[MATURE] Sexual Healing (Lars)

[Fionn]

Dentis 10, Night

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Trigger WarningsShow

For the sake of anyone who stumbles upon this, I feel that it's advisable to point out that this is mature in theme but particularly contains aspects of a sexually abusive nature so... you've been warned!

It was all his own fault. If he hadn't felt the need to goad and prod until he got a reaction then he wouldn't have gotten the sort of lash back that he had. Pissing off patrons had its disadvantages, especially when you chose a moment when they outnumbered you. Well, it also depended on Fred really.

He'd wound the man up too much recently, hit out too much much without paying his dues and it had come back to bite him. When he had Fred on side these sorts of things didn't happen. Sure, he might take a belt or two, maybe a few really nasty thumps but it wasn't too bad in the scheme of things. When he was in his pet patron's bad books... well, obviously he hadn't ended up with the bruising along his hip bone and up his torso because Fred was feeling charitable towards him at the moment. Instead of cooling down his compatriot's tempter and getting him to back off, Fred had joined in.

Fionn almost had to admire the pair for how much pain they'd managed to cause without too much damage. They'd been pissed off but they'd still taken care not to kick his ribs when he'd been on the ground, padding their fists when they took them to his torso so that they didn't crack or break bones. He knew of a passive who had suffered that way, the bone pushing inwards when he'd lifted something. His lung had punctured, air bubbling below the skin and leaving it oddly popping. More horrifically, blood had filled his airways, leaving him to splutter it up, painting his lips with it as he slowly drowned on his own fluids. It had been less than pleasant to witness but it had provided the patrons with a valuable lesson: avoid causing certain kinds of damage.

Kicks had gone into his hip, which was really, really throbbing and the softened blows from fists had brought out a patchwork of bruising that was slow to come to the surface, subtle in its appearance but bloody agonising. It had been hours ago and while it had really hurt when it had happened, it had only gotten worse over time. It was like everything had tightened, pain blossoming as the injured flesh lost its elasticity and grew taut. It had made the young man grow stiffer over the course of the day, the pain certain to be excruciating after he'd slept and given his injuries a chance to set. Even so, it had been a distraction and a hindrance, the new stiffness and desire to avoid aggravating things further had led him to have a little accident in the kitchen. It was lucky that the ashes he'd ended up wearing had only been warm but they'd still succeeded in fusing to the skin of his face, his arms and neck, and clung to his hair. He was dirty enough to be considered a contaminant, hardly trusted with the food when he would make it disgusting so a bath was in order.

Fionn hated baths.

The boy always seemed to be scruffy with all manner of detritus clinging to him so it would be understandable to assume that he had an aversion to water. It wasn't entirely true; he had an aversion to stripping off to wash.

Passives couldn't bathe in peace in Brunnhold, the notion of privacy a distant childhood memory given the school's communal baths and the near constant supervision for its servants. Fionn wouldn't have minded a bath if he could have been alone to do it but that was never going to happen. What was more, he knew better than to trust people when he was naked around them. He knew to be wary about being so vulnerable when there were those who would happily take advantage of it; the blond had learned that the hard way in this place when he'd had any innocence and trust he'd retained destroyed.

At this time of night, things were unfortunately quiet and Fred was his supervision so it was the perfect opportunity for the older man to take advantage. Given that he was in pain and seriously pissed off at the man, he wasn't enthused at the prospect of having to put up with his advances.

The patron had been curiously quiet on the way to the bathhouse and it wasn't until they got there and Fionn started the water running that it became clear that the man had been thinking - a dangerous event.

"You know... given that there isn't anyone else here I could always let you have a good bit of water to let you soak. 'Magine it'd be a relief for all your bruises and such," Fred remarked in a seemingly off-hand way that made Fionn stand rigid.

"Oh yeah, do that out of the kindness of your heart, would you? Same way you did when you helped give them to me in the first place?" he questioned sourly with a shake of his head. "I'm not in the humour for your games, Frederick. Just let me get myself cleaned up because-"

"I don't have to let you do anything. I can always let you use less water than you need, give you less time than you need to get clean and then when you show up to work tomorrow looking pretty much the same, who do you think will end up in shit for it? Will they believe the lazy, troublesome passive or the trustworthy one who's been loyal for years?" Fred commented, leaning with a hand on the rim of the tub, uncomfortably close to the blond, invading his space. Fionn shuffled a few steps away from him, releasing a sound of disgust when the redhead followed me.

"You owe me. You haven't made up for your behaviour lately, especially that ball grab the other night."

"I don't owe you anything. You and Ronan beat the fucking shit out of me. You got your payback so leave me the fuck alone," Fionn snarled, hunching over to test the water.

A hand fell on the back of his neck, pinching the flesh hard, some of it tender from bruising. Another hand jabbed into his hip hard, spots appearing in his vision as he cried out.

"You're an ungrateful little shit, do you know that? You know how much I've let you away with, how it could have come back to bite me if anyone said anything to the gollies but you don't care, do you? Poor Fionn, he has it hard so everyone else can piss off, right? Think you're the only passive suffering, boy? Huh? Answer me!" he snarled, voice bouncing off the walls as he shook the blond by the scruff of the neck. The room spun a bit, the pain levels rising until he felt a bit sick.

"I know! I know but just get off me, would'ya?" the boy moaned only to find himself shoved forward. His kneecaps smacked off the side of the bath, his balance teetering forwards so that he fell across the tub, catching himself with a cry as his torso seared.

"You're filthy, it's disgusting," Fred complained, wiping his hands on his trousers with a grimace. "Clean yourself up."

"Oh, thanks for your permission," the passive muttered, glancing back to check that the older man had drifted off and given him some space. The water was still running so he took a bar of soap and swished it through the stream, shaking it in the tub so that some suds built. He'd managed to scrub his hands clean while he was in the kitchen but his wrists dipped below the surface now and sent grey swirling into the clear water. Well, at least it wouldn't be wholly transparent and it wasn't likely to stay that way in any case once his dirty skin was introduced.

Fred had gone extremely quiet and he had to resist the urge to glance back, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling as he sensed the gaze. He couldn't allow the man to know how much he was getting to him. He stripped off his shirt and trousers, standing for a moment in his underwear, pretending to simply be examining the state of his bruises when in truth, his heart was thudding in terror at the prospect of exposing himself completely, even if it was just for a few seconds. The redhead was certainly one of the softer men he'd dealt with, considerably less cruel in many ways than some he'd had to deal with but there was still something twisted in him. It was all right when Fionn was in control but he was far from that right now and far from anything approaching willingness.

