For Freedom

To Pay What is Owed

Notes:

This chapter has been an absolute monster and life keeps getting in the way. I'm so sorry it took so long but I hope it was worth the wait!

And if you're curious and into this sort of stuff....

https://discord.gg/Et38rXU

Come check out my discord! It's got a fun medieval theme and is very nsfw supportive!

____________

How did I end up here? Wilbur wondered. How badly had he failed his country, to lower himself to such a fate for their benefit? His eyes were damp, stinging from the shame and embarrassment. But he knew, deep within he owned L'Manburg so much. Tommy, Fundy, Tubbo, they were so innocent, so hardworking. They'd gone through so much in this war. He couldn't face them until Dream agreed to offer real freedom.

The other's lips pressed firm to his, in what was less of a kiss than a declaration of control. Wilbur's arms stayed above his head, wrists encircled tightly by Dream's hands, and his back was on equal terms with the heavy wooden wall behind him. He had nothing to say, nothing to do as he let himself go slack. Dream pushed his hips up against Wilbur, used his whole body to restrain him against that wall.

There was a press of something hard against his hips that made his eyes go wide. Then Dream was pulling away, releasing Wilbur's wrists to wipe his mouth. He was panting, grinning like a madman, and then leaning in close again. But this time he grabbed Wilbur by the hair, fingers tangling in the curls on his head, and tugging him violently off the wall like an object from a shelf, something he'd had on display especially for himself.

Dream led him over to the desk, other hand sliding down to his hip, grip once again firm as he pressed him straight up against the wood. The angle of the desk was sharp and the press of Dream's hips against him from behind was hard. It hurts, and Wilbur knew it was certain to leave a bruise, but he gritted his teeth and bared the pain, Dream's fingers still tugging at his hair.

He could feel the warmth of Dream's breath, gentle, yet erratic like that of a rabid animal. His grip on Wilbur grew impossibly tighter, body close, pressure against his backside incessant and unbearable. He wouldn't pull back, instead pushing wilbur face-down against the wooden desk. He grunted, the force almost knocking the wind out of him, pain leaving his eyes shining with tears that he refused to let flow.

"I wish you could understand how special this is," Dream said lowly, leaning over Wilbur. They were pressed flat together from neck to knees, and Dream's body was a cage, the prison he would serve out his sentence in. And he would do it, he would do this for his country, and for his own foolish pride. He couldn't let Dream win this war. "How long I've wanted to do this for."

"Just get it over with," Wilbur ground out. "His voice was low and bitter with tinges of irritation. "And leave L'Manburg alone." He was already exhausted from Dream's assault, and he didn't know how much more it would take before he lost his mind. Every place of his hands on Wilbur's body was invasive and unwelcome, violating in a deeper way than it ever should have been.

Dream's nimble fingers made light work of slipping under Wilbur's coat and vest, finding the place where his shirt was tucked into his trousers. Gingerly, he began untucking it, and Wilbur felt the fabric sliding against his skin.

"Oh, Wilbur," Dream cooed, "this isn't even close to over." He untucked the shirt completely, and then his fingers were slipping completely underneath, bunching the fabric as he rubbed slow circles on Wilbur's waist. Nausea rose rapidly inside him as Dream's hands dared to raise higher, cringing at the intimacy of touch, and the implication of his words.