An eruption of pain and the kiss of the toe of a boot to the stomach was enough to rouse the worn man from his distended slumber as he retched violently at the sensation. All at once, with horrid, terrible clarity, Kristoff remembered where he was, and looking up and with a blink of his one, remaining eye, he could note the raving dark before him, and the echos of pearly, perfect white before him that told of who was in his presence.
But his mind was thrown, wrenched in silent terror as it all dawned on him at once.
He wasstillin his cell.
His own, personal,unravelinghell.
"Rise and shine, dog. Come on, you've slept for long enough, don't you think?" He heard the prince spit above him, giving the impression that it was supposed to be a joke, almost a sort of teasing if it had been anywhere else, or said by literally any other person. It certainly would have been, he thought, but coming from Hans? Even in his addled mind, the man could still discern his contempt, his abjectdisgustfor him, and as it was clear now, what Kristoff held for him in turn. Hans' tone was anything but friendly as it echoed with blatant presence around the room and into the hall beyond, asserting their isolation from any other eyes that could be bothered to step in to stop whatever the freak had planned, but even that was, at best, a pipe dream.
It was becoming painfully,horrifically, clear in the younger man's mind that he wasn't even sure if anyone would come to help even if they knew what was going on.
Then it really hit him.
No one...was coming.
Not...a...soul.
"Ah...w-wha...Ha...ns..." He tried to speak, but it only made his jaw speak back in tones of scolding, screaming at him to be silent as distended muscles and fractured bone shifted painfully within his face, rendering him silent, still, when a strangled groan clawed its way from his throat. How he'd managed to forget that he was in this state was beyond him, but more than that was the fear of permanence that this might bring. It was clear to him that his jaw was almost certainly broken, and badly, too, enough that he could almost feel every shard of bone that had been dislodged from their rightful places in the tissue itself, leaving it rendered and open as the once fresh wounds began to ooze red waters from his efforts. Shifting his head slightly so that his hanging jaw might close a bit, he could feel a bit of it drip down his chin, dotting his pale thighs as the sensation roused him awake.
He groaned again.
Blinking rapidly the sleep from his eyes, or, unconsciousness was more the word, he realized that he was still chained to the wall, his still clothed upper half flush to the wall, sure, but he found himself flexing his fingers, each tip made made numb from having held this bent position for however long it had been since the last time...Hans was here. Shifting only slightly (as the wall didn't afford much in the way of granted motion), he found out very quickly that his head as given much the same treatment. Struggling a bit against the bond that bound his throat, the young man knew he couldn't manage much more than that.
He was tired, even after having just awakened, but that didn't stop the stroke of rebellion in his swollen, remaining eye as he cut the prince with as defiant as a look as he could manage.
It was really all he could manage, but he had to try. That was really all that he could do, but it wasn't without reason. Biting back any semblance of fear, there was nothing that gave him cause to hide the hate he had for him. He'd tricked him, beaten him...did worse.
What good would it do trying to appeal to his better nature? Kristoff had enough sense and understanding of people to know that there wasn't any reasoning with people, or rather, freaks, like him. He just had to find an opportunity through some other means, through someone else, even, someone he could reason with. That was pretty much his only option, he thought, remembering too well that horrible ache of his broken ankles as his wayward eye fell upon the blackened skin and jutting, ruined bone that told only of the rot to come. Even more, there was a sense that perhaps there was no fixing something that...broken.
That perhaps he would never walk again.
How was he supposed to get out of here, otherwise, if his ankles remained like this?
Then another thought, a rendered horror he couldn't fathom.
The thought of them being removed entirely.
How would he work? How would he do...anything?
No! Stopping thinking like that! Just focus on getting out of here. If I could just...just explain what happened...but without speaking, how will I -, He wouldn't have long to ponder on this as Hans was quick beside him, snapping his now bare hands before him as if he were calling the attention of some disobedient animal that had allowed its attention to drift too far.
"Come on, dog! I know you're not that out of it; I need your attention, I need youhereif this is going to work. That's right...good boy." The prince teased lightly, condescendingly, patting Kristoff's head ever-so-slightly, before returning to what he'd been doing in the corner, further off into a low-lit space and turned away from the chained man as he continued to hum to himself. Kristoff's good eye hung over the former, his mind shivering with protest he couldn't vocalize as his mind grasped at what was happening.
That is, through the infuriating touch of rage that bubbled within him at Hans' clearly patronizing tone, but it didn't stop there, not when the older of the two of them could be heard clanking around with things out of Kristoff's line of sight, and from where he stood, the prince's voice rang again, sounding much the same as a teacher or mentor to some wayward child. He was schooling him, from what it sounded like, but that sort of tone was the last thing he wanted to hear from the very person that had gotten him into this situation in the first place.
But he hung on every word, regardless.
"Thought it took you long enough to wake up. I considered waiting, but I don't think I have quite the patience for any of that, if you could believe it. I'm usually far more...considerate than rousing a guest from a good rest, but I think you've been under long enough, don't you? Besides, I think resting easy isn't something that someone like you should get to do...wouldn't you agree?" Hans proposed casually, though there was no denying the ominous undertones that governed the weaving of his words as Kristoff shifted, or rather, tried to under the other man's implications.
Someone like...him? What was he -
Then he remembered, what he'd been accused of.
Why he was down here in this cell.
They all thought that he'd hurt Anna, hurting her inthatway, one that he knew he would never do, that he never dreamed of, right? His mind aided in this memory by flashing it, the image of her body in that dark room, on that seat, still and cold as death.
The bruises on her body.
Her blood.
Her head, cracked like fresh fruit by a careless hand, lying there cold...that sickly trail of white seed filling his mind before he felt himself grow sick.
Despite the pain it brought, the young man retched, doing everything that he could to cast it away, to throw it all from him mind with desperation he had never before felt, if only to deny the possibility of it...of what they thought that he'd done.
No, he wouldn't do that.
He would never...hurt her like that. Anna was everything to him, and he couldn't even remember doing something like that, so there was no way that he could have done it.
It wasn't him.
This couldn't be real.
None of this was real.
"Looks like something's bothering you, hmm? Feeling guilty yet?" Hans called from the latter half of the cell, rummaging innocently through one of the many boxes of tools that he'd picked from before, causing Kristoff to flinch at his words before turning away, hardly in the mood to entertain his antagonizing. It was enough that he was being told that he'd done something, but he sure as hell wasn't going to pay heed to it.
He wasn't going to play this game.
He couldn't let himgetin his head.
Whatever he's going to do, it's best to just get it over with. He'll leave, I just have to -, he wouldn't get the chance to finish his thought before he heard a chair that had been set beside the boxes at the odd table nearer the back of the cell be dragged across the cold, still frigid stones, a piercing screech of wood in the former silence of his quarters. The prince didn't seem to acknowledge there'd been a sound at all, but Kristoff couldn't help but cringe at it, unconsciously shrinking back from the prince as the former drew closer and closer still until finally the chair was set before him, and in a single, swift movement, the former sat down.
The cell was silent again.
For some time, or what certainly felt like it, the two of them merely resided in each other's presence, the prince's relaxed features and Kristoff's more unsettled, but with effort, stoic, one strangely juxtaposed against the other's.
The younger man had to hold it, his composure, remaining perfectly still, unmoved, even when his reddened eye flickered with unkempt fear at the other man's matching stoicism.
It was impossible to know that he was thinking, but that was all the more reason to stand him ground.
He was almost certain that Hans was hoping he would look frightened of him by now, given everything that had happened. There was degree of smugness that rested on the prince's features in that fetid silence, an urging, he felt, for what he thought should have been the logical line of behaviors that Kristoff would take upon himself.
The younger man could imagine that Hans expected him to cower at the sight of him. He was equally sure that that would have just granted the sick fuck the degree of satisfaction that he was looking for, though for what he couldn't even begin to guess why he would even want that, much less from him. Was it simply to know that, despite Kristoff's resolution to not give him the response that he was looking for, he'd still effected him.
Was it to see him flinch away from his touch after having beaten him senselessly? To move his legs away from his brittle touch? To try and hide his stark nudity and shame from his prying eyes? Or worse yet, the man faced with a shriveling gulp, the feeling of his hardened flesh on his lips? The pulse of veins and heat that forced itself into his mouth? The taste of bitterness and salt on his tongue still fresh in his mind, even now as blood bubbled from worn gums?
Did he want to see him that disgust? That repulsion? That...self-loathing?
Was that what he wanted?Was it?
To know he was slowly cracking him, piece by fragile piece?
Or perhaps for some other reason he couldn't, and didn't care to, understand?
Kristoff steeled himself from the thought, feeling little reason to ponder it further; Hans' reason was irrelevant.
Despite this, despite...everything, he wasn't so easily shaken.
He didn'tbreakeasily.
No.
Hewouldn'tbreak. He could deal with...everything else when they got out of this place, found somewhere safe, he thought, feeling utterly assured of himself.
He couldn't break until he got out of here. Not until he found Anna, and Sven, and Olaf.
Not until they were free, and safe, and -
"This would all be so much easier if you just admitted to what you did. You know that, right?" Hans said finally, cutting the silence at last, throwing Kristoff off. The words hung in the air before them, lingering and heavy as what he, Hans, said rolled off of him.
He refused to give any of his lies credence. Not a single one would be considered.
"Di...di'int...h-hur...An...na...you...l-lie..." He spoke, or rather, garbled together unceremoniously, his words slurred and broken, and even more painful to formulate, but he fought through it, intending to make himself heard.
Hans was a liar.
And worse?
He was monster, hiding in pristine clothes and doting smile.
But that didn't matter.
He wasn't going to break so easily. He wasn't going to lethimdo it, either.
Then he pulled his eyes away, falling silent again, refusing to grace him with any further response to something that horrible, and even more something that he wasn't guilty of.
Turning his head, he wouldn't even look at the prince.
But Hans just laughed.
"See? That's what I mean. You come into this castle, thispalace, far grander and opulent than anything you, a little, fucking, dirty peasant has ever seen...and you sully it. We allowed you, some filthy wretch from the woods somewhere, to converse with nobles, and the princess of all things. Offer to feed and shield you from the storm. Give you and your pet safe haven...and what do you do to repay the immutable kindness you've been shown? The breadth of privileges that you have been afforded? You have your way. You force your foul, disgusting body on her and you leave her broken...discarded..." Pausing for a moment, Hans pulled the chair a touch closer, and though Kristoff listened to his words, and grew painfully aware of their closer proximity, he didn't flinch.
He remained unmoved, even when the prince continued to speak.
"She barely made it, you know. After you brutalized her, and bashed her skull in, she hangs by a thread. But the worse part of all of this is? You don't even have the honor, nay, theballsto admit to it. Why is that, hm?" Hans hummed with scathing tone, biting at Kristoff without an ounce of subtlety, yet still, the young man wouldn't entertain it.
It wasn't true. None of it was true.
It wasn't,it wasn't,it wasn't.
Leaning back and crossing one leg over the other whilst folding his arms, Hans looked...pensive.
Almost...curious.
"That's what I never got about you ilk. You take. Youtake, and yousteal, and you rape - " placing greater emphasis on the last word, it was enough to make Kristoff feel sick, and the man continued, still, " - but it's not enough. No...it's never enough that we were gracious enough to let you in, gracious to let you even share the same space as us. You know how many would have killed to have had even a fraction of the access that you had, you stinking,fuckinganimal? Huh?Do you?" Hans spat, his cool, relaxed tone shifting to take on a crueler, colder cadence.
He felt closer, as if he were leaning closer to the other man even when he screwed his eyes shut.
Don't listen to it. It's not true. Don't listen, don't listen, don't -' before he could finish his thought, Hans grew closer.
"Look at me." He commanded, and at once, Kristoff felt cold, colder than when the storm had been raging outside the four walls of his cell. There was a sense of deathly presence that slithered with ever word, gripping and tightening his throat and freezing his blood at the danger that trembled beneath the frail skin of poise that remained of the prince's persona. There was something there, the threat, no, thepromiseof punishment that cut the air between them.
