A gay story: Not In This Lifetime Ch. 03-04 Trigger warnings & Author’s notes
May contain: violence, extreme domination, degradation, sadism, non-consent/coercion, slavery.
Thank you all so much for the feedback and support! I’m so glad you’re enjoying so far, despite the slow start. Things are finally starting to heat up in the following chapters (skip to the end of ch4 if that’s all you’re looking for, lol) and I’m really looking forward to releasing the next two (ch5 + ch6.) I hope the sex scene in ch4 doesn’t feel too forced/rushed — just know it’s simply an appetizer, the main dish is coming up. 😉
Chapter Three: aftermath
——————————————
26 hours after the fall of the rebellion.
Mile’s eyes fluttered open. He blinked, eyes darting around the room, trying to get his bearings. He was laying in a bed, staring at the ceiling. Where was this? This wasn’t home. He hurt everywhere, and despite just having woken up, he felt as though he hadn’t slept in weeks. The lights above him were entirely too bright. Why had he not turned the lights off before going to sleep?
He tried to recall how he’d gotten here — and where was here, anyway? He slowly looked to the side to take in more of his surroundings. He noticed a computer screen on the wall and various medical devices he didn’t really know the purposes of. He was in a hospital. He’d hit his head? His shoulder — his shoulder hurt. Someone had hurt it. He frowned to himself, concerned that he couldn’t recall what had happened.
Mile clenched his eyes closed, desperate to shut out the blazing lights. An image of Symond flashed through his mind. Was Symond there when this happened? Had Symond hurt him? He felt a lingering disdain for the man he didn’t quite understand.
Mile tried to prop himself up on his left arm and reach up with his right to touch his aching head, and a couple of things happened abruptly. One, he found he couldn’t lift his right arm very far on account of the handcuffs securing him to the side of the bed, and two, any movement or pressure put on his left arm hurt like absolute hell.
He gasped loudly and collapsed back into the sheets, becoming aware of the sling around his left arm, no doubt put there to remind him not to use it. So much for that.
A woman peered around a corner to look at him. “Oh, you’re awake again,” she observed. “I’ll get the doctor.”
“Again?” Mile thought as he watched her leave. Had he woken up before now?
A few minutes later, another woman walked into the room, accompanied by the woman from before who he now understood to be a nurse.
“Hey Mile, I’m doctor Wayn. How are you feeling?”
“Like shit,” Mile answered honestly.
The doctor nodded. “Not surprised. You came in with a pretty severe concussion and a fractured shoulder and torn rotator cuff. You’ve been asleep for most of 24 hours.”
“What happened?” Mile inquired. “How did I get here?”
The doctor looked at him before jotting down some notes. “Don’t worry, it’s normal to have some post-traumatic amnesia after a head injury. Your memory should come back in time.”
Mile frowned at the non-answer to his questions.
“Can you please just … tell me where I am?”
The doctor offered a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, Mr. Domarc, I’m not at liberty to discuss anything with you except your health. Please let your nurse know if you need anything. And try not to move your injured arm just yet, we’ll have you with a physical therapist in due time.”
With that, she turned and left the room. The nurse lingered behind.
“I know you must be famished; lunch will be served in about a half an hour. Do you need anything in the meantime?” She was already filling a glass with water for him. “How are your pain levels?”
“Not good.”
She nodded and grabbed a bottle from the nearby counter top, and dumped a couple of pills into a tiny cup before holding it up to his lips. He blinked in surprise but realized this was literally the only way, and so he opened his mouth to accept the pills and the water that followed.
“Need anything else?” The nurse inquired. Mile shook his head and she turned to leave.
“Wait,” Mile called to her.
She stopped and looked at him.
“Will you please turn the light off?”
She nodded and flicked the switch on her way.
“Wait!” Mile called again. She peered back into the room, an eyebrow raised.
Mile looked at her apologetically. “Bathroom?” The nurse nodded.
“I’ll call a guard to escort you right away.”
——————————————
72 hours after the fall of the rebellion.
General Symond Welles was stretched thin. Damage control on the town of Lightley was proving to be quite the arduous task. As their final act, the rebels had managed to do a great deal of damage to the town that had served as their base. It would likely take months, if not years, to rebuild.
