Chapter Text
In the days following the bath incident, Reek’s master is strangely absent.
If Ramsay Bolton were any other man, Reek would imagine that he is being avoided.
However, he is Reek and the only issue his master’s absence brings him is the fact that Reek doesn’t get fed regularly.
The kennelmaster eventually takes pity on him and gives him one of the leftover bowls from the hounds, lets Reek lick it clean. Reek is ever so grateful.
He roams the keep looking for ways to be unnoticed. He has long since given up hope of ever escaping, even with his newfound ability to go around the keep at will. His master will always find him, no matter where he goes in the world. He can even find Reek in his dreams.
No place is safe from his master.
The Bastard’s Boy play games with him whenever they come across Reek. He brings them endless amusement, the tricks they play. Like this moment now, as Skinner is offering to bring Reek a new bucket of cleaning water for Roose Bolton’s main hall.
“Let me get a new bucket for you, Reek. We all know how long it takes for you to totter about,” Skinner says with a mean smile.
He comes back with a fresh bucket even though Reek had imagined that Skinner would end up keeping Reek waiting with no intention of ever coming back. This would have gotten Reek in trouble if he didn’t finish his work on time.
Instead, Skinner returns with Damon, good-looking ill-natured Damon, both laughing with each other. They give Reek the bucket and Skinner tips his nose towards Reek saying, “There you go. Now get to it before Lord Bolton sees you lagging about like a useless shit.”
Damon snickers, covering his sneer with his hand.
Reek sighs and dips his hand into the bucket with his washing rag, but within a few short moments, a horrid burning sensation overtakes his hand. It feels like he has stuck his hand into a flame, as if he has decided to cook his own flesh over a fire.
His sea-green eyes slither over to Skinner and Damon, seeing with sinking horror that both are watching him eagerly. Then, Reek knows. He may be an imbecile, but he knows. With a shriek, he yanks his hand out of the water and moves as fast as he can towards the kitchens where he can rinse his hand off.
Already, the skin is turning red.
Reek cannot run fast, but he does his best, tearing straight past his master, Locke, and the Lord of the Dreadfort in his mad dash. He does not have time to dally, hasn’t seen his master in days, barely sees the unamused expression on his face.
“I don’t believe I’ve seen that creature move so fast,” Locke says, though his voice is faint as Reek scrambles around the corner.
He needs water, he needs to rinse this off fast before it burns through his hand.
“Reek!” His master, yelling after him.
Plunging his hand into the tub of water in the kitchen amid the screaming maids and cooks, Reek slumps in relief against the tub, his burning hand beginning to cool.
A strong hand tangles in his hair quite suddenly and shoves his head into the large tub. Reek fights weakly, struggling against the hold as water quickly fills his lungs. He had not been prepared and had inhaled with a scream just before being plunged under the surface.
When he is brought back up for air, his splutters, vomiting water out of his mouth. “Did you think it was funny to run past my lord father like a witless savage,” his master growls, shaking Reek a bit with his words.
Confusion spins in poor Reek’s mind, he had only been focused on his injury; he had not meant to offend. “My lord…I didn’t mean…my hand…Skinner…”
“Speak clearly, Reek!”
Whining painfully in that bruising grip, Reek wails as Ramsay tries to shove him back underwater, but he stiffens his back against the onslaught, both his hands wrapping visibly around the edge of the tub. Ramsay stiffens, pulls away. “What is wrong with your hand? Answer me, Reek! What trouble have you caused yourself now, you stupid creature.”
His master spins him around, grabs his hand and examines it with concentration, irritation written in the lines of his face. The pain of the touch causes Reek to gasp, tears streaming down his face. In the days that Reek has not seen Ramsay, his master has gone unshaven, an even amount of hair growing on his chin and cheeks. He looks rugged, a little older rather than his usual, deceptively young face.
Those frosty eyes meet Reek’s and Reek trembles inside. “What. Did. You. Do?”
At that moment, Skinner and Damon stroll in, laughing uproariously. Their laughter dies immediately upon seeing Ramsay glaring at them. Reek hangs his head in shame, trying to clutch his injured hand to himself, but his master does not let go. Ramsay is eyeing his men with narrowed eyes.
Damon breaks first under that gaze. “It was a jest! It was funny when he screamed and ran. It wasn’t supposed to cause any real harm.”
Skinner nods in agreement, though he looks nervous as he watches Ramsay’s face.
“A jest?” Quiet. Calm. Death in vocal form.
Damon looks at Skinner now, his eyes darting back and forth. “Yeah. It’s just lye.”
Ramsay shoves Reek’s hand back in the tub. “Don’t you move that hand,” Ramsay snaps at Reek as he leaves his side to approach his men.
Looking Damon up and down slowly, Ramsay says conversationally. “I’ve noticed you have this habit of treating Reek like he is yours to play with. He isn’t.”
“Ramsay, it wasn’t just my idea,” Damon starts with a hysterical note in his voice. “He’s…he’s just a slave.”
The punch to his gut causes him to double over, heaving. Emotionlessly, Ramsay says, “I really don’t care whose idea it was. You put lye in a bucket that Reek was cleaning with and you could have destroyed his hand. That hand belongs to me.”
Damon sinks to the ground, eyes wide. “I’m sorry. Look, he’s okay though, he’s rinsing his hand-”
Ramsay snorts, a cruel sneer twisting his lips. “I ought to use your own whip on you.” He glances at Skinner, who is hanging his head, trying to appear small. “On both of you.”
Both men, both of Reek’s bullies are shaking now, like small schoolboys waiting for punishment. Reek can’t even feel satisfaction for the turned tables; he knows what sorts of punishment his master can come up with and he wishes those punishments on no one.
With a noise of frustration, Ramsay snarls. “Don’t fuck with my belongings without my permission!”
Reek remains in place, hand in water tub. The cooling water helps the burn on his hand. His master ushers both men out of the kitchen, leaving Reek to his own devices.
He wonders if his master has taken them to the dungeon for punishment. The thought makes him shiver.
Later, his master examines his hand more thoroughly, a frown on his face. He puts some salve on it from the Maester, treating the burns in Reek’s flesh. He is quiet, serious and concentrated. He wraps Reek’s hand when he is done.
“Do not get this wet,” Ramsay tells him curtly. “I’m not cutting this hand off because it got infected due to some stupid bollocks my men did to you.”
Reek nods his understanding. It is times like these with his master that he enjoys, if he must enjoy any time with him. Even though his master brings him much pain, he can also ease it.
He’s the only one that ever does. Pain and relief from it only come from the same person in Reek’s small world.
It takes weeks for his hand to heal, but heal it does.
He’s cleaning the kennels alone, absent of his master’s hounds. The girls are out with the kennelmaster, working on training and repetition so that the cages may be cleaned. It is quiet work and work is good for Reek. Reek can float away from his body for a time, focus on the physical labor that only brings slight discomfort to his aching body.
