"Pretty When You Cry"
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: LOTR
Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas
Disclaimer: I do not own, I just play.
Summary: He likes it when his captive is in pain. (Challenge set by peony.)

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I didn't want to hurt you baby
I didn't want to hurt you
I didn't want to hurt you
But you're pretty when you cry

I didn't want to fuck you baby
I didn't want to fuck you
I didn't want to fuck you
But you're pretty when you're mine

I didn't really love you baby
I didn't really love you
I didn't really love you
But I'm pretty when I lie

~ “Pretty When You Cry” - Vast

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Holding his breath, he waited. Darkness covered most of the room; long shadows painted over the bare stone walls and black corners that held secrets only the light could reveal. The air was cold and thick with the scent of old blood and waste. The smell still sickened him. The silence was broken by footsteps; heavy footfalls moving slowly and carefully across the floor towards him.

The material that covered his eyes was removed from behind. Although not touching him, he could feel the warmth of skin close to his own. A new terror rose within him. It never got any better, in fact it got worse, if that was possible. He blinked, trying to clear his hazy vision. He could see nothing, but began to feel the hot brush of breath against his neck. It was then replaced by strong hands, tracing the delicate curve of pale skin as it joined his shoulder.

He let out a strangled scream as white hot metal was pressed against his naked back. Searing pain shot through his body. Every muscle gave way, the only thing holding him up was the tight cuffs that bound his wrists to an overhead beam. Then it was taken away just as suddenly. The chill air met his burnt flesh and he wined in agony.

Through the blur of incoherent thoughts, he wished for unconsciousness, but it didn’t come. It never came. He squeezed his eyes shut, drawing in ragged breaths. A cruel laugh came from behind him. He recognised it, as it was the only voice he had heard in such a long time. He didn’t know how long it had been since he had been captured. For how can you tell if it’s night or day when you can’t even tell when you’re awake and when you’re asleep?

The hands returned to his skin, rough fingers sliding up the small of his back, edging near his new wound. He let out a shaking breath when they passed around the injury and continued up his spine. His hair was tugged to one side and he felt hot lips pressing to his shoulder; tongue and teeth a repulsive combination.

Daring not to flinch away, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to will away the sickness that rose in his stomach. The hands now teased at his hips, feather-light circles drawn out upon his bruised skin. One hand moved straight to his crotch, cupping him roughly through the fabric of his tattered leggings. He bit down on his lower lip, trying to ignore the sensation from the contact.

Bitter words were hissed into his ear, commanding him to give in. He knew he could not last much longer. With a barely audible moan of exasperation, he felt his walls crumble. The loathsome touch grew harder. He felt the other’s hardness grind against his backside, repulsive moans were breathed over his skin, tainting his purity further.

In the next moment he was aware of the hands coming to the fastenings of his leggings and fumbling to untie them. He almost choked in fear and distaste as he felt the once soft and clean material being tugged down to his ankles. He could do nothing but wait for what he knew was to come.

Then he felt the press against his back no more. However, he could sense he was still there, still behind him, running his hungry eyes over the delicate curves of toned muscles beneath his skin. He could imagine that mouth curled into an inhuman smile; the mouth that used to be so commanding yet still tender. An air of royalty had always hung around him, but now it was replaced by evil intent.

Without warning, he felt the burn of rigid flesh pressing into him, breaching his entrance with no remorse. Taking a sharp intake of air, he struggled to keep his composure. The excruciating pain of forced entry on his unprepared skin seemed to please his captor. The damage continually inflicted on his passage twisted his insides with a new level of agony every time.

Distressed and tormented, he gripped onto the chains of his bindings, his knuckles turning white and the rusted links cutting into his fingers. Yet he did not feel this as the brutal thrusting became faster and deeper. He felt the tender tissues inside tare and sharp fingernails dig into his hips, forcing him to move in time with him.

Finally shutting off from this brutal ordeal, he let his eyes close and his body slump. He only just noticed the one last hard thrust inside him and the foul groan at his ear sounded a mile away. Totally exhausted and severely injured, he stared to slip into a bitter reverie.

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