That aside, the captive situation was turning out to be an entire shit show, with soldiers claiming prisoners of war as slaves without going through the proper protocol. There were just so many captives, it was impossible to keep track of everyone. Soldiers were turning it into a free-for-all.
When he brought the matter to the king, he was brushed off.
“It makes no difference to me, General Welles. May they suffer for their actions one way or another.”
Symond realized it had been foolish of him to expect anything else from the young king. His contempt for the rebels was strong, and upon taking the crown, he had very quickly revealed himself to be a sadistic and vindictive ruler, deriving pleasure from the misfortune of others. While his father, Oppius, had turned a blind eye to the grievances in his kingdom, King Allius Domarc seemed to relish in causing them. If anyone had been hoping for social progress with their new ruler, they had certainly been in for an unpleasant shock to the system.
Symond sighed and looked at the clock on the wall. 11:00 PM. He’d been working all day. His mind wandered to his captive at the hospital. Dr. Wayn had called him a couple of days ago regarding Mile’s condition after he’d woken up. She had mentioned amnesia as a result of the concussion, but Mile was on the mend and she expected his memory to return to him with time.
Symond found himself to be upset about the amnesia– he wondered how the disgraced rebel leader would handle the reality when it came back to him. It seemed like a cruel joke of the universe that’d he’d have to experience the shock of his loss a second time around.
The general wasn’t sure how to handle the situation, or when to approach the other. This was not going to be an easy transition. He thought it best to allow the younger man time to heal before adding on stress that could be avoided — for a while at least.
In the end, Mile remained in the hospital for a couple of weeks before he got restless and began demanding answers from the hospital staff. At that point Symond decided it was time to move forward.
——————————————
“Domarc.”
Mile’s eyes shot open and he gazed upon the face of Kiran, one of the two soldiers who had been assigned as his guard. The younger man gave him a moment to shake off the sleep before speaking.
“General Welles has called for your relocation. I’m going to release you from the cuffs so you can prepare. Oron is right outside speaking to the nurse. Please don’t give us trouble.”
“I won’t,” Mile said honestly. He certainly wasn’t in any condition to fight or flee. He didn’t even know where he was.
Kiran approached the hospital bed, producing a key and unlocking the handcuffs. Mile propped himself up and tentatively pushed himself from the bed. He was still feeling a bit dizzy from the concussion, but it was nowhere near as bad as it had been the first week. He carefully walked to the far side of the room and into the bathroom to relieve himself, brush his teeth and wash his face.
“The general has provided some clean clothes for you,” Kiran called to him after a few moments. Mile peered out of the doorway of the bathroom, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, to see where the guard was motioning to.
“Thank you.”
He returned to the bathroom to spit in the sink and replace his toothbrush on the counter before washing his face. Then he walked over to retrieve the clothing, pausing to look at Kiran, who was now sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting patiently for him to finish.
“I need help,” Mile said, blatantly displeased about it. The doctor had eventually replaced the sling on his left arm with a more heavy duty immobilizer, as Mile could not seem to remember to stop using his injured arm. The immobilizer consisted of a thick strap around his torso with an attached cuff to place around his bicep to secure it at his side, and another cuff for his wrist, to secure his forearm in front of him.
“Oh, right.”
Kiran stood and reached forward to unvelcro the cuff around Mile’s upper arm and then the one around his wrist. Then he undid the strap around his torso, freeing him from the arm immobilizer.
“Thank you.”
Mile turned around so that the man could undo the strings of the drafty hospital gown, which he quickly shrugged off of himself, happy to be rid of it. He stood now in only his boxers and picked up the t-shirt provided to him, shaking it open with his right hand and then trying to get it over his head without the use of his left. He seemed to find this difficult as the fabric of the t-shirt clung to itself, and he unconsciously reached up with his left hand to assist.
“Jesus, stop –” Kiran grabbed his arm and held it down at his side. “I’ll help you.” He reached up to correctly align the t-shirt before grabbing both sides and pulling it down over his head. Mile shoved his right arm through the sleeve and Kiran carefully helped guide the other. Then he handed the pants to Mile, which, to Mile’s relief, he found easier to put on by himself as they were just sweat pants.
Kiran held the immobilizer up and Mile frowned, but allowed the other to put it back on him.
——————————————
The two guards escorted Mile out of the hospital to a sleek black car that was parked in front of the building. Mile couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in or had even seen a vehicle. He stopped to admire it, but the guards urged him forward, tugging at the chain around his waist that his right wrist was secured to in front of him.