He inhaled deeply, holding it for a few moments and on the exhale, he stripped off the last garment and got into the tub as fast as his injuries would allow. There was a definite snigger from behind him at his speed, drawing red to his face that was thankfully hidden beneath the ash he'd covered himself in. The blond found his soap and ducked his head beneath the surface, quickly rubbing the bar over his face and hair, slathering them rapidly before he popped back up, blowing water from his lips. He was temporarily blind, just a few seconds but he'd lost precious seconds of warning when he'd had his ears full of water, unable to hear the man's approach. It was while he was still unable to see, reaching a hand up to wipe suds and ash from around his eyes that the fingers were driven into his wet hair, twisting and wrenching with such force that his eyes shot open, tears dribbling down at the unexpected pain as he cried out.

His head was forced back and then there was the patron's mouth close pressed hard against his own, cutting off any hope of protest. Fionn tried to thrash but he was in the worst position imaginable. If he moved his head, the grip somehow tightened, the pressure on his scalp increasing as some strands of his hair popped free of their moorings. If he thrashed his body, he risked moving his head but he also risked thumping something bruised against the tub. So he went rigid instead, certain that the patron would have to release him or would at least ease his hold somewhat so that Fionn could fight back.

But he didn't.

Instead, Fred's other hand found his chest, slipping over wet skin as it travelled downwards, fingers questing blindly. Horror rose in him, the taste of bile crawling up his throat as the hand-

The pain didn't matter. The young man simply fought. He tried to drag the hand away, found the wrenching grip on his hair worsening, the popping sensation giving way to the metallic scent of blood. He didn't notice, unable to discover the drip of blood in any case when his scalp was already wet. Still, he fought, earning a new painful grip lower down, quite similar to what he'd done to Fred just the other night. He howled against the man's mouth, tears pouring down his cheeks in earnest now but the patron showed no sign of letting up. The notion that they might be caught obviously wasn't in his mind and at this time of night, who would be around?

No one would come to rescue Fionn but then that was nothing new; no one had ever saved him in the past.

He couldn't move and perhaps Fred took his frozen state as a sign that he was softening to this treatment. The touches became a parody of the sensual given how they'd reached this point but he seemed to have locked himself too close, awkwardly embracing him despite their positions and so there was no way to pull away from him. He needed Fred to give him space and he didn't have many weapons at his disposal. Trying to fight the man with his hands hadn't worked so he did something the man didn't expect.

He bit.

It was quick but hard, teeth clamping down into the tongue that had invaded his mouth. He tasted blood and experienced some pain himself as he caught the side of his own but it was nothing compared to what Fred was dealing with. There was a gagging scream, garbled sound ringing out as the man pulled away, his mouth separating from Fionn's with lightning speed. The blond let him go, scrabbling to escape in the opposite direction, shaking hands scrabbling for purchase on the rim of the tub. His legs were like jelly, unwilling to support him in his escape although adrenaline pumped through his bloodstream.

Despite the screaming from his body, he managed to hook a leg over the side, beginning to haul himself over it while Fred cried and cursed him in a lisping manner.

"Bathard! 'll fuckin' kill ye!" Fred roared, clutching at him, pulling him back. It must have been quite a sight. The patron with blood dribbling down his chin, Fionn's light hair stained darker with blood and mingling oddly with the ash that still greyed his pale form in places, tears cutting ugly paths through the grime.

He screamed as he was pulled back, desperately trying to cling to the side, maintain his hold so that escape was possible but Fred was pulling him from the slick surface, hands finding and seizing his throat, catching his throat in the crook of his elbow. There was the stink of sweat and dirt, clinging to the older man's skin and uniform, a stench that was inescapable as his arm tightened around his neck, pressing on his airways.

Fionn wheezed, fingernails scrabbling and scraping at the arm that held him but the patron was obviously murderous. Why couldn't his diablerie fire off now? But it wasn't happening, there was no suffocating feel of the mona, just the suffocating feeling as the air failed to find its way into his lungs.

Pathetic. He was going to be strangled to death in the bath by man who'd tried to force himself onto him. Truly pathetic.

[Lars]

Brunnhold | Dentis 10, 2718 | Night

In the two days since his new roommate's arrival in their shared dorm, Lars had managed to go mostly unnoticed. This was perhaps best evidenced by the lack of new bruises or markings beyond the bruising of his collarbone; the soft skin having given way to little blood vessels beneath and allowing them to pour out and form a dark marking. Nothing about the man's body ever lent itself to good healing. Even the tattoo on his arm, etched into his skin a full sixteen years ago, was unwell and irritated at all times, the man never having let it just heal. He'd scratched at the skin endlessly, pulling ink from as much of the design as possible, but still it displayed his cursed heritage.

Thankfully he only had to notice it when he bathed, and even that wasn't a long time. A few minutes at most, usually a lot less, and Lars could only reminisce about the comforting long baths of home. He hadn't felt truly clean since then; these days his skin was a permanent display of bruises, dirt, and everything else that came with working as a lowly little servant.

His intended bath tonight was brought on by his long, all-day shift in the laundry rooms. Lars couldn't stand the areas--how hot and suffocating they were, filled with other passives scrubbing away at clothes and linens and others folding the cleaned and dried materials. An all-day shift typically meant doing all of this, multiple times, and gods was he tired of cleaning dirty galdori underclothing. It was expected that they would do the laundry of the other servants, but it was just degrading to scrub away at every set of socks and underclothes and everything else.

As expected, these shifts exhausted the passive; the steam from hot water and wet clothes bringing a layer of sweat to his skin throughout the day, which cooled and repeated on and on until he left the laundry rooms. His hair, typically a fluffy mess of golden waves, was wet from steam and clung closer to his head. He pushed the strands off of his forehead, an irritated noise escaping his throat as he finally exited the tiring shift and made his way towards the baths.

His form mostly a silhouette against the walls of Brunnhold, the dim glow of candles lighting his path, Lars already began to unbutton his shirt as he reached the door of the bathhouse, but his hands stilled upon reaching the third button. Noise from the baths caught his attention, bringing the passive hesitation in opening the door, in favor of standing outside and pressing an ear to the wood.

