Enabling

Author note: I just had to get this up and out. I’ve been getting so confused, not knowing what I’ve posted and what I haven’t. so you get yet another early chapter.

Albel was quite serious about breeding and furthering his line. He had put in a formal request to be moved back to Airyglyph to train the men there. It was a beneficial move in two ways. One, he could easily get to the girl to try and impregnate her, and he made quite a few visits to her each week for that purpose. Second, he himself was easily accessible to his husband when the man returned to the city.

It was no surprise to him then when Cordeillia announced, after only three months of them meeting, that she was pregnant. Happiness had fluttered in his heart, a light feeling that he had not felt in some time. Why, he might have even smiled.

When Vox returned the young captain had been in such a good mood he had let the man chain him to the bed and fuck him till he bled--literally. He waited until after their session to mention that the girl was pregnant. The news pleased the duke as well.

“It seems our little family is beginning sooner than we had anticipated.”

Albel hummed a response, rubbing his wrist from where the metal shackles had bit into his skin. When he looked up he noted that a contemplative frown was making its way onto the man’s face.

“Is something wrong?

The duke’s eyes flicked up. “The timing is a bit…off.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, this child will be born much sooner than I had thought. The hope was that by the time we were to have a child the war would be over and our marriage would not need to be kept hidden. At the moment, after the child is born, it will need to be kept in hiding. Our union cannot be revealed yet.”

Albel pursed his lips in thought. “The mother can tend to the child.”

“Absolutely not.” The man snapped.

The boy looked up, started at the venom in the duke’s voice. “Why not?”

“If you let the mother tend to the child it will grow attached to her and she will become attached to it. If that occurs, it will be rather difficult prying her away from the child. We’ll find another method of concealing and raising the child.”

“And what do you propose then, prick?”

“Watch your tongue or the conversation will end.”

“Like that is much of a threat.”

“Albel, I will stand up and slap you into submission if I must.”

The boy took the threat with a grain of salt. “You hit like a bitch; I’m not afraid. What do you propose we do then, after the child is born? I’d like to have a plan so we’re not running about later, making careless mistakes that reveal the truth.”

Vox went into the other room and poured himself a glass of wine. He returned to the bedroom, finding Albel sprawled naked on his bed. Had he not been sated so recently he would have made a move to claim the boy. As it was, he was a tad annoyed with Albel. He sat and revealed his plan.

“Woltar is your caregiver—”

“Duh.”

“Silence, boy. As your caregiver he provides you with housing in Kirlsa.”

“Which I hardly ever use. You aren’t proposing what I think you are…”

“That,” the man drawled, “depends on what you are thinking. I certainly have no plan on leaving our child in the care of that old sack of bones. And if you are any evidence, he has no skill in rearing children.”

“Watch it.” Albel snarled. “What is your plan then?”

“A nurse of sorts. The child will be safe in Kirlsa, away from the city where you and I are closely watched. It isn’t uncommon for you or I to visit the mansion when we are in Kirlsa; visiting the child will be easy and not raise suspicion.”

It was Albel’s turn to frown. He mulled over the idea as he began to pull on his clothes. It was obvious from his expression that he was not pleased.

The look concerned the duke enough to prompt him to ask, “Is it not an idea to your liking?”

The young captain glanced up, his mood having soured. He growled. “That certainly isn’t how I planned everything to go.”

Vox laughed, leaning back in his chair. “What were you imagining then? That we would raise a family together? To be sure, that is our main goal, but it will take years. Were you planning on taking leave of the war to rear your children? I have no opposition, if that’s what you desire to do.”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you? You’d talk Arzei into sticking that moron Shelby in my position and then you’d have another captain in your pocket.”

“Now, what’s wrong with Shelby; he seems a decent man to me.” The duke answered, unconcerned.

Albel turned his nose up in disgust. “He’s only agreeable to you because he sucks up to you. Honestly, I think he’d love to be your mate in my stead. And to answer your question, how I planned on living my life is that my children would be in my home, awaiting my return from the war. As it is, the child will hardly ever see you or I, much less the both of us together.”

“You shouldn’t have been so hasty in demanding to have your concubine. If you had waited several years we might not have had to hide this child.”

“How nice of you to place blame upon me.” The boy replied sarcastically.