Yet still...Kristoff didn't move.
Even against his better judgement, even when his mind and body screamed to be free of Hans' presence and his heart threatened to leap free of his chest and hit the ground with a crude thump only to remain pumping at his feet...he remained still, stiffening with braced prayer against what the prince surely had planned to reward his irreverence, and in truth, he couldn't imagine it would be pleasant.
No,he corrected himself with stunning clarity.
He was almost certain it wouldn't be.
But he didn't allow himself to bend, making certain to remain still even as Hans drew impossibly closer, still.
Kristoff was nothing else if not stubborn.
Stubborn to a painful,absolutefault.
"Are youfuckingstupid? Huh? You're a rapistandstupid? Isaid...look at me.Now." The prince spat again, but Kristoff didn't move.
He wouldn't move, squeezing one eye shut, the other having already been pressed to a close from the swelling.
Hecouldn'tbend, he couldn't -
Then Hans hummed, appearing...thoughtful, even...renewed, despite his defiance, his...disobedience.
It felt...ominous.
"Okay. I get it. I can work with this." The prince said finally, donning that same poised, singing voice so seamlessly, so quickly, that the younger man almost forgot where he was, opening his eyes to see Hans stand up, and without a single moment wasted, swept to the back of the cell again, to the boxes that waited and beckoned for one of the tools inside to be chosen, much to Kristoff's ailing fear. He tried his best to calm his breathing, though it was difficult. The man watched with his remaining, good eye as the prince, humming oddly enough, picked through each of the boxes; he inspected every other addition briefly before dropping them back in with a loud thud that echoed with metallic presence about the cell. After a minute or so, he heard Hans exclaim, holding up what he couldn't see from afar before moving again, making his way back to the chair, a calm, almost joyous smile plastered to his face.
Kristoff's one eye traveled to what he was holding within his grasp.
For a moment, he thought maybe he was wrong, or perhaps imagining it, but how could he have, he asked himself, all the color and tone draining from his face, leaving him pale and sickly shaded.
There were pliers in his bare-handed grip.
Smoothing his fingers against the strangely pristine, metallic surface of the tool in his hands, Hans seemed to be optimistic in some strange, unnerving fashion, somehow invigorated by the power that he held. Every so often, he'd toy with the handle a bit, opening it slightly, only close it thereafter.
As if teasing his intentions without a single word.
"See, now...I like ones like you. The stubborn ones, you know? I find that you all always believe that you can justbrute forceyour way to freedom. As if...if youjuststay quiet long enough, or. youwaitit out, things will just...fallinto place, right? I bet that's what you thought you'd do?" As if sensing Kristoff, Hans carried only, feeling out the edges of the pliers' crushing teeth.
"Yeah, I bet that's what you thought. I bet it went something like - " Pausing, he plastered a dull expression upon his face, and his tone was mocking and slow, as if imitating Kristoff as he spoke, "'I just have to find an opportunity. I can handle it! I won't crack. I'm strong enough, we'll get out of here!'Sound about right?" He asked, giving the younger man a passive, if dull, look that tore through Kristoff.
But he shook it away, refusing his efforts to unravel him further.
He's just trying to get in my head...just focus on something else,He reminded himself, placating the itch of doubt that rose at the nearly identical thoughts he'd had just minutes before.
He ignored that, if only to save the hope he had left.
Regardless of his silence, Hans stood up, waltzing over to to Kristoff, and though his body, echoing with recollection from before, wanted nothing more than to lean away from his touch, he forced himself to be still, making little attempt to resist the touch of the man's hands as, with one, free palm, Hans grabbed his chin, garnering a small grunt of pain from the man as his grip reawakened the throb of skin and fractured bone underneath. Hans almost seemed to...inspect him, a dissecting, yet simultaneously, fascinated glance that made the younger man's skin crawl with discomfort.
He'll leave, he'll leave, he'll leave, he'll-, Kristoff couldn't help it though, flinching as Hans's fingers pressed into a bruised portion of his cheek where the joint of his jaw lay out of place and thoroughly splintered. With a sort of surgical precision, the prince twisted fingernails into his sweaty skin, as if parting seas of rended bone and sinew out of the way in search of something Kristoff couldn't begin to guess.
He twitched, more so now that he could feel Hans' hand push his head up beneath the binding, strangling him against it as the pressure on his windpipe, and his bruised face, grew.
It was becoming unbearable.
Hans hummed again, pensive as he was before, and for a moment of almost sickening innocent, he was strangely unmoved by the growing struggle of the man beneath him when he paid heed to the caving flesh beneath his fingertips...like a child to a new toy. The poking, the prodding, it all was all so earnest...yet so calculated, as, when Hans noticed that pressure in a particular area made Kristoff squirm, with singular purpose he would pursue it, noting the whine that would trickle from his constricted throat thereafter.
It was as if...he was looking for something, searching for cause, for effect...feeling out the edges of a new thing to break in.
Kristoff tried to swallow at the thought...but it was hard to do so without being able to close his mouth.
"Come on. That's you think. That I'll just leave you alone without hearing it, hearing you confess to it. To...everything, right? That I'd just...letyou get away with it. Let youlive onwithout consequence when you did what you did? That's not right, is it?" He mused, and after a moment, the man shifted in step slightly, and with it, so did his grip, becoming harder upon his face as his nail began dig into skin, rousing the younger man from his stiller visage.
"Sto...s-sto - " Kristoff tried to command of the other, his bound hands clenching, twitching with growing pains that made his head begin to throb, and it wasn't a need to wonder why. Hans' hands and fingers made short work of the damaged skin that gave beneath his hands, pressing hard enough that the younger man began to tremble with strained effort. The smallest of gasps etched the air, but just as quickly, he attempted to hold it in, but Hans was unrelenting.
The prince smiled, a calculating look that sang with self-satisfaction.
"But I don't think you want to admit to it, do you? You wouldn't honor if it were written on your face, would, wretch?"
Then he pressed harder, his fingernails digging dark lines into his marred flesh hard enough that it began to weep lines of thick, dark blood around each digit; it was enough that Kristoff struggled to stave off the pain.
"I...d-di...I - " Hans wouldn't let him finish, not when Kristoff could feel his bones underneath give from the pressure.
Something was cracking, burrowing deeper fragments of bone into beaten muscle like shards of splintered ice beneath his skin.
And just like that, any pretense of reservation fell away with a raucous scream that clawed its way from his bruised throat. Kristoff had begun to struggle vigorously, doing whatever he could to tear his face from his cruel grip, but it wasn't working, nothing was working. In fact, with every jerk of his body, with every kick of his legs (which only served to jostle his already broken ankles, serving only to add flaring pain that inflamed his joints and rendered him still), Hans only seemed to hold on tighter.
Then something cracked again, worse now as younger man only then took note of the mild trickle of burning, hot blood that had been to stream from his cheeks from within his mouth, renewing that bitter taste.
That bitter blood.
And all the while, the prince didn't appear to be struggling at all, and though Kristoff was certain bound, there was little to suggest that he needed to exert even the barest amount of energy to remain as he was: poised and relaxed.
Hans...was stronger than he looked.
Or maybe, the younger man couldn't help but think in the midst of his panic and restless anguish...Kristoff was getting weaker?
It might have been the way his muscles screamed with fatigue, or the burning of his joints after having been held up above his head for so long, or maybe the coating of bruises along his body that prayed for him to cease moving at all. He couldn't tell, he didn't know, or maybe, it was all of it.
But none of that mattered.
All he knew was that he couldn't get the pain to stop, that his jaw felt, horrifyingly...as if it being pulled further apart, that Hans was all but trying to push his fingers into the seam of where his joints had separated, the man pushing harder and harder until Kristoff couldn't stop it.
He screamed, again.
It ripped its way from his throat, shrill and raspy and dry but agonized all the same as Hans began to laugh.
A light sound. Airy and unbothered by the waning light in his eyes, Kristoff's already exhausted mind struggling to stay aloft in consciousness. He was still so...tired. Enough that when Hans finally did let go, wiping his dirtied hands upon his pale outfit in a fashion that smeared red blood upon the purest snow, the younger man began to feel faint.
But he clung to it, each waking moment as his words, that mantra, came to mind, but they were quieter, now. Tentative with the agony it took to think them.
I won't break, I won't break, I won't break, I won't -
"Still nothing, huh? I gotta admit...you're pretty tough...so how about we try something else, hm? Something a little more...personal." Patting where he'd been grabbing before with a heavy hand, the pain bordered on excruciating, though there was no doubt in Kristoff's mind that that was entirely intentional, noting the coy, devilish smile that crept on Hans' lips as he stepped away from the former for a moment, just out of view. In the moments to follow, Kristoff could focus on little else, save for the pain as he trembled horribly, violently, from its dense hold on his features.
His jaw, no, his entire head felt as though it were going to split open, the sensation radiating, pulsing, and warm with presence he couldn't silence even as Hans stepped back to watch him shake in his bindings and chains. That same stinging blood that down his chin from the pooling that filled his mouth had since begun to seep down his chest like slathered, gruesome paint, painting his thighs in the much the same way as it dried and caked against his skin. Tensing against the wall at his back, he was filled with too many sensations to name: his head swam, eliciting the desire to vomit, or rather, anything to give pause to the agony that threatened to send him under again.
For a moment, for only a second, Kristoff felt himself falter.
His good eye couldn't see Hans near him, but he could certainly feel him close by. The horrible thought that he had more in store, that it wasn't over yet, made his mind turn with anguish he'd never before felt.
He felt...hopeless.
Gods...oh gods, please, help me...please...,Kristoff begged to the only ones he thought would listen, feeling his defiance fade, if only a bit. It was already difficult to know how he would even begin to manage to get out of here with so many things stacked against him, but to bear anything else under these conditions...he couldn't even begin to imagine what Hans intended to do, but he knew implicitly, instinctively, that it wouldn't be any easier from here on out. That it would almost certainly become worse before it got better...if it ever did. Screwing his eye shut, he pushed quick, shallow breaths from his nostrils as a deeper, rooted pang of aching sunk into his jaw, no duller than it had been just a minute or so before.
Resting there for a minute, before he tried desperately to collect himself.
No.
No, he couldn't...couldn't crack this soon. He could do this, he just...had to endure.
This was precisely whathewanted, after all.
Hanswantedhim to cave, he thought, resisting the building tears at the corners of his eyes at the mounting agony that seemed to spread to the whole of his body, threatening to swallow him whole.
Clenching his fists, he tried to ease into his resolve.
Endure.
That's all he had to do.
He just had to endure it until he was done. Just until he could speak to someone else, just until Olaf found Elsa, until he could tell someone that he was innocent, someone that he was sure would listen. Until then, he would have to bear it, learn to think through whatever Hans had in mind.
Just long enough to outlast him.
Just long enough.
He just...had to wait.
He could do this...he could last.
He could endure this.
Hans seemed amused enough, clapping his hands like an appraiser to a treasure, or rather, an unexpected one.
Kristoff's eye remained closed as it was the barest bit of defiance he could muster.
"Glad to see that you're at least...durable. Can't have you going under this soon...it was a pain waking you up. Even now, you're just...eating this all up. I like the ones with a bit of spirit, the...fighting types. It's no fun having ones that don't last long. You understand, right?" Hans mused, watching him as if admiring a piece of art.
The thought, the sight of it, of Hans sizing him up, reducing him to fodder, made him feel sick.
How could someone this...depraved...this fucking cruel...ever be as beloved as he was? He couldn't understand, he wouldneverunderstand.
Why? Why is he doing all of this? What is...all of this for? Why?,Kristoff thought, unable to fathom it.
But that question didn't have time to be pondered.
