Scribbles and Drabbles

Notebook Drabble 31

- Lance was the head of black ops for the Republic but revealed himself as a double agent and defected back to the Empire. He left behind his handpicked team and a lover to return to his husband and family in the Empire's assassin cult. He trained his men the same as he would for the cult. He settles back in well but misses his men. His brother decides to cheer him up by 'saving' his former second from death row. 

- Adrian dares to mouth off to Lance when he's presented to him. Lance punishes him by whipping him in the hall for everyone to see. 

The belt stopped. Adrian wheezed as he forced in breathing back into control. His thighs hurt. Lance could do worse, had trained him to cope with worse. This wasn't about punishment. This was about a show. Adrian hung his head and waited, blocking out the jeers of the onlookers and focusing on the concrete under his knees. A firm hand pressed to the back of his neck, and the thumb rubbed over the ball of stress at the base of his neck. He held still. This wasn't over.

His arms dropped from above him, and some of the pressure lifted from his chest. He almost fell forward but steadied himself. The chains remained, and the rope dug into his chest, but he stayed up.

More sound that didn't matter.

Lance squeezed the back of his neck in approval. Some dark part of Adrian preened. Lance expected the best from his agents. The squeeze promised that he performed to Lance's standards. He should fight, he should declare himself no longer Lance's. That would be a lie.  

He didn't move as more restraints dropped from him and reduced the pain to his knees and thighs. Fingers combed through his hair, and he let his head roll with the movements. His hands remained shackled loosely behind his back, and a gag bit into his lips, but everything else was gone. He adjusted, shifting his weight to his heels and relaxed his shoulders to help the pull of his muscles.

A dagger pressed to his neck. He tilted his head up and waited, finding dark eyes studying him. Lance's lips twitched, but his eyes shone with pride. Adrian was fulfilling his role. Something settled in him, and his mind pulled away from the pain to obey. He could do this.

"Up."

Adrian stood up gracefully. His body protested, but anything less than perfect was a failure. He refused to fail, with daggers surrounding him, waiting to pounce. Jealous eyes studied him for weakness. Assassination cults and nobles had that in common.

"Follow."

He obeyed.

The crowds parted. Lance wielded power here the same as he had in the ops halls. Adrian followed his master; ultimately, that was Lance's role in his life. The one who decided his actions, his fate and his status. Lance's betrayal hadn't changed it. Adrian belonged to Lance, like it or not. Command knew it, and they were going to hang him for it. The assassins knew it, and now Adrian needed to prove that he knew it. Lance didn't want him dead, but that was a cold comfort.

Time turned hazy. Lance took his gag out and rubbed his jaw. His hands were released briefly, and water poured over him. He moved as Lance wanted. Lance hummed but didn't talk as he cleaned Adrian and washed his hair. He towelled off the water and bandaged up the worse of Adrian's injuries. Adrian held in place and offered his arms as Lance checked for other injuries beyond the ones that he'd inflicted. Lance clicked unhappily but smeared ointment over his fingers and across the burns on his forearms.

When Adrian's awareness returned, he was on a bed dressed in a top and shorts. A blanket rested over him, and Lance lay next to him, hot and solid. It was the smell more than anything. His hands were shackled again but in front of him. His forearms were covered in bandages. He rubbed the stiffness off his face with his palm. Had he been crying? He hoped not. That wouldn't impress Lance.