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daredevilkink2015-06-22 07:24 pm
ddk_mod) wrote in daredevilkink2015-06-22 07:24 pm
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Prompt Post #4
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Fill: the most blasphemous thing I've ever written? (read the warnings)
(Anonymous) 2015-07-08 01:00 am (UTC)(link)Also wow this was gonna be like a couple hundred words and it grew and grew oops.)
WARNINGS: rape, violence, choking, violence, dirty talk, death threats, discussions of gruesome martyr deaths, did I mention the death threats, spanking, bondage, more choking, objectification, voyeurism, non-consensual photography, bloodplay, groping, did I mention the death threats.
Fisk had hit him, at first, exhausted Matt until Matt had fallen and could no longer rise. Matt had expected Fisk to kill him then, beat him into a pulp, but Vanessa had stopped him. Vanessa had witnessed the whole fight, and Matt had written her off as simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
He focused, turned his attention to her, heard the pounding of her heart, the staccato of her breath, smelled her sweat, her arousal …
… she was aroused. Not frightened, not horrified … she was aroused.
They chained him to some kind of grate on the floor. Metal rods, a framework. He was on his back, stretched out, wrists and ankles cuffed to the metal rods. Exhausted and beaten as he was, he still struggled. Vanessa hit him then, a sharp and decisive blow to the face that stunned him long enough for her and Fisk to chain him down properly.
Then they waited. They drank wine, watching him squirm. They discussed the contours of his body, the lines in his face now partially obscured by blood. Fisk wiped at his cheeks and forehead with a cloth of silk, a pocket square maybe. Matt spat at him, too weak to try anything else.
Vanessa gasped. “The color … oh Wilson …” she stepped forward. Matt listened as they kissed, sensed Fisk’s arousal as well.
“Would Tintoretto approve, do you think?” Fisk asked.
“Rather too much blood, I think. But the lighting … yes, I think he would find something here to enjoy.” Vanessa laughed. They kissed again.
They were getting off on the contrast of Matt’s blood against his skin. Matt’s stomach churned.
Vanessa set down her glass and approached him, crouching by Matt’s head.
“Tell me more about this ‘world on fire,’ Matthew,” she purred, running a hand along the length of his throat. “I am so fascinated by fire.”
Fire. The grate. This position he was chained in. The reference to Tintoretto.
Saint Lawrence.
Patron saint of cooks, since he had been cooked alive, roasted, and apparently had still retained the ability to snark “Turn me over, I’m done on this side” to his executioners.
Wit, in the face of torture and death. Matthew knew of heroes and villains who could manage that. Usually, he could too.
He couldn’t anymore.
“Please …” he choked out, squirming. “Please, please don’t …”
He smelled the flame. He felt the surge of warmth underneath him, just under his back. He screamed.
“Hush, darling,” Vanessa’s words and tone would have been soothing in any other context, but not here, not like this. She was taunting him. “You have not even felt true pain yet. You are only imagining it.”
“The key to torture, my love,” Fisk rumbled, somewhere to Matt’s left. “The victim’s mind does most of the work for you.”
“The martyr.” Vanessa corrected. “Matthew is no victim, dear. He’s a martyr. He wants so dearly to sacrifice himself for this city. And we are only giving him his greatest desire.” She laughed, breathe hot on Matt’s face, hot as the flames he could feel licking at his shoulders and spine.
Or was he just imagining those?
“Now, tell me, Matthew. The world on fire?”
Matthew babbled, words tripping over themselves as he tried to explain how he sensed the world, the way he imagined flames in the darkness. He sobbed, between words, especially when he felt Vanessa’s hands on him, rubbing circles on his shoulders and forehead, teasing attempts at calming him. There were tears on his face, running rivulets through the blood on his cheeks.
“Thank you, truly. That was so vivid,” Vanessa stood. “I think we have been too hasty. You are far more suited to the pose of another saint. Help me, Wilson.”
They removed him from the grate. Matt could smell flames, though very faintly. Low-burning charcoal, perhaps? Had they merely intended to frighten him? It had worked. He was too terrified and weak to even attempt to fight them off as they dragged him across the floor, bound him upright, to some kind of wooden support beam.