Not when Hans moved close to him again, the man bracing against his touch as his chin was cradled again, striking him like lightning as another explosion of pain took hold.
Enough that this time, he actually did get sick. He choked on a bit of vomit, bubbling at the back of his throat with a gross gurgle as he tried to force it down, though only barely, his stomach churning from discomfort and dizziness that only grew worse the longer this went on.
It was already enough that Hans was making work of his jaw; he didn't intend to bend to his will, but it didn't seem to be in his best interest to lose his lunch on the same person who held his life in his hand. If this was what he did when he was in a pleasant mood, he couldn't imagine what he would do if he were actually angry.
The thought, frankly, terrified him, though he was less than willing to admit it.
So he faired the taste of bile and acid, he bore the stinging that set his throat ablaze.
Because he would endure.
He would continue to endure, no matter what.
"But it's not just about lasting long, though that's important. I like the stubborn ones for another reason. Do you know why that is, dog? Hm? Do you?" He hummed, his voice becoming dark and low. He traced the pliers along the rim of Kristoff's lips, and though they were becoming numb as well, the man's eye remained glazed over with discomfort as he shifted uncomfortably, clenching his hands and digging his nails into his palms if only to distract himself.
He didn't care about his stupid questions.
He didn't care to make conversation, not that he could have, anyway, though it was bad enough that he had to be subject to a monologue regardless.
He wanted him gone, he just wanted this to be over. Despite his agony, Kristoff had enough control to open his eye, peering slightly at Hans as he peeked the pleasured grin that parsed his mouth, no more curious as a he was vigilant to the ever-changing moods of the former. Though he couldn't even guess where this might go...or how far Hans was willing to take this, with everything that had already happened...Kristoff wasn't sure he should assume the best.
But he was also too afraid to consider the worst that might come.
After a minute of his lack of response (though whether he was realistically expecting him to answer back was a question he couldn't imagine wouldn't be an obvious answer, given the state of his jaw), Hans sighed, tapping a single nail to one of Kristoff's teeth, with a tired, impatient look setting quickly upon his features.
"It's because you're stupid. But worst than that? Somehow...confident. A dangerous combination, I think. It's one thing to be stupid because you don't understand something or a situation, but mixed with misplaced confidence...it might lead someone to believe they have any semblance of control over a situation that is sorely, tragically very far from that. Sad, right?" The prince answered himself, and he didn't break in-between, quickly making the motion to elaborate.
"And to add onto that, you're stubborn to a fault. So much so that you still, despite everything, actually think that there's a chance that you might get out? I can see it all over your face. That there still remains the remotest possibility that you can get away with what you did..." Pulling Kristoff's head upwards by the chin to meet his eyes, Hans smiled almost sweetly, "...because you think you've outsmarted everyone. Or maybe...you think you're above this? But see, there are the little things, right? Little things that can make it that much harder to state your case. See...you never bothered to pull out of her when we found you. Did you?" The prince pushed further, lining the pliers up with the same tooth that he'd tapped. The motion, the implication, roused fresh, horrible panic from the young man, but with that, came that vile feeling, filling his mind with hardened resistance at even the suggestion of it.
The image came in his mind again.
Anna...in the dark...defiled.
But...but it wasn't him. Someone else...someone else had done it, someone in the very same palace, up above, lying in wait for the chance to strike again. Why couldn't Hans see that?!
No, please, no. No, no, no -,Kristoff was panicking.
He was terrified.
He would never admit that to Hans, never if he could help it, but he was.
He didn't know what to do, he didn't -
Hans continued, sneering down at Kristoff.
"You loved the way you slipped into her little, pink hole, didn't you? Don't you remember? Stretching her as forced yourself on her? Right? That's what you did, isn't it? You know the touch of her skin, your apish, filthy hands upon her breasts. Because that's what dogs do. They stick themselves into anything that they can get off on, but at least a hound would admit it, living in that sort of filth and depravity. You? You live and breathe the lies you tell, and worse yet...I think you believe them."Hans uttered lowly without even an ounce of tact or restraint, opening them to clamp around the tooth, and in response? Kristoff began to struggle even harder, the horror in his eyes was made clear, doing whatever he could to pull himself out of his grasp, all the while rejecting Hans' words.
He didn't hurt her. He Didn't Hurt Her. HE DIDN'T HURT HER.
From the back of his throat, he tried to make it, sounds that even barely resembled words, but most of it was jumbled, just as broken and misaligned as his jaw was. There was little hope that he would be able to articulate a confession or protests of any kind that the prince would listen to, but he still fought, his lower body thrashing at the promise of physical agony that was to come.
He closed his eye, forcing them shut and vocalizing as much as he could to anyone that might have been out there, in the halls and close enough to hear him.
Yet then, he thought...would anyone have helped? Would they not just stand by? Watch as their monster received his dues?
Because that was what he was now. A monster. Some violent, vile fiend that was right where he belonged, right? It was clear to him that no matter how loud he screamed, no matter how long he did, no one...no one was coming.
He was on his own.
His words from before rang true.
I won't break, I won't break, I won't break.
He couldn't afford to.
He tried to breathe, steeling himself against the uncertainty...and the sudden wash of loneliness that plagued the darkest corners of his mind.
He...had to endure.
He couldn't listen to Hans or his manipulations, or at the very least...try not to. But the man would have been lying if his thoughts began to echo his words, about the guilt he was supposedly meant to bear.
About the harm that he'd apparently caused, to the sins that he'd committed. He didn't remember...any of that. Not a single part of any of it, but...what if, justwhat if...no, no, he didn't do it.
Right?
"But you know what? If you can't be bothered to even try to be honest with me, yourself...or even Anna..." Hans started, gripping the handle of the pliers tightly, "...you won't be needing any of these, will you? It isn't as if you're the most, how do you say...talkative. I think it'll be an improvement...it'll certainly make things easier. " Hans joked, and Kristoff could feel it.
He was beginning to pull it out.
Endure...just...hold on. It'll be over soon, he told himself.
He wouldn't break.
He couldn't be broken if he didn't let them do it.
He was strong enough to last, he told himself, tensing as his gums screamed at the site.
Kristoff closed his eyes.
He was strong enough. He was strong enough. He was -
"But don't worry." Hans said softly, as he paused to lean down into Kristoff's ear, his breath warm against the lobe.
"We'll get the truth out of you yet."And standing up, he pulled upwards in one, swift, motion, and the first tooth was yanked from his mouth.
And again, Kristoff screamed.
But there was no one else around to hear it.
-(Some time later)-
Anna's hand was warm.
Hans's new clothes, his sleeping ones, a simple, white, nightshirt that fit around his slim body as he rested in a chair beside her bed. The woman was still, seeming asleep as bandages covered the breadth of where the indentation surely was, and from her, in the silence of the room and the quiet passes of each breath she took...she looked peaceful.
Far more than one would expect from someone that had been bashed in the head only hours before. Minding the door that remained closed now, a single candlelight beside Anna's bed a respite from the dark, Hans smiled as he minded their intertwined hands and the foreboding dark that cradled them.
They were alone, though it hadn't been that way for too terribly long now, the memory of a nursemaid had been at the young princess's (and now future queen) side fresh at about the time when he slipped in just a few short minutes ago, that is. He could recall her toiling away in this dark just the same, and at his presence, at this late hour, she seemed almost surprised to find him awake, and even more so when he told her to leave. His words, just as they always were, came quickly, seamlessly, effortlessly...spun lies with little resistance on his lips.
He wanted to be alone with the love of his life, he said.
He was so concerned, he just couldn't bear to be away from her side, he lied.
It was all so moving that the nursemaid spared little thought in believing him, and why should she have? After everything that had happened, after everything that he'd done...it would have been the gravest of blasphemies that she could have performed.
And she left without a word.
A simple check on Anna's bandages, a nod to the good prince, and she was off.
And that was where they were now, sat there in the late hours, locked hand-in-hand.
It was image from a picture book, the doting lover looking after the other in their care.
Wasn't that just...sweet?
Looking away from her, his eyes pressed to the silent fjord beyond, he opened his mouth to speak in hushed tones, noticing at once that he was smiling, a rare occurrence, he found, to have been genuine. Finding himself honestly pleased when so much often gnawed at his mind and thoughts...it was a fleeting thing that he didn't take lightly. Settling into his seat, he found himself feeling utterly relaxed, and rubbing his thumb across her still and warming knuckles, he sighed.
Then he blinked, easing into the fresh memories at the front of his mind.
"We had fun, you know."He started quietly, turning to face the young woman beside him, giving little time to answer for his enigmatic words as he considered her for a moment. He'd taken her silence as a more-than-acceptable answer.
It was more than he needed.
Despite her unmoved lips, he continued to speak, recalling clearly what was fresh in his thoughts to his mind's eye as he began to recount it all. That sickening bliss, the horrid satisfaction, the perfect ending to the perfect day and the beginning of the rest of his, no, their lives. Looking to his own hands, he could make note of it, the mild tint of red that dyed his white hands, the flash remains of sinew that one laid beneath each fingernail. Shivering slightly, the man forced calm where excitement began to rise in his loins at the though of it, though he couldn't stop the recollection, the remnant of cold metal made hot and wet with red blood.
Those pliers had fit so well in his grip, after all.
- - - - (Past Time)
"Hold on, we're almost done! Just - oh, that was a little harder to get out, huh?" Hans exclaimed excitedly, parsing the screams of the man as sign that he was still aware.
That he was still conscious.
That he was still entertaining.
It wouldn't have been any fun for him to give in when they were just starting, right?
The fragments of the tooth that he'd just pulled free from the seat of his bloodied, swollen gums, fell amongst the collecting shards around his boot. It was becoming more apparent that using pliers wasn't exactly the most...clean method, but it was certainly interesting, the prince mused darkly as the man's body vibrating with unkempt anguish, made worse by the bubbling spittle and blood and slippered and collected in a messy puddle beneath him. Of course, he hadn't really considered that the pliers would be too tight and break most of them before he could get them out, though he was especially pleased when they came out smoother and in one yank.
But that was harder to pull off. It took a good grip and practiced motion to really get it out that way, but he wasn't above rooting around to get the broken pieces if there were any left behind.
And there were usually plenty, he found.
Taking his fingers, he dug in the uneven, bloodied holes where the teeth he'd just pulled once sat, and each time he would, the man would shiver with delight at the sounds the dog would make. Kristoff loosed another, now weakening, screech that sang and hummed like music in his ears, and though they were growing quieter with each extraction, they still sounded...sweet.
He loved to hear him sing.
There was a sense of almost...vindication, he felt, as he dropped the shards of enamel to his feet, some clattering like broken glass against the wet stones before sloshing to a stop in the red pools.
This was satisfying.
Hans blushed.
It was...arousing, he admitted, watching the glistening wetness of his gums with shining, half-lidded eyes as his bottom half grew warm...familiarly so. It was strange not to think that everything always got him so...excited. Was that strange? It might have been, he thought, thumbing around in a jagged wound that leaked at his touch, and that feeling only grew to bliss at the wounded sound that crawled its way from Kristoff's throat. Looking down, he noticed his pants had begun to swell, the tells of an arousal that was just beginning.
Hans ran red, though he pondered the question again.
Was this strange?
He smiled.
Perhaps it was, but he was sure he didn't mind it much it was. In his digging, he managed to find another piece, a broken segment of tooth that was more akin to white, jagged pebble, and tossing it aside, he was quick to his work once again.
- - - - (Current Time)
"Of course, I can't tell you what we did. That's a secret, you know."He whispered to the unconscious woman, again, receiving no answer, much like before, his words only quiet enough to be heard in the tentative distance between them.
He was careful to mind his tone, the volume, too; it wouldn't do any good, having someone else indulging his more...personal matters.
But that didn't stop him from continuing, that same satisfaction, that decisive pride, was more than enough to suffice the urge to exhibit to any other the cruelties he could enact.
