Only Fucking Yourself
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Lord of the Rings Movies › General › Lord of the Ring Stars
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
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Views:
2,157
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1
Recommended:
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Currently Reading:
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Category:
Lord of the Rings Movies › General › Lord of the Ring Stars
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,157
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is work of fiction! I do not know the celebrity(ies) I am writing about, and I do not profit from these writings.
Only Fucking Yourself
This is violent, please note the warnings.
Title: Only Fucking Yourself
Author: Aqui
E-mail: tanaqui@ntlworld.com
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Yorgi/Orlando (au rps/xXx)
Warnings: Torture, rape, murder. Fairly sick all round, really.
Summary: How brutal Yorgi can be.
Disclaimer: They're not mine, and if they behave like this, I should probably be glad of it. None of this ever happened, fairly obviously.
Archiving: umm. if you want it... but ask...
Notes: Dedicated to my Joy, who loves me even when, and maybe because, I'm a sick puppy.
"I don't knnythnything!"
The young man's words had changed from stubborn denials of knowledge to desperate pleas of ignorance under the beating he had received, shirt ripped his his back, nose bloody. His slender body was bruised and bleeding, with red welts forming where cigarettes had been casuallybbedbbed out as the 'interview' proceeded.
But they were still not the words Yorgi needed from him.
"Fuck you!" The russian hissed, all traces of patience fleeing as he grabbed a handful of dark curls, pulling the young man's head back with a vicious tug and spitting in his face, befohrowhrowing him to the ground in disgust.
"This is not bravery you show me." he aimed a kick at the already broken body prone on the floor before him, "Not balls. It is pfuckfucking idiocy."
He stalked to the door, hitting a switch and throwing the room into darkness.
"You will learn."
The door shut with a click as he left, the lock snapping into place before heavy footsteps receded into the distance.
______________________
Orlando didn't know how long he had been there, shivering in the hopeless black gloom of the locked room. He knew it was longer than a day. Maybe longer than two. Long enough for his stomach to have stopped hurting so badly, for the hunger to have died to a constant, dull, ache. His eyes had slowly become accustomed to the dark, enough to make out the basic furnishings of the room. A low, white table and two chairs. A counter with a sink that had been his salvation, filling himself as bhe che could with water to stave off the need for food.
Aside from that, the room was empty, cold and empty.
Sometimes people passed by in the corridor outside, men conversing inanguanguage that was not native to him, but of which he knew enough to be aware that he was never mentioned. It was as if he did not exist.
But Orlando knew they would not leave him there forever. They needed him, needed to try and break him, to force him to divulge details of the government project he continued to deny he was aware of.
If he admitted what he knew, he would be killed. Silence, ignorance, they were his last resort.
______________________
Sometime later, it could have been an hour or a day in the unrepentant darkness, footsteps could once again be heard in the corridor. One person, walking with slow surety.
Unlike all the other footsteps that had broken his silent solitude that day, and for however many days had come before, these did not pass him by. They stopped. The door clicked and a brief shaft of light crossed the room, before it clicked shut once more and the brightness dwindled to the faint red gleam of a cigarette.
As Yorgi lifted it to his lips, it lit his face just enough for Orlando to see him smile.
________________________
"And still you know nothing." Yorgi laughed, crouching down beside the newly battered body of the young English spy. Orlando had tried to fight back at first, but the days of hunger had weakened him. Yorgi had caught him round the neck, slammed his skull into the wall, and any physical resistance was lost to him.
'We found your papers." He said, coldly, "Briefings, details, three passports....apparently we know more about you than you do. You are fucking yourself with your silence, I hope you are aware of that. You are fucking yourself."
Orlando could only groan in reply, running a hand back through his hair to the back of his skull, sticky and black with blood. Two candles had been lit in the room, the matches snuffed against his chest, and the glow was sufficient for him to see the state he was in. Still he clung to the knowledge that they needed him, needed his information. For as long as he could withhold telling them, he was safe.
"I don't... know..what you mean. Can't tell you...anything."