Vox sighed, rubbing his aching head. When Albel chose to be quarrelsome it was impossible to deal with him. They left their conversation at that for the evening. If Albel had a better plan than the man was more than willing to hear it. As it was, he could tell that Albel was forgetting that this child would be both of theirs, not his alone. He would remind the boy later; they were both possessive and if Albel thought he could get away with claiming the child as solely his he was sadly mistaken.


With no other options presenting themselves, the two captains decided upon hiring a nurse to tend to the child in Kirlsa. Vox left the task of informing Woltar up to Albel; he had to deal with telling his nephew. Woltar was more than happy to offer his home to his charge’s child.

“I will be like a grandfather.” The old man had said and Albel had to leave the room before he vomited.

As Cordeillia progressed through her pregnancy a similar transformation was taking place in Albel; he was becoming happy—it frightened his soldiers more than his short temper. He had been going easy on the men, snapping only at the worst of his men. After he went to see the girl and his unborn child it was nearly impossible for him to be angry.

Such a drastic change in character reached the ears of soldiers from other branches of the military. When Vox returned to the city he overheard his soldiers discussing how the young captain was getting soft. He brought it to the boy’s attention.

Albel had shrugged, not bothered by the accusations. So long as he was a good leader he had no worry of losing his rank as captain.

Vox sighed, shoving the boy onto his bed. “If you begin to go easy on them, your unit will begin to weaken. A good leader improves his unit, not weakens it. Keep that in mind. Do you know what they call you?”

“No,” Albel panted as a hand traveled up his thigh, sneaking under his legging and pulling it down, “what do they call me?”

Vox pushed the boy’s shirt up, revealing a pink nipple, and softly bit into the nub, causing the young captain to arch against him, “They call you the weakest link.” He said against the boy’s flesh. “ I suppose they mean you’re the weakest of the captains. Which says something, seeing how old Woltar is. He doesn’t partake in battle nearly as much as you or I do.”

Albel made an indignant noise at the name, but it was swallowed up by a moan as the man lapped at his nipple then bit it gently. “Woltar has maintained his position because your nephew respects him as a friend and could not bear to throw him out for a younger, more worthy recruit.”

“Even so,” the duke moved to toy with the other nipple, “if you’re being considered weaker than Woltar you may want to change your approach.”

The boy grunted, letting his attention shift to the affections being poured onto his body. Hands were running up and down his sides and legs, tugging at his clothing just enough to get it out of the way.

“It’s so nice that I no longer have to worry over your panties getting in my way,” Vox teased, sitting up and pushing Albel’s knees apart, “it makes getting inside of you much more convenient.”

Albel relaxed into the pillows, his shirt bunched up at his chest, sarong pushed off of his thighs. His spouse leaned down and lapped at his entrance to get him wet then slipped the tip of a finger inside of him. He arched at the feel of the finger inside of him, worming its way deeper into his body. When the man attempted to get a second digit in—without much success—the boy hissed and shut his legs on the man’s head.

“Use lubricant, you ass.”

The man laughed, pulling away. “Fine, but you’ll not get any more preparation then. I’ll lube myself and then you’re being claimed.”

Albel made a mocking face, subtly encouraging the man. He would not ask to be taken, but he wouldn’t mind being roughed up a bit.

True to his word, when Vox returned he wasted no time entering the boy. He grabbed Albel by the hips and pushed himself in to the hilt. The young captain convulsed around him, throwing his head back and letting out a strangled moan.

“Scream for me, Albel. I know how you like to make noise. We’re safe here, with these thick walls. Let me hear you.”

He could not respond; all that managed to escape him was another strangled sound as the man pulled out and then thrust back into him. He grabbed hold of Vox, pulling the man closer and deeper. Encouraged, the duke began to thrust harder, but not hard enough to make the boy wild with desire.

Albel wrapped his legs around his husband, trapping the man. While the man was thrusting into the boy, he was also biting up and down Albel’s neck, pulling down the top so he could mark his young spouse. Albel moaned at the feel of the warm suction on his neck, rolling his head to the side, offering more skin. When he saw the bruise later he prodded it with some satisfaction, pleased to have been marked so. He wanted a mate capable of proving his dominance.