When they had begun putting it on him in the hospital room, he had inquired if it was really necessary, what with him having a broken shoulder and all. Plus, He couldn’t move his left arm if he’d wanted to with this stupid immobilizer on.
Oron, the older guard, had replied instantly to his inquiry.
“Absolutely necessary.”
Mile allowed himself to be ushered to the car, Kiran taking the seat beside him, and Oron getting behind the wheel. They began moving and Mile turned to Kiran.
“Where are we going?”
“You know I can’t answer that, Mile.”
Oron shot Kiran a look of disdain in the rear view mirror. He had recently spoken to the younger soldier about professionalism and not getting too familiar with the captive, after he’d noticed the man had began referring to him by his first name.
“When will I have answers?”
Kiran frowned and didn’t look at him. “I seriously don’t know.”
“Shut up, Domarc,” Oron called sternly from the front seat.
Mile scowled, his distaste for the soldier evident, but said nothing else.
After a few minutes and multiple turns, Mile felt like his brain was spinning in his skull, the motion sickness was intense. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on taking deep breaths, willing his stomach to calm.
The car came to a stop about fifteen minutes later. Mile sat up and looked out the window. They were at some kind of villa style house.
Oron and Kiran both exited the car as a guard at the door approached to greet them. Mile observed for a few minutes before sighing and slumping back into the seat. He was tired of this weird purgatory he seemed to be trapped in. He just wanted answers.
Eventually his two guards returned to the car and opened his door. Oron grabbed his good arm and pulled him out, causing Mile to stumble a bit as he tried to find his footing. They walked to the set of double doors and the guard who had been stationed there pulled one open and motioned for them to enter.
The villa was stunning, Mile couldn’t stop himself from admiring the architecture as he was led through the building. In this main room, there were lots of windows and the house was radiant with natural light. Eventually they made it down a hall and the villa guard stopped at a door and pushed it open, allowing them to go inside. It was a large room, mostly empty save for a modestly sized bed and a sofa. The guard followed them in and spoke.
“This is where you will be staying. You’ll find the bath area at the end of this hallway we came down, you are free to walk around this area. I trust you will not try to escape as it will not end well for you.”
Mile looked up, surprised by this new information along with the ominous warning.
“I will not be restrained?”
The guard shook his head.
“No, but be warned that security is extremely tight here. If you attempt to escape you will be executed. You will find most of the doors are locked save for the ones you are allowed access.”
Mile nodded in understanding and turned to Kiran.
“Please remove my restraints. Please,” he emphasized.
Kiran looked nervously to Oron, seemingly for permission. Oron grabbed Mile’s right elbow and turned him around to face him before releasing his wrist from the handcuffs. He then unlocked the padlock securing the chain around his waist.
“I still think this is a mistake,” Oron said to no one in particular. He turned to leave the room, carrying the chain and handcuffs out with him.
Mile let out a small sigh of relief, pleased to have his restraints gone — and Oron as well. The villa guard followed Oron out, leaving Mile and Kiran.
Kiran spoke before exiting himself. “We’ll be outside, Mile.” He paused, frowning at himself and quickly adding, “Domarc.”
Mile laughed softly at the other and watched him leave. He was alone again.
——————————————
A couple of weeks had gone by since the relocation, and Mile found himself in a rut. He had just begun physical therapy for his shoulder, but the days felt long and boring. There was a nurse that came on a daily basis and a doctor once a week, but otherwise he didn’t get much human interaction. The villa was fully staffed with guards, housekeepers and cooks, but they all seemed to be under orders to limit their interactions with him.
He had also not yet regained his memories, and was extremely frustrated that he had no information about his fellow rebel soldiers. He often thought about his friends. Cerys. Ryfe. Were they okay? Had they been captured as well? The tight knit group of people at the core of the rebellion had become his family. Not knowing their fates made him increasingly anxious and angry, and he began to act out, refusing food and treatment and ignoring orders from his guards to cooperate. He reached the point where he was ready to fight if he needed to.
After four days of this noncompliance, it seemed he was finally about to get some answers.
He was sitting on the sofa in his room one afternoon after refusing lunch, staring at the ceiling. He heard the door open and someone approach him. He fully expected it to be Kiran, there to implore him to eat. Kiran seemed to care more than the others, and Mile actually felt guilty to be causing the younger man stress.