Fionn's voice was familiar now to his ears, the aggressive note of irritation that followed him just about everywhere, and the other voice was... somewhat recognizable as well. He couldn't recall the man's name, but he was sure it was the patron that had brought Fionn to the dorm the other night--the two had seemed to carry some tension between them before, and from the sound of it, they still did tonight.

The extent of their relationship was unclear, but the hostility between them was.

Their conversation, masked slightly by the wooden door, seemed to end rather abruptly, giving way to brief silence and then a barrage of noise. The sudden change brought Lars' hand to gently push the door ajar, the passive peeking inside and noticing the two males facing with their backs to him. The patron--Fred? yes, that was it--stood above, leaning down into the bath Fionn resided in, and at first Lars moved to shut the door again, desiring not to interrupt whatever... that was, but the reactions drawn from his roommate changed his mind.

This wasn't some midnight affair, this was a patron abusing his power to force himself upon a servant. Not just any servant--his roommate.

He was stuck; frozen still as he observed what had to be Fionn retaliating, from the way Fred pulled suddenly back and his roommate shot forwards to get out of the bath. He was panic-stricken as the patron reached forward despite his injury, grabbing at Fionn's throat and pulling him back into the hot water. A small gasp escaped his mouth, hand shaking against the door handle, the servant standing uselessly idle while his roommate was being strangled to death before him.

This--this wasn't--he couldn't do anything, how could he do anything? This was a patron and any act against him would probably land Lars in punishment much like Fionn here. He was powerless. Useless. A waste of space. A bystander doing nothing to help.

As his brain went into overdrive, his body took over.

Lars pushed at the door, walking into the bathhouse calmly despite his current head state, finding himself standing behind the patron in mere moments. Reaching out, cold, bony fingers grabbed the unsuspecting, distracted Fred, one grabbing his chin while the other held the back of his head.

He twisted hard.

A deep breath exhaled from his nose as the patron's body went limp from the sudden action, falling away from Fionn and the bath to slump lifelessly to the floor. Adrenaline from the action filled the passive with a sudden high, his gaze falling upon the patron's form.

Lars felt like he was floating.

But he couldn't dwell on this ecstatic feeling, not when a patron lie dead in the bathhouse and Fionn was just being strangled by the man's arms.

"Fionn," started Lars, "are you okay?"

[Fionn]

Dentis 10, 2718, Night

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He was pressed back against the side of the bath, the side closest to Fred. He tried to get his feet under him, to push up and out of the man's grasp but the pressure on his throat was intense. He was trying to breathe, gasping for air, fingers fumbling to get a hold on Fred's arm so he could get some room to breathe.

Water splashing, legs kicking, body thrashing.

He couldn't open his throat, saliva caught as it found no access to slide down. The bloody taste was there - Fred's blood - and it was dribbled and spat from his lips. But yet there was another metallic taste underlying it, coppery, different from blood and it seemed directly linked with the burning in his chest. He couldn't swallow, couldn't breathe, couldn't scream. The best the young man could do was gurgle and cry.

The tears formed a lump in his throat, choking him further. He tried to spit it out, tried to retch, as if he'd be able to get the air in if he could just get that blockage out.

His vision blurred. Black spots popped up in his vision, floating across his sight. It dimmed, colours losing their vibrancy, his vision narrowing.

Energy drained out of him, a tingling feeling in his extremities as a coolness set into his very blood in spite of the hot water he found himself quite literally in. His thinking had slowed, mind crawling along sluggishly as if he was going asleep. His eyelids were growing heavy, nearly drifting to a close when the pressure suddenly let up. Fionn was unexpectedly free, his body pitching forward now that there was nothing to support it. He was heavy and tired and so of course, gravity did the work and he didn't have the energy to stop himself from banging his head on the far side of the tub although he did try to slow himself somewhat. It probably wasn't as bad as it could have been but it was still a fair thunk.

He would have been groaning in pain if he hadn't been coughing and retching. He lay half-slumped in the bath for long moments as he waited for the oxygen to return to his brain and whatever rottenness had settled in his lungs to come out.

When he was able to catch his breath again, panting, he finally managed to turn to see... Lars?

"Th'fuck you come from?" the blond slurred out, squinting confusedly at his roommate. Where had Fred gone? Hadn't Fred been strangling him? Yes, that had definitely happened, his aching throat confirmed it but Fred definitely wasn't standing there anymore.

Had he passed out? Had his mind lost chunks of time? It definitely seemed possible. If he'd blacked out then Lars had probably arrived after all the nonsense with Fred and so he probably hadn't witnessed anything. But why in heck was he standing beside his bath? That was a bit... weird.

Although, Fionn realised that there was blood in the bath and when he reached up to his stinging scalp, his fingers came away bloodied too. Okay, yeah, made a bit more sense for Lars to be standing beside the bath now. He'd seen that Fionn had turned into a redhead and come to check on him. How sweet.

The young man didn't make any move to leave the bath yet. Even though he was still drained and disorientated, he also didn't want to be in the buff in front of Lars, especially as he wasn't in top shape. By Alioe, he hadn't needed the older passive to see him so weak. It was that desire not to seem weak that made him try to lie through his teeth.

"Yeah, I'm all right, just... had a bit of an accident and then I must have dozed off, you know? No big deal, it's..." he trailed off.

While he spoke, he'd moved to Lars' side of the bath to lean on the rim to pretend to be cool, calm and totally collected. That was when he spotted Fred.

His mouth opened, a wheezing sound escaping as he stared at what was evidently a corpse. His patron and would-be attacker had crumpled beside the bath, blue eyes staring lifelessly up at him, wedged wide open in permanent shock. His neck looked a bit... off, something about its angle. He leaned over the edge of the tub, raising a little unsteadily out of the water with many a wince as he reached down to lift the man's head by the hair. As soon as he did so, the head turned out to be far floppier on the neck than it should have been, reminding him of a bird that had had its neck wrung.

Actually, it was exactly like his neck had been wrung.

His brown eyes swivelled to Lars and then back to the body.

Fred was dead.

Fred's neck was broken.

He hadn't had an accident that had broken his neck, which meant that someone had done it and the only someone around was the same someone who was showing concern for him right now.