He wasn't sure how long he'd been down there, twisting, and pulling, andbreaking...it might been a few minutes...maybe an hour, perhaps even more. It didn't matter, he thought; however long it was, he'd scratched that itch again. He'd managed to find something that could eat his perversions...the perfect toy.
It was true, the man thought as he smiled.
The dog would prove useful after all.
- - - - (Past Time)
Dropping the pliers with a distinct, metallic clang, Hans looked at his handiwork. Wiping his brow, and promptly smearing blood upon his face in the same breath, Kristoff didn't respond, heaving with gasping, shaky breaths that seemed too uneven and labored for him to manage to get get out a word, even if he wanted to.
Not that he would have been able to, of course. Between the hanging mess that remained of his jaw, to the swelling of his tongue, the man couldn't help but notice the latest goring that rendered him mouth a wasteland of flesh...made clear by the gapping holes where his teeth once been, and where now only puckering wounds remained. It had taken time to get each one out of their socket, and even more time to get each of the broken pieces when some of them inevitably broke from the pressure and force he'd applied.
Thirty-two teeth.
Thirty-two holes.
All red and swollen and inflamed...it was beautiful.
And Hans felt...euphoric.
Absolutely, positively, unequivocally...euphoric.
Looking down, Hans couldn't count the many fragments, pieces, and whole teeth that swam in little mounds around his splattered, stained boots, the dark, black leather now slick and rusted brown in the low light of the lantern that he used to light the cell. If he'd resolved himself to count, he would have found some odd twelve, maybe thirteen, whole teeth that he managed to get out cleanly, the rest rendered chips and partials. There was the slightest bit of agitation on his part for having become a bit...impatient. He'd meant to get more than half of them out, if only to save time, but that wasn't exactly how it had gone, he found.
And thinking on it...he might have been just a bit too eager.
Teeth were surprisingly hard to remove, much more consecutively when you had to pull them out yourself. In fact, he noticed somewhat, his wrist was a touch sore, wiggling them a bit as he looked down to inspect himself and the horror that his attire had been subjected to through his efforts. Hans liked to pride himself on the stunning quality of his articles, even more so when he managed to keep them clean and pristine all the same, but now, in the dark of the cell, in that low light...he could hardly recognize them at all.
That once pure, white fabric of his shirt was now gone, replaced now with a gruesome, horrid red, bordering black, that soaked into the skin underneath. He was rank with copper stenches too strong to ignore (though perhaps the air was, too), but he didn't mind it much as he sat upon the chair once more, heaving a matching, heavy breath from his own exertion.
The euphoria didn't subside.
Hans looked up, watching the former, his prisoner,his toy, intently.
Kristoff was still, pressed and slumped against the wall to his back, sure, yet somehow limp and shaken with strain. Every breath brought to head a strained tremble that ripped its way through his body. By now, the younger man's eyes were closed, not that that really stopped the other's eyes from traveling along his body, perusing it like shop windows. In no uncertain terms, and to the surprise of himself, the prince found himself...enthralled with the stronger body before him.The tautness of his muscles, his red, blistered skin, coated in a film of sweat and dirt, the blood dripping from his mouth, painting his marred skin red...Hans had to admit it.
He looked...nice.
Enough that he didn't want to look away.
He felt warm.
Really, really warm.
- - - - (Present Time)
"I wasn't too rough with him. Can't afford to kill him so soon, after all. It's no fun playing with a corpse."The man said lowly, almost inaudibly, unaware, or perhaps, uncaring, about how depraved his words were.
But it was true.
Hans was certain that he'd have to keep him, for as long as he would last. It was be a waste to be rid of something this...entertaining.
This...useful.
Any other time, he found, he'd get...antsy. Impatient. Far too eager to answer his hunger with devouring his meals without carefully picking and consuming it, one piece at a time. Too often did he eat them whole when really...it was best to fast and enjoy your fruits.
After all: it was best to eat only when you're hungry.
Indulging too much, and too soon...it didn't bode well.
But he could wait.
The best things came to those who did.
- - - - (Past Time)
Everything had its utility.
That was what he'd long since understood, even as a child. There was a sense of remarkable awareness in his mind, he recalled, during this delicate, formative years when he was young and saw through innocent eyes just how tools were meant to be used.
And equally discarded after one was finished with them.
To count the numerous bodies, the innumerable whores that passed in and out of the beds of his father and brothers, and then his mother's chambers, too, was to count the points of dew on a spider's web after a pouring storm. Late at night, alone in his bed, he would try to note the voices, their cadence racked with squeals of pleasure that quickly became his only lullaby every night until the morning came and they were all cast away.
Tools, he thought then, and mused now.
All tools to be used.
To be discarded when all was said and done.
But there was something that he thought was even more clever than the endless stream of vile bodies that would march in-and-out of their palace, more wise then the silenced, pacified staff that were too afraid to stand against king and his closest kin...and that was having the whole of the kingdom believe that his most favorite toy was deserving of the fate that would befall him.
Because what is more fitting than a tool that deserved to be broken?
The thought made him smile, grinning ear to ear as he looked at the subject of his most hidden thoughts.
By now, Kristoff had stopped bleeding, or at the very least, it had slowed to a tempting drip, dotting his dark tunic black with blood. His rapid breaths and gasps, though still rushed and shallow, were certainly slower now, if only due to lax muscles that tensed only slightly beneath pale skin. It was evident that the exhaustion, that unconsciousness, was fast approaching the younger man, a notion that, without much in the way of mincing words, was the last thing he wanted.
Not yet.
Hans knew himself well, enough to know that very real sense of irritation at Kristoff's waning mind. Even now, sitting here, observing him, Hans could feel him relaxing, a present sort of yearning for the darkness of unconsciousness.
Just like the rest of them always tried to get to when they played.
Kristoff wasn't allowed to sleep.
Not until Hans was satisfied.
Pouting slightly, he eyed the man's ankles, each one drowned dark and purple from the mid-calf down. He didn't quite wince at jutting, protruding bone, but he hadn't really paid much attention to just how bad the injury had progressed in just the few hours following when he'd promptly smashed them clean before. By-the-by, he was usually not so…responsive to anger in the fashion that he had been in the split seconds between his flashing rage and the decisive swings to each appendage. By the time he'd realized what he was doing, Kristoff was already immobilized.
The skin was already split and red.
The bone was already smashed to bits.
I'll have one of the nursemaids come patch it up. Just to keep it from becoming infected; can't have him dying this soon, and for something born of bad judgement…and impulse…, He noted to himself, though he couldn't begin to think about which he could tell of this…especially now.
Perhaps he was merely overthinking it, but…with the mounting injuries to his person, it was becoming harder to write off each of them as a mere 'incidents'. If word got around about him brutalizing the prisoner without some sort of trial set, or without him being an official prisoner…it wouldn't be catastrophic, sure, but it would certainly be a hard sell, explaining himself.
It didn't do to punish the unofficially convicted…though under the circumstances…would anyone really care? Much less about some worthless urchin like this? Call it arrogant, but he wasn't sure anyone would be splitting hairs about him 'interrogating' the prisoner…but reputations are fickle things.
He'd have to carefully consider who that nursemaid might be…though right then, at that moment, he hadn't the slightest clue who might've made the mark.
But all of that could be considered later, when he wasn't preoccupied with…other matters.
Knowing the area was fragile, tender, almost certainly, he lined his boot up with just one of them. The closest to him, and oddly enough, the worst of both of them, if the jagged, wayward bone weren't sent careening through the skin like the head of an arrow through sinew; with his eyes closed, Kristoff didn't see that crusted, black boot near the site of injury.
And he also couldn't see that dark grin grace Hans' lips, fitting like a puzzle piece to his pretty face.
"Come on, dog. It's no fun if you fall asleep, wakey, wakey ~ " Hans sang mockingly, and with slow, considerate motions, he pressed the two of his boot into Kristoff's leg...and just like that, any semblance of unconsciousness was ripped from his face. Just as he'd hoped, the man twitched at the harsh contact, groaning lowly under his breath as he feebly tried to move it out of his reach, moving his legs swiftly only to reawaken the throes of agony along the whole of his legs.
There it was, that beautiful sound, a weakened scream from a gaping mouth as he pulled on his bindings, desperately in search of relief. It was a pretty picture of futility. Because after all,it isn't as though he would have been able to go very far, chained to the wall as he was.
He wanted to hear more.
He pressed harder.
The song grew louder, more carnal, as Kristoff's wounds, from mouth to ankle, wept red blood, the latter of which seeped between the space of bone and skin.
A gruesome, terrible sight, it was.
"Ah, there you are. Thought you went under. That would be too bad; I don't think we're done yet, do you?" Hans teased, lifting his foot and admiring his work from the chair in the moments following Kristoff's reawakening. Setting his boot back upon the dark stone, he readjusted himself in the chair, taking in a breath as his body seemed to react to the sight of him, and at once he knew that feeling, that sensation, stronger than it had been before. Enough that he settled back, and relished in it.
Now he was really excited.
He didn't need to look at his loose, black slacks tented at the pressure of his erection to know he was reaching the peak of his arousal, if the subtlety of precum collecting at his tip, moistening the fabric just the same, wasn't a clear indication of the same. The man hissed quietly under his breath as his stained hands brushed against what was surely his shaft through the fabric, the distinct print of his head twitching ever so slightly at his touch. He didn't need to do much to send electric through his veins with every motion, and with each stroke, it seemed to push desperately on confines of his briefs, begging for reprieve in his hands like the many times before that he'd answered it.
"F-fuck..." He voiced lowly, though just loud enough to call the other's man's attention, not that he cared that he looked.
Kristoff, with his remaining eye, appeared to be growing aware of the movement of his hands, and more than that? Hans' arousal as his strokes became more primal, making note through reddened vision of the bucking of the prince's hips with a single look that echoed disgust he couldn't begin to conceal. Hans caught the younger man turning his gaze away quickly as if unable to even look upon him.
But in the heat of it all, he could hardly think to be concerned with Kristoff's repulsion as a haze of pleasure washed over him, forcing a glaze to his eyes that didn't relent.
It was strange.
As a child, he was much the same way, odd as that may seem. For as long as he could remember, he'd always...looked to the obscene, to the broken, to all things ruined by his hands for pleasure in the way that he needed them to.His perverse fascinations with the pain, thehumiliation, of others remained, as it were, a clear through-line for the course of his life, as much as it governed now what he did in the presence.
Of course, he wasn't always...aware of this little...habit of his.
He was innocent then, less aware of the satisfaction that it brought in other ways as it answered his immediate need for gratification all the same. He knew he loved the red, the bone, the breaking...the sounds they would make. Though as a young prince, one might think it hard to hide the remains of the little things he would catch and play with, there was a least a silver lining to having the number of brothers that he did. It made it infinitely easier to be alone, to indulge his fantasies without the prying eyes of others, and indulge he did. Critters of every kind were a favorite to him, and with the share of time between his studies and courtly affairs (of which there were thankfully, and woefully, few) he stretched his interests into his adolescence all the same.
Ashe became older, the man realized as he looked to Kristoff's broken ankles, the crooked, fractured bone poking rudely at the sides of his skin only worsening the shameless flush of his own face as he reached into his lower articles, moaning with short pants into his hand as he bucked his hips to meet his palm like a desperate animal, it all became so much more...intense.
"Hnn ~..." He trembled, losing his train of thought.
Sometimes, when he was younger, he would wonder why he was this way. Little thoughts here and there about why he liked this...why he wouldn't partake in the women of the court, of which there were far too many to count. Sitting there, masturbating in front of the clearly destitute...brought feelings of pride and pleasure and hunger that he could only satisfy, he thought, by finishing it here all the same. He knew then what he knew now...that it wasn't enough to have someone...want it.
Spitting into his hands, the added lubrication was sending him further into ecstasy.
Pushing back into the chair, he felt himself trembling, shaking, with need to fill something, some unwilling thing that would beg and scream and hurt all the same.
