Our Truth

Our Truth (Part 1/3)
By Eline

Request fic: For subtextshowing, who wanted VallewidaXEvan. Erm. It’s one of my favourite pairings and I liked writing this fic a lot, but it's terribly hard to write the pairing in-character without any DurerXVallewida in it for a catalyst. Hence the serious adult rating and non-consensual aspects of this fic, which may squick some people. (Yeah, like that’s anything new . . .) This fic is also somewhat longer than the others because I had bits of it written long ago, so I hope that no one would mind that it’ll come in parts.

Characters: Durer, Vallewida and Evan

Rating: NC-17 for adult content and Durer being his usual abusive self.

Warnings: Non-consensual elements, humiliation, implied violence and grievous bodily harm--this fic will eventually contain everything and the kitchen sink.

Spoilers: Tiny, tiny spoilers here and there but none in this part.

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When he came to himself again, Vallewida found himself staggering through a darkened hallway, aching from dozens of places he had no wish to list.

This always happened . . . whenever Durer summoned him. His recollection of whatever transpired this evening were blurry, though he might wish for another one of those useful blank patches in his memory soon . . . He had been summoned in the evening after dinnertime—hardly a soul was surprised by now, but they might have been if they knew that Durer had taken him to the offices used by officials in charge of the prison.

That could only mean one thing--Bollanet again. His gut clenched in revulsion. Would that man never leave him alone? And why did he always have that nagging feeling that he was supposed to remember something after each encounter with Bollanet?

Another unpleasant flash of memory from earlier in the evening almost made him retch. A more pressing concern was how much longer he would last as Durer’s toy. Until death, Durer had promised him. Vallewida shuddered to think about it.

Ironically, Durer’s preference had saved him during the periods of time when he walked the halls of the prison like a sleepwalker, senseless and probably easy meat for anyone who wanted a go. Ever since the head guard had staked him for his own, even the most hardened brutes had given him wide berth and no one bothered him on nights like these as he limped through the corridor.

Rounding the corner to the corridor where his cell was situated, Vallewida walked right into the solid form of Evan.

“Oi oi, it’s almost lights out,” he said, steadying Vallewida as the smaller man stumbled back. “You look like shit . . . Durer again?”

Ah. Well, Vallewida looked exactly like he felt. He nodded wearily. There was no point in denying it. "I'm not dead yet."

"You look close to it."

Vallewida was not as fragile as he looked. They used to bet that the first sign of wet weather on the field would finish him off, but he had survived his military training. He had survived four long years in this place, which had to be worse than any barracks prison in the country.

No, Evan was more worried that his sanity would shatter long before his body would. He was fortunate, he thought to himself, that someone actually bothered about his wellbeing.

“Ah, yes. I’ll be better after some rest. Goodnight, Evan . . .”

Vallewida made to walk past him, but the world seemed to sway and his knees gave out.

“Whoa, careful there!” When his vision cleared, Evan’s arms were supporting him. He half-carried Vallewida’s aching body into his cell and made to lay him on the bunk.

“No . . .” he mumbled, trying to pull away from Evan’s well-meaning hands. Images assaulted his mind then, none of them pleasant.

Evan backed away with his hands up. “Hey, I was just trying to help. Not like I was trying to move in on you or anything.”

But Vallewida was already up and stumbling for the cracked and chipped bowl that served a toilet. He made it there barely in time to vomit a thin milky stream of liquid. The sight of it made his guts churn and what little food he had had that evening was forcefully expelled from his body.

Looking up at Evan’s appalled expression, Vallewida tried to look reassuring and failed miserably when a coughing fit overtook him. Evan had to hold him up to prevent him from pitching headfirst into the toilet.

“You need more than a little rest,” Evan said as he helped Vallewida to his bed. At this hour, there would be little help to be had. The sad excuses that passed for the prison’s medical staff seldom stayed beyond six o’clock--they both knew that.

As he lay back, Vallewida twitched sharply as pain shot through his spine. He winced again and Evan noticed his obvious discomfort.

Vallewida sighed and turned gingerly onto his side before lying on the cot. “It’s my back . . .” And his bruised ribs, the welted flesh of his buttocks, the raw ache from Durer’s usage . . . but Evan did not have to know about that.

“Are you sure that doesn’t need seeing to?” Evan made to check his back.

“No, I’m fine—really I am—” Vallewida tried to wrap his torn shirt more tightly around himself. One of these days, the much-abused material might not survive another around with Durer.

“What in the world—” Evan had caught sight of the marks.

“Belt buckle,” Vallewida explained, too tired to evade Evan’s questions. It was no secret, the way Durer played with his toys. “He doesn’t always use one end of the belt.”

The end of a belt, weighted with a steel buckle, when swung with enough force, could leave spectacular bruises without breaking bones--that much Vallewida remembered. From the way he had handled the strip of leather, Durer had plenty of experience using his uniform’s belt as a scourge.

Evan hissed in sympathy. “That bastard’s not human.”

“It’s never been proven, no,” Vallewida muttered humourlessly.

“It stands to reason—his parentage confirms it,” Evan said, half in jest. “The minister’s carriage was parked at the gates this evening,” he said after a moment.