The young man's voice was slow and slurred, forming each wrequrequired careful concentration.
Yorgi reached out, gripping Orlando's waist and pulling him roughly against him. "Then I want you to remember," he growled softly, "that you are fucking *yourself* here."
As one arm gripped him tightly in a mockery of an embrace, a hand moved to the fly of Orlando's jeans, fingers smoothly unfastening button after button before pushing at denim almost moulded to his body after days of wear, down over his hips, his thighs, the only parts of him that had, until now, escaped the worst of the violence inflicted on him.
_________________________
"Ignorant Slut." Yorgi grunted, punctuating each word with a thrust, pushing roughly deeper inside Orlando, blood the only lubricant as he felt himself being torn apart. "Little Whore."
Torn skin collected under his nails as he raked them down the smooth, pale expanse of the younger man's back.
Orlando, thrown across the low table and slammed into it by Yorgi's body, pinned against it as he was penetrated again and again, had long since ceased to struggle. He shook silently and felt nothing beyond the white pain that flashed in front of his eyes with every agonizing movement.
Then it stopped. He was lifted once again, by the waist, turned around, his limp frame leaned back against the table.
"I don't want to come when you can't watch me enjoy it..."
Any reply Orlando might have made was cut off as Yorgi forced his length, slick with blood and precum, past bruised lips, forcing Orlando's mouth open, fucking it, thrusting against the back of his throat. Guttural moans of appreciation grew louder, Yorgi grabbed Orlando's head and moved it for him, throwing his own head back as he finally came, a searing hot gush that choked in the Englishman's throat, his senses too dim to allow him to react and swallow.
Pulling back, finally stepping away, Yorgi laughed, a cold sound, devoid of humour. He watched Orlando curl up on the floor, a pathetic, shaking child. The corners of his lips curled in amusement. "I knew that pretty face had to have some use, if not for talking. However, my pet, you have not proved useful enough."
Looking at him with detached coolness, Yorgi fastened the fly on his pants, reached into a back pocket, before once again crouching down beside Orlando, softly stroking his face, gently running fingers through his hair. "You are not the only British spy in Russia..." He whispered softly.
Yorgi wiped his hands on his shirt as he left the room, the gunshot still echoing down the corridor.
The End.
Title: Only Fucking Yourself
Author: Aqui
E-mail: tanaqui@ntlworld.com
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Yorgi/Orlando (au rps/xXx)
Warnings: Torture, rape, murder. Fairly sick all round, really.
Summary: How brutal Yorgi can be.
Disclaimer: They're not mine, and if they behave like this, I should probably be glad of it. None of this ever happened, fairly obviously.
Archiving: umm. if you want it... but ask...
Notes: Dedicated to my Joy, who loves me even when, and maybe because, I'm a sick puppy.
"I don't knnythnything!"
The young man's words had changed from stubborn denials of knowledge to desperate pleas of ignorance under the beating he had received, shirt ripped his his back, nose bloody. His slender body was bruised and bleeding, with red welts forming where cigarettes had been casuallybbedbbed out as the 'interview' proceeded.
But they were still not the words Yorgi needed from him.
"Fuck you!" The russian hissed, all traces of patience fleeing as he grabbed a handful of dark curls, pulling the young man's head back with a vicious tug and spitting in his face, befohrowhrowing him to the ground in disgust.
"This is not bravery you show me." he aimed a kick at the already broken body prone on the floor before him, "Not balls. It is pfuckfucking idiocy."
He stalked to the door, hitting a switch and throwing the room into darkness.
"You will learn."
The door shut with a click as he left, the lock snapping into place before heavy footsteps receded into the distance.
______________________
Orlando didn't know how long he had been there, shivering in the hopeless black gloom of the locked room. He knew it was longer than a day. Maybe longer than two. Long enough for his stomach to have stopped hurting so badly, for the hunger to have died to a constant, dull, ache. His eyes had slowly become accustomed to the dark, enough to make out the basic furnishings of the room. A low, white table and two chairs. A counter with a sink that had been his salvation, filling himself as bhe che could with water to stave off the need for food.