Just like those animals had.
Those screaming things that squirmed and writhed so prettily beneath him -
"H-hah ~ ..."
- wrapping around his cock so nicely...he wondered very often why he was like this.
Why was he like this, he would ask himself, unable to fathom what the reason might be. Unable to know if he cared to understand why at all. Perhaps it was only a remnant of some human decency he never had to try and validate his actions with a reason that couldn't possibly justify the pain and misery he had surely, and would continue to, cause.
He wouldn't lie to himself.
There was no guilt. No...remorse, or self-loathing.
Only relentless need as he set about unbuttoning his pants and freeing himself, a hardened cock springing excitedly from his articles and into his hands, stiff, warm flesh pulsing with arousal that the prince wasn't shy about appeasing. Hans gasped, thumbing the tip of his member slowly as he began to drip tears of need along a waiting hand.
Gods, this was...this was what he needed, he thought, spitting into his hands again and taking to stroking his exposed flesh before the captive audience at his feet. His efforts were made slower, practiced, a tempered anticipation made by the need to slow his impending orgasm. Coming too quick would end the fun too soon, he thought, his bright, green eyes hazy and still in his skull, though fluttering eyes told of pleasure he couldn't even begin to articulate.
To have someone bring him this close...this soon...Hans couldn't help but look to Kristoff, that far-off animal that scratched it, that violent itch that remained firmly nestled in the back of his mind.
His blood, his...flesh, rotten and red and filthy -
He was given pause for only a moment, just a breath, as his eyes captured the barest of looks, the shriveling, hardly concealed repulsion so clear and evident on Kristoff's face that even with his distended jaw, the prince could pick it clean from his features. It was more than clear on his roughened expression, the strain of desire to keep his eyes closed.
See, because...that was just it.
It would have one thing entirely for the oaf to have fallen under again, to be made unconscious by injury or exhaustion, but...this wasn't so.He'd become more than well acquainted with when living things became unaware. The old ones, the little critters that he'd get his hands on...some of them were clever, hiding their awareness through playing dead, the stillness, in his memory, was enough to deter a far younger, and far less knowledgable him from pursuing any furthering the mutilation of the animals in his care.
It had taken time to know when they really broke...and when they were just playing pretend.
But for them, it was a matter of life or death. They went perfectly still with the hope that they had for a predator of a lesser ilk: that perhaps he would get tired, or bored, maybe even both at different times he figured well enough...but that only worked if they were hungry.
After some time, he began to figure them out.
After some time, he could truly discern the sleeping from the dishonest few that made evident their desperation to live.
No, he thought, brushing needy hands under the shaft with a shiver of pleasure that didn't ease, even when he fought to meet Kristoff's close eyes; this wasn't a fear of death he could see.
This...was from shame. Disgust.
Of all people, this...low-blood had the gaul to take that with him? Even with the notion somewhat infuriating him, it was nonetheless made scandalous in his mind. He knew it was the lowest act to force this on another, and in his thoughts, even more so with a man of the same sex, those old, palace values rooted deep in his mind about nature's hand, and the ill fates of those that went against it. Perhaps it was only because of how wrong this all was that he felt even more aroused by Kristoff's actions; however it came or whatever brought this along, he found himself grinning from ear-to-ear, unabated in his motions.
"It's hard...k-keeping this to yourself...y-you know?" Hans moaned, taking the fullness of his shaft and pressing his palm it with long strokes, sending striking electric through him. He didn't even attempt to conceal each gasp, each whimper, from the other, seeing as it would do little good now to try. Even so, seeing the younger man's body tense even more at his words, and the sounds of his pleasure, he motioned to turn his head; even without being able to move too much, given his bindings, the gesture was clear.
And that was a step too far.
Scoffing, he wasn't given pause, though Hans' euphoria began to subside as irritation set in.
He didn't get to be disgusted with him.A peasant, a filthy, dirty,fuckingpig like him...didn't get to turn his face with repulsion, with shame at what too many others would have paid to see. It wasn't often, or rather, ever, that anyone had gotten to see him this...vulnerable.Spitting into his hand, his movements became more vigorous, deliberate as his member pulsed with need.
No.
This dog...didn't get to turn his nose up at him. He didn't get to act like that.
No...no, he didn't.
- - - - (Present Time)
He hadn't the slightest clue what the hour was now, but he was sure it was late, or perhaps early, he thought, as he was certain that it was the morning hours now. The moon was raised high above them, peering in with white, pale light and casting Anna's face in a halo of ghostly radiance. It worked to illuminate her ashen skin, it surely did, but there was a distinct beauty in her resting, deathly features that gave him the urge to set about them in the manner he had before.
But like with all matters, Hans exercised the greatest restraint that he could...and put them down in the quiet parts of his mind where are restless things resided, writhing and horrible and lying in wait for the fated time they might be acted upon.
For when he saw his waiting toy again.
Instead, he leaned back in his chair, focusing sharp eyes to the ceiling of her quiet room, lost in thought. For a minute, he said nothing, wondering through ideal notions in his mind before turning back to her, considering her closely.
A face so tranquil, so...placid...just who would be there when she finally woke up?
The question beared little need for pondering...at least, not as of yet, it did.
"But would it matter to you? If I hurt him? Would you care?Couldyou?" He wondered, considering the thought.
There was no telling the kind of damage he'd left in his wake, that much was becoming painfully clear. With each attempt, with each timeline, he'd made every effort to be precise with the strike...was that was the pivotal moment then, yes, but with everything that came afterward, there was little to nothing to go off of. He'd never made it quite this far (and he had Else to thank for that), but looking at her now, it was a case of the easier of two evils, if one could believe it. If anything, there was no guessing at the level of care she would need, or if she'd even be a functioning person, he thought, noting the lightly bloody bandages framing the indentation of her skull where he'd struck her...where the path of their lives going forward would lead.
It was strange, thinking that something so swift, something so violent, could make his path to the crown be paved with ease...or persistent agitation for the years to come.
"After you wake up,ifyou wake up, that is, everything would have changed, Anna...if you'll even remember that name. That person you thought you could trust, that person who staked yourlifeon...has left you broken, scarred...but you have me, now."
Hans hummed softly, taking up her hands and holding hem tight.
But not as a comfort, as he did with a grin, its appearance cold and cruel beyond measure.
A cruelty only he could conjure.
"It's better you think him dead." He said, leaning over her body with a gleaning eye. Upon that pretty, idle face he looked, staring upon a still body that was in equal parts his as the one below.
The thought made his smile widen.
"That's what he'll be to you.Dead. At least...when I'm finished with him." He spoke in soft tones, placing his lips against her feverish ones, minding their heat with a hum of pleasure, giving little thought to the promise he'd just made.
That was right.
Without even a second thought, without even a moment's consideration, he'd made the decision, down in that deep below, to eat him whole, and in truth, he realized, he had little room for compromise. Whatever the path ahead gave, he knew certainly of very few things...but he knew that she would different. In what ways he couldn't tell or rightfully predict, but that was all he needed to know.
She would be so.
And with that? She, like everything else that would soon be thrust upon him at his ascension, would be added to pile of things he'd need to figure out, not that it was beyond his capacity to.
He was capable, after all.
Even more so with a lovely toy to look forward to at the end of each hard day.
The silver lining, he felt, to a complicated mess.
- - - - (Past Time)
Standing up, Kristoff, whereas last time he remained unmoved, seemed to tense at the motion before him. It had been the first time in a while that Kristoff even alluded to any degree of discomfort, as far as he could tell, barring the vacuous holes where his teeth had once been. It was, sparked with life with a squirm and an eye that snapped open, that single, reddened orb darting about the cell as if looking for a way out.
Futile as that might have been.
"N-n...no...sto...sto...it...don - " With his mouth agape, the bloody cavity beyond swollen from abuse, Hans could just make out the barest rasps serving as words and protests almost too faint to be heard as he guessed he'd long since worn out his voice. But Hans was anything but dissuaded by his meager effort, stopping just short of a few centimeters as his hips hung at face level with the taller man at his feet. There was a sense of déjà vu, staring down at that panicked, rugged, ruined face, and that gaping mouth just begging for something to fill it. He thought it remarkable, the sense of familiarity to a moment just like this only hours prior.
It was becoming clear in his mind what the younger man though was coming, and in grasping his sweaty, dirtied, blonde locks, and forcing his head to face him again, Hans could see, in no uncertain terms, the very thing he'd been looking for in the man's eyes.
Fear.
But still, even when it echoed clearly through him, a quite terror that only grew when he pressed his ruined face to his hardened flesh, he could feel resistance through muscles straining to pull away.
Even now, beaten, thoroughly and completely, he still fought at every turn.He never ceased to surprise him.
But his efforts didn't matter. His solid, veined cock was already teasing the edges of his mouth, restless just as he was to pull him to a finish in the same fashion he had before, just as he all of those hours ago before Elsa's death, looking just the same as he did now...like a frightened, weary animal that knew its fate all the same.
It was just making him harder.
Grasping his member, he hummed softly as it grew wet with Kristoff's blood, tapping it over each line of his gums where the teeth had been removed, earning back a strangled whimper in response to the pain it brought, and in return, Kristoff, growing slow and lame with tiredness from the fight he'd put up, pulled weakly away from him, though there was hardly anywhere to go.
It was a pitiful sight.
An arousing one, no less.
Hans briefly wondered why he spent so much effort trying to stop what was already certainly going to happen, even more when it would likely hurt more fighting it than just getting it over with, an unfathomable idea that he didn't bother trying to decipher.
"You think you have any right to turn your nose up at me, huh? Acting disgusted with what you are...with what you did...don't act coy, dog." Hans spat, pushing into Kristoff's mouth with a rough, swift thrust, pelting the back of the man's throat with poignant force he didn't bother to withhold. At the intrusion, just as he had before, he choked around the swell of flesh, gagging horridly around his cock with a desperately as he could, though it only worked to flexed the muscles around his hard flesh, pushing Hans to moan.
Gods, his throat was enough to make him -
"Come on, you should be used this by now, shouldn't you? Stop being...d-dramatic..." He grunted, pulling out a bit of get a better grip of his jaw and chin, pushing up both to feel the graze of Kristoff's tongue and the roof of his mouth around him, accompanied only then by the vibration of a weak scream that filled the younger man's throat around his cock. It buzzed like electric, violent shocks rushing through him and forcing him to push it further down his throat. Throwing back his head, and closing his eyes, he allowed himself to lean into the pleasure of every thrust, of every rock of his hips...and the crunch of bone beneath his hands.
The gurgling, the choking, thethrashing...it all brought him closer to his climax that he could feel building in him, but opening them again, his eyes, he felt the touch of mild dissatisfaction at the memory of something more. It was just a thought, one that had been heard and mused in passing when it came to mind. It was fleeting at best, he thought, but it was ingrained in him now, that very reminiscence of the different bliss that had come of Anna's body.
Beyond his hand, even more than the slick, wet mess of ruined gums and swollen lips that was Kristoff's mouth,her tight entrance was bliss made manifest, a point of pleasure he had never before felt, and for a time, he could never quite understand why his fathers and brothers had spent the better part of their time seeing to it that they could find holes to fill of their own.
Nothing that he could provide himself through masturbation even touched it, he thought crudely, pushing Kristoff's mouth even closer.
There was the sound of squelching, crackling, too, fitted snugly with the bubbling, garbled scream that was only matched by the reinvigorated struggle that ripped through Kristoff. It was enough that Hans found himself losing his grip, surprising him somewhat with the veracity of his efforts, even more now that this bindings clanked and pulled against his skin.