“I’ve been told you’re no longer cooperating.”
Mile looked over, surprised to hear the familiar voice.
Symond Welles stood before him, looking at him sternly. Mile sat up on the sofa to face the general. He ignored his comment.
“Where am I? Why am I here?”
He honestly didn’t expect the man that had become his rival to answer him.
“You are in my home, Domarc. You are here because the rebellion has been conquered as of last month, and you are a prisoner of war.”
Mile froze, images of fire flooding back to him abruptly. The chaos that had overtaken Lightley. People running around. The smell of houses burning. Facing the royal army. His broken shoulder. And … no. Fuck no.
He was unable to hide his pained expression. After a moment he spoke.
“You killed Cerys.”
“I did no such thing. I was informed that he went out fighting. He would not cooperate. He took out a few of my good men.”
Mile said nothing for a moment, but then asked again, “why am I here?”
Symond paused, understanding the younger man wanted a deeper answer.
“You are here because I have claimed you as my slave. It was between that and death.”
“Then I choose death,” Mile said quickly.
“You choose nothing. It was never up to you.”
“I will serve no one. I will die before I succumb to a life of slavery.”
Symond turned abruptly and walked to the door. He called out to the two guards, beckoning them over. They entered the room, eyes on the general.
“I want one of you in here with him at all times. I’m placing him on suicide watch. Restrain him if he tries to harm himself. Inform me if he has not yet eaten by the end of this week and I will arrange for a feeding tube.”
“Sir!” Both men said in unison.
Mile was aghast. He seethed and glared at the man who took one final look at him. As an afterthought he said, “you may all speak freely to him now and answer any further questions he might have.” Then he left.
Mile hated everyone and everything.
From that point forward, he offered the minimal amount of cooperation he could get away with to avoid drastic measures being taken against him. He ate the smallest amount of food he could manage, and begrudgingly complied with his physical therapist. He found himself slipping into a deep depression and opted to sleep most of the day.
But he couldn’t even find relief in that now, his brain seemed bent on torturing him, offering up images of fire and death and his murdered best friend as he slept. There seemed to be no escape from his torment.
This period of inactivity went on for about another month, when one morning he found himself woken abruptly by the general himself.
“Up, Domarc.”
Mile was surprised to see him. The general rarely came to this part of the villa. Mile was beginning to wonder if he actually even lived here. He frowned and looked up at the older man.
Symond grabbed his arm and pulled him from where he lay.
“No more of this. I’m tired of the sulking around and self defeating behavior. Get up.”
Mile stood before him, obviously aggravated.
“Get dressed.”
The younger man frowned and stood firm, staring down the general.
“Now.”
They stood in an intense battle of wills, eyes locked. Eventually Mile softened, understanding he really had no choice. He averted his gaze and turned to fetch his clothes.
Symond smiled to himself, pleased that the other had buckled so quickly under his gaze.
“Your arm is doing better?” he called to Mile. “How long have you been without the sling?”
“About three weeks.”
Symond nodded in approval.
Once dressed, Symond led him out the back doors of the villa. Mile had never been out here before. It opened up into a lovely curated garden area with a shaded pavilion and hedges all around. They stopped in an open area on the grass.
Mile looked confused as the general turned to face him.
“Fight me.”
“Wha — what?”
“Your injury and inertia have made you waste away. Plus you have no outlet for your energy and anger. It is obviously taking a toll on you. So spar with me.”
Mile frowned. The man wasn’t wrong. His muscles had atrophied pretty significantly, he barely recognized himself in the mirror.
“I don’t want to.”
He gasped in pain and doubled over when the general lunged at him, kneeing him in the stomach.
“Fucking hell,” he spat out, clutching his stomach. The general came at him again, fist clenched, and Mile had just enough time to evade the punch.
This went on for a while longer, the general attacking and Mile evading. Growing annoyed with the game of chase, Symond knocked Mile off his feet and onto his back, dropping down to grasp his throat and cutting off his airflow.
“Fight me, bitch,” he growled down at the other.
Mile gasped in pain, struggling with the lack of air, and reached up to slam his right palm against the underside of Symond’s jaw, forcing his head back with a snap. Symond released his grip on the other and looked down at him.
“Good.”
He stood and pulled Mile to his feet.