Vallewida sighed, not liking the way direction the conversation was taking.

Evan, like most members of the press, had enough natural curiosity to kill several litters of cats. He had asked Vallewida about it before, back when he was trying to dig up whatever he could on Bollanet. And Evan knew that deserters were not thrown into some backwater prison to rot without good reason. Journalist that he was, he could smell a scandal from a mile away.

Unfortunately, Vallewida was not privy to his own secrets most of the time. Even the memory of this night might fade by the morning for there was nothing there that he wished to keep with him.

They had been through this many times and Evan knew him well enough by now to change the subject.

“I have some bandages from the last time,” Evan said as frowned over the state of Vallewida’s body. “But I can’t get any ointment or disinfectant.”

The sudden deliberately loud clank of some weight being rested on the bars of the cell door caused them to look up.

Behind Evan, Durer loomed in the doorway of the cell, his eyes glittering with malice.

“Well, well, I come back to make sure you’re tucked safely into bed and this is what I get for all my concern?”

“I’m sorry. I invited him here,” Vallewida said hurriedly even as Evan edged aside warily.

“Oh? And what was the purpose of this little visit?” Durer needed no reason to make their lives miserable. This was just more entertainment for him. “Asides from being such good friends . . .”

If Vallewida had been cold before, it was nothing compared to how he felt now. Durer had always made . . . insinuations--or threats--about his friends when he indulged in a spot of mental torture. Not that Vallewida had many friends, so most of Durer’s nasty comments had been about Evan.

On the sidelines, Evan’s mouth opened and shut like a fish drowning in air. He wanted to say something, but was aware that he might just make it worse. He was probably right.

If Evan had been twenty pounds lighter and a head shorter, Vallewida might have tried to physically remove him from the cell, weakened state not withstanding. As things were, he could only struggle upright and watch in horror as Durer entered the cell.

“Say, have you ever fucked your good friend before?” Durer asked Evan as he stepped closer. His tone was so casual that he might have been asking Evan for the time.

Up till that moment, Evan had no idea of the real danger that Durer posed. He turned pale almost instantly.

"Don’t know how?" Durer taunted. Vallewida could hear the ugly leer in his voice and the nausea returned in full force. Evan looked just as ill as Durer advanced a step closer.

“Please--”

Vallewida did not know what he would have done then. Thrown himself on Durer’s admittedly non-existent mercy perhaps--but Durer had lunged forward to seize a handful of his hair in one hand, successfully forestalling any action on his part. “This little whore’s had some exercise earlier today but he should be good for another round though.”

Durer had left Evan free to move, but as much as Vallewida silently wished for him to go, Evan had remained rooted to the spot.

“Don’t do this,” Vallewida begged as Durer hauled him close. Pressed against the guard’s body, Vallewida could tell that Durer was already hard. He gritted his teeth as the pain in his scalp intensified. “Please. I’ll do anything you want.”

"You’ll do it anyway," Durer said, practically breathing down Vallewida’s neck. "Has he seen you naked before?"

Vallewida did not doubt that the two of them could physically overpower Durer, but that was nothing more than a uselessly defiant act that would land them both in the punishment cells for a week or more.

Willing Evan not to do anything stupid, Vallewida tried not to flinch as Durer pushed aside his shirt and idly fondled his nipples.

“Surely he must have seen you while you two were playing doctor, hmm?” Durer asked, intensifying the pressure and pinching until Vallewida squirmed in pain.

"Stop that," Evan said frantically. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Oh I know what I’m doing. Vallewida knows what he’s doing too," Durer said, chuckling nastily. "It's nothing he hasn't done before."

The world for Vallewida had narrowed itself down to a single point. Pain, anger, fear and shame were entirely secondary to what would happen here in the next few moments. Retaliate or submit. One might allow them both to survive. The other might result in another shallow grave--or two graves--in the prison cemetery. Put that way, his choice was simple.

The darkness threatened to swallow him up again and Vallewida willed it back. He instinctively knew that he might not be able to look Evan in the eye again after this, but if he lost awareness of himself--if he ran from this place he would not be able to face himself.

Durer had no problems stripping off Vallewida’s shirt as the remaining buttons had already been torn off earlier that evening. “Get your trousers off.”

It was a simple enough task to undo his belt and let gravity do its work. It was harder to avoid Evan’s eyes.

After he had removed his trousers, Durer spun him around to face Evan. Still rooted to one place, Evan made a choked-off sound as he was presented with a view of Vallewida’s much-abused back. Vallewida did not think that he had ever hated Durer so much as he did at that moment. What he was planning was vile, but he could bear it. Vallewida thought he could bear it.

It had been nice to have friends.

"Ever tried this before?" Durer asked, reaching around to fondle his buttocks suggestively. "It's been broken in, but it's still tighter than any other hole you've ever sank your prick into."

"You're sick," Evan said belligerently, but he too was beginning to fear for the worst.

"You don't want what this whore has to offer?" Durer smiled like a shark--predatory and just as cold-blooded. "Then we'll have to make you want it . . ."

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