"Stop moving! I said stop - " But before he could finish, Kristoff had made enough of a fuss that, when Hans' cock slipped unceremoniously from his maw (which, thankfully, wasn't occompanied by the obstacle of teeth of the younger man's teeth, most of which were now scattered about the stones like bloodied, white pebbles), it was clear to the prince, in a moment of dark and singleminded efficiently, that his cavity wasn't nearly tight enough (even if it was certainly wet enough from the blood). He was left stepping back, the evacuation of warmth around his slathered cock a sensation that brought immediate feelings of displeasure he couldn't easily disregard. He watched for a moment or more the plight of the younger man, a flash of vicious fury rising in his shoulders as heat before he breathed through clenched teeth, loosing the fist that had been bound to his side, primed to strike the offender in his midst.
This wasn't enough.
It wasn't enough to have a struggling, whining wretch, making it harder for him.
How the hell was he supposed to get off like this?!
Kristoff had only begun to settle when he noticed thick streams of boiling blood pouring from his dangling chin, and for what he could tell, it had become far worse. The swelling had since ballooned several times, crowding the economy of his face as the sides of his jaw became puffy and raw; there was the distinct crackle of bone that shifted sickeningly beneath the dark, black bruises that violated either end of his face. It was more than clear that Hans' tampering had only worsened the extent of his injury as before, where it had simply hung ajar, Kristoff's mouth was loose and wrenched free of the most delicate tendons and ligaments that had once supported it were now stretched too far, the bones within it broken beyond repair. It was entirely possible, the prince figured, that they may be left like that, yet.
He wondered vaguely how he would get him to eat, but he didn't care for that train of thought at the moment.
What was far more pressing was the prospect of his now fading arousal as his member went untouched.
He needed something, and that mouth wouldn't do like that, so -
An idea came to mind as he stared long and hard at Kristoff for some time before he smiled.
Maybe...he could try something else...
Stepping away further, he could feel it, the almost hopeful glance from Kristoff across the cell where he'd been left, though the sense was fleeting and impermanent, born of the disorientation the former had suffered, no doubt from the evident blood loss he'd suffered, Hans was sure. Despite this, he didn't miss it, the man's one eye fixed to his form, though not without good reason, he assumed, feeling his gaze as the prince stalked back over to the table. Grabbing the keys that had been thrown atop them at the start of their time together (he'd learn that even placing them within sight and walking distance of the former, even without his legs in working order, wasn't the best plan of action), they jingled almost jovially as he paced back across the room. Kristoff, somehow still cognizant enough to tense at attention, only narrowly missed the swing of Hans's cock that threatened to tap his swelling lips.
In a way, the prince had to admit that he was impressed.
He was still so aware...and as difficult as getting him to cooperate was, he couldn't complain; it was far more entertaining when they didn't give in...though they'd see how long that last in the days, the weeks, and months to come.
Hans wondered if he'd keep that fight in him.
He surely hoped he would, at least for a little while.
Clearly not prepared to be released, Kristoff, as the bindings of arms and neck were unlocked and opened, the result of his numbing appendages were made evident; within moments, both hands fell like stones to either side of him, and his head followed afterward, slumpingforward with a distinct cracked as stiff bones and muscles clicked and were forced back in place from having been held in place in the manner that they were for so long. The man let out an exhausted whine, his jaw, pressing against his chest, crackled like thawing ice.
Hans was more than certain now that it wouldn't heal the same...not after everything that had happened. The hilarious, and frankly baffling, image of a slack-jawed, Kristoff, drooling and whatnot...it was conjured with good humor, even getting a bit of a chuckle out of him. Walking back over to the table and dropping the keys upon them again, he considered his lower briefs and pants for a moment before starting at his boots, removing them and discarding them with a thud. Unable to move, Kristoff could only watch with confusion (or what he assumed was confusion; such a distorted face left little in the way of means to tell what he was thinking much anymore) as the prince undressed, folding neatly and cleanly each article before settling them down upon the wooden desk.
He'd be putting them back on, after all.
Fully undressed from the waste down (it was cold, and there was hardly any reason at all to go nude, he thought), he turned back to Kristoff, stroking himself with a disparate hand with efforts aligned to the reestablishment of his erection, the one he'd lost due to the dog's insolence, he found, the man spitting thrice into his palm to ease the friction.
He felt himself speak.
"You know, I usually wouldn't do this. See, I never had the inclination to bed another man before, nor the desire to. It just seemed so...filthy. That's what Mother and Father would say, at least. That it was far more fitting for a man to bed a woman, the like...but you know..." He started, grunting under his breath from the blood that filled his groin, "...a hole is a hole, isn't it? I suppose...it can't be that different from women, can it? What do you think, dog?" He explained simply his thoughts simply, and how he saw it, intuitively, paying little heed growing horror upon Kristoff's face as Hans' words slowly, but surely, dawned on him.
"N...nnn...ah...a-ah... " He barely managed to rasp, his vocal muscles thoroughly fried, certainly, but that didn't stop him from attempting to push off of the wall, and that much, he managed to do. With a crude thud, he fell upon his sides as his once numb arms scrambled to cover ground, though his heavy body hardly moved, much less without functioning ankles to stand upon.Hans smiled, that same, empty smile that ripped across his face like violence and lust had etched the meanings of each word into his very features.
He didn't get far at all, he realized, even in the passing moments he simply watched him struggle, finding the sight far too amusing for words.
And without another word, he started his way across the room.
- - - - (Present Time)
He tried to imagine how she might have look, hearing what he was telling her.
Would she care if she knew the story he'd told everyone else? Would it bring her pain? Would she hate him, too?
Part of him was so very curious, and another part though the mystery of it all far more suitable. Regardless of his personal feelings, he knew that this would only work if she knew, if she were made aware of it; it would be hard to convince the kingdom to remain perfectly quiet regarding something this...momentous. She was sure to find out eventually, he was sure.
So it was best to find the reasons now. To paint the canvas with the picture that he wanted, no, needed her to see.
This only worked if everyone was onboard, after all.
"You understand, right?" Hans started, the moon lower now, casting her in light, and him in darkness as it pelted heavenly fingers along his back.
"He isn't a person anymore, anyway. Not with what I've told everyone, not with what they think he's done. They believe it...they all believe it, and it's better that way. As far as you know, and what you'll learn...you think the same. That he deserves everything that comes to him when I tell you what he did, won't you?" He asserted, feeling...certain.
She trusted him. Shelovedhim.
And upon that perfect face, he wondered how it would look when all of this was to be told. Would it hold horror? Pain? Anguish? Betrayal? Hatred? A kaleidoscope of emotions, of thoughts, of considerations, all twisted to fit what it had once been; a perfectly...still...face. Regardless of the nature of her reaction, he knew one thing.
She would take his side.
Anna would agree with him,trusthim, and with that child in her womb, his own but damned to death, he would make sure of it, he was certain that should probably wouldn't have the mind to question what he said, or the truth of what really happened. And so long as no one else could fight the truth, apart from some lowborn criminal in the eyes of all others (and of course, who would believe him, right?), she would believe him.
They all would.
Because he'd proven his worth.
Hans waskind.
Hans wasnoble.
Hardworking.
Devoted.
Perfect.
Utterly, completely, irrevocably, undeniably...perfect.
That he was.
And that was what they would see him as, forevermore.
- - - - (Past Time)
He loved watching them squirm, like the wriggling little insects that they were. They were all the same, he found;from the cats he'd found, to the dogs left astray, and the many other creatures he'd managed to get his hands on, it didn't matter.
They all looked the same in his mind, the way he remembered them.
Desperate. Terrified. Wounded and tired. Only then, when he was finished playing with them, did their final purpose became clear.
Rendered holes to be used as that was all they had left.
"He...Hel...p..."
He could hear the man on the ground, cast upon the stones like some great, splayed carpet, call out weakly under broken words and musings unheard beyond. As far as he could tell, it was all reduced, garbled nonsense, mumblings of pointless noise he didn't have the care nor patience to even attempt to decipher. It sounded, he thought, with passing amusement, very much as though he were calling for help.
A meager attempt to be sure, and like the begging animal, he could see his head swivel quickly from Hans to the door that felt an eternity away. He'd only just pulled himself a short step from the wall, fatigue and the state of his body making sure that he wouldn't have gotten far. It made it easy enough for Hans for saunter over to where he was, his pace slow, meandering, even.
So he didn't need to rush.
They had time.
He…had time.
There was little issue n closing the distance between them as irregardless of Kristoff's efforts, he didn't get far before Hans was right above him, piercing him in the dark, dour light of the candle that lit the furthest corner of the cell.
Releasing himself, he was slow to bend down beside the younger man, and an unclenched hand managed to pin him by the back of his neck, gripping it firmly between red-slicked fingers as Kristoff's bruised neck tensed with bumps of fear.
"Sto...S-sto...it...ge...ah...m-me..." The man tried to say again, but it was still a mess of sounds. Regardless, Hans could make out just the faintest hints of genuine, restless terror, made manifest by the throaty screams he'd managed to parse from a burnout throat.
But it hardly breached a whisper.
Through a rush of predatory satisfaction, Hans squeezed tighter, though not without using his opposite hand, in a fit of fascination, to trail explorative fingers down his backside. He had to admit it, he thought, running his nails along the man's skin, minding the threading muscles underneath, he was certainly strong.
Far more Hans could boast, and it was clearer now as the younger man, only briefly ditching his exhaustion with a weak shout, began throwing around his weight, which was still substantial. Enough that it took the prince by surprise; there was a primal animalism to his motions, made worse by the guttural noises of resistance he'd managed to scrounge from the deepest depths.
He fought hard enough to push Hans away, enough to make the former loss his grip.
The prince frowned slightly, hardly taking kindly to being refused, but there was a playfulness in his face that persisted.
Yes, He thought, grinning ear-to-ear.
He's a fighter, that's for sure.
"You know, you're just making it harder for yourself. So much harder." He purred, calling upon strength of his own. It was swift, unyielding, as he grabbed Kristoff's neck again, pressing him to the ground as hard as he could. It was easier now, keeping his hands to the back of the man's neck, but even then, the younger of the two still struggled, screaming out as loudly as his hoarse voice would allow him to. The thrashing grew in intensity all the same, a raging bull beneath of wrathful beast. All the same, Kristoff had managed to throw him off again, scrambling with haste with raw fingertips, belly-to-stone, to the further salvation of the door. Recovering quickly, seamlessly, Hans could feel his excitement grow.
So, this was the game he wanted to play?
He could play, too.
Hans was all about having a bit of tug and war; it was always more interesting and enriching to have someone fight instead of having them just lie down and take it. It gave him reason to push harder, toforceit, and with vaster awareness he noticed his erection hardening still, dripping with desire. Gods, he hardly hard fight the blush that crept to his face as he rushed behind the other, leaping onto his back and pinning him down. With surprising strength, prince managed to turn Kristoff over, steering clear of the uncoordinated flurry of scratches that whisked from thrown hands beneath him. It was a sight, he thought, seeing someone this large, this strong, reduced to petty scratching and squirming, and stradling him, relegating his kicking, powerful legs to the latter half of his backside, Hans bristled at the touch of his cock, resting now on Kristoff's stomach, on wet (though now drying) dark fabric. It was prickly, undoubtedly pleasurable, to be sure, but he set about grabbing each flailing arm, pinning it to each side of the man's head as he made every effort to twist and turn beneath the former, as if trying to throw him off again.
Disregarding his love of the chase, Hans knew he wouldn't be getting anywhere like this.
He needed to make him relax.
"You're just making this worse, you know. You know it's pointless, you fucking imbecile, and if you keep this up...I can't promise you I'll make this nice for - " He wouldn't get to finish, not before Kristoff screamed again.
Hans' expression was something between a dull scowl and reluctant amusement.
So that's it, then.
He'd tried to warn him after all.
Anything else that happens would be his fault, and his fault alone.
In the midst of his scream, Hans though it even more satisfying, a vindication of the highest order, when the sound of his fist collided with the younger man's cheek with a vile squelch, unsettling crooked bone, making silent that broken voice. He'd always tried his best to avoid force to this degree, but it seemed very much like there was no other option, he told himself, as loosed tempered anger upon the gushing face beneath him. Once, twice, thrice, Hans relished each point of contact, and with habitual brutality he did it again.