“Again.”
——————————————
Chapter Four: culture shock
——————————————
Eight years before the fall of the rebellion.
Mile was frustrated. Frustrated with himself, and frustrated with the situation he had found himself in. Things weren’t going as he expected them too. He was not settling in well with his fellow rebels. He sensed a lot of tension between himself and the others, despite his best efforts to contribute and support the cause. He had already butted heads with a number of them. He didn’t understand where the animosity toward him was coming from.
Today, the three rebel leaders had called for their weekly meeting to discuss their progress and plans. Mile sat among the group of soldiers and watched as the room filled and the three men took a seat at a table at the front of the room. He idly scanned the crowd, noting how many more people were present than there had been over the past few weeks. He was beginning to recognize the ones who had been here longer. He always noticed a red headed man — perhaps because his hair was so vibrant, but also because the man seemed to be the only one who acknowledged his existence with small nods of greeting.
Eros Thiled began to speak, jumping right to business as Mile had learned was typical of him.
“We have been doing well with recruitment. Our numbers have nearly tripled, and our scouts have reported a great deal of support amongst the people. We are continually moving in the right direction.”
Eros paused before motioning toward a young woman sitting near him. “We’ve been extremely fortunate this past week with the addition of Ryfrid to our team. She’s trained in the science of computer technology. We’re optimistic that we can begin incorporating more tech into our cause with her help.”
There were cheers from the group of rebels. Computer technology, having once been on its way to becoming a booming industry promising great advancements in overall life, had become something of a lost science when Oppius Domarc had become king. He had recognized the power that could be wielded with it, and had thought it best to keep it away from the majority of society. Only a select few were allowed access to computers — namely nobles and the royal army — and an even more select few were permitted to be trained in the science. There were hefty punishments for those who practiced, learned, and taught computer science without permission.
Eros continued. “Having that said, the plan remains the same this week. Scouting and recruitment. Please talk to one of us if you are interested in becoming a scout.”
Mile spoke suddenly. “We should storm the base in Eastrun. It is currently unmanned, save for a single officer or two. We could easily steal supplies and tech to aid us.”
The room went quiet and all eyes were on Mile. Bere Rancis spoke next.
“That’s too risky a move for us at this point in time. Our numbers are improved, but we can’t yet take on the royal army.”
“The presence of the the royal army is grossly lacking within the kingdom,” Mile continued. “I know for a fact that the king has the bulk of his army fighting up North to procure more territory, and that he does not take the rebellion seriously.”
Eros frowned. “Even so –”
“Shut the fuck up, Domarc.”
Mile blinked in surprise, staring at the short, angry man that was Dego Arcus.
“I’m tired of you coming in here, disrespecting us and shoving your opinion where it’s not wanted.”
Degos stood, emboldened now that everyone was looking at him.
“Do you not realize how insignificant and expendable you are to us? This isn’t the goddamn Mile Domarc show with us as the supporting cast.”
The man that was once so small in stature seemed to grow bigger as he let loose.
“I know you think you’re some big hot shot — the heroic and righteous wayward son of the king, here to save us all.”
“Dego …” Eros interjected, a hint of warning to his voice.
“You’re not fucking god’s gift to the rebellion.”
Mile was taken aback by the outburst. He didn’t know what to say.
“I — I do not think of myself as such.”
Dego rolled his eyes. “You very clearly DO. You know, we almost didn’t take you in. Eros only agreed to because we figured you’d make a great bargaining chip for the royal army should the need ever arise.”
“Dego, that’s enough.” Eros stood, glaring at the other man.
Mile frowned. A bargaining chip? That’s all they saw him as?
“It’s fucking true,” Dego continued, as if reading Mile’s thoughts. “We would have reconsidered letting you join had we known you were such an insufferable twat, but at least we always have that option.”
Eros sternly placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder and ushered him to the door.
“Meeting adjourned, for now,” he called to the room. “Same time next week.”
The two of them exited, followed by Bere Rancis, who was just shaking his head slowly as he walked, and the rest of the rebel soldiers followed suit. Mile frowned and stared at the ground, trying to come to terms with this development.
The red-headed man Mile had noticed before was the last to leave the building. He met Mile’s gaze, and shrugged sheepishly.
“Look, man, everyone just needs some time to adjust to you.”
Mile frowned, still shaken from the confrontation. “Adjust to me?”