“I do not know when you lost your sight, Matthew, but are you aware of what you look like now?” Vanessa asked.
Matt blinked. What did that have to do with any of this?
Fisk slapped him, hard enough to cause a ringing in his ears. “Answer the lady,” he growled.
“Do you know what you look like?” Vanessa asked again, tone unchanged.
“I … I don’t …” Matthew felt tears brimming in his eyes again. He was going to die here, they were going to kill him, and they intended to take their time. His goal of goading Fisk into beating him to death hadn’t worked. Now he was at the mercy of this terrifying pair, and mercy was something they had very little of.
“Oh, sweet boy,” Vanessa hummed, pleased. “You are very beautiful,” she stroked his face, ran her fingers through his sweat-stained hair. “Your dark hair contrasts perfectly with your pale skin, your eyes are wide and shining, and your lips …” she ran her thumb over his lower lip, slick with his own blood. She sighed with pleasure. “I would love to see those lips wrapped around my husband’s cock.”
Matt jolted, unable to draw back from her but reacting with shock all the same. He noted Fisk’s shift in posture, realized with horror that Fisk wanted it too, wanted it now. He heard the fabric of Fisk’s pants straining to contain his erection, smelled the arousal on the man.
“Yes, so beautiful,” Vanessa continued, ruffling Matt’s hair. “In fact, you resemble a certain saint, uncannily so. Are you familiar with Saint Sebastian?”
Matt whimpered. Of course he was. He’d seen an image of Saint Sebastian before the accident. It had terrified him as a child, been seared into his memory. He’d looked so much like Jesus, bound and bleeding, in saintly agony, chest bare and punctured by wounds.
And now Matt was going to die like that. He gasped for breath, panicking, unable to move, to think, beyond his fear.
“One of the most beautiful saints. An apt comparison, I believe.” Vanessa ran her hand along Matt’s chest, slid up underneath his shirt, between the sweat-soaked fabric and his skin. “Mmmm, yes, you are strong, muscular, just like Saint Sebastian. Wilson, have you felt him like this before?”
“No,” Fisk admitted, closer now than he had been before. “Though I must confess some curiosity.”
“You simply must touch him. He’s a work of art. It would be a shame not to appreciate him as such.” Vanessa guided Fisk’s hand beneath Matt’s shirt, their fingers trailing together over Matt’s abdomen, his ribs, dipping down to clutch at the curve of his hip. They found a wound, a shallow cut from the fight before, and probed it, smearing the blood and pain around Matt’s skin. Matt hissed with pain and moaned in terror.
“It would be such a shame, to plunge arrows into this flesh,” Vanessa mused, pinching Matt’s belly between sharp nails. “Beautiful, yes, but terrible too.”
“He is yours, my love, you may do with him as you please,” Fisk murmured.
They kissed again, longer, lengthier. Matt heard the sound of Fisk sliding a hand down her waist, clutching her, grasping her, but gentler than he had been with Matt. He was careful with Vanessa, so careful not to bruise, to break, to do harm of any kind. Nothing like how he was with Matt.
“I still need time to decide,” Vanessa said, when they broke their kiss. “Would you like to fuck him, Wilson?”
Wilson’s blush was practically audible. “Yes, yes I would.”
“Then now would be the perfect time.”
Matt fought them, when they pulled him from the post. He was weak and half paralyzed with fear and still he fought, struggling and scratching and flailing.
Useless, it was all useless. Fisk hit him again, knocking him forwards so he toppled onto a bed. It was covered in silk sheets that smelled of sex already, Vanessa and Fisk’s scents. They’d had each other here, before bringing Matt to this place. They would certainly repeat the process once they were done with Matt.
“Stop …” Matt pleaded, thought he knew it was as useless as the fighting had been. “Please … please, stop …”
“No,” Wilson growled, slamming Matt down, one massive hand around Matt’s throat.
“Just … just kill me …” Matt begged. He didn’t want to die, God help him he didn’t want to die, even after all he’d done, he wanted to live. But he would rather die than face this before his death.
“Later,” Fisk promised. “Later, when she decides how.”