Th duke’s attention was wandering; his thrusts were weakening and the man was paying more attention to biting and scratching up the boy’s soft skin. Albel clamped around the man, letting out a particularly needy moan that he knew would draw Vox back to him. The moan was effective; Vox buried his face into the young captain’s neck and started thrusting with vigor.

Thinking a little more coddling would not hurt, Albel opened his mouth and panted out a string of pleas. The man groaned against his neck and shivered, perhaps at the joy of hearing such words.

“Harder!” Albel commanded, raking his human nails down the duke’s back.

Vox was all too happy to comply. He pounded into the pliant body beneath him, answering the wordless pleas that the boy let out each time he opened his mouth. Albel kept moaning and crying out, determined to make the man come before him. He knew quite well what drove his husband mad, it was then only a matter of how he might use that knowledge to his advantage to get what he wanted.

He decided to be bold. Leaning up, he whispered into the duke’s ear, “Take me, Vox.”

The tactic worked as he had hoped. His husband gripped him harshly and slammed into him a few short times before the man spilled himself deep into his body. Albel was quite pleased, but not completed yet. He let out another soft whimper, bringing the man’s attention back.

Vox took in a deep breath, then wrapped a hand around Albel’s aching cock. He could not leave his young spouse so unsatisfied. The boy gasped at the feeling, arching into the hand.

When he came, Albel collapsed into the pillows, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. He had reached a wonderful end and he had discovered a way to use Vox’s kinks against the man. Let the man think that he was in control, let him think that Albel was being submissive. Albel had found some leverage in their play. The power made the sadistic part of him tingle with joy. His self-loathing could stop now; he no longer had to worry about hating himself and the duke when the man asked him to pretend. He had taken the acting into his own hands and used it as a tool against his husband to reach his own end. That was something to rejoice in, not to hate himself for.

Vox looked at the smile on Albel’s face and assumed that the boy was merely pleased to have had such a pleasurable experience. He leaned down to kiss the boy’s forehead, then kissed over the bruise he had left on Albel’s neck. He was very pleased with how things were progressing in their relationship.

Having taken to heart what Vox had said, Albel had decided to make it a point to reestablish himself as one of the best—if not the best—soldiers that Airyglyph has ever seen and ever will see. He had considered the most effective way of going about this. He could have begun to beat his men into shape, as he had done before. His men seemed to hate him for his excessive love of drilling and training. But that did not seem to be enough. To be sure, he used that as a stepping stone and he let insults constantly roll off his tongue, whether they were deserved or not.

No, what Albel had planned was much more effective. He had had to wait for the appropriate time, but, unlike his spouse, he had a concept of patience. By the time a battle rolled around his men had begun to despise him again for his incessant and harsh drilling.

Vox had said to the boy once that, now that there was a child in the picture, every Aquarian he would slay was one less foe attempting to take that child’s life. It was a valid statement and Albel took it to heart. But he twisted that statement for his own uses. He needed to protect his child; he needed to kill Aquarians. And he needed to send the other Aquarian scum a message by those deaths.

Every death was one less foe attempting to take their child’s life. Every death was a success in ensuring that his child would grow up. Every death was a reason to be happy and rejoice.

He rejoiced.

The change was sudden and unexpected. Albel’s reputation as a captain had first been founded on constant work in his attempt to make his men the best soldiers in the entire army. Then his standards had slipped and loosened. When the young captain regained control of the reigns he was a harsher master than ever. His men had called him a slave driver. Then the battle took place and a new name was whispered amongst the ranks.

The Black Brigade had won the skirmish, but still Albel berated the men about their shoddy work on formation and following orders. He promised that they would pay for the offenses against his leadership when they returned to the training facility in Kirlsa.

Had Albel not had a point to prove, he most likely would have marched his men back into friendly territory. The bodies of the Aquarians would be left, scattered over the field, as they carted their dead home. What cared they if carrion eaters came and pecked out the eyes of the dead? But there was a point to be proven. Perhaps it was a bad decision on his part, to initiate such lowly displays of disrespect to the dead, but Albel did not care. He had no plans on dying anytime soon. If he was later accused of making matters worse by insulting the Aquarians and goading them into the same type of disrespect of the dead he would grudgingly admit he was at fault, but who gave a damn? The dead were dead.