Water washes away filth, though he doubts any amount of water can wash the filth that is Reek. He has become a lesser being, has become one with filth and shame. Even drowning in Ironman’s Bay cannot cleanse his soul now.
Distantly, he hears footsteps coming his way, a familiar cadence, measured and sure. He knows the sound of those feet anywhere, would never be able to erase the sound from his flayed mind. Reek does not look up from his work; he throws himself into it harder. Perhaps, if he works hard enough, he will escape notice.
The front gate of the kennels creaks to a close and Reek shuts his eyes as he hears the scratch of a key in the lock. Hoping for escape is folly, stupid Reek should have known. There is no room for hope in this place.
Achingly familiar boots stop beside his form as he keeps his head lowered, scraggly hair over his eyes. His hair; it is turning pale and horrid. Reek used to have such lovely hair, when he was someone else. Someone he is not anymore.
“Reek. Where are your manners? I’m feeling neglected.”
That voice. Light, lilting. It fills Reek’s days and nights with horror and misery. And, sometimes with desperate love, because Reek cannot help but feel elation every time he is given a reprieve, a gift, or a nice meal. It is sick, wrong, unacceptable. The very man who has ruined him, has brought him low, is also the same man who can give him brief moments of absolution in this hell that he has made for Reek.
The pain is eternal, so the moments without pain feel like love even though Reek knows it is not.
He’s just a desperate creature, desperate for a shred of humanity that does not hurt to touch…and his master is so painful.
Reek raises his head with slow motions, shaking now. What mood is his master in today? Reek does not know. “My lord. Reek is sorry. He is stupid and…and dull! He did not hear you enter.”
Ramsay’s steel grey eyes flicker and he looks up and to the left briefly, thinking, or mentally laughing at Reek. Reek is unsure. His master is so complex. He is well aware that Reek had heard him enter, though what he does with the blatant lie is in his hands.
“Never mind that. Stop sniveling, Reek, I’m not going to beat you. I thought we’d try something new today.” Ramsay’s eyes widen, manic grin in place. “How does that sound? Fun? Yes?”
Reek nods wildly, afraid, because new is not always good. New is dangerous and he prefers the demon he knows.
His master is looking down at him, something in his gaze that Reek doesn’t quiet recognize. “The gate is locked,” Ramsay whispers under his breath, speaking to himself rather than Reek.
He crouches down to be level with Reek, looking down his nose at him. His gloved hand rests on Reek’s shoulder gently, though Reek still flinches at the contact. “You’ve been a good dog, lately. You know that?”
“I…I hope so…my Lord.”
“I wanted us to try something again. Something Theon Greyjoy would never do. Wouldn’t that be nice, if you could do something a Prince couldn’t?”
Reek does not like where this conversation is leading, it is leading straight into the dark. Somewhere filled with pain and helpless screams. Reek nods hesitantly, even though his mind is screaming no. His master does that strange, quick smile of his before standing up. He strategically makes sure they are towards the back of the dark kennels, his back facing the gate.
The gate is locked. Oh please, not this again. Please don’t ask me, Reek thinks with a sick feeling rolling in his stomach, the kind of sick feeling that makes him thinks he’s going to lose control of his bowels. When Ramsay stands, unlaces his breeches, Reek has to bite his tongue to keep from sobbing openly.
So, it is to be this, the one thing Reek has staunchly fought against doing. He can’t, he can’t, he just can’t.
“Show me what a good dog you are,” Ramsay utters lowly, staring down at Reek, hand running up and down his own manhood softly, feather light. “It’s time you learn how to please me with that filthy mouth of yours.”
Reek stares and stares, frozen in place. Shame and fury fill his body as it usually does when in these sorts of situations. He does not want to be used as a woman, does not want to be this man’s whore. Every part of Reek has always feared this, remembers the feeling of hopelessness and disgrace that had filled Theon Greyjoy when he had been mounted.
“Reek,” Ramsay says, clearly attempting to sound persuasive, “Just wrap your lips around it. That’s all. Very simple.”
He knows he cannot beg or say please; those words would set the other man off. Reek inches forward, but makes a sad noise in his throat; he just can’t. Ramsay sighs, still handling himself as he looks down at Reek. “Don’t make me hurt you, Reek. You will eat well tonight if you just do this one, very small thing for me. I can be good to you.”
His free hand settles into Reek’s hair and gently brings him forward, rubbing the tip of his cock against Reek’s lips. It’s heated, wet at the tip. Leaking fluid and Reek doesn’t want to know what it tastes like, he doesn’t want it in his mouth, even though his master would be utterly ecstatic that Reek finally gave in to this one deed.
“Open, Reek. Take me in, puppy.” Voice thick, husky.
He has balls, trying this with me again, Theon sneers in Reek’s head. Reek squashes Theon down, begs him to behave, to not make Reek do something awful.
With a sniffle, Reek opens his mouth and slowly takes him master in, tastes salt and skin on his tongue. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, has never dreamed of taking a man’s cock in his mouth. It’s like a weapon sheathed in velvet, soft on his tongue, but hard and throbbing with blood. His master’s head falls back with an awed gasp.
The exposed lines of his throat are beautiful and Theon imagines running a blade over it. Reek silences that thought quickly.
Reek tries to pretend he is not doing what he is doing, pretends he hasn’t the foggiest idea of what his mouth is preoccupied with. He suckles, lets his saliva coat the appendage, gags on it as it hits the back of his throat.
Unfortunately, his master ruins the illusion by talking.
“I can be so good,” Ramsay whispers, a hitch in his voice.
This is the problem; Reek is not good. Reek is not a good dog; he is a mutt and he cannot behave even when he knows he should.
Reek does not think; he merely closes his jaw. Not too hard, but hard enough to send his master screaming. A fist comes out of nowhere, slamming into his face and for a moment stars dance across his gaze. “You little…ughn!” Ramsay growls incoherently, looking pale and nauseas, clutching at himself.
Reek lies dazed on the floor, head reeling from the hard blow to his temple. His master is making an awful noise, a pained one, looking at him with murderous eyes. “It’s almost like you want to be punished,” Ramsay pants, awkwardly hovering over Reek’s form, “Is that it?”
It’s far too late to beg for mercy, but Reek does it anyway. He has brought this upon himself. “No…please…no, my lord. I’ll do…anything…but that…please!”
Ramsay grabs him roughly, snarling. “When will you learn that saying please gets you nowhere? I want you to suck my cock and I want you to do it now. If you cannot do that, I will just have to find another way to entertain myself with you. One that will hurt far worse. What will it be, Reek? What does my little ‘Prince’ choose?”
He presses Reek’s face back against his now flaccid manhood, shaking with rage. Reek sobs against him, tries to tell himself that he should just do it, it can’t possibly hurt any worse than a blade. It’s his pride that is getting in the way again, that dreadful pride that can only belong to Theon Greyjoy.