“I mean, yeah, you have to admit it’s weird that you’re here. It looks weird. I mean, suspicious. One minute you were in the Royal Army and the next thing we know, you show up here looking to join. You could easily be a spy for the king.”
“Do you think it likely that the Royal Army would send the son of the king into a volatile situation for such a mission, when there are plenty of more disposable soldiers available?”
“I don’t know. I guess not. But it’s not me you have to convince.”
“You believe me, then?”
The redhead shrugged again. “I want to. Look, I’m going to give you the benefit of doubt and trust you. I know what it’s like to be alone, so I’m offering you an olive branch. I think I can help you, but you’re going to have to reel it in and actually listen to me if you want to fit in here.”
Mile looked bemused. “Reel it in?”
The other man nodded. “Yeah. This whole royalty shtick you’ve got going on. I know that’s all you know, but you can’t be that person here. You’re not that person anymore. You gave that up when you joined the rebellion.”
Mile stared at him.
“Like, I know you want to help, but you can’t talk to those guys like that. This whole movement only exists because of them. Stop trying to tell them what they need to do or not do.”
Mile looked like he was about to argue, but the redhead held up his hand and continued.
“Even if you’re right, how can they — how can any of us — trust the things you say at this point in time? We don’t know you. You haven’t done anything of value for us. You could be leading us into a trap. Think about it. We’d be stupid to trust you.”
Mile turned to look at the wall. Of course the man was right. He felt foolish for not thinking this through before — for assuming he’d be accepted with open arms.
“I am sorry,” Mile said quietly. “I had not realized my behavior was offensive.”
Now the red headed man was grinning. “Yeah, no kidding, Mile. Like I said, I realize it’s all you know.” He paused and looked the other over. Mile looked defeated. “It’s okay. We can work with this. That is, if you’re willing to put in the time and effort.”
“We?”
“Well yeah — I’m going to help you, of course!”
Mile smiled appreciatively at the man’s enthusiasm. “Thank you … sorry, I don’t even know your name.”
“Cerys.” The man held out his hand. Mile looked down. Nobles didn’t shake. Inviting another person into one’s personal space was considered boorish and reserved for the common folk.
Mile realized his new friend was providing him with an opportunity to show his willingness to conform. He reached out and shook his hand.
“Cerys. Thank you for your insights. I truly appreciate the help. I need it.”
Cerys laughed. “Okay, we gotta work on that limp fish handshake. You’ll get there.” He winked. “Second order of business — your accent.”
“My accent?” Mile asked, feeling entirely self-conscious now.
“Yeah, it makes you stand out like a sore thumb and just serves to single you out as a noble. Makes people uncomfortable. Plus, I’m sure you don’t want to be immediately recognizable as the king’s son, that seems dangerous. The accent’s gotta go.”
Mile looked aghast. “Easier said than done, Cerys!”
Cerys grinned. “I know, I know. We’ll work on it. Look, the most important thing for you to do right now is keep your head down. Observe the others and learn from them. Keep your focus small for now — like on learning to conform — and work your way up. Once the guys see that you are taking these things seriously, they’ll start to trust you with more and then you can focus on the bigger picture stuff. Make sense?”
“Yes,” Mile nodded. “You are right.”
“You’re right,” Cerys corrected him.
Mile looked at him, confused.
“Use more contractions.”
Mile laughed and shook his head. “You’re right, Cerys.”
——————————————
Things seemed to be improving now that Cerys had taken Mile under his wing. He took the red headed man’s advice and kept a low profile, using the time to instead focus on improving himself and on observing the other rebels. He quickly noticed that after their meetings, various people would jump into action and tidy up after everyone. Stacking chairs, wiping tables, sweeping. He had never noticed how clean they kept their headquarters, nor had he ever questioned who exactly was doing so. It seemed to be on a volunteer basis, and so he decided that he would help out after every meeting. At least then he could feel like he was contributing in some way, even if it was not the way in which he wanted to be contributing.
After about six weeks of following Cerys’ advice, Mile was finishing up cleaning after a meeting. A couple of women had stayed to help today, and the three of them made short work of the task. He stacked the last chair and returned a wave to the two women as they left.
“Domarc.”