After scouring the area about the battlefield Albel picked a sturdy, old tree and had half his men shave the branches from the tree while the other half began to drag the bodies of the Aquarians off the field and to the tree. Once the branches had been shaved off the men were told to sharpen the ends into crude points. Many odd looks were passed among the soldiers, but they did as commanded, knowing not to arouse their captain’s temper. When the branches had been carved to points Albel looked at all of his men; they would learn to never take him lightly again.

“Impale them.”

Some of the men gaped at him and he repeated the order, louder.

“But they’re already dead.” One of the men protested, and the boy whirled about to fix the man with a terrifying glare.

“Do I look as though I care? Impale them, you maggots.”

The men struggled to do so. They had to force the poles through flesh and muscle and bone and often needed to stomp or hammer on the crude stakes. The blood drained from the men’s faces as they worked, becoming instead coated in the blood of their enemies. Albel walked amongst them with a dark little grin on his lips, not raising a finger to help. When the men were done he addressed them again.

“Good, now reattach the branches with those worms’ bodies on them.”

In order to accomplish such a thing the men would need to sharpen the other end of the branch and create holes in the tree to insert the end into. There was an uproar of protest; it would take far too long to do such work and was there a point in desecrating the bodies of the dead even further?

“There’s a point,” Albel said, his face an emotionless mask, “I want you to do it, that’s the point.”

The notion of a mutiny was brandied about. A man even made a move towards the young captain, screaming insults and threats, but before the man could touch him Albel had drawn his sword. The steel vibrated in his hand, sensing the violence in the air. He cut the man down, slicing horizontally into the man’s belly and then vertically up to the man’s esophagus. The other soldiers were silent as they stared at the body of their fallen comrade. Their captain had never made a move of violence against them, no matter how angry Albel became. They stared at him, frightened.

“String that bastard up with the rest of them,” Albel spat, turning his back on his men, “And if any of you pathetic pieces of trash think of trying me again you will regret it.”

The men bent to the assigned task without further protest. It took them throughout the entire night and half of the following day, but they succeeded in hollowing out the tree to insert the branches once more. Immediately after they finished Albel began the march home with no moments pause to rest. They couldn’t afford a rest, honestly, it was not simply his cruelty. The battle had been closer to their borders, so Aquarian recovery soldiers would take time getting to the site, but they still would want to be as far from the battle field as possible when the scum did arrive.

There were easier ways to go about the task of carving the tree and impaling the fallen, but Albel had wanted the task to take long. That was part of the punishment. He could have had the men climb into the tree and sharpen the end of the branches that way and saved them a step, but that was far too easy. So he made them struggle. By the time the unit had marched back to the safety of Kirlsa the men were exhausted and in a state of shock.

Albel departed from the mining town shortly after arriving, wanting to return to see how his unborn child was fairing. He let the threat of punishment from disobedience in the field hang over the men. Several of his soldiers followed after shortly and news spread like fire of the captain’s behavior. The men had whispered among themselves about how the boy had changed, how the captain had been happy as they strung up the dead, how he was unmoved by the morbidity of the death surrounding them and the desecration of the dead…what he had done was sick and twisted.

As word passed from the soldiers to their family, to their friends and amongst the people rumors began to fly. Albel had sold his soul for battle prowess and fame. A demon had taken over the boy’s body. He had drank the blood of the fallen Aquarians. He was truly a vampire. Any dark, vicious creature that could be thought of—the people said that it had taken up residence in Albel’s body.

Albel laughed at the rumors, laughed at the stupidity of all those around him. He had made his point. That point, however, worked in a way he had not expected. When they battled now the men watched him closer, fearing that, in a blind, berserk rage, their captain might turn on them. The soldiers said that he was acting even more wicked in the delivery of death, but nothing had changed in his attacks! He laughed again at the stupidity of the people. He had done one terrible thing and the rest was embellishment from the people.

This fear that the people had for him, this reverence for his power, was new and exhilarating to the young captain. Certainly he had been respected as a noble and as a captain, but never feared. He never did anything quite so dark as the tree stunt afterwards, but he sprinkled little cruelties here and there, actions that would get people’s attention and remind them that he had not softened. But there was one thing he did which was new and struck terror into the hearts of allies and enemies alike: his use of his claw.

