbert raised his head to see Vincent untying him from the banisters, a look of consternation on his face. "Gil doesn't need to be afraid," he said as he lowered Gil's arms. "As long as big brother obeys, everything will be fine."