"Clock the Circle! You couldn't have- He's- Sweet Naulas, you killed him! He's- We're fucked!" he gasped out, dropping back into the bath with a hiss of pain. He moved to drag a hand through his hair, flinched as he touched his tender and bloodied scalp and aborted the movement. He stared at the other blood, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I don't- Fuck! What did you go and kill him for? Why couldn't you just... thump him over the head? Not break his neck! Alioe!" he buried his face in his hands, brain shuffling through the horrible possibilities.

Fred being dead was no loss. He was - had been - a useless and horrible sack of flesh and while he'd had his uses, he'd also been an abusive piece of shit. Fionn wasn't sorry that he was dead; he was sorry that he was present at the crime scene. All he needed now was for someone to walk in and the person that would get the blame would be him. He was the lunatic after all, not Lars. He was the violent one. It didn't matter that he could barely lift himself out of the bath and now had bruises round his throat to add to his medley of injuries. Fionn actually looked like a victim in this situation but anyone who walked in would blame him, not Lars.

He felt certain of it.

"Get me a towel, would you?" he told Lars through his hands. What was he going to do? Well... actually finishing his bath was probably a good idea. No point wandering around covered in ash, especially when people knew that he'd come here to wash it off.

Oh no, people knew he'd come here with Fred. Oh, gods, he really was doomed!

[Lars]

Brunnhold | Dentis 10, 2718 | Night

Lars stood wordlessly as he watched his roommate struggle to remain conscious, breath finally returning life to his lungs and shooting the passive into his violent retching and regaining of breath. He didn't move to try to assist the younger man, knowing any attempts to help would likely be met with rejection and retaliation against him. The other servant didn't seem to even notice his presence yet; he wasn't going to jump right next to him and grab onto his shoulders to steady him, as much as he wanted to.

Once Fionn reoriented himself and caught Lars' form in his gaze, the older passive swallowed nervously, his cold fingers smoothing against each other. His right hand was smeared with blood from Fred's mouth, and his anxious fiddling pushed blood onto his other hand in its grasp. His roommate came at him with a blatant lie, and it made him wonder for a moment if the boy had somehow lost memory of the event upon knocking his head on the wood. He didn't know much about those things, but something told him the boy wasn't genuine, and his words trailed off as he caught sight of the body lying on the floor.

This wasn't good.

Fionn reacted just as anyone should, but still it brought dread down upon Lars' form, his fingertips suddenly feeling degrees colder, the blood starting to feel sticky as it dried. He didn't like this, he didn't like being scolded and scrutinized; he knew that this was wrong and that he deserved the interrogation, but gods it.... it didn't feel wrong. Fred had been strangling Fionn, and clearly planned on killing him--he'd come damn close to doing it. Lars supposed he could have tried to just knock the patron out... but that wouldn't solve the issue. Fred would get them both in even more trouble than before.

He had to be eradicated.

"He, he's sor--" he started with a stutter, though quickly seemed to change his mind, "he was killing you," was all he said in his defense. He wasn't sorry, he realized, and found no guilt lingering in his heart for his drastic actions. This was the only solution. Now he had to figure out what to do with the body, yes, and he had to deal with Fionn being upset, but no other option would've felt this right.

Fionn dropped his face into his hands, and Lars moved slightly away from the bath, stepping back to give the boy more space. He didn't mean to impose or make him feel uncomfortable, being naked in the hot, ash-tinted water, but he had figured that his life was more important than a momentary awkwardness. At the mention of a towel, Lars offered a curt nod, walking away to grab a clean towel from the wooden cabinet against the wall. He brought the towel over, making sure to turn his head so as not to potentially embarrass his roommate.

"He... he just came for a bath, and he didn't want you to die," offered the older passive, "and the galdori wouldn't have done anything if he had run to them."

Once Fionn had taken the towel from his grasp, Lars moved towards the corpse on the floor, getting down on his knees and placing his hands over Fred's head again. Now eye-level with the passive in the bath, he glanced over, his blue eyes glinting with worry and a note of something else.

"What should he do?" he questioned, looking back to Fred. He moved the man's head, feeling the unnatural limpness again and the sight sending electric shivers up his spine. It culminated in a rosy tint to his cheeks, the rims of his eyes reddened slightly, a warning of tears being held back. Though the passive didn't look particularly sad about the death--murder--he did seem overwhelmed with the night's quick turn of events.

"No, he shouldn't be asking you," Lars shook his head, "he did this; he'll fix it."

[Fionn]

Dentis 10, 2718, Night

.

He was being something of an ersehole and he knew it. Fred had been killing him and Lars had saved his life and instead of being grateful, he was busy tearing him a new one. It wasn't really Lars he was angry at here but himself. He'd been weak, vulnerable, allowed things to slip so far out of his small measure of control that he'd almost lost it permanently - almost lost everything. It was terrifying, the shock beginning to ebb sufficiently that he actually felt a bit sick no matter how far down he tried to shove the emotion.

He had almost died. It had been so close. His death had been inches away and he could still feel it, a fog hovering in the recesses of his mind that threatened to descend and blot out his consciousness. He was oddly tempted to just slip into the blackness, switch off for awhile and just pretend that none of it had happened, that Lars hadn't been the one to catch him in his nearly fatal weakness.

But he didn't have that luxury.

When Lars wandered off to get a towel, Fionn hurriedly ran soap and water over himself, even running the tap to add clean water into the ashen and bloody mix.

"I know he was," he whispered to himself, replying to Lars' own words but not actually wanting the blond to hear him. It was hard enough to agree aloud. Saying it made it real, far realer than the blossoming bruises on his neck or the blood.

When the other passive returned, he took the towel and set it carefully on the floor, choosing the opposite side from where Fred's body lay, making sure that it would be out of the range of any splashing as he finished off scrubbing his skin. The ash wasn't actually too bad as far as he could tell but his scalp... every droplet of water seemed to light it on fire, hundreds of pinpricks of pain happening at once but he had to get the blood out, had to use the water to stem the flow. He switched to a narrow stream of cold water from the other tap in the hopes that it would result in more relief than pain.

Fionn found his companion's use of the third person distressing this time rather than simply weird. He wasn't used to it and so he didn't automatically associate 'he' with Lars. Every time, he used it, he connected it with Fred, which wasn't a pleasant experience right now.