Reek turns his face slightly, looks at the cock that is now marred with teeth marks, tries to think of putting it in his mouth…but cannot. He cries even harder and crumples in his master’s grip. Ramsay lets out the breath that he had been holding and releases Reek, tucking himself away.
“I’m so repulsive that you would rather go back on the rack? You’ll change your mind,” Ramsay says lowly, irritably.
These are dangerous waters, the kind you drown in; Reek has robbed his master of what his master had wanted. Now, Reek will suffer a worse fate.
Why…why couldn’t I just do as he asked?
So, this is where Reek finds himself hours after. He is strapped down, naked once more. He’s been tied down for some time, pain his ever-faithful companion. He smells something burning, it almost smells tasty. His mouth waters; he hasn’t had good meat in so long.
It isn’t until his mind tells him, that’s your flesh you smell, he’s branding you, you know. With disinterest, Reek floats above his body, dissociated. He can smell fresh meat as his master furiously uses a hot poker to burn the letter ‘R’ onto his hip. He draws the letter with slow drags of the red hot poker tip. The burns will scar. The pain is not Reek’s, it belongs to the body and right now the body is not him.
It is not Reek and Theon is dead, so it can’t be him either.
“What is it going to take, huh?” His master rasps furiously as he burns into Reek’s quivering flesh. “What will it take to strip this pride from you?”
You’d have to kill me, Reek thinks, though the voice in his head sounds like Theon.
Reek is not much help in the kitchens, so he oft avoids the area except for when he is asked to help clean and scrub the floors. This is where he finds himself when a maid struggles to pull in an elk carcass for the feast tonight. She has beautiful red hair, the kind Theon always liked…before. He tries to not watch her with interest as she struggles to pull it towards the main slab where they will dress the carcass and cut it to pieces.
She pulls and pulls, but she isn’t very large, she’s rather petite, and Reek figures she’s being hazed by the other kitchen workers, she must be new. He’s never seen her before and he’d remember her.
Her stunning, grass green eyes light on him, freckles dusting her cheeks. Her nose wrinkles at the sight of him, but she gestures helplessly to the carcass. “I’ve been asked to bring it in and get it on the counter…but it’s too heavy.”
And she thinks Reek looks strong enough to lift the thing? Reek thinks this dubiously.
“Can…can you help?”
He comes to stand beside her, tries to not be offended when she covers her nose. With combined strength, they are able to help her complete her task. She gives him a hesitant smile, thanks him.
After this turn of events, Reek sees more of the serving girl around the castle. She always blesses him with that light smile of hers, friendly and open despite the fact that Reek is a disgusting creature. He had showed her a moment of kindness and it appears that she has taken his help seriously.
“They don’t feed you much here, do they?” She asks him in passing one day on her way to the granary.
Reek shivers. Doesn’t shake his head, doesn’t agree. That would be dangerous. “The master feeds me. When I deserve it. I don’t often deserve it.”
She frowns, a twist of those perfect lips. “That’s rather silly. You’re a man serving the household; you should be fed for the work you do. Here, take this,” she holds out a large loaf of bread.
Reek shakes his head, feels his body shiver. “Not a man. The master is kind. He treats me well. Reek is bad. He cannot take your bread. Reek, it rhymes with freak.”
“Oh, stop! We all know what he is. A bas-”
“Don’t!” Reek interrupts desperately. “Don’t say that word. He’ll know. He knows everything.”
She forces the bread into his hand. “Eat it now, fast. I’ll keep lookout.”
With terror shaking his body, Reek eats the forbidden food as the maid keeps watch for the Bastard’s Boys or the lord himself. When he’s done, she looks at him with a studious gaze. “You have beautiful eyes,” she says softly. “Like the sea; someone could get lost there.”
No, Reek wants to tell her, you’re beautiful.
After that time, he sees her far more than he should and he wonders if the girl is seeking him out on purpose. He cannot fathom why, he’s disgusting, a foul creature. She brings him food, helps tide over the hunger in his belly. She works near him whenever she can, singing lovely songs in a clear voice.
He enjoys her, this light in his unending darkness.
It’s all perfectly innocent, aside from the food part. That’s done in complete secrecy. This all works perfectly fine for weeks until one day while they are cleaning the great hall. She’s singing, this girl, this Helena.
Reek pauses in his work, watches her, watches her lips as she shapes the words. He daydreams, for she is a lovely girl and she is so kind and thoughtful to him. He’s so lost staring at her that he doesn’t even notice the shadow that fills the entrance, the shadow that goes still, staring at him.
Watching him watch the girl with stars in his sea-green eyes.
Reek does not notice even as the shadow leaves silently, as if it had never been there.
It does not last, Reek’s time with sweet Helena.
He should have known that she would never be safe near him.
“Let’s go for a walk, Reek. There’s something I’ve been meaning to show you,” Ramsay says lightly, eyes glittering like pale stars.
The pit of Reek’s stomach only grows emptier as they slowly make their way to the stairs that lead to the dungeon. “My…my lord?” Reek asks, pausing in his step.
He hasn’t done anything wrong.
“Keep walking,” Ramsay snaps, his cool demeanor finally falling away, revealing anger.
They descend down the stairs together and Reek nearly withers like a dying plant when he hears the sobs below. When they enter the dungeon, the air evaporates in Reek’s lungs and he heaves, can’t breathe.
On the cross is Helena, naked, whip marks running up and down her body. Reek makes a horrid sound in his throat, the sound of a dying dog, stepping forward towards her. Barely stopping himself under his master’s furious gaze.
Reek looks at her beautiful, fiery hair, the soft freckles on her milky skin. Something inside of him screams, images of blood and gore flashing through his mind. He can almost imagine her eyes red with tears, the red of her muscles bright where the flesh has been removed. She hasn’t been flayed yet, but Reek knows everything is possible with his master.
He cannot be responsible for this; Reek has enough nightmares keeping him company.
“You see, I’d wondered why you were gaining more weight, Reek.” Ramsay starts calmly, picking up a knife in his hand, leaving Reek’s side to go beside Helena. “It certainly wasn’t on my account. I’d also noticed a change in you, how you’d stop sniveling around like a kicked dog. I just couldn’t figure it out. What had changed my loyal beast?”
Ramsay backhands the girl on the rack hard and she begins to cry harder. “Loyal beast?” Ramsay continues with a sneer. “Unfaithful slut, more like. Imagine my surprise, seeing you following this girl around like a bitch in heat.”
“My…my lord…she didn’t know. It’s not…her fault,” Reek whimpers, tears blurring his vision. He cannot bear to see her tortured.
Ramsay barks with a bitter laugh. “She didn’t know?” He steps closer to Helena, places a hand around her neck. “You didn’t know that he’s mine? Did he somehow give you the impression that he’s yours? I can’t say I’m surprised, he’s a good liar. Or, was a good liar, once.”
The blade starts moving without warning.