And again.
And again.
Until Kristoff's resistancebegan to wane, exhaustion and blood loss clearly taking hold as he began to slow to a creeping, paired utterly perfectly with croaking whimpers passed from his gaping mouth.
He hit him again.
But he didn't stop, not when such a lovely sound had been passed though his sticky, split lips.
And again.
It was a beautiful sound.
And again.
Like music, like song, he thought.
And again.
Why would he want to stop?
And again.
After a moment or so more, he stopped, minding little his dripping, drenched hands, leaning back onto Kristoff's lower half, admiring the skewed, swelling painting of his work. By now, the man underneath him had been reduced to pulp and silence, save for the smallest of wheezes passing from his throat with each gasping breath he took. He was still now, though that was only natural, Hans thought, taking in the veritable gore that had dressed his hands, and darkening fists, red.
Though his mind thought it bothersome to have touched the blood of the low, he couldn't deny the glitter of jubilation in his eyes as he spied the shade, a dark maroon in the low light of the cell. It was so...beautiful.
Memorizing, seeing his pale hands darkened to this gruesome shade, made even more so to see how...fitting it looked upon his skin. Like a violent glove, made and fitted just for him.
He couldn't think of anything better than this.
"All of this fighting...see what you made me do? I didn't want to escalate this far, but even when I'm trying to be kind..." The prince began, standing up again, and placing a foot over Kristoff's side, perpendicular to his body, "...you just keep pushing." And with a forceful nudge, he'd managed to roll the man back onto his stomach with remarkably little resistance, though he wasn't terribly surprised at that fact.
By now, the younger man could hardly coordinate himself, much less fight against the other with much effectiveness. The most he could manage was a dissonant protest, barely more than a groan that would have been mistaken for mere discomfort if it weren't for the decisive stiffening of his body, as if still trying to fight against the inevitable. For the most part, he was ignored as the prince found himself poised at his backside.
Squared against his powerful frame, Hans wasn't shy about perusing it, only deepening the gaping pit of shame and humiliation he was sure the other had more than felt by then. Gripping each buttock, he had no issue spreading them, engaged by the lack of resistance on Kristoff's part, though looking up at his red, splotchy face, the man was entirely, wholly spent, enough that when he felt Hans reach and push against his virgin hole, the most he could manage was a shudder and feeble resistance. He could feel him clenching himself close, shuddering with strain to keep the last of his dignities intact.
But that was only fuel for him.
Hans was one that cared little for the concept. Dogs didn't have dignity, self-respect, or anything of the sort.
He was nothing now. It was best if he just accepted that.
Spiting on his fingers, he began to push harder, and harder still, but made little headway, save for the teasing of a nail into the tight cavity. It was immediately apparent that this was wholly different from Anna's, as though it was warm, it was a muscle far more stubborn than the last, made worse, he could tell, by Kristoff's stubbornness. If anything, the man thought as he pulled away and inspected the man, his trained, honed physicality pronounced even in this lowered state, it wasn't worth the trouble to try and prep.
He was growing impatient.
"And here I was, trying to be at least a little decent...you're only hurting yourself. But what can one expect of a dog, hmm? Can't tell which hand feels and which hand punishes...suit yourself..." Hans chided mockingly, grasping his hardened, waiting flesh and lining himself up with his hole. Leaning down and spitting on himself, he lathered his cock as best as he could with the fluid, but looking at the space before him, he wasn't entirely sure that would be enough. If his fingers had struggled to break through, then it was far more likely, too, that it would be rough entering without at least a little chafing, and that, he thought, he'd like to avoid.
Looking up at Kristoff's face, he had an idea. There was a collecting, small puddle around the younger man's head, still fresh and warm as it leaked from the new cuts and irritated wounds upon his face and inner mouth, resting stale about his features like a gritty, black ring. Seeing few other options, he reached up, palming the puddle and coating his quickly drying hands with the liquid, scooping it into his waiting hands before reaching down and rubbing it on his skin. Again he dipped, spending a bit more of the blood on Kristoff's entrance, grinning at the lukewarm shiver that ripped through the man at the touch of his hand.
Stopping, he inspected his work.
This'll have to do, He thought with a shrug, noting the coverage, the display a picture of vile degradation.
It would have to.
He'd waited long enough.
Aligning himself, Hans grunted as he pressed a thick head to the hole. Just like before, there was resistance, but he assumed the width of his member was grating on Kristoff as he'd since begun to struggle again, but this time was far more sluggish, the dying motions of an animal on the losing end of a fight.
He pushed harder.
And all at once, in a single, swift motion, he felt himself enter tight, restricting walls with a resonant tear.
The euphoria was immediate.
And so was the screaming that followed.
He didn't think he had anything left in him, that animal right beneath him, but when that guttural animalism ripped itself free from the bindings of his civility, Kristoff was rendered inconsolable, bestial in his writhing as Hans was left motionless, though not from him.
But from the pressure.
There came at once the instant understanding that this hole, and Anna's were not remotely the same, and it came swiftly from the barren dryness that made even the coating of shoddy lubricant, comprised of spit and blood, all but dissolve as with every motion Hans tried to make, he was met with fervent resistance. As if doing its best to suffocate him, Kristoff's body flexed and contracted, though he knew that was more from reflex than conscious effort, he figured, spying quickly the violent throes of the wounded creature in his hold.
Fuck...it's so...tight..., The prince thought as he pulled back a bit, wincing at the constriction of muscle around his cock. It was red, inflamed from friction it had never felt, and Hans thought much the same. Anna's had been slick, bearing no cause for refusal or resistance of any kind, though, he realized as he spied the thickening trickle of blood that seeped around his member...she hadn't been awake either.
Perhaps it would have been this hard if she had been.
He couldn't guess at the answer.
Regardless, he could assume that it was best to meet the resistance with equal force, and with a hefty grunt, he rammed himself back in, watching with gross fascination as the stream around his member grew thicker, rushing upon dark stones into a gritty pool, and within moments, he felt motion easier.
The blood was certainly helpful.
Enough that he felt the confidence he needed to begin to thrust, and at once, he groaned, remarking the strangeness of the sensations he felt.
It was rough, he dissected objectively, increasing his pace in time with the flow of red, and given time, he noticed, Kristoff's body went still, though the tightness never eased, its hold on him consistent, even as the younger man settled to a violent tremble, writhing in silent agony as the minutes wore on. It felt impossible, eventrying to reason the sensation, though it was certainly pleasant, he thought, leaning forward and pressing onto the ice harvester's back, grunting as his girth was pressed further inside. Though it took time to adjust, there was something...visceral about it, the tightness, the pressure, the very nature of this act. Whereas Anna had been warm and welcoming, every bit of Kristoff's body and the way it reacted to him...there was never the sense that it had adjusted.
Every thrust felt like the first time, as there was little means for it to stretch around him, save for the distinct and obvious line of perforated tissue that wept every time he rammed back into the man. It, in every way, felt like a sin.
In every, it was, in Hans' mind, a grave disruption, a filthy action that, as strange as it sounded, he thought as he set about grasping Kristoff's hair like an anchor to the half-lidded bliss that overcame him, made him feel the most alive he'd felt in a very, very long time. In fact, it was enough that he couldn't stop himself, the vile shudder of the purest pleasure he could comprehend made him moan close to Kristoff's ear. With a harder thrust, he quickened his pace, still, relishing the sound of slapping, that hip-to-ass contact that made this feel far more real than it had.
"Gods...this...I...I-I've n-never..." He couldn't even finish his words.
He was losing his train of thought.
In his mind, he couldn't recall it feeling this...exhilarating, when he'd made motions on Anna just hours before. Perhaps it was born of how little time they had, the rush of every counted second forcing him to reach his climax as soon as possible without getting the chance to really relish it in the ways that he wished to making what would have surely been something just as pleasurable far less so in perspective. Of course, there was the object of her care, and he knew it wouldn't do to break her apart, not if he could help it.
Each time he'd had to do that, he hadn't always been so careful.
All the times that she'd bled out beneath him, the fear of discovery and the failed attempt that would follow, had made him more than cautious of the idea of really allowing himself to act on his urges to their fullest extent. He figured that this what this was, the man thought, becoming acutely aware of the wetness and stickiness of his thighs.
He'd never before been able to be this...relentless, this...open.
He knew that this wasn't an option when he'd have to eventually, again, bed the princess and to-be queen. Perhaps when he and Anna finally get married, he wouldn't have to rush next time with her, either...though he'd definitely have to take a different approach with her, he thought somewhat solemnly as he rammed his flesh into Kristoff. With this one, however, he wouldn't have to be so careful, so...meticulous.
Here, he thought, he could be what he was.
An animal.
A carnal, insatiable animal.
The thought excited him, fueling him to pump harder, and harder still, noticing quickly that Kristoff had gone limp and quiet, not that he minded too much at the moment. At best, he was somethingto stick his cock into.
A source of pleasure, nothing more, nothing less. You didn't need to be decent with something like that, he thought since he was just here to be used when he needed it, that sort of thing. He knew for certain that he wouldn't be able to maintain the same attitude with the future queen, not if he didn't want to be looked at like a monster or some sex-hungry brute, he considered with an air of humor. Bedding whoever she might after the fact with this sort of brutality would likely be the swiftest way for the crown to ripped from his hands.
He knew implicitly that it would be best to be gentle with her.
To be sexless was just as ungainly as one who was uncivilized, and so he would toe the line. Use her like a fine doll, he thought, breed her gently and with care.
He was reasonable, prone to compromise.
After all, was enough for him to use Kristoff as not just an outlet for his anger, but for his...other needs, too. Sitting up, he placed his hands at either side of the man's body, and pumped faster, remarking the building orgasm in his groin, flushing through his entire body as he grew warmer.
He looked down.
Kristoff's buttocks with slathered red, and his own pelvis, too.
He noticed that he looked remarkably pale.
But that didn't stop him.
There was little restraint to be had as he struck Kristoff's ass again, eliciting little response aside from a lazy flinch that left a patterned handprint on his skin like a stinging mark to his shredded pride. That's right, he thought, smiling to himself through passed huffs of air between gritted teeth.
There was nothing.
No one for this wretch to call and tell.
No one would give a fuck if he blew his back out a couple of times a day.
No one to give a shit if he gagged around his cock, screamed as he beat the shit out of him.
If he choked him.
Burned him.
Chained him.
Whipped him.
Broke him.
Not a soul would one would give a single fuck if he ripped him apart, over and over, again and again.
He was his, he realized with childish elation and devious satisfaction all the same.
His and his alone.
His to hit and hurt and break...it was his choice.
His toy.
His new favorite thing.
Besides, he thought, his bright eyes glittering with hellish delight,WHAT ELSE WOULD HE BE GOOD FOR?
Even with his impending peak, he allowed his eyes to travel again to Kristoff's still face, noting the expression with hazy with voided awareness. There was a certain amount of vacancy there. It was a slackened look, Hans could only describe it as such, that sort that looked far-off and distant in the ways that made it almost seem as thought he were somewhere entirely. From his one eye, parting the blood and grime that clung to his dirtied skin, there was but one line, falling along his face and trickling down to join the red puddle beneath his cheek. Slapping his ass again, it didn't garner much of a response, besides that of a quiet whimper, but he remained distant, unmoved besides that of the force of his thrusts.
It was as if he wasn't even there.
Hans frowned, growing bored of his silence.
He wanted to hear himhurt, he wanted to feel himstruggle.
It wasn't fun if he didn't give him a fight.
"Oh, come on! All the fight gone already? Hnn~ ...n-not yet. Come on, I know you can hear me, dog!" He shouted, raising his hand to slap across the younger's man ass a third time, harder now, the skin burning hot and red. It worked to rouse him, if only slightly, from his haze with a whine of anguish that echoed softly,intoxicatingly, around the cell.
