primordialice | PSL - NSFW, approach with caution

PSL - NSFW, approach with caution

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It’s sort of… soothing, having his head tilted to sip cold water. Almost tender, though that word is a poor fit for Brighella. The chill of it does, actually, make his throat feel better, even though the contrast against the heat of his body and the further inflamed tissue is so sharp he could almost think it was cutting.

“Has to be someone who wants to,” he rasps. “I’m Eleventh. Any other Harbinger can kick me down and we all know it. But il Dottore’s never used me like you, no matter how many times he’s strapped me to a table and cut me open.” He tips his head back to look up at Brighella again. “You’d make me better at fighting, too?”

"Well, Dottore... doesn't know what he's missing out on. Nor do the rest." Brighella thought it was a shame that the Fourth's brilliant mind was so laser-focused on his research that he couldn't enjoy anything else. He was surprised Pantalone hadn't tried, but maybe Scar was too much of a brute for him - he enjoyed manners and subtlety and Scar didn't have either. Brighella had learned a lot about using people from him.

Pierro had his plans, Capitano was too caught up in his honour, Columbina seemed to pay no mind to sex at all, Sandrone had her automatons, Arlecchino was interested in women, and Signora was dead.

But their loss was Brighella's gain - Mezzetino was so eager to be used he'd have gone to his knees for anyone willing to put him there. If one of the senior Harbingers had gotten there first, Brighella wouldn't be enjoying this now.

"I have some thoughts on your training, yeah. You're good, Mezzo, but I can make you better. We can start on it tomorrow." Now that he's got Mezzetino in a cooperative frame of mind, they can do so much together. He's looking forward to it.

Scar laughs again, managing to only cough a little. "And what are they missing out on, Lord Brighella?" His tone is light, teasing. He looks up at the other man, face streaked in ichor and drool and come, with his four yellow eyes and the weight of his horns dragging his head back.

"Do I get to fight you, for training? To be better at fighting you?" He wants to tear Brighella apart again, to bury his claws in his gut and leave them there, to take more burning bites of his flesh.

Wriothesley slides his hand under Scar's chin possessively, looking him over with pride - and not a little bit of hunger. "A beautiful beast, ready to be used by whoever can appreciate him properly."

"Yes. We'll start there." Once he has better control he can fight some of the trainees, teach them how to deal with a larger opponent and manage their fear. It'll be good for both sides.

"Guess you're the perfect candidate, my lord, since no one else has ever thought the beast was beautiful." He's quite glad he went to prison and decided to annoy Brighella. It turned out better than he ever dreamed. He assumed all he would get was annoying the other man into beating him into the ground, which would of course be a pleasant outcome. He didn't expect this. He swallows, his throat straining, caught on the unforgiving metal of the collar.

"Said two days. Tomorrow night?"

"I'm fine with being the only Harbinger with taste, I suppose. That just means I don't have to share you." The beast is all his, something that satisfies a primal need deep inside him. Knowing that Mezzetino is only here until the Fontaine courts figure out how they fucked up and release him is mitigated by the fact that they'll see each other again. Maybe he can even teach Mezzo the secret ways in and out of the Fortress so he can visit.

"Tomorrow night." He licks his lips. "I'm looking forward to it."

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