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 Song of Ice and Fire slash. Ramsay/Reek, NWS, spoilers, yadaya

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Malganis
Knight of the Bleach
Knight of the Bleach
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Join date : 2009-06-10

PostSubject: Song of Ice and Fire slash. Ramsay/Reek, NWS, spoilers, yadaya   Wed May 18, 2011 9:24 pm

Okay... quick justification for this. I know it's short -- I was going for more of a flash-fic sense, but I can never constrain myself to an arbitrary word-count so it became this mini-chapter'd thing. Tell me if that sucks or not and if I should flesh (lol) it out. More explicit, less explicit, needs more character development, not creepy enough? Whatever, tell me, since I'm really really really really super-rusty at doing fics and this has been lying around moldering on my hard drive for who knows how long.

More slash to come later, I guess.


Leavings

Summary:
Reek has always gotten what his master left behind.

Rating: R -- a hard one, for reasons that should be obvious when you look at the good Bastard o' Bolton. Contains some very unsexy and disturbing slash.


One: A Gift

He is a gift to young Ramsay Snow, they say, but Heke does not see how he could be much of one. He is almost eleven years old, an ugly baseborn boy, strong of body but slow of wit. His only virtues are that he is quiet, obedient, and strong; the rest of him isn't worth much.

He might have worked as a jailer in the Dreadfort's dungeon, or as a dog-keeper in the Dreadfort kennels--dogs fear and obey him. If he had been born beyond the walls of the Dreadfort, he might have served as a farmhand, guiding a team of oxen as they plowed the earth, or as a blacksmith's apprentice. But for some reason, Lord Bolton has picked him to give as a manservant to his bastard. Heke doesn't ask why. He only obeys.

His new master, of an age with him, looks him over critically. "Heke, they call you? Reek would be more appropriate. You smell of rotten food and shit." After this short speech, Ramsay gives his father a quick look; perhaps a question, or a confirmation. Lord Bolton merely gazes back into the young eyes that are so much like his own, and nods.

No more is said on the matter.

That night, Heke is beaten bloody. Ramsay does it himself, with his own hands and with a doubled-up loop of studded belt. "That was to teach you your place beside me," he tells Heke afterwards as Heke dresses him for bed. "You will take everything from my hand that I give to you, the painful and the pleasant. Obey me, and you'll be rewarded. Disobey... and what I did to you tonight will seem merciful."

Heke merely nods and curls up on his side at the foot of Ramsay's bed, near the smouldering embers of the evening fire. He is used to casual beatings. He experienced it every day from his father and mother and saw it from the other peasants around him. It makes sense to him that he'll experience it here. Almost... comforting, to know that something of his old life will remain with him.

He finds it rather enjoyable.

Two: Strange Beauty

As he entered manhood, Reek noticed a strange thing. Ramsay became beautiful to him.

He sees this one morning when he is bathing his master. They are both five-and-ten years old.

He soaps the broad flesh across Ramsay's back and shoulders. His master is fleshy, with heavy muscles hidden under thick, oily skin and a coating of youthful fat. But he is strong, Reek knows; he's seen Ramsay at swordplay in the yard, has seen how fast he can strike, how hard he can hit. Any impression of slowness or clumsiness is an illusion.

He reminds Reek of the walruses that live on the icy northern coast, how they have thick muscles under their blubber and possess a deceptive power. They can move quickly, when they want to, gliding silently in the cold ocean. Ramsay is like that, Reek thinks. No one, not even Ramsay's father, sees this.

No one sees how quiet Ramsay is, how smoothly he moves -- not only in swordplay, but in the subtler games of politics, the endless game that all lords and ladies are born into, and that even bastards have dabbled in, from time to time. Reek himself is not a part of it, only Ramsay's man, but even he has noticed how Ramsay is positioning himself in that great game, and how no one but he notices it. It makes him feel special, even favored, and cleverer than anyone else, those great lords who disdain the Bastard of Bolton.

He pours water over Ramsay's freshly scrubbed shoulders. The skin there is thick and white, heavily spotted with freckles and moles. It reminds Reek of undercooked porridge.

Steam rises up; Ramsay tilts his head back. His eyes are pale grey-blue; almost colorless, like the winter sky at high noon. His face is ruddy from the heat, his hair black and lank, dripping. His full mouth curves in a slow smile as he meets Reek's eyes.

Reek realizes he is hard, like in his dreams where Ramsay touches him. He sees Ramsay's gaze on his prick and is instantly frightened, yet remains aroused. His head feels light and his heart is pounding like a hunted rabbit's. His hand goes to Ramsay's shoulder, feels that spotted flesh, those muscles.