"I know the gollies wouldn't have done anything and even if they had bothered to come... They would have been a bit late, wouldn't they?" the blond commented with a short, bitter laugh. The corners of his mouth turned up in a brief parody of a smile before it fell.

Their eyes met, the beaten boy's cheeks beginning to redden and eyes actually pricking with tears before he hastily looked away, doing a last quick check of himself. Considering himself reasonably in order, he flicked a furtive glance to the side to ensure that Lars' attention was elsewhere before he leaned out to retrieve his towel, rising with difficulty and wrapping it around his waist as he stepped out with a grunt. He tucked the end in at the waist, panting slightly as he leaned on the edge of the tub for support as he caught his breath.

The bruises on his torso had been made more livid by the hot water, more marks added to his back from where it had been knocked violently against the edge while he was being strangled. There was bruising visible through his light hair, all the clearer because it was wet and plastered unevenly over his scalp. His neck bore the mark of pressure from Fred's arm, a macabre necklace of purples and blues looped tightly about his throat.

When he was able, Fionn walked around the bath to stand at Lars' side, staring down at the patron's corpse with an odd glaze in his brown gaze. He was silent for a few moments before placing an awkward, tentative hand on the older man's shoulder. It was typical for Fionn to provide comfort and it told in his posture, the inclination to put distance between them evident, his hand quite rigid on the other.

"I'm not going to- I'll help. I will. If I can," he mumbled, unconsciously moving to knead his saviour's shoulder. "I just.... Stop saying 'he.' Every time you say it, I think..." He waved vaguely in Fred's direction with his other hand.

Blood on Lars' hands.

Blood smeared about Fred's mouth.

Along his jawline from where he'd been gripped.

Taste of blood seeming to linger in between his own teeth.

His knees wobbled, unsteady beneath him so that he was forced to grip at Lars, seeking support. The ill lurch in his stomach had him closing his eyes, pressing the back of his free hand to his mouth as if that would prevent the fruits of his nausea from escaping. He took a deep breaths, trying to hold onto his dinner.

This was too much.

It was only beginning to set in but it was too much.

"Sweet Alioe," he moaned against his hand, wishing he wasn't here, wasn't trying to use Lars as a crutch.

"Maybe... maybe he could take a tumble down some stairs. You can break your neck like that, right?" he questioned after a few moments, huffing out a breath as he went to perch at the edge of the bath. Eyes closed once more, he seemed to hug himself, rubbing hands against the wet skin of his arms which had begun to prickle with goosebumps. His fingers moved absently over his passive tattoo, over a variety of scars that seemed to have marked his body over the years. He'd evidently been lashed at on more than one occasion, either by magic or some implement because the flesh had puckered in places. A lot of it was across his back but they'd also found homes on his arms and chest, more hidden beneath the towel. Not every scar had a visible place on his hide but the ones that were there showed that he'd been struck a lot, probably more than the average.

Funny how much could be hidden under clothing when your punishers were kind enough not to mark your face.

"This isn't your fault. Sorry, I snapped but I just- I couldn't-" he cut off abruptly, swallowing with difficulty. Tears were threatening again and this really, really wasn't the time. "It was my own fault but I'm glad you came. Glad you were here t-t-to stop him from- I should have just let him but I couldn't. Not like that. Not again."

The last was a whisper, the sounds barely imprinting on his breath as brown eyes opened again, mournful and bearing an agony that he seemed unwilling or unable to voice.

"I owe you and I'll help. I just- Let me grab a uniform."

He made to rise, hand rubbing at the back of his neck with a wince. If Lars didn't stop him, he'd fetch a clean uniform from the laundered ones set aside for the passives who'd bathed. None of them truly owned the clothes on their backs and so it made sense that they could switch them so easily, seeking something that seemed to fit best. "here were many who wore uniforms that were too big or too small for them, certain sizes always seeming to run lower than others.

[Lars]

Brunnhold | Dentis 10, 2718 | Night

As his roommate washed up in the bath, finally cleansing the blood and what appeared to be ash from his skin, it was difficult for Lars not to reach out and help. Being nothing but a servant for the last sixteen years had done that to him, he supposed; he was used to having to clean and help everyone with, well, everything. He wasn't a stranger to helping people bathe; in a university there was bound to be some older students calling for the passives to help them just for their entertainment. Being a well-behaved, not-disgusting man was like catnip to the occasional schoolgirl that felt the need to get back at her boyfriend or what have you. Lars couldn't tell you their logic; he could just help them with their bath and then promptly get the hell out before anything else ensued.

The passive kept his eyes trained on the door as Fionn finished up, climbing out of the bath and into his towel. There was of course nervousness that someone would walk in... he could only hope no one did.

When the younger male came around to his side of the bath, Lars offered a nod, finding the hand on his shoulder unusual but not unappreciated. It was a strange comfort to receive, the man never having had much physical contact in his life beyond what was needed in his servitude. Fionn was clearly unsure of it himself, but it was a nice gesture.

"Thank you," he murmured, finding himself grateful that the other passive was willing to help him out. He shouldn't allow him, he knew, as it was only asking for Fionn to get into more trouble if they were found out, but Lars wasn't sure he could do it himself. He wasn't weak, but he couldn't pick up Fred like he could a miraan, that was for sure. The man was big enough alive; the limp body would only be heavier.

"He wi--" Lars cut himself off, "I will," he said instead. He was aware of the effect his speech had on some people, and he supposed he could understand more so in this situation. Fionn had only known him for two days, and hadn't grown accustomed to the incorrect usage of pronouns; plus the younger had seemed to find it distasteful from the start. That was fine, he would try to refrain for the night.

Lars' eyes widened in slight surprise as Fionn grabbed onto him for balance, not reaching to steady him more in the desire to not smear blood on his skin again. It had mostly dried onto his bony fingers, but still, the boy had literally just gotten clean.

"Methinks one can break their neck in lots of ways," offered the older, glancing back down to the body, "stairs for sure. Where are the closest stairs?"

As Fionn left his side to perch against the bath, Lars moved towards the water, submerging his hands to wipe at the blood. Though the water was already murky with blood and ash, the blood from his fingers colored the water around them crimson, and it sent those same little shivers up his spine; ending like sparks on the back of his neck and goosebumps on his arms beneath his sleeves. In a brief moment, his lips curled, but Lars cleared his throat and pulled his hands from the water before they could turn up to a small smile. He looked to his side, where Fionn held himself; his hands smoothing over the skin marred with scars and markings.

