FIC: A mad dog snapping at thin air
May. 25th, 2012 07:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
linndechirTitle: A mad dog snapping at thin air
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Pairing: Euron Greyjoy/Victarion Greyjoy
Rating: R
Words: 825
Warnings: incest, dub-con, violence
Summary: just another kinkmeme repost, prompt was "Euron/Victarion, pre-series hate-sex"
Victarion took always care to control himself around his brother, for he knew that if he ever lost his temper, he might not know when to stop. The kinslayer is damned in the eyes of gods and men - and so he swallows his anger every time.
But what truly stays his hand whenever Euron provokes him with his laughter and his smirk and his stinging words is the memory of that one night when Victarion did lose his temper. He does not even remember what had caused his rage that time, what Euron had said to make him so furious that his fist slammed into Euron's smile before he even thought about it. He only realised what he had done when he heard the crack of bone and saw blood spill over his fingers.
And Euron laughed. Bleeding, coughing, but he laughed into Victarion's face the way he always had, like he was mocking him for reasons Victarion could not quite comprehend. So he hit him again, and again, his fingers slick with blood, and he thinks he might have killed Euron that night if the storm raging outside had not reminded him of the gods' wrath.
So he stopped, and he turned to leave, but Euron was still laughing, breathless and amused.
"Oh, brother, you never were good with words, were you? Nothing but Balon's obedient fist, striking when he commands it, lost when you are not needed, like a mad dog snapping at thin air."
The words had found a wound he had not even known of, a scratch on his pride - he was content to serve Balon, but he could not bear this one-eyed scum mocking his faithfulness, mocking his devotion to their eldest brother and lord. Euron was still breathless with pain and laughter when Victarion grabbed him, fingers tearing through garishly coloured fabric. His brother gasped when Victarion threw him over the table, one hand between strong shoulder blades pinning Euron down, but even that gasp of pain sounded mocking, as if Euron was merely indulging him.
I'll make him choke on his laughter and his blood, he vowed to himself as he ripped Euron's breeches off, only angered further when the cloth resisted, when he needed to pull his knife to cut them open. The blade scratched over Euron's thigh, drawing a thick dark line, and Victarion dropped the knife before he could slam it into Euron's back. Muscles twitched underneath bleeding skin, straining, struggling, but Victarion couldn't suppress the doubt that Euron was not putting all of his strength into it.
His anger was making him blind, he was too much beside himself to realise what he was about to do to another man, to his brother, too angry to dwell on how this was a sin in the eyes of every god, how it was unnatural. Everything about Euron was unnatural, so an unnatural punishment seemed only fitting.
He was blind, but not deaf, not deaf to the by now almost mad laughter, broken by choked coughs when Victarion thrust into him, but never stopping, just laughing, always laughing, and no matter how many times Victarion slammed his brother's face into the hard desk, he could see that knowing smirk before his eyes. And even as he ripped Euron open, he knew that he could not win.
His release was almost painful, it felt empty and worthless. Like a golden trinket he found in the sand after a battle, rather than ripping it from the throat of a dying man with his own blood-stained hands. He stepped back and let Euron slide to the ground, but even seeing his brother bloody and shivering brought no joy. Euron was breathless, his body shook with quiet noises that should have been sobs and were still little bouts of laughter. If it were any other man, Victarion would have thought he was hysterical, but it was Euron, always mocking him.
Always winning.
I used him like a salt wife, Victarion reminded himself as he tucked himself in and stormed out of the room. I used him like some greenlander whore on a raid, bent over and screaming, a quick fuck in a sea of her husband's and her son's blood, and he let me. What does it say about Euron that he let me?
He wanted to laugh, but he felt as if he'd choke on his own tongue if he tried.
It means - the voice in his head sounded painfully like Balon's, calm and firm and always a bit condescending - it means that he does not and will never fear you. No matter what you do to him.
Victarion went to sleep on the Iron Victory, and hoped he would not have to face Euron in the next days. He did not know what he would do if he saw Euron smiling through his split lips. It was like a joke Victarion would never understand.