The sound begins, ear-shattering as it ricochets off the walls. It sounds like an animal being killed, but it is only a teenage serving girl having her hand flayed. She looks at Reek desperately, her lovely eyes begging.
It’s his fault that she’s here. He should have never taken the food from her. He will do what he can to save her, to put himself at his lord’s mercy. He will make it up to Ramsay, he will soothe his injured ego. He will give him what he knows his master wants.
With his throat tight and his heart trying to tear from his ribcage, Reek throws himself at his master’s feet and presses his open mouth to Ramsay’s crotch.
His lord freezes, body jerking.
Reek cannot bear to watch this poor girl be harmed, this girl who has shown so much kindness to him. With shame and disgust warring inside of his body, he mouths his master’s soft cock through his clothes, feels the way it begins to fill with blood.
“What are you doing?” Ramsay asks, voice high and strange.
Reek does not answer, just continues, tries to think of things whores used to do to him to get him riled up and ready. He presses his tongue against the line of Ramsay’s manhood through his breeches, run it up and down.
He dares a glance up at his master and sees disbelief, which eventually gives way to victorious elation. “Let…let me…please you my lord. I’ll show you how…sorry I am,” Reek says with despair.
Ramsay steps away from Helena, gestures for Reek to move with him. He looks at him with sudden suspicion. “How do I know you won’t use teeth this time?”
Reek kneels on the floor, grasps his master’s thighs and rests his face against his clothed cock. “Reek won’t. Not this time. He’ll…he will use his tongue. His throat. You can use him. Just show her mercy.”
He does not see the face his master pulls at the mention of the maid, the glare he sends her way, still strapped to the cross. Her eyes are closed, does not want to see this travesty occurring in front of her, does not want to see Reek’s humiliation.
When Ramsay finally puts his cock in Reek’s mouth, Reek puts his all into the job. It’s hard for him to take his master into his throat, but he tries his best, gags and chokes around his cock, saliva dribbling out of his lips as Ramsay thrusts into his mouth.
He can taste his master on his tongue, his excitement, there’s so much of it leaking from him. Reek swirls his tongue around the organ, tries to not listen to the way Ramsay gasps and moans for him. It last for just under ten minutes, though it seems like an hour to Reek.
His lips are bruised and red, his jaw aches and Ramsay pants like a dog as he holds his head. He doesn’t thrust wildly, like Reek imagined he would, rather he seems to savor the act, slowly pressing in deep and staying there for a bit before pulling further out. He likes Reek’s tongue in his slit, whines when Reek digs his tongue into it.
“I want you to swallow it, Reek,” Ramsay says thickly, that aroused tone. “I want my seed in your fucking belly.”
Helena makes a disgusted noise in the background, slight, but Reek hears it. His master doesn’t appear to care what she thinks of them, acting like animals in the dungeon.
“Your sloppy fucking mouth…ughn…I want it on my cock every morning, Reek.” Ramsay is saying, his hips beginning to stutter, closer to the edge. Saying things he’s never say aloud otherwise. Saying things he probably doesn’t even mean, just likes being disgusting in general. “Every morning I want you just like this, your mouth on my cock so I can feed you fucking breakfast. Belly full of it.”
Against his will and his better judgement, Reek feels heat building in his belly, a twinge where his scar is. He’s so vile, why does Ramsay have to be so vile?
When he comes down Reek’s throat, he groans deliriously. When he steps away from Reek, he smiles widely, looking at Reek’s hand, which to Reek’s horror has found its way between his own legs. He’d been rubbing his own aching scar tissue without even realizing it and flushes in horror, snatching his hand away from his shameful place.
Reek remains on the ground, ashamed, hating how he’d just allowed himself to be used like a woman again, how he’d begun to enjoy it, the sound of his master’s pleasure, the things he’d said. Reek is a monster and his master is just as bad.
With a sigh, Ramsay tucks himself away and looks at Helena. “Oh. I haven’t forgotten about you, dear.”
Red everywhere, blood blood blood. All Reek sees is crimson as it spills to the floor.
Ramsay cuts her throat and Reek cries out in horror. “Wh…why? I did what you wanted? Reek was…g..good!”
The light fades from her beautiful eyes.
His master looks sated, satisfied. He stares down at Reek’s sobbing form and sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. “I was merciful, you stupid dog. You should have known that either way, your actions would cause her death.”
Tears streak down Reek’s filthy face as he trembles, full body cries wracking his abused throat. “But why?”
The look on his master’s face is unreadable, nothing in those eyes. “Because, you adored her. And she saw what you did to me. You know how maids talk. And she would have talked.”
Ridiculously, Reek covers his eyes, hates the taste in his mouth. “You could have cut her tongue out. She wouldn’t have talked!” She could have lived.
An ugly look fills his master’s unsympathetic eyes. “Ah, yes. So, you could still pine after her from afar? I think not, Reek. I think not.”
Days later, they do the other thing again. The one that hurts, tears painfully. In the stables, when Reek isn’t expecting it. The thing that happened to Theon Greyjoy, the thing that reduced him to nothing but dishonor and worthlessness.
Reek cowers, begs, says no plenty of times, but his master only laughs quietly and informs him that he’s happy to put Reek back on the rack instead. He’s happy to cut more pieces away, if Reek would prefer that.
Reek doesn’t.
He stuffs his gloves in my mouth like I’m the one who needs them to be quiet, Reek thinks with Theon Greyjoy’s sarcastic voice as Ramsay Bolton rides him from behind.
Ramsay’s hips move fast, short little movements, wants to be done before he’s caught doing what he’s currently doing to his disgusting prisoner turned slave.
When he’s done, Ramsay leaves, gone like the sun in winter, as if he had never been.
Reek feels used, feels worse than a whore. He is in fact, worse than a whore; Reek doesn’t even get paid.
He doesn’t want to be caught, Reek realizes. Even though these horrid acts have been escalating over the past few months, Ramsay Bolton does not want his father to hear what he’s been doing with his prisoner. The strange want his prisoner has set on fire inside of him.
If only he could simply sate his urges with whores, but for some reason they never seem to be enough. Something about Reek drives him mad, angry, lust and rage wrapped into one. He fucks his creature like he wants to crawl into his body and tear his heart out, tear his spine straight out of his back and wear it like a trophy.
Reek’s rear is sore once more and he’s so queasy that he vomits bile in far stall. While the horses chew their hay and feed, Reek tries to tell himself that it isn’t his body, that nothing happened to him, it’s just a nightmare, but the wet trickle in his nether regions will not let it be so.
A bit of his heart breaks a little more and he curls in on himself. The feeling of being used will not leave him alone and he wraps his frail arms around himself as a form of self-soothing.
Things only degrade from there and Reek is horrified to find that even though the fucking and sucking is terrible and humiliating, there are even worse things his master can come up with. His imagination is endless. Despite the fact that Ramsay appears to resent his sick want for Reek, he does not leave Reek be.