Albel had never liked the metallic limb he was saddled with after his spectacular failure. They had had to cut his arm off because it was so badly burnt. Greeton had supplied them with this wonderful limb, which he could use as he had used his arm. What was so wonderful about it, Albel pondered often. It was a constant reminder of his loss. It was not a subtle reminder either. It was cold and he could feel in the stump of flesh where it was attached how cold the metal was. And it was heavy! The muscles in Albel’s one arm were larger than on his other arm because he had to constantly lift the ridiculous weight of the limb. Sometimes he thought that he could feel the arm, that he had grown nerves in the metal, but smashing the limb against a hard surface was enough to destroy that delusion.

The claws-- that added affront-- were a most hated feature. Why in the hell the designer had given him claws instead of fingers was a mystery. Dealing with small objects drove him mad because of how difficult the claws made it. Not to mention how damn sharp the claws were! The first year of having the arm, Albel cut himself constantly and would be in regular need of stitches. He had an embarrassing scar on his side from where he had rested his hand on his hip and the claw points had gone right into him. From that day forward he was quite careful with the use of that hand.

The claws did have some benefits. If he was too lazy while he ate all he had to do was spear his food with the claw and bring it to his mouth. No knife or fork required! Aside from that there was no other practical use for the claws. Until Albel integrated the things into his battle. Normally, Albel used his sword only; it was a powerful and magnificent tool. The thought of using the claws in battle had never occurred to him, it seemed like an insult to his sword. He did not like getting too close to his prey and he would need to be within biting distance to use the talons. In personal spats he would use the claws as weapons, but on the field it seemed a risky venture. But he tried it.

His reputation only grew. New whispers abounded that he was insane, getting close enough to his victims to spit on them and slit their throats with his razor talons.

“I never spit on them.” Albel told the duke one day as they were walking from a military meeting.

Vox chuckled, a pleased smile on his face. The news of Albel’s new reputation elated him. “I wouldn’t have put it past you.”

“How sad that you think so very little of me. Have you heard some of the rumors?”

“I have.”

The man paused in his walking and fixed Albel with a proud look. “Do you know what they call you now?”

Albel leaned forward a bit, quite curious. It had been several months since Vox had told him that he was named ‘the weakest link’ by the men.

Vox took hold of the boy’s chin. “They call you wicked.”

The young captain blinked then pulled away. “That’s it? WICKED? My, how I must strike terror into the hearts of small children! Do grown men truly find the word ‘wicked’ frightening?”

The man laughed as they resumed walking. “That’s not all they call you. They call you twisted as well. Albel the twisted. Or Albel the Wicked. They are both fine names.”

The boy scoffed then turned his head to glance at the man. “I’ll take the title twisted, you can have the wicked. Twisted at least SOUNDS slightly frightening.”

“Anyone who knows about your actions would be afraid of the title wicked. I’m pleased by this recognition you have.”

Albel supposed he was pleased as well. Anything was better than being the weakest link. But he had a feeling that he would never be able to shed the name. When he was sixty and a decrepit old man he would still be ‘Albel the Wicked’. He would have to die young then, before he could become a mockery to his own name.

“All these exciting turns…,” he trailed as they rounded a corner, “makes me wonder what will come next.”

“Perhaps you’ll frighten Aquaria into surrendering,” Vox suggested, taking Albel by the shoulder and guiding the boy towards his quarters.

~END

I’m particularly fond of this chapter. 1) It’s long 2) I like writing about how Albel got his name. You can’t be born wicked. And on that note, I like the Japanese version of his name, Albel the Twisted, much better than ‘wicked’. It just seems more fear inspiring. Next chapter is in the works and should be up by Friday (if all goes according to plan). Random note, as I reread some of the chapters I was particularly proud of myself and the sex on the dragon’s back scene. And, indeed, anon, I do enjoy writing this. But it’s a good thing you review because I’m one of those writers who, if I don’t get feedback, stop writing. I see little point in writing if no one appears to be enjoying it. Is there a way to contact you, anon? You pique my interest very much, being the only other Vox/Albel fan I know and being such a good artist. And here’s question to throw you for a loop, does anon roleplay? Also, serious question, is there anything that ANY readers think I should pay special attention to? Obviously the whole traitor business will be addressed at some point, but beyond that…