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Pairing: Euron Greyjoy/Victarion Greyjoy
Rating: R
Words: 825
Warnings: incest, dub-con, violence
Summary: just another kinkmeme repost, prompt was "Euron/Victarion, pre-series hate-sex"
Victarion took always care to control himself around his brother, for he knew that if he ever lost his temper, he might not know when to stop. The kinslayer is damned in the eyes of gods and men - and so he swallows his anger every time.
But what truly stays his hand whenever Euron provokes him with his laughter and his smirk and his stinging words is the memory of that one night when Victarion did lose his temper. He does not even remember what had caused his rage that time, what Euron had said to make him so furious that his fist slammed into Euron's smile before he even thought about it. He only realised what he had done when he heard the crack of bone and saw blood spill over his fingers.
And Euron laughed. Bleeding, coughing, but he laughed into Victarion's face the way he always had, like he was mocking him for reasons Victarion could not quite comprehend. So he hit him again, and again, his fingers slick with blood, and he thinks he might have killed Euron that night if the storm raging outside had not reminded him of the gods' wrath.
So he stopped, and he turned to leave, but Euron was still laughing, breathless and amused.
"Oh, brother, you never were good with words, were you? Nothing but Balon's obedient fist, striking when he commands it, lost when you are not needed, like a mad dog snapping at thin air."
The words had found a wound he had not even known of, a scratch on his pride - he was content to serve Balon, but he could not bear this one-eyed scum mocking his faithfulness, mocking his devotion to their eldest brother and lord. Euron was still breathless with pain and laughter when Victarion grabbed him, fingers tearing through garishly coloured fabric. His brother gasped when Victarion threw him over the table, one hand between strong shoulder blades pinning Euron down, but even that gasp of pain sounded mocking, as if Euron was merely indulging him.
I'll make him choke on his laughter and his blood, he vowed to himself as he ripped Euron's breeches off, only angered further when the cloth resisted, when he needed to pull his knife to cut them open. The blade scratched over Euron's thigh, drawing a thick dark line, and Victarion dropped the knife before he could slam it into Euron's back. Muscles twitched underneath bleeding skin, straining, struggling, but Victarion couldn't suppress the doubt that Euron was not putting all of his strength into it.
His anger was making him blind, he was too much beside himself to realise what he was about to do to another man, to his brother, too angry to dwell on how this was a sin in the eyes of every god, how it was unnatural. Everything about Euron was unnatural, so an unnatural punishment seemed only fitting.
He was blind, but not deaf, not deaf to the by now almost mad laughter, broken by choked coughs when Victarion thrust into him, but never stopping, just laughing, always laughing, and no matter how many times Victarion slammed his brother's face into the hard desk, he could see that knowing smirk before his eyes. And even as he ripped Euron open, he knew that he could not win.
His release was almost painful, it felt empty and worthless. Like a golden trinket he found in the sand after a battle, rather than ripping it from the throat of a dying man with his own blood-stained hands. He stepped back and let Euron slide to the ground, but even seeing his brother bloody and shivering brought no joy. Euron was breathless, his body shook with quiet noises that should have been sobs and were still little bouts of laughter. If it were any other man, Victarion would have thought he was hysterical, but it was Euron, always mocking him.
Always winning.
I used him like a salt wife, Victarion reminded himself as he tucked himself in and stormed out of the room. I used him like some greenlander whore on a raid, bent over and screaming, a quick fuck in a sea of her husband's and her son's blood, and he let me. What does it say about Euron that he let me?
He wanted to laugh, but he felt as if he'd choke on his own tongue if he tried.
It means - the voice in his head sounded painfully like Balon's, calm and firm and always a bit condescending - it means that he does not and will never fear you. No matter what you do to him.
Victarion went to sleep on the Iron Victory, and hoped he would not have to face Euron in the next days. He did not know what he would do if he saw Euron smiling through his split lips. It was like a joke Victarion would never understand.