"Little whore," Ramsay sneers. "Thinking about a naked woman? Or me? Or both?" His grin is sensually cruel, and his own manhood is stiffening.

As Ramsay stands up, pushes Reek to the bath's flagstone floor, and fucks him like he fucks the serving women, Reek experiences the joy and pain of being utterly used, and he remembers something else, about those northern walruses; how the males are so heavy that they come near to crushing their mates. As Ramsay grunts, pressing him down under his thrusts, Reek believes everything he's heard.

Three: Hunted

Snow puffs up around her bare feet. She won't get far. Her clothes are mere rags, her skin laced with welts and bruises. The blood is freezing on her body. She's already been beaten, but something in her gives her the illusion of possible escape.

It ends quickly. Ramsay rides her down when she can run no more, throws her to the snow, and takes off what little covers her. Ramsay undresses himself while Reek holds the girl. Then Ramsay begins to rape her, and her high screams shiver through the forest, echoing weirdly in this world of white expanse and straight bare black trees.

Reek watches as Ramsay thrusts and strangles. He loves his master for this, because Ramsay always lets him go last. Ramsay knows that women despise Reek, that they cannot bear to have him touch them. Even whores will not sleep with him. Seeing his vacant grin and cruel, dull eyes, they shy away.

It is his master alone who is merciful, who gives him what he needs.

The gurgles of her dying breaths cut off abruptly with a snap. Ramsay always breaks their necks as he finishes. Reek moans and whines like a dog on the leash, feverishly aroused, needing the warm flesh, needing to feel his master's seed in the dead cunt. Blood speckles the snow, red on white, as Ramsay rises and takes up his clothes. His pale spotted skin is pink with excitement and cold.

Reek is already dropping his trousers, loosening his shirt. Ramsay says that fucking a girl naked in the snow is invigorating for one's health; Reek does not disagree.

Reek is vaguely aware of Ramsay saying something as he thrusts into the limp flesh. He finishes quickly, just as Ramsay grabs his shoulder and hauls him up. The cold air is bracing; its own sort of pleasure after the warmth of the girl. He shivers in his master's grip, thinking that Ramsay wishes to take him on the snow, thrust into him now like he did the girl. If he does, Reek would give himself to his master gladly.

But no. "Riders," he snarls. "Here--" he thrusts his ring onto Reek's finger and his then his clothing into Reek's hands. "Take my horse, and take my ring. Then my father will listen to you."

Reek dresses hurriedly, briefly noticing that Ramsay is putting on Reek's own rags and daubing himself with the girl's blood. He does not question this.

Ramsay slaps his horse's rump just as Reek settles into the saddle. The horse takes off across the snowy ground as if it suddenly grew wings, and for a moment Reek truly feels as if he is flying. He laughs, exhilarated, and the wind whips the sound away from him. Ramsay has given him so much... his women, his trust, his clothing, his ring. Now he has to ride for the Dreadfort, and save his master. Ramsay will love him so much more for--

A twanging hiss, a sharp, hard pain spearing through his guts, and he is knocked off the horse and falling. The world whirls in lines of black and white; then his face smashes against a cold crust of icy snow. He looks down at his belly, whimpering, and sees a bloody broadhead poking up below his belly, just above his groin, jabbing up like a hard cock of wood and metal. He whimpers louder and fumbles at it with numb fingers, trying to pull it out, but the pain is too great.

Ramsay's horse gallops off, harness jangling. He twists his head against the snow, ice scraping his wet cheek, watching the horse's darkness melding with the black lines of the trees.

"Caught 'im," says a harsh voice. "And the other, too." Men scuff through the snow, tossing cold white flakes onto his shaking form. "Gods... what they did to that girl...." Murmurs of disgust.

Reek twists and sees Ramsay, held in the grip of two unsmiling, armed men. He is shaking with cold, his flesh milk-pale, even the freckles. His full lips are red with blood where they have struck him, marring his beauty. Reek could weep.

"Looks like we downed the master and caught the servant," another says. He prods Reek with a booted foot. "You... you are the Bastard of Bolton, are you not?"

Reek gazes up into Ramsay's face, and stretches out his red-smeared hand, leaving a crimson trail across the ice-crusted snow, palm down. Ramsay's ring is exposed for all to see.

"Yes," he gurgles, and dies, smiling.

They leave him there in his own cooling blood, but his eyes are still open... still fixed on the spot where Ramsay stood. Still shining with love for his master.


The End
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Song of Ice and Fire slash. Ramsay/Reek, NWS, spoilers, yadaya
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