Mile turned around, surprised to see Dego Arcus standing there. His hands were in his pockets and he looked a bit menacing standing there with a scowl upon his face. He hoped the man didn’t want trouble; he couldn’t imagine what he might’ve done to piss off the rebel leader — he’d been doing his best to stay small and inoffensive.
Mile said nothing, just stared at him.
Finally, Dego spoke again.
“I fucking hate you.”
Surprised by the blunt honesty, Mile didn’t know what to say. “Why?” Was all he managed.
“You are everything we are fighting against. A privileged, spoiled, piece of shit royal. You have no business being here.”
Mile frowned at his words. “I am trying to adjust to your standards. I’m not like them,” he said, referring to the rest of his family.
“Cerys has been directing you. We’ve noticed the changes.”
Mile felt a prick of hope from the acknowledgment. “He’s helped me immensely.”
Dego smirked. “He fucking you?”
“What?” Mile was taken aback by the question and laughed uncomfortably.
Dego’s face became serious and he stepped closer to Mile. “Is he fucking you?”
“He certainly is not,” Mile swallowed, feeling alarmed by the man’s odd behavior.
Dego shrugged. “Hm. Shame. For him.”
He stepped closer to the other man and roughly grasped the front of his shirt, pulling him down so their faces were close.
“I’m going to fuck you, Domarc. It’ll go better for you if you don’t try to fight it.”
Mile scowled at the other and shoved him away. “Like hell you are.”
Dego smirked and grabbed Mile by the hair at the nape of his neck.
“Just think of it as an initiation fee.” He dragged Mile by his hair to the front of the room, Mile stumbling along behind him.
“Fuck you,” Mile spat, and tried to push the shorter man off of him. He found that despite his short stature, the man was solid muscle.
“Yes, that’s the idea,” Dego smirked again and pushed Mile’s back up against the wall and began to remove his belt, a firm hand holding him to the wall.
“Turn around.”
“Are you really fucking serious?” He wondered if the man was just trying to scare him.
“Dead serious. Turn around.” Dego didn’t wait for the other to respond, he grabbed Mile’s shoulders and turned him. Mile started to move away from him.
“Fuck off, Arcus.”
Dego shoved him against the wall and Mile gasped when he felt the cold steel of a blade at his throat.
“Jesus Christ,” he sputtered, anxiety flooding through him. Dego pressed up against his back as he held the knife to his throat. Mile could feel the other man’s hard cock pressing into his thigh.
“Just don’t fucking move and I won’t hurt you.”
Mile nodded his understanding and Dego placed the knife back into its sheath on his belt. Then he pulled one of Mile’s hands behind his back, followed by the other. Mile felt him wrap his belt around his wrists a few times before tightly securing it — effectively immobilizing his hands behind him.
“Please don’t do this.”
“Shut up.”
Dego pulled him away from the wall by the shoulder and then pushed him to lay flat on the ground on his stomach. He undid Mile’s pants and pulled them down, followed by his boxers.
Mile couldn’t believe the position he found himself in. Was this really what life was like outside of his secure bubble of privilege?
He heard Dego pull something from his pocket and then squirt it on his hand.
“Have you taken a man before?” Dego asked.
“No.”
“Good.” Mile swore he could *hear* the bastard’s smirk this time.
He gasped in surprise when he felt the other’s fingers pressing against his ass. They were cold from being coated with lube, and seeking entrance. He grunted as one finger probed into him, and then a second. Dego began sliding the two fingers into Mile’s ass and back out again, stretching him out, preparing him for what was next.
Mile clenched his eyes shut at the new sensation of something foreign inside of him, moving in and out. Dego added a third finger and continued with the fucking motion. Mile grunted in discomfort, still in disbelief that this was really happening.
Dego then removed his fingers suddenly, satisfied with his prep job, and undid his own belt, pulling his pants and underwear down together.
Mile lay motionless, apparently resigned to his fate. He heard the squirt of lube again as Dego squeezed the bottle into his hand and rubbed some onto his cock. Mile tensed when he felt pressure back against his hole, presumably the other man’s cock this time.
“It will hurt less if you relax.”
He didn’t know how he was expected to do so as he was forcibly about to lose his anal virginity to the man. Dego didn’t seem to care and pressed forward, the tip of his penis stalling briefly before pushing past the ring of resistance. Mile yelped in pain as the head of Dego’s cock slid the rest of the way inside.