His lord is drunk, very drunk. Ramsay’s face is flushed, red delicately spread across his nose and cheekbones. It’s a strip of red that would belong on a virgin maid about to be deflowered, not a man with a taste for blood.
Reek watches him, shakes nervously.
“Reek. Undress…your…lord.” The sentence is stilted with drink, though Ramsay always has had a very precise way of speaking. Tasting every word. It’s only more pronounced with spirits.
This request isn’t unusual per say, as Reek often dresses and undresses his master. However, the look in his master’s eyes speak of something else here tonight. He’s painfully drunk, sways on his feet, eyes soft with alcohol.
Reek can nearly taste the wine on his breath as he undresses his master, tries to not feel those hungry eyes on his face. “Everything, Reek. Even the small clothes,” Ramsay slurs.
When he is completely naked, he staggers away from Reek, lies on his stomach on the thick bear rug in front of the fire. His fingers, those deft, dangerous fingers, bury themselves in the fur. “My lord?” Reek asks, unsure of what to do.
Reek wants to run.
“I want…I want you to do…something awful to me,” Ramsay says so quietly that Reek wonders if he said anything at all.
His insides flip nervously, with disgust and worry. Is this a game? What is the right answer?
“I…would never want to hurt you, m…master.” Reek stutters out, body tensing with uncertainty.
Ramsay scoffs sarcastically into the fur rug.
“Locke mentioned something at the feast. Something a whore had done to him recently. It…it was fucking disgusting. I want you to do it.”
Oh, this cannot be good. This cannot bode well for poor Reek at all.
“Whatever my master asks,” Reek replies dutifully, eyes downcast.
Inside, he’s a mess. Falling apart at the seams. He wants to be left alone, he wants to go sleep in the kennels unscathed.
“Locke said…he said. Agh. Fuck.” The hesitation is strange. Reek waits for his master to continue. “He said the girl licked him. Back there. Used her fingers…inside to make him spill his seed. Said it was one of the most intense climaxes he’s had.”
The world tilts a bit for Reek. He needs some wine for this. He needs all the wine in the world for this. “My…lo…lord. Are you sure?” This cannot be right. He can’t possibly-
“Of course, I’m sure!” Ramsay snaps, steel finally entering his voice. “And if you do something I don’t like, I’ll just cut your hand off.”
Horror slides down into Reek’s belly, sitting there like soured milk. So that is to be the game. It’s always a game of course. Theon- no, Reek has never been with a man himself, has no idea how to pleasure a man from behind. All Theon…Reek…experienced was pain…back there. “My…hand, my Lord?”
Pale eyes stare at Reek fuzzily as Ramsay turns his head to look at him. “Yes. Your hand, Reek. I’ll cut it off with a dull blade, too. That would take a long time. If I were you, I’d make sure I enjoy myself thoroughly.”
Reek waits, stares at his master’s naked form, lying there on the rug. This must be a jape. His master will kill him for this when he comes to his senses.
“Are you waiting for something?” The tone is snide, though slightly slurred.
“No…no my lord.” Reek drops heavily to his wobbly knees beside his prone master, nervous eyes running over his naked flesh.
Despite the warmth of the chamber, cold is sliding through Reek’s flesh, eating at his bones. Terror is a powerful taste on the back of Reek’s tongue; there is so much here that can go wrong. One wrong move and his mercurial master will flay his hand, cut it off.
With shaking hands, Reek reaches forward, grasps the firm cheeks in front of him. His master stiffens at the contact and as a result, Reek flinches away with apologies, worried, he’s done something wrong already…
“Your hands are cold. Stop…panicking,” comes the sleepy tone. “I’m waiting for that nasty tongue of yours, Reek. Where is it?”
Reek hesitates. “My- my lor-”
“I hear your tongue wagging, but I don’t fucking feel it, Reek.” Ramsay’s voice drops, a dangerous edge entering his tone. “Don’t make me ask again.”
Without another word, Reek grasps his master’s hips and pulls him back slightly, using his hands to spread him open to Reek’s tongue. Without thought, Reek presses the flat of his tongue to the small, impossibly small muscle.
“Oh,” his master breathes out in shock.
Reek freezes, but believes it to be a good sign. His master tastes like flesh, so the task is only humiliating rather than horrible. He tells himself to work the muscle like he would a maid’s cunt, swirls his tongue, writes his name, Reek, not Theon, though that would be an entertaining irony to write the forbidden name there.
He listens carefully to the soft sighs and observes the desperate push of his master’s hips as he presses spit against the tight ring of muscle. If his master is going to want him to…touch him inside…he’ll need to be lubricated with what Reek has to offer. His master has never believed in lubrication before and Reek imagines he expects nothing but saliva.
“I…put your tongue in me. Now.” A command, though one with a needy tone that Reek has rarely ever heard.
Reek does as he is bade, pressing his tongue in, fucking his tongue in and out as his master presses back against him. Ramsay presses his face into the crook of his arm, a shy gesture Theon Greyjoy had often seen in maid’s when he tongued them. They wanted to hide from their want, embarrassed about displaying it so obviously.
His master becomes boneless under his ministrations and slowly, Reek calms, does not fear quite so terribly that his master is not enjoying himself, that Reek is performing well. He’s not sure how much time he spends with his face buried there, but it doesn’t take long for him to feel his master handling himself under Reek’s ministrations.
“Fingers now, Reek. And be fucking careful,” Ramsay says, though there is little threat in his tone.
This is the part that Reek has been dreading. Fear prickles on his skin again as he pulls away, making sure to coat his master and his fingers with as much saliva as possible. Oh, please let him not mind a little discomfort…
Reek’s single digit enters his body slowly, carefully. Oh so carefully. His eyes watch in terror and awe as his master’s body accepts him. He glances at Ramsay’s brow and notices the slight furrow there, most likely getting used to the foreign feeling.
Searching with his finger, Reek gently rubs his finger along his master’s soft, warm insides. “Another, Reek. I’m not a fucking girl,” Ramsay mutters into the rug.
With a sharp inhale Reek adds another with care, watches the way his master stiffens at the increased stretch.
Reek’s mouth dries. “Is this…okay? Are you okay?”
His fingers search and search until they come across something that makes his master arch his back and make a stifled noise of surprise. Unbelievably, his master’s hips press back against Reek’s fingers.
“Why are you asking me stupid questions? Just…ah…mmff…”
Reek thought it was obvious why, but his master had clearly already forgotten his threat. A light sheen of sweat begins to form on Ramsay’s skin and Reek does not think it is solely from the fireplace beside them. His master’s forehead rests on the rug, back arched slightly, mouth open and panting.
Reek tries to not find him attractive, but he fails.
He presses his fingers in again, slow and careful, staring at his lord’s body, making sure there is no sign of pain or discomfort there. He is warm and tight inside, tighter than any whore Theon Greyjoy ever touched. Reek does not think about what it would have felt like, if he still had a cock to please him with.