Aside from that, the room was empty, cold and empty.
Sometimes people passed by in the corridor outside, men conversing inanguanguage that was not native to him, but of which he knew enough to be aware that he was never mentioned. It was as if he did not exist.
But Orlando knew they would not leave him there forever. They needed him, needed to try and break him, to force him to divulge details of the government project he continued to deny he was aware of.
If he admitted what he knew, he would be killed. Silence, ignorance, they were his last resort.
______________________
Sometime later, it could have been an hour or a day in the unrepentant darkness, footsteps could once again be heard in the corridor. One person, walking with slow surety.
Unlike all the other footsteps that had broken his silent solitude that day, and for however many days had come before, these did not pass him by. They stopped. The door clicked and a brief shaft of light crossed the room, before it clicked shut once more and the brightness dwindled to the faint red gleam of a cigarette.
As Yorgi lifted it to his lips, it lit his face just enough for Orlando to see him smile.
________________________
"And still you know nothing." Yorgi laughed, crouching down beside the newly battered body of the young English spy. Orlando had tried to fight back at first, but the days of hunger had weakened him. Yorgi had caught him round the neck, slammed his skull into the wall, and any physical resistance was lost to him.
'We found your papers." He said, coldly, "Briefings, details, three passports....apparently we know more about you than you do. You are fucking yourself with your silence, I hope you are aware of that. You are fucking yourself."
Orlando could only groan in reply, running a hand back through his hair to the back of his skull, sticky and black with blood. Two candles had been lit in the room, the matches snuffed against his chest, and the glow was sufficient for him to see the state he was in. Still he clung to the knowledge that they needed him, needed his information. For as long as he could withhold telling them, he was safe.
"I don't... know..what you mean. Can't tell you...anything."
The young man's voice was slow and slurred, forming each wrequrequired careful concentration.
Yorgi reached out, gripping Orlando's waist and pulling him roughly against him. "Then I want you to remember," he growled softly, "that you are fucking *yourself* here."
As one arm gripped him tightly in a mockery of an embrace, a hand moved to the fly of Orlando's jeans, fingers smoothly unfastening button after button before pushing at denim almost moulded to his body after days of wear, down over his hips, his thighs, the only parts of him that had, until now, escaped the worst of the violence inflicted on him.
_________________________
"Ignorant Slut." Yorgi grunted, punctuating each word with a thrust, pushing roughly deeper inside Orlando, blood the only lubricant as he felt himself being torn apart. "Little Whore."
Torn skin collected under his nails as he raked them down the smooth, pale expanse of the younger man's back.
Orlando, thrown across the low table and slammed into it by Yorgi's body, pinned against it as he was penetrated again and again, had long since ceased to struggle. He shook silently and felt nothing beyond the white pain that flashed in front of his eyes with every agonizing movement.
Then it stopped. He was lifted once again, by the waist, turned around, his limp frame leaned back against the table.
"I don't want to come when you can't watch me enjoy it..."
Any reply Orlando might have made was cut off as Yorgi forced his length, slick with blood and precum, past bruised lips, forcing Orlando's mouth open, fucking it, thrusting against the back of his throat. Guttural moans of appreciation grew louder, Yorgi grabbed Orlando's head and moved it for him, throwing his own head back as he finally came, a searing hot gush that choked in the Englishman's throat, his senses too dim to allow him to react and swallow.
Pulling back, finally stepping away, Yorgi laughed, a cold sound, devoid of humour. He watched Orlando curl up on the floor, a pathetic, shaking child. The corners of his lips curled in amusement. "I knew that pretty face had to have some use, if not for talking. However, my pet, you have not proved useful enough."
Looking at him with detached coolness, Yorgi fastened the fly on his pants, reached into a back pocket, before once again crouching down beside Orlando, softly stroking his face, gently running fingers through his hair. "You are not the only British spy in Russia..." He whispered softly.
Yorgi wiped his hands on his shirt as he left the room, the gunshot still echoing down the corridor.
The End.