Fisk undressed him carefully, exaggeratedly so, prolonging Matt’s fearful anticipation. Matt squirmed and struggled, and Fisk pressed hard with the hand around Matt’s throat. Matt nearly passed out, regained full awareness as Fisk was stripping the last of his clothes off and reaching down to cup at Matt’s ass.
“Vanessa,” Fisk moaned. “Vanessa, he’s … he’s …”
“So beautiful,” Vanessa pronounced. She reached down and smacked Matt, a stinging slap.
Matt jerked in shock more than pain. Vanessa laughed, and so did Fisk.
“Good Catholic boy,” Vanessa purred, and slapped him again. “Is this what you’ve wanted, for all these years? Punishment? Did you want the divine agony of the saints visited upon you?”
Matt couldn’t answer, wouldn’t answer. Anything he said would be twisted by her. He was crying again.
“Hmmm,” Vanessa slapped him again, contemplating. “Save his ass, dear. Fuck his mouth first.”
Fisk moved far faster than a man his size should have been capable of. He twisted Matt around, grabbed him by the hair, and jerked him downwards. Matt felt Fisk’s cock against his cheek, hot and slick with precome.
“Use teeth and we’ll flay you,” Fisk promises. “I know how to do that. There’s an art to it.”
“I won’t,” Matt sobbed. “I won’t, just, just …” he opened his mouth wide, reached up with his hand.
Vanessa grabbed his wrists, wrenched them behind his back, and bound them with a thin cord. “No hands, sweet boy. Take all of him, breathe through your nose.”
Matt tried. Fisk was huge, proportional to the rest of his body. Matt’s tongue wriggled helplessly and Fisk sighed with pleasure, thrusting deep and fast. Matt gagged, gasping, choking, tried to pull away.
Vanessa’s hand on the back of his head pushed him forward.
Matt’s eyes watered, from pain, from fear. Drool was sliding out of the corners of his strained mouth. Fisk fucked his face, there was no other word for it. He thrust himself deeper and deeper, hips pushing, Vanessa’s hand pushing back, Matt trapped and half delirious from the lack of air.
“Wish I could come now,” Fisk was practically snarling. “Make you swallow every last bit.”
“Patience, darling,” Vanessa coached, though her breath was just as labored as Fisk’s. Matt could smell her soaked panties. “Remember, there’s more of him to enjoy.”
Fisk pulled back from Matt reluctantly, hips jerking. The tip of his cock slid against Matt’s cheek, trailing precome across it.
“Such a good boy,” Vanessa chuckled, ruffling Matt’s hair again. “He took your cock so well.”
“Yes,” Fisk’s voice was strained. He laid a hand on Matt’s hip. “May I, my love?”
“Please. Until you’re satisfied.”
Fisk flipped Matt over, onto his stomach, and pried his legs apart. Matt struggled, flailed as best he could, but he was weak, his throat and mouth aching, his face slick with tears and worse. Fisk was running his hands all over Matt’s ass, teasing, taking his time.
There was lube, not enough, but better than nothing. Matt heard Vanessa slathering it onto Fisk’s fingers. He held his tongue when Fisk started fingering him, scissoring Matt open. All he could hope was to stay silent, hope they’d become bored with him and finish him off.
Fisk started to ease into him with his cock, and Matt screamed. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop himself. Fisk was simply too big, too massive.
“Gorgeous,” Vanessa was muttering, somewhere far away it seemed, far from the pain Matt was locked into. He heard the sounds of her phone, the clicks of a camera app.
She was photographing this. For later. She was going to look at this later and relive the moments of pleasure.
Matt twitched under Fisk’s massive weight, pinned in place by Fisk’s hands, Fisk’s cock. How was he supposed to survive this? Was Fisk’s intention to kill him like this? Was that even possible?
Fisk withdrew, and Matt wondered if he was about to be given the mercy of death at last. Instead, Fisk flipped him over, limp as a ragdoll, then hoisted up his legs and started fucking him from that angle instead.
Matt’s bound hands were trapped underneath his spine. His head was thrown back against the sheets, hair stuck to his forehead. He heard Vanessa taking more pictures and tried to turn his face away from her, the one action left to him.
“No, no, sweet boy,” Vanessa reached down and tilted his chin to face her. “You were made to be a model. I might take up painting again, for the pleasure of recreating this moment.”