He didn’t want your cock to please him, that’s why he took it away, Theon grits out in Reek’s mind.
Scissoring his two fingers, Reek twists his wrist a little, brushing the rough pads of his fingers over the spot inside of his master that causes him to shiver. This appears to be the thing Reek had needed to find. “Harder,” Ramsay hisses under his breath.
Inhaling deeply, nervously, Reek withdraws his fingers slightly before pushing in harder, drilling in like he would if he were fingering a whore. He picks up a steady press against his master’s inner walls, listening to the sound of his breathing as it picks up steadily, the soft grunts and sighs.
A strong hand grabs Reek’s free wrist. His hand is placed on his master’s cock, wet and weeping. “Touch me, dammit,” Ramsay rasps, pressing back against Reek’s fingers and then forward into his hand.
What a sight they must make, Reek thinks. He’s behind his master with a hand around his cock and fingers in his rear. If Reek had a cock, he would already be in him, fucking him open, making him gasp like a fucking maid-
No…not Theon…Theon isn’t here, Reek reminds himself, cutting off that train of thought.
“Your cock leaves much…to be desired…Reek,” his master pants out, hips moving back against the palm of Reek’s hand.
“I…I’m sorry?”
A groan of frustration. “Do I need to spell it out for you? Give me more.”
Reek watches the way his body trembles as he works in a third finger, pressing his own hips forward as he thrusts the fingers deeper, harder against the spot his master enjoys. His thighs press against the backs of his master’s and Ramsay makes a strangled noise and Reek moves his own body in time with the press of his hand.
Unbidden, heat begins to coil in Reek’s belly. The tissue that remains of what was once his cock flushes, aches.
“Fu-” The word is bitten off, Ramsay’s balls tightening, drawing up.
He’s close. It looks like he’s pleased with this performance, Reek thinks with detached, yet heated eyes. If his master releases his seed, Reek will keep his hand, no doubt.
Or, he’ll take it out of spite, out of regret for what you’ve done to him, Theon sneers in the back of Reek’s mind.
Reek adds more spit to the tight entrance, bending down a little to press his mouth to it, against his fingers, tongue pushing copious amounts of saliva in. Reek’s master whines, groaning at the sound of Reek’s fingers sloppily entering his body.
“Gods, just…faster, Reek. Right there, ye…yes. Don’t you fucking…change the pace. Hn.” Voice low, starving.
His body tenses completely and Reek knows before the cry happens that his master is about to release. Reek jams his fingers in hard against that secret place and is rewarded. Ramsay’s cock pulses in his hand as he spurts against the furs, cursing darkly. Reek can feel the solid heat of his length; he can feel his master’s heart pounding there. He can feel his heart from the inside as well.
It’s strange, to feel his heart. Reek didn’t think Ramsay had one.
The only sound in the room is their rough breathing. Reek’s arms are so tired, but he slowly pulls away despite the exhausted shake to his limbs.
“Did…did I please you, my Lord?”
Those eyes, so like ash, examine Reek clearly for the first time that night. The look there…makes Reek wonder (and not for the first time) if his master still sees Theon Greyjoy in him. If sometimes Ramsay looks at him and sees a Prince and wants wants wants before he hates hates hates. Pale eyes close, satisfied.
“Tsch…just…shut…your whore mouth. Reek.”
Reek watches in mortified detachment as his lord nuzzles into the bear fur deeper, his body going heavy with sleep.
Reek does not sleep a wink that night, terrified that if he does, he will wake up on the cross again. When dawn breaks, he slips out discreetly, puts himself to work scrubbing the kitchen floors. Out of sight, out of mind for his master.
His master had been drunk the night before and he can only hope that he has no recollection of what he asked his Reek to do.
He’d probably take my tongue, but I think he enjoys it too much, Theon Greyjoy thinks cruelly, a hot blade in Reek’s muddled mind.
Reek hears them talking one day, the Bastard’s Boys.
“I heard he’s used the creature as a woman before.”
“No. No way. Where is the thrill in that? You know he loves hunting down those peasant women…it’s his favorite pastime.”
“Oh, yeah?” Sounds like Alyn. “What do you think his other favorite pastime is?”
Asserting his power over Reek, torturing him, making him less of a man day by day, Reek thinks sadly, hating the way these men are talking about him.
“Do you think he’d let us give it a try?” Damon, can’t mistake Damon’s voice.
A snort. Skinner. “If you want to fuck the creature, that’s on you. But I’m telling you; I wouldn’t even dare asking.”
Reek hopes that Damon does not ask.
It appears that Damon does have the balls to ask, one night, after the group of men are drunk and Lord Roose Bolton is not in the Dreadfort. The Bastard’s Boy and Ramsay Bolton have taken up residence in the main feasting hall, drinking and eating themselves into a stupor when late into the night, Reek is told to bring more wine to them by a tired servant.
With nervous shakes, Reek brings wine to the hall after he leaves where he was sleeping in the kennels. The hall is warm, lit by many candles, food that smells delicious all over the tables. His mouth waters, though his gaze finds his master, seated at the head of the table.
His father’s usual place.
Things go silent as Reek serves the wine, feels multiple pairs of eyes on him as they all watch him in a strange quiet. Usually, they all ignore his presence when he waits on them, but this is something different.
“Well,” Ramsay says with a sarcastic look at Damon, every word measured. “Here he is. As asked. I cannot wait to see your prowess.”
Damon is looking at Reek with hazy eyes, excited eyes. Ramsay is watching Damon with an unamused look. His pale eyes cut over to Reek very suddenly and Reek’s heartrate speeds up. “Reek. Damon is curious about your boycunt. How about you drop your trousers and show us the goods.”
Reek shakes so hard that he nearly drops the flagon of wine. He stares and stares, unable to move. His muscles are frozen, his teeth are chattering. “My…my lord?”
He couldn’t have heard him right.
His master tilts his head and smirks, midnight hair falling over his brow. “Don’t make me ask again.”
The sound of a suffocating animal sounds in Reek’s chest as he sets down the wine and turns his back to the group of seated men. Tears begin to flood his eyes as he clumsily unlaces his trousers and lets them fall to the ground. Shame burns through his body; hates being seen as an object for their sick amusement.
“Bend over and grab your ankles,” Ramsay says calmly, control apparent.
With a sob, Reek does so, silently begging for his master to change his mind. “Spread those cheeks, Reek. Show Damon that slutty hole of yours.”
Tears splatter onto the stone floor as Reek opens himself to their gazes. He wonders how many of them are repulsed by the display. Suddenly, hands other than his own are on him, big hands. Strange hands. Reek is turned around so that he now faces the group, sees himself looking up at Damon himself.
The big blonde man grins widely. “We’re going to have some fun, you and I, Reek.”
Oh no. He’s not…he’s not really going to let him use me, is he? Reek looks at his master in despair, teary eyes begging desperately.