He squeezed his eye shut, mumbling less-than-coherently under his breath as his struggle was only mildly renewed, a fresh stream of tears cutting his face. Rushing to grasp his hips, Hans laughed, fondling his buttocks with rough hands.
"There he is. There's the whore! T-thought...thought I lost you there Hans exclaimed with every bit of cruelty that he could muster between thrusts, smacking the man again, harder this time, enough that Kristoff flinched, body tensing with pain it couldn't convey.
The prince made no attempt to ease it, either as he pushed into him further, pumping faster.
Why would he try to? That was exactly what he'd been looking for.
Hewantedto hear him scream.
He hit him a fifth time, harder than he had before, grinning at the sound of a cry.
Hewantedto make him hurt, make him beg, make him miserable, raking dark, bloodied lines into his skin as he began to get sloppy, his climax nigh.
But just slapping him wasn't enough.
He needed him to hurt. He needed...tofinish.
He needed more.
What had been a slap morphed into a closed fist, the man throwing a solid punch into the man's side. It thudded dully against his thick tunic and sweater, but he could feel the impact against the skin underneath, choosing again to hit him with enough force that he knew it would bruise.
But it wasn't enough.
No.
He needed more.
He was excited.
This rush, this feeling...it was everything he needed.
"Wake up. WAKE UP, YOU STUPID, FUCKING ANIMAL! COME ON! WHERE'S THAT FIGHT, HNN~...Hahh~...hahh~..." Hans screamed, bucking his hips with as much force as he could muster as his climax felt closer, that collecting, familiar heat and pressure building in his abdomen. He knew he was edging towards it, that steep cliff, the furthest into oblivion he'd been.
Clenching a fist, he reared a hand back.
He punched him again.
Kristoff groaned weakly, struggling feebly under the other man's weight as if it would make any difference at all. It wouldn't as it hardly gave Hans pause at all.
He smiled, eyes glazing over.
More.
He need more.
Choosing a different place along the man's body, he sent a punch to his opposite side.
It wasn't enough.
He it him again.
And again.
And again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and -
Each point of contact elicited a sound. Whether it be a scream, a whimper, a cry, each one was better than the last, all with the assurance that he'd left countless marks beneath the dark fabric as in his paused haste, fingers grasping at his slackened fabric, Hans made note of the weak gasp that parsed his throat at the contact.
As if even just a touch had inflamed the skin underneath. But he ignored the sound, collapsing onto the man's back once again.
It wouldn't be much longer now.
Close...I'm...c-close..., Hans thought with lust, ramming himself to the hilt as the other beneath him breathed out, dry noises that Hans himself couldn't describe, but as he pressed against him closer, running his cock deeper, and deeper, still. Of course, Kristoff hadn't responded, not that he'd been able to, but placing an ear to his back, he could hear it.
A ragged sound, rumbling like tremors through him as it dawned on him quickly what was happening.
He grinned through teeth clenched and gritted, a crude, cruel expression bearing only ill-placed as he pressed against the man harder, almost as if to mock his anguish, invigorated wholly, completely, by his cries.
He'd been thoroughly amused by this.
Where had all that resolve gone?All that stubbornness and resistance that made him turn his nose up at him?
He'd been so assured in refusing him, of fighting him tooth and claw, and where had it led?
Had he already cracked?
Leaning down to meet his ear, he ran a bloodied hand through the younger man's sweaty locks, hardly the stuff of comfort as it was never meant to be. It was mocking sort of comfort, afforded with a sneer.
"Where is it? Hmm? Where's that...defiance? Where did...it go?" He asked softly between thrusts, electrifying him. Taking a thumb to his cheek, he smiled as the man went still at his touch during which he wiped a wayward tear away, though something flickered there, in that swollen eye that stared back at him, catching his gaze.
Though he could say nothing, Hans could see it, echoing through him like flashing light that burned.
That seared.
There it was. That was exactly what he'd been looking for.
It shimmered, blazing in his furious, rapid breaths as he fought to remain conscious, fought to maintain eye contact, however hard it was as his eyes grew hazy and unfocused.
It wouldn't be long now before he's under for good, Hans thought, gripping Kristoff's hair, matching the ferocity of his stare with one of his own, eying down that wrath, that resistance, resting within his warm, brown eye.
Oh...this was going to be fun.
His climax was closer, and he answered back by thrusting faster and crudely into the man's ailing body as the small puddle of red that had formed beneath them grew. He refused to pull his gaze away from the younger man's yanking his head up to meet his full visage, caked, coagulated blood dripping slowly from his chin as Kristoff groaned with strain and exertion. He scrambled to support the strange angle he'd been pulled into with his arms, even as each appendage meandered slowly below him, trembling weakly with exhaustion all the same.
Capturing his eye, the two were locked in each other's sights, their gruesome exchange coming to a head as the heat grew.
He wanted to see his face the moment he hit it. That would be just the way to end it, the perfect way to -
Hans gasped, slamming into him.
Harder...faster - he was right there, he was -
"Ah...hnn~...HNN~!"Hans finally exclaimed, and at once he felt, the all-encompassing bliss as he spilled himself into Kristoff, his bloodied hole puckering as they met, pelvis to back end, pressed so tightly together that it seemed very much like they would merge into one person, one mass of warm flesh, right then and there.
In the midst of it, as warm, burning, blistering seed filled his cavity, there was that single, intimate moment, as the both of them stared at each other.
Hans didn't restrain it, to stupefied pleasure that rendered his face dull and placid, made ever more satisfying as, in that one, singular moment, he saw Kristoff's eye flash with an emotion, rooted so deeply that one might miss it, but he knew its name.
And it made it all the more sweeter.
Humiliation.
Humiliation so thick, so tangible and palpable that it looked just about ready to swallow him whole. It was akin to his pride and dignity being made a dying animal, slain so spectacularly that it hadn't even been graced to die in peace.
No, Hans thought, remaining right there, buried deep inside him, It hadn't died in peace.
It had been murdered.
Butcheredby his hand alone.
And that look, that singular, dying light, for that split second...was just what he wanted to see. All he needed to see.
He rested there for a moment before dropping his head, watching as it thudded pitifully back upon ruined stones. Kristoff didn't move as he sat up, pulling out his member as it had gone soft and flaccid. Upon leaving his worn hole, it wept, dribbles of semen and blood trickling out him with horrid finality that made a record of the reality that had just transpired.
Hans watched it form a pinkish puddle beneath him, distinct notes of pride forcing him still to pay witness to his work.He couldn't help it, gracing his art with fond smile that was filled with hubris of a different kind.
One of domination.
One of arrogant possession.
He'd made a mess of him, made real by the reddened, blood tears that rimmed the delicate skin of his anus so profoundly that he could see it still contracting, desperate to close as he'd worked well at loosening him, the hole gaping and dark and worn.
With how tight he'd been, the prince thought with far more pride and appreciation than he'd expected from himself, he knew at once, without anyone telling him so, that he'd taken the man's first time in the same way he'd taken Anna's.
In no uncertain terms, he'd defiled him.
He was almost certain that Kristoff hadn't had sex before this; he honestly couldn't see a single person ever wanting to touch him, so it was more than likely he'd…been a virgin.
He could see it in the man's shock.
The very notion was gratifying.
Horribly so.
He grinned at the thought.
Looking at the younger man, there was something else there as well.
Something unreadable on his face, as his eyes never left the far wall. He was looking away from Hans now, a different temperament to be sure as, once he'd heard the prince shift behind him, leaning back over him much the same as before, he could tell something had changed. He still shivered with unanswered resistance, that much was certain, but Hans could feel it.
There was something raw...exposedin the eye of the other.
It was small. Fragile.
That fire was still there, yes it was.
But now, he liked to think...it was just a little bit dimmer.
And with time, he thought, biting his ear lobe with snapping jaws, gnawing at it for a moment with gnashing teeth, he'd be the one to put it out.
But not before he had his fun.
"See?" The prince started, smiling, "You're a natural."
Hans purred in the man's ear as he stroked his head, noticing very quickly the way his body stiffened at his touch, the whisper of sound that barely qualified as defiance as the younger man tried to pull away, though it was certainly the weakest that his attempts had been.
His grin widened.
"Don't act like that. If anything...you should be thanking me for eventouchingyou. Not many have had the honor, you know." He mused, enjoying thoroughly the cold face of outrage that shimmered dangerously in the former's eye. He looked so desperate to protest, to scream his anger at him, but there was a haze, falling over his eyes as exhaustion became clear.
Hans continued, stroking his face.
"So don't act ungrateful. Not when I've been gracious enough to let you live after what you did...you remember, right? Don't you,dog?" Hans continued, gnawing on his ear lobe hard enough to draw blood.
Kristoff's eye closed against the pain, groaning.
"But don't worry..." The prince began again, smiling kindly as he sat up and came to a stand, gazing down at him, the light to his back.
The dark before him obscured his features.
"...you'll have plenty of time to reflect down here as you an I will get to know each very...verywell, won't we?" He promised to the fading mind at his feet, but his words struck him, awakening a weak, panicked whisper from Kristoff at the implication. Bending down to retrieve the since discarded pliers from before, he left his side for a moment's time to return to the table afar where his clothes and keys and other tools reside in stillness. Beside lantern light he dressed, making very little fuss over the crack of dry blood on his skin and the stickiness of his hands as he pulled on his abandoned gloves.
Hardly bothering to clean the pliers, he dropped them unceremoniously back into one of the boxes, and grabbing the keys and lantern, he appeared ready to leave.
As if nothing at all had happened, save for the smear of blood that marked the spot where it rested dark brown as it had since dried upon his face.
Walking back over to the younger man, he knelt beside him, running a gentle hand through his rough, matted hair like a doting owner to a beloved pet.
"Goodnight, dog. I'll be seeing you tomorrow, okay?" He exclaimed, patting his head before coming to a stand, glancing over him one more time with a smile, then he stepped over to the door, opening it calmly before sealing it tight with a turn of the lock, knowing full well that he'd neglected to chain him back up.
But there wasn't an ounce of fear in him that he might escape.
Because after all, Hans thought as he made it back to the main dungeons doors that had been far beneath the palace, and opening them with a quiet pull, he knew he had nowhere to go at all.
- - - -(Present Time)
Standing up, he regarded Anna for a moment before watching a nursemaid come in, her doting, kindly smile a call from the dark to tell him that he should leave. It was apparent that she needed care, her bandaging having darkened slightly, but only slightly, in what had to have been hours later since he arrived. The moon behind him had since fallen lower, but not enough to herald the day.
It was terribly late, or perhaps, he thought with a grin, early, though he thought it mattered little, anyway.
"Ah, Prince Hans! You're still awake? Shouldn't you be off to bed? I know you have much to do in the morning...I would hate for you to be tired..." The young woman proposed softly, attempting to sound as non-demanding as possible. Looking to her for a brief moment, he held back a look of scorn that all but tugged at his lips.
He didn't take kindly to anyone telling him what he should do, especially not some lowly woman, but he didn't need to fight her on this.
He was in too good a mood to let her spoil it.
"Don't worry, I was already off to bed. You'll watch over her, won't you?" He asked, making sure he looked as worried as possible; even now, at this late hour, he always had to sell the act.
No matter the time, no matter the day, it was imperative to look the part, that much was certain.
At his faux concern, she gave him a reassuring pat of the arm.
"Never fret, your highness. Nothing shall befall her whilst I'm here. Now...please,getsome rest." She requested, giving him a kind smile as she shuffled past him with a bow.
Nodding, he left the room.
Making it back to his own chambers, he sighed, eyes shimmering with memory and anticipation as he settled into his own bed, eying the low moon with a smile.
It wouldn't be too long before he could see the dog again; it was only a day's wait.
Then they could play again.