“OH, FUCK. Shit. Fuck.” He barely noticed he was cursing aloud. He had no idea how large the other man was since he was face down, but he noted that the man’s cock felt entirely disproportionate to the rest of his body. Then again, he’d never had another cock inside of him to compare. It honestly felt like the man was shoving an arm into him.
Dego paused, giving him a moment.
“Hard part is over, it only gets better from here.”
With that he began pushing his cock the rest of the way inside, bottoming out into Mile. He moaned in pleasure, sucking air through his teeth. “Shit, that’s good.” He gazed down upon the other man who was laying impassively beneath him, staring at the wall and looking defeated. He no longer appeared to be in pain at least.
Dego began to move, thrusting his cock in and out of the other man, deriving pleasure from his body. Mile closed his eyes and grunted at the sensation of being fucked. Dego hadn’t lied — the initial pain of penetration had faded and was replaced by a feeling of fullness. He couldn’t say he was enjoying it, though.
That is, he wasn’t enjoying it until Dego paused his thrusting to hoist Mile’s hips off the ground and grab his flaccid cock, squeezing and stroking and bringing it to life.
Mile gasped and pressed his face into the ground, jaw clenched tight.
“Fuck.”
He found his body responding almost immediately to the touch from the other and unconsciously began rocking his hips into Dego’s hand, his ass pressing back against the other’s embedded cock as an unintended result. Dego stopped stroking and starting thrusting his hips again, still tightly grasping Mile in his fist, the thrusting motion pushing Mile’s cock back and forth in the vice-like grip of Dego’s hand. Mile moaned, the dual sensation felt amazing. They continued this way for some time, both men panting out their pleasure as they fucked.
Mile was the first to cum, a particularly deep thrust from the man on top of him pushed him over the edge and he moaned and erupted into the other’s hand as his orgasm overcame him. Dego took this as his cue, and released Mile’s cock to refocus his energies on reaching his own orgasm. He hugged Mile tightly around the waist and turned up the intensity of his thrusts, going fast and deep into the other. After a moment he began to shudder and then moaned, releasing waves of semen into Mile.
They both collapsed in a heap. After a few minutes, Dego stirred, pulling out of the man beneath him. He wiped the semen off of his hand onto Mile’s boxers, then he removed the belt from Mile’s wrists and relocated next to him, reclining onto his side, head propped on his hand. He gazed upon Mile as he slowly rolled onto his side and then his back, rubbing his wrists where the belt had been.
“Why are you here, Mile?”
Mile turned his head to look at Dego.
“Did someone send you to infiltrate us?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then, why?”
Mile thought about the question for a moment before answering.
“Because I don’t agree with the systems of oppression that are in place to benefit only those at the top of the societal ladder. Because I hate the fact that we enslave other humans in this day and age. Because I have seen first hand how selfish the king is, and there is nothing he has done in his years as ruler that I can agree with.”
He paused, his brow furrowed as he thought about his father.
“He oversees so much territory but still he is not satisfied. He will not be until there is nothing left to claim. So many lives are lost and destroyed as a result of his greed.”
He looked at Dego, who hadn’t moved from his relaxed position on the floor, but the man’s eyebrows were raised in surprise at the answer he was provided.
“Huh. Okay, then.”
Dego stood up and put his pants back on. Mile pushed himself off the ground and pulled his boxers and pants up as he stood, zipping up and replacing the belt.
Dego walked to the door and gave Mile a small salute-like wave.
“Later, Mile.”
——————————————
Mile set out on his own the following morning. His encounter with Dego Arcus had left a bad taste in his mouth, and he needed a distraction. He had also been thinking about what Cerys had said to him in the past about proving his trustworthiness by doing something of value, and he had tried to brainstorm bigger ways in which to do that. He kept coming back to his idea about the base in Eastrun. If he could infiltrate the small base and acquire something of value, he felt he might be able to prove his worth to the rebellion.
That morning he impulsively decided to, at the very least, scout out the base to get a feel for the situation. That is what led him to head out into the direction of Eastrun, and thus stumble across the the enemy soldier that was scoping out the rebels from the hillside.
Mile was alarmed by this discovery, and thoroughly shaken by just how close he had come to getting captured by the man. He felt entirely foolish for leaving Wolfpine alone, and vowed to never do so again. As he reentered the small village, he knew he needed to inform the rebel leaders about what he had discovered. He needed to find Cerys.