His master has moved to a new chair, one closer to the scene. He sits with his legs spread wide, casual, one elbow on the table to his left as he looks on. “Get on with it,” he says to Damon with a bored tone, gesturing with his hand vaguely.
Damon looks far too pleased with himself as he grabs the plate of butter off the table, digging his fingers into it. Reek figures he knows what this means and for a moment is stunned; his bully intends to prepare him instead of fucking him dry. Ramsay never prepares Reek, so this is utterly perplexing.
Perhaps…perhaps the pain will not be so bad.
Ramsay’s brow furrows as he watches Damon’s actions. “What are you doing? You asked to fuck my slave, not my delicate princess.”
Damon dips his fingers in the butter generously and Reek is grateful. Things could be so much worse, he tells himself. His master could demand far worse things. Damon shakes his head at Ramsay as he gestures his fingers towards Reek’s shivering form. “And chafe my meat? No chance! You fuck ‘im how you like and I’ll fuck ‘im how I like, aye?”
If he notices the subtle roll and flutter of Ramsay’s eyes, Damon does not comment. Reek notices though.
Please don’t let him think his man is going easy on me, Reek thinks desperately.
Those large fingers spread Reek’s cheeks and Reek tries to hide inside his mind. The humiliation, the laughter of the other men…is terrible. Horrible. Without much preamble, Damon pushes his first finger in, wiggles it around a bit before adding a second. He has large hands, big digits.
Reek grits his teeth, does not whine, does not beg. He has suffered far worse pain than this, though the mortification is nearly unbearable. He isn’t sure how he will walk through this keep again with all the laughing and mocking eyes following him.
His master is sitting in his chair, a cruel sneer on his lips as he watches Reek being opened up. “Damon’s being rather kind to you, isn’t he, Reek? Perhaps you should thank him.”
What Reek hears hidden in that sentence is; do you think he’s kinder than me?
The other men laugh, cruel snickers and japes following.
Thank him for preparing me for rape? I’d rather die a slow death. Theon thinks this before Reek can suppress it.
Reek hangs his head miserably, croaks out, “Thank you, Damon. Reek is undeserving.”
“Oh, stop your babbling,” Damon mutters, thrusting in a third finger, causing Reek to emit a groan of pain finally.
Then, the fingers are gone and something larger is pushing in. Dread fills Reek’s belly, cold, like being lost in a winter night alone, surrounded by hungry wolves.
The sensation is different than what Reek has experienced before. The butter helps ease the way and the stretch is only a slight discomfort after the preparation. There is no burning sensation, rough friction of dry skin entering his dry body. Reek shudders because his mind decides that this is a humiliation he can bear; he isn’t being torn open and Damon isn’t completely without finesse.
His body is large, hovering over Reek. He can feel the heat radiating from Damon’s body, the warmth is comforting. Reek is always so cold in the kennels, alone and afraid. The rags his master has given him are not much, but he is grateful that he has them at all.
Reek should not be greedy; he can only take what he gets.
The slide of the cock inside of Reek is steady, testing. Damon is trying something new and is still marveling over how tight his master’s creature is. “This is different…never fucked a whore that…ah…felt like this.”
There is laughter, but Reek does not concern himself with the amusements of his master’s men. He is lesser and unworthy, but there is a place inside of him the screams in outrage at this abuse, this debasement of his body.
Damon’s hips begin to pick up their pace, his hands tight on Reek’s bony hips; there will undoubtedly be bruises. His manhood is thick and touches all the right places inside of Reek, it appears. Inexplicably, Reek begins to feel a strange tingle in his belly, a slow slide of heat building inside of him. His eyes water in humiliation as a sound escapes his lips, a sound that is close to a moan. Damon’s hips stutter for a moment, shocked, but he continues on. Figures whores are supposed to make noises like that anyway. Whores pretend pretty well too, so why not this creature?
No…no…this can’t happen…I can’t…Reek’s mind tries to shut down, to hide from what he feels, because he doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want this! Damon’s cock is sliding effortlessly over that place inside of him repeatedly and Reek wonder if this is perhaps the spot his master had enjoyed his Reek touching that one night.
“Look at him panting, is he supposed to do that? Damon, what the fuck are you doing? Should we be taking notes?” Sour Alyn sneers cruelly, pointing crudely at Reek’s shaking form.
There is more laughter and Reek hates himself for being so disgusting.
He tells himself to be quiet, be good, loyal Reek. His eyes search for Ramsay, looking for his master. He needs to know that he has been good, that no more pain and humiliation will come after this act, this horrible and embarrassing deed.
Ramsay is slouched in his chair, legs spread, chin in hand. When Reek finds his master’s eyes though, the air dies in his lungs.
There’s something there, something in the arctic winter of those intense eyes. Those eyes that haunt Reek’s nightmares. Reek sees that the cruel grin on Ramsay’s face is frozen, as if it has died in place. It’s then that Reek knows, he knows that something his Master did not intend has occurred.
That grin nearly slips entirely, sadistic amusement fading into something different and Reek doesn’t understand.
He doesn’t understand what he’s done wrong. He’s serving his master’s man as ordered; is he not doing it right? Good Reek, loyal Reek, he only tries to please…
Please, don’t take another piece of unworthy Reek, disgusting, loathsome Reek.
Quivering with a mix of fear and the unwanted pleasure that Damon is drawing from his body, Reek reaches a shaking hand forward towards Ramsay’s direction. “Master, please…”
The icy smile doesn’t shift and danger sings in those cold eyes. His voice is low, gravelly. “Please what, Reek?”
A thousand words race through Reek’s mind as he scrambles to place his feelings into words. It’s hard to explain. Please, forgive Reek. Don’t be mad at Reek. Reek did as asked. Let Reek fix this. Don’t flay me, master.
Instead of speaking aloud, Reek closes his eyes against the rising storm inside of him, tries to block out the sound of Damon behind him, tries to not feel the building ache as Damon unwittingly touches someplace inside of Reek that feels exquisite. Damon may not be doing it on purpose, but he does not change his rhythm, he isn’t jerky, nor is he too rough and it appears that is all Reek needs for this to become another nightmare for him to dwell on.
He opens his eyes again to find his master, his master who is now crouching a few feet in front of him. His heart jumps at the sight of him, those eyes, those capable hands. Reek’s mouth shapes the words, I’m sorry, master. Perhaps he actually says them quietly, so silently.
No one else hears him say it, but Ramsay does, he understands, and his pupils constrict with fury. “Reek,” he hisses, face going red, “Don’t you dare, you’re not allowed-”
It’s too late though.
With a groan of misery, Reek feels something trickle out of him, something that drips and pitters onto the floor beneath him. It would have felt like pure heaven if he didn’t already know what sort of hell he has plunged himself into. Ramsay’s head jerks back as if struck, all pretense of amusement long gone.
“Holy shit,” Skinner rasps, eyes wide.