The servant blinked in slight curiosity, looking across the marks and the tattoo inked into his skin. The same sigil, yet so different in appearance on Fionn's arm. Perhaps he should finally leave his own alone... but he doubted that would happen. Lars listened quietly as his roommate spoke, the other passive apparently thinking this situation was his own fault--he couldn't say it wasn't entirely, but Fionn hadn't been the one forcing himself upon someone. He hadn't been the one trying to kill someone.

He certainly wasn't the one that did.

"This wasn't your fault," he countered, "and h--I wasn't just going to let you die. Maybe you pissed him off, yes, but... he deserved it."

His voice was surprisingly steady and sure for someone that had just snapped the guy's neck; clearly not feeling sorry for the action. When Fionn moved to get up, mentioning a uniform, Lars reached out, hand touching down on the boy's shoulder for a moment to stop him as Lars moved instead.

"Stay, I'll get it," the passive moved across the room again, towards the towels and uniforms folded neatly into the cabinets. He pulled one out, examining it for a moment to decipher the sizing before deciding it was suitable. He brought it back over, handing it to the younger servant.

Lars went to roll up the sleeves of his shirt; rolling them up to above his elbows. The man was an interesting sight; messy hair from a day full of work, button-up missing the first three buttons as he had planned on just taking a bath, the faint stain of red on his hands and a tiny spot of blood on the side of his cheek from the liquid flying at the sudden twist of Fred's head. It looked natural on the man, more so than the docile demeanor he wore every day.

"I'll need your help carrying him, thank the gods it's dark out and we shouldn't be seen."

[Fionn]

Dentis 10, 2718, Night

.

Fionn wouldn't have been able to explain just how grateful he was to Lars for making the effort to switch his pronouns. It was a simple thing but it made him feel better. Additionally, when he used 'methinks', the blond couldn't help but smirk a little, that little twitch of amusement betraying him even as he rolled his eyes as if he thought the word choice was ridiculous. It was actually kind of cute and endearing.

Sort of.

He wasn't going to admit that out loud.

Ever.

"You're asking me where to find stairs?" the rebel shot back, brows tugging together as he tried to decipher that one. "You've been here longer than I have, right? Do you really need to ask? And here I thought that I was the one who'd gone thick."

It was a pointless question really so he wasn't going to reply to it with anything other than snark. Snark made him feel a lot better actually. It was an unnecessary cruelty really to attempt to demean Lars by making him seem stupid but he couldn't help it. It made him seem far from grateful as he offered a cruel sort of thanks. If he thought about it, he'd know how much of it was front, especially given how very often he did it. It didn't actually make him appear superior, he knew that but the sneering attitude helped. If he didn't really seem to care then when the world hit him, he could pretend that it didn't really bother him.

Lars had caught him at a time when the illusion had failed and while he might struggle to re-establish it, he didn't think that he could even manage to fool himself.

While the older passive went to fetch him a uniform, leaving Fionn to consider Fred's body, he found his mouth opening again, words spilling out that betrayed too much. He couldn't help it though. He wasn't coping well with this and now that the bravado had gone up in smoke, he didn't have anything to lose, did he?

"He deserved it, yeah, but it was my fault. I wouldn't have taken the beating I had today if I'd just- I knew better but I let myself think that I had control over him. Like, I fucking knew but I actually fooled myself into thinking that I had a handle on this," he remarked bitterly, foot knocking restlessly against the floor as he spoke.

"You have to be smart about things if you want to survive and I really wasn't. But clock the Circle, he's- he was vile. I mean, look at him. Ugly, blubbery fucker!"

He poked a toe into the corpse's thigh, feeling the give of flesh and trying not to gag. How had he ever allowed that near him? Well, darkness had helped at times, certainly but even when he was blinded, he couldn't cut off the rest of his senses. The sounds, the way he'd pawed him.

Funnily, the nausea was coming back fairly strongly now. He pulled his dark orbs away with a shudder. His gaze went sideways, hit Lars' about crotch level and travelled up to the offered uniform. He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing violently in a way that had nothing to do with his near-strangulation.

"Oh. Cheers," he mumbled, trying to will away the blood that wanted to rush to his face. Maybe he did it too well because it seemed to travel quite far down instead.

Oh not now, you bastard, he cursed inwardly, clutching the uniform in suddenly bloodless knuckles. Was it possible to put a hole through cloth just by squeezing it too hard? He didn't know but it seemed that the passive was about to find out. It really wasn't helping any though.

Well, he was wet and in a towel. Maybe he could blame the cold? No, no, definitely wouldn't work as an excuse. Gods, he was meant to have had the blood go back to his brain not flood an alternative one instead.

And there was Lars, standing before him with those truly lovely features and strong arms that he'd just exposed by rolling up his sleeves and pleasantly dishevelled. Actually, he kind of reminded him of how he himself typically look.

Sexually attracted to a guy that reminded him of himself, narcissism at its finest. Talk about blowing his own trumpet.

Maybe if he let himself fall backwards, he could knock his head and manage to drown in the bath that he'd so conveniently forgotten to drain.

Here he was, post-near death experience with his dead erstwhile lover (it had been somewhat consensual at other times after all) at his feet, the potential to be discovered and dumped in a shitload of trouble at any moment and some higher being had decided that he should be thinking with his dick right now. What cruel and capricious god would do this?

Time and fucking place!

Fionn had to stand up because if he had to sit on the side of the bath and look up anymore...

"Yeah, I'll help you get it u- get him up, I meant- yeah, I'll help when I'm..." he trailed off, inwardly dying as he stood, wishing that he'd chewed his own tongue out. Maybe if he had, the blood could move away from other areas before it caused mischief. There was that bob in his throat again, the difficulty swallowing as he tried to work out how he was actually going to get dressed without appearing embarrassed to be naked in front of the other.

It wasn't too late for the drowning idea.

While there was a nervous squirming low in his belly, there was also a giddy excitement and perhaps that was why he decided to be bloody blatant about it. They were going to get caught and the gollies were going to grind Fionn into the ground so... what did he have to lose really?