A choked sob escaped Matt’s tortured throat.
“One of my favorite artists is Artemisia Gentileschi,” Vanessa said, as Fisk continued to thrust into Matt. “You probably aren’t aware of her work, she was regarded as a curiosity rather than an accomplished artist in her time. Her works are intense, arresting, one simply must pay attention. And my favorite image is that of Judith, beheading Holofernes.” Vanessa traced her fingers over Matt’s throat. “With some adjustments, you would make an excellent stand-in.”
Matt focused on that, instead of the pain, the agony, radiating through him. Holofernes. A knife to the throat, quick, relatively painless. The tamest method suggested by far.
“Don’t sell him so short, my love,” Fisk grunted, fingers bruising against Matt’s hips. “Why not give him what he deserves, what he wants? The greatest of honors?”
“You mean …” Vanessa sounded as though she were close to climax herself.
“Crucifixion.” Fisk groaned, hips jerking.
Matt did the only thing he was capable of doing anymore.
He blacked out.
Re: Fill: the most blasphemous thing I've ever written? (read the warnings)
(Anonymous) 2015-07-08 01:36 am (UTC)(link)This was so creepy, I love it! I'm more of an artist than an art or religious historian, so I'm glad someone was able to capture the story from this angle. Matt's trepidation was was delicious.
(Also, I love how they wined and dined over him like he was a piece of art in a gallery.)
Re: Fill: the most blasphemous thing I've ever written? (read the warnings)
(Anonymous) 2015-07-08 07:33 am (UTC)(link)I'm the other author anon and I thought I'd wait until I was finished writing to read this but I am very impatient, haha ^^;;
Can't wait to read yours! I honestly meant for this to be a minifill while we waited for yours and it just ... ran away from me.
This was so creepy, I love it! I'm more of an artist than an art or religious historian, so I'm glad someone was able to capture the story from this angle.
I just have a lot of random knowledge. I was a film student so, contrast, lighting ... eh, pretty similar lingo.
Matt's trepidation was was delicious.
Eeeeee, thank you! Had too much fun being horrible to him.
(Also, I love how they wined and dined over him like he was a piece of art in a gallery.)
Heh heh, yeah, I had to throw that in. Just to rub in how helpless he is, how he's there for them to leer at.
Added creepy factor that they can stare at him and he ... can't stare back.
Re: Fill: the most blasphemous thing I've ever written? (read the warnings)
(Anonymous) 2015-07-08 01:45 am (UTC)(link)This is so painful to read but so good, ugh. I don't know if I want more or not. Poor bb :(
Re: Fill: the most blasphemous thing I've ever written? (read the warnings)
(Anonymous) 2015-07-08 07:04 am (UTC)(link)Oh my goddddd noooo mattyyyy
I know, I know. Why did I do that?!
This is so painful to read but so good, ugh.
Mission accomplished!
I'm not writing more. Matt blacks out and they like, leave him there or they dump him in his house. They don't actually kill him. I just wanted to end it there instead of an awkward ending where it's like "Matt wakes up in pain but he's alone and alive the end."
This was intended to be a minifill while we wait for the other anon to write the proper long fic. Then this got completely out of control because Charlie Cox reminds me of Saint Sebastian and I'm so sorry.
Re: Fill: the most blasphemous thing I've ever written? (read the warnings)
(Anonymous) 2015-07-08 09:49 am (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: the most blasphemous thing I've ever written? (read the warnings)
(Anonymous) 2015-07-08 04:19 am (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: the most blasphemous thing I've ever written? (read the warnings)
(Anonymous) 2015-07-08 06:58 am (UTC)(link)Um ... you're welcome!
Oh god what did I do. To Matt. I love him. Why did I do that to him. This is probably the most fucked-up thing I've ever written and I've been in LOTS of fandoms.
Re: Fill: the most blasphemous thing I've ever written? (read the warnings)
(Anonymous) 2015-07-08 01:08 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: the most blasphemous thing I've ever written? (read the warnings)
(Anonymous) 2015-07-08 05:22 pm (UTC)(link)You're welcome!
I scared myself with this one. Wow.