Damon empties himself into Reek with a loud groan, laughing towards the end of it, completely oblivious. “That was better than I thought it would be. Fuck. Needed that! No wonder you keep this thing around, Ramsay.”
He blinks. “What the hell are all of you staring at?” Damon looks down at where Reek has collapsed miserably and rolls him over. “Oh. Is that? How is that possible?”
Reek curls into a ball, whimpering wretchedly.
Ramsay wraps his fingers in Reek’s sweaty hair, tight and painful. Reek wails slightly, afraid his hair will come out in chunks. “Reek. Straighten yourself up and get out of here.”
Whimpering, Reek stares up at his lord. “Master, please…what…how…”
Ramsay’s nostrils flare and Reek withers under his expression. “I said leave. Now.”
Bones and joints aching, Reek scrambles to pull up his loose rags, tie them around his thin waist. He scurries out of the room, flees to the kennels, away from laughing eyes.
Away from his master’s wrath, a wrath he doesn’t understand.
What game has Reek failed now?
He doesn’t see his master for days and Reek feels the absence like a physical ache. What use is Reek if his master has no need of him? What is his purpose? Will his life become forfeit? Will someone just put him down like a horse that’s gone lame?
Reek continues to do his usual chores, though he avoids his master’s chambers like the plague. He has enough sense to know that his presence is unwelcome, as he has not been summoned for some time.
A fortnight passes, but Reek is not killed nor is he tortured. He is forgotten. Until-
“There you are.” Skinner is leaning against the doorway, staring down at Reek as he cleans the dog kennels. “Ramsay is looking for you. In his chambers.”
Reek nearly dies at the words. It has been so long; he has not been useful and needed by his lord for many days. Perhaps he has forgiven Reek? Stupid, faithless Reek? Or perhaps he has decided he will punish Reek for what filthy Reek did? For how he humiliated his master in front of his men by being a whore?
“His…his chambers?”
Skinner spits. “Yes, Reek. Go. I wouldn’t keep him waiting, if I were you.”
Reek does not waste time scrambling to his master’s tower, to his chambers. His heart pounds with each step, terrified of what he will find when he sees his master again. Punishment? Or forgiveness? Or, better yet, perhaps his master has forgotten about the whole thing.
He knocks on the ominous door, but receives no answer. Reek stares and wonders, saliva building in his mouth. Does he just enter? He swallows sharply, razorblades in his chest. He never enters his master’s room without permission, but he will this once.
The door swings open slowly as Reek pushes it, peers inside with wide eyes.
Ramsay is sitting beside his desk, skinning an apple with slow precision. He does not look up as Reek enters. That is fine, Reek can wait. He will wait forever if he needs to. He stands and stands, watching the knife, watching his extremely still lord. He shuts the door behind himself for good measure.
When Ramsay finally speaks, Reek almost shudders at the sound of his voice, cutting through the silence. He’s almost missed this voice, from where he’s been alone in the dark.
“I want you to listen, Reek, because I’m only going to speak of this once. Are you listening?”
Reek nods violently. “Y..yes, m’lord. I’m always listening.”
His master pauses with his knife just under the skin of the apple, his gaze finally slitting over to his creature. A short, bitten off scoff escapes his lips even as the corner of his mouth lifts slightly at Reek’s rushed words.
With slow elegance, his master resumes skinning the fruit. “I know you’ve never owned anything in your life, Reek, so this may be hard for you to understand. But I want you to try. Can you do that for me?”
“Of…of course, m’lord!” When Reek used to be that other person that he isn’t, he had owned things. Nice clothes. Bows. Horses. He can understand a bit, if he tries, because Reek owns nothing.
The lord sits in his chair and does not look at his creature as he continues to speak slowly, tasting his own words. “Sometimes, when someone owns something, something they are proud of, they want everyone to see. It’s foolish, really. It’s a boast.”
Reek nods as if he understands. He doesn’t.
“Sometimes, Reek, you might share something you own, because it doesn’t affect you to share it. At least, that’s what you think until you see what’s yours in someone else’s hands. Suddenly, your idea to share doesn’t seem like such a good idea after all.”
His master is still not looking at him and Reek is beginning to feel anxious. He’s done something wrong, it’s why his master hasn’t called for him in so long. It’s why he left him to rot in the kennels all alone with no purpose aside from taking care of his bitches and cleaning.
“Then,” a light sneer enters Ramsay’s voice, “inexplicably, what belongs to you appears to favor that small, insignificant moment out of your hands. Which, isn’t right, because it belongs to you and suddenly it occurs to you that perhaps what is yours isn’t for sharing after all. Perhaps you just want. What. Is. Yours…to be yours. Only.”
Oh. Reek sees. Maybe. His master turns his face to look at Reek and Reek sees disgust and dismay there. For once though, it does not appear to be directed at Reek. It makes Reek’s heart wither, because he doesn’t like to see this expression on his master’s face, his master should never feel that way about himself.
Reek tumbles to the floor and crawls to his master, under the heavy weight of those predator eyes. His knees ache against the cold stone floor, but Reek is loyal and crawls anyway, crawls until he can press his face against the calf of his master’s boot. He half expects his master to kick him for touching him without being asked to, but Ramsay does nothing but sigh.
Nuzzling into the leather, Reek whispers, “I’m sorry, master.”
His master’s gloved hand finds its way into Reek’s hair, carting through it slowly.
Somehow, Theon finds that despite all the missing pieces, the torture, the pain and misery, he’s having the last laugh. But he’ll keep that private of course. Reek will keep his dirty mouth shut. His lord doesn’t like to be made a fool of.
Ramsay grips his chin bruisingly hard and his icy eyes hold Reek’s. “Then, get on the bed. Remove your rags. We’ll see if you’ve learned your lesson or not.”
Reek does as he is commanded.
He’ll never forget the way his master sounds when he’s buried deep inside, fingers feather light on Reek’s scar tissue. The slight rolls of his hips, the tone of his voice as he whispers just a little more, you can do it, Reek, spill your little cum for me, I want you to, on my fingers while I fill your fuckhole…
It takes what feels like an eternity, but eventually Ramsay gets Reek to fall over the edge, the kind that leaves Reek shaking, panting and ashamed of his own body. Ramsay comes to rest on the sweaty sheets beside him when it’s over, when both their bodies are sated, a fine sheen of sweat on his skin.
His eyes are like knives as they run over Reek’s trembling form. His fingers are covered in Reek’s seed, and he presses those fingers into Reek, to mix with his own leavings inside. “You don’t deserve me, you know.” Ramsay’s face is flushed and despite the demeaning words, there is no cruelty in his tone. He lies on his back, his midnight hair a small halo around his head.
That’s the problem, Reek thinks. He remembers the faces of the innocent farm boys he killed, remembers how he betrayed the only family who ever showed him love. He remembers all his misdeeds in painful clarity. I do deserve you.