The uniform was dropped away from Fred, Fionn carefully sidestepping his cooling corpse and pulling himself up mentally, girding himself in spite of the slight wobbly feeling in his legs that had nothing to do with shock. He tugged the towel free, leaving himself bare as he raised it to carefully ruffle his hair and sponge off the moisture of his torso, well aware that he'd revealed far more than he would have liked. Half-mast as yet but sufficient indication if the passive looked down.

There was something akin to a challenge in his gaze, daring him to actually look rather than glancing away in an attempt to preserve Fionn's modesty. There was most definitely colour in his face now but he didn't care; there was something defiant in the set of his jaw while he also tried to appear somewhat nonchalant about this.

He was quite sure that he failed at the latter.

Seconds ticked past, the moment lasting far longer than could be considered decent before he bent to collect the uniform, fishing out undergarments first.

"So stairs. Somewhere close because he's heavy - trust me on that - and we don't want to be caught, you know?" Fionn murmured, gaze skittering away now, unable to look the older man in the eye.

[Lars]

Brunnhold | Dentis 10, 2718 | Night

Fionn's comments about the stairs earned him quite the look from Lars, the older man looking halfway about to push him into the bath and half completely understanding. He had certainly been there for longer than the younger, he wasn't sure exactly how many years he had on the boy but it had been a long time for Lars. Sixteen, almost seventeen years now. The recent incidents with his roommate only made him realize how much he wanted out--but even if he was to leave, what the hell would he do? Live out his years as a fugitive? At least Brunnhold provided a roof over his head and food in his stomach, if nothing else.

Still, the older could understand why Fionn was retaliating in the moment. He still wasn't sure what Fred had been to him, and honestly couldn't fathom why his fellow passive would ever willingly engage with the patron... but that was nothing to worry about now. They had the man's dead body on their hands; other concerns.

He listened as his roommate pushed the blame onto himself again, wishing he had the magic words to take the guilt away but finding nothing on his tongue. Lars had only known the boy for two days, and he was very aware of his violent and raging tendencies, as well as his dismissive and challenging response to authority, but... he figured it was all for a reason. The galdori didn't treat any of them nicely, and from the scars covering the younger man's body, he had to imagine that they treated him even worse. Years of forced servitude and needless cruelty tended to do that to a person.

Lars knew. Maybe he hadn't before. But he knew now what could leak out when cracks were continuously pounded into the surface. Bad things, evil things; things that might damn him in the eyes of the gods and certainly in the eyes of his peers.

The passive noticed a sudden change once the younger grabbed the uniform, but couldn't quite place what it was. Fionn clutched onto the clothing as if it were Fred's strangling arms, and averted his gaze as if trying to hide something from the older. Perhaps he simply hadn't figured the boy out yet, and something he had done bothered him again, but something told him that wasn't the cause. He had simply handed over a uniform, and now stood with his arms crossed over his chest, watching the other passive stand.

He didn't seem to catch the other man's slip, automatically assuming that the boy was still frazzled from the gruesome events of the night, and gave a grateful nod to his words. Lars was looking down now upon the corpse, hands moving to rest on his hips as he considered their options. The closest set of stairs would be... perhaps the entrance back into the main building. No one should be over there now, all students and staff likely tucked away in their rooms for the night, and other passives confined to their dorms if they hadn't finished up their work yet. In any case, they shouldn't remain in the bathhouse for much longer. It was late, and unlikely that other servants would come to bathe at this hour, but not entirely improbable. They just needed to cross the back courtyard, maybe fifty feet to the stairs leading up into the buildi--

Lars' thoughts were interrupted immediately as his roommate removed his towel.

He was no stranger to the male form, it was nothing strange for the passives to bathe and dress freely without giving a damn about the others seeing them nude. It was just their bodies after all, everyone had one, and a passive's life was one of celibacy, according to the galdori. Normally he wouldn't have been caught off guard, but something about the way he just... he wasn't even sure, but it felt like a challenge. It was that too-familiar glint in his eyes that he had been acquainted with the other night. It made the man's already pink cheeks redden further, and beneath his shirt his shoulders were warm; the feeling so foreign in his body. It was something akin to that electric shock that had struck him upon seeing Fred's body crumple, and the already disheveled man quite honestly looked a hot mess.

Lars tilted his head slightly, however didn't look away from his roommate, seeming to be considering something. Though he wasn't a naturally bold man, he didn't glance away, rather looking over his roommate before glancing back up to meet his gaze. Something in his blue eyes almost reflected what he had seen--almost glinted with a dare, beneath the dreamy haze that always washed over them.

"About fifty feet from this door," said Lars, the man stepping closer to Fionn and the corpse, "the entrance back into the main building; it should just look like he was heading out to come supervise the baths."

The older leaned down, hands grabbing at Fred's shoulders to pull him harshly into a sitting position. The man's head swayed uselessly upon a broken neck, his chin coming to rest upon his chest. He looked up at Fionn from there, "he never showed up. No one can prove otherwise."

[Muse]

10th of Dentis, 2718

The cover of darkness would have perhaps been more welcome had the small aeroship not been a noisy, cranky beast of a machine, but, alas, there was very little anything short of strenuous use of magic could do to hide the rumbling, belching old personal craft as it came down from the light cloud cover that passed over Brunnhold.

Castor Devlin set the Crow carefully outside of the campus proper, outside of the thick, beautiful red walls of the academic and magical institution which he had served as both Magister and Professor of Advanced Perceptive Conversation for over two decades, quickly exiting his craft as it shuddered and hissed, expelling steam and oil as it cooled. His hiding spot for the old bird was nestled near a copse of trees just within the shadow of the aqueduct that ran from the distant Arova to the great bastion of intellect that was the Anaxi school of magic, and it was with meticulous care that he hid the still-hot aeroship with a thick canvas cover, leaves, and branches.

Chimes and bells, he was so clocking late, and while he was aware that Harper Moore wouldn't let him hear the end of it, he was much more afraid of Headmistress Servalis' realization that he'd missed yet another two days' worth of classes before the break of nines and tens. At least he was back before his classes began again tomorrow? Thankfully, the short galdor was so alone this far from the city walls that only a couple of birds heard his cursing and ignored him. Would his students be so forgiving? Would his superiors? Would his Magister peers?

There was no time to dwell on such things, honestly. There was never enough time.

The older man traversed the familiar back trails and dirt roads of the countryside outside of the city proper, a thick wool cloak hiding the Magister's robes he wore beneath it, hood pulled up to conceal his face and field tucked so close about his person that he could have been mistaken for a human or a passive so long as no one was quite within touching distance.

Not quite as stealthily as he would have liked, considering he was huffing and sweating despite the chill in the early Autumn air, Professor Devlin finally made his way into Brunnhold proper through a series of tunnels built centuries ago, back when the red-walled city was more than just a fortress of education but also a citadel of magical ferocity. Slipping free from his cloak and folding it over his arm as though he'd simply been on a leisurely stroll, Castor slowed his gait as he meandered through the phosphor-lit campus grounds, making his way not toward the Science Complex and Laboratory Beta to meet his much more punctual counterpart, but toward the quieter, less-frequented side of campus known colloquially and rather rudely as the scrapyard—the passive quarter of Brunnhold.

Using a key he'd slipped from his vest pocket, the broad-shouldered galdor entered through a less-used maintenance door into a cramped hallway that led to a set of stairs that marked the end of his quiet stroll under the school. Tucking the key away and removing a folded sheet of paper. Room numbers and a list of names were scrawled in very hasty chicken scratch on the page, all of them scratched off save for one:

Pascual
Room 35

Pausing for a moment to catch his breath, Professor Devlin's dark eyes glanced upward as if attempting to remember the layout of this part of the school he hardly visited. Once satisfied with a general idea of his destination, he began to climb his way upward, a few more curses slipping out in ragged whispers.

[Fionn]

Dentis 10, 2718, Night

.

The young man had spent so long being leery about intimacies that it was strange to feel almost... liberated by something so simple. He wasn't a stranger to being naked in front of others but that didn't mean that he was ever happy about it. It was never really on his own terms, always something done out of necessity or obligation. It was necessary here but he could have stepped away, could have tried to construct some illusion of privacy mired in embarrassment but he'd chosen not to and it... had actually worked out well. It had been an invitation, yes, but not for now, just a heads-up (so to speak) that the interest was there. It was a quiet way of gauging whether the interest would be reciprocated and based on the blush and the glint in the other's eye, it wasn't poorly received. That sorted that then. Provided that they got out of this in one piece, things could progress in that direction although he had an odd feeling that neither of them would ever actually refer to this little moment in concrete terms.

If they got out of this in one piece.

Feeling considerably calmer and no longer self-conscious, Fionn could consider their predicament with a slightly clearer head. Yes, he still had distractions but he could actually contemplate the situation properly.

They’d been lucky so far. No one had walked in on them, no one had caught them with a corpse but it didn’t mean that it couldn’t happen. The hour didn’t make much difference as passives worked all hours. Sure, there were likely to be fewer of them coming to bathe at this hour but fewer wasn’t the same as none. Fred clearly hadn’t expected for them to be disturbed, even before Fionn had angered him, but Lars had still walked in. Perhaps if it had been obviously sexual, something more consensual between them rather than a murder attempt then the other servant might have simply left but that wasn’t guaranteed. Now the scene was a very different one and all it would take was for someone to peep in to see the dead body crumpled on the floor. It was all well and good to talk about hurling the man down some stairs to make it look like an accident but there was plenty that could go wrong before that point, plenty of opportunity for them to be spotted.

Anyone who encountered them with a corpse with its neck like that would assume foul play and if they were carrying it or worse, actually caught in the act of tumbling it down some stairs then they’d be screwed. Did they need to throw him down some stairs? Could they just leave him at the bottom of another set and hope that people would draw the desired conclusion?

"All right, yeah. So toss him down those and then what? What if someone's around? What the fuck do we do if we get caught, Lars?" he asked, hastily buttoning his shirt, tucking it untidily into his trousers. He paused, seeming to consider something before he went back to his messy tucking, knotting the jacket around his hips.

"Actually, I'll tell you what we do if we get caught. Whatever you do, do not let me open my fucking mouth. If you have to "accidentally" punch me in the bollocks or something so I don't speak then do it. If we come across anyone, whether it's ordinary servants, patrons or - Alioe forbid - gollies then don't let me say anything. It doesn't matter whether they're authority or not, although that's worse, because I will open my mouth and I will land us in deeper shit. I can't help myself, I can't keep a civil tongue in my head and the last thing you need is me fucking things up for you," he told him.

The blond was uncannily serious, the gravity in his expression and the command in his voice showing that he really meant it. He knew that he couldn't help himself. If he had the chance, he'd say something smart, talk back to someone he shouldn't; the marks all over his body attested to that.

"I'll take his legs, just... gimme a sec while I check," he told Lars, popping out the door. Hands in his pockets to give the impression of nonchalance, he moved out into the hallway beyond doing a slow turn at the end before coming back. Seemed to be clear although there was a weird noise coming from somewhere, something mechanical but it was at a remove. Nothing relevant to them. He came back, pulling the door open wide. The rebel sized it up, confident that a well-placed kick could send it bouncing off the door stop so it would swing closed. With their escape route clear for the moment, Fionn hurried back to his companion and their awkward burden.

He wrapped one arm around Fred's legs a little below knee level, getting a firm grip before he placed his other arm higher, supporting a point further up his legs, mouth contorting in disgust as he did so. It was going to be awkward but he wanted to take his fair share of the weight so there was no point just holding onto the man's feet. His solution was to place the corpse's feet over his shoulder, careful not to let his shoes scuff against it; the last thing he needed to do was leave suspicious marks. The backs of the patron's ankles seemed to sit well enough on their perch, the weight of shoes helping to balance things out so that the limbs were less eager to slide down his front. Renewing his grips on the man's legs, he nodded an acknowledgement to Lars to show that he was ready, grunting as he hoisted the weight up.

"Fuck! Forgot how heavy the fucker is!" he cursed through gritted teeth as he adjusted the weight, making sure that he'd be able to move backwards without threat of his burden slipping. "Ask me to explain that comment and I'll shove you down the stairs," he added gruffly, moving backwards as fast as he dared, assuming that he would be setting the pace and wanting - no, needing - to get this over as fast as possible. Fred really was heavy and he didn't want to have to put him down to rest. They had to do this in one trip or they were probably doomed.

Who was he trying to kid? They were doomed already.

"Fifty feet. We can do fifty feet. I'm gonna trust myself a bit. Try not to look back. Too slow. If I'm gonna hit something, tell me," he panted out.

And they were off.