raisedbymoogles (raisedbymoogles) wrote in kinkfest, @ 2007-09-20 10:11:00 |
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Current music: | Do Virgins Taste Better - Brobdingnagian Bards |
Entry tags: | a: raisedbymoogles, f: dragon quest viii, p: angelo/marcello, september 20 |
Dragon Quest VIII (Marcello/Angelo)
Title: From One Whorehouse To Another
Author: raisedbymoogles
Rating: Rather NC-17
Warnings: I call it 'rather' because no actual porn takes place. Call it pre-porn. *fails*
Word count: 911
Summary: Angelo's trapped in suspicious circumstances. Marcello... is no help at all.
Prompt: Dragon Quest VIII, Marcello/Angelo: prostitution/selling oneself to survive - "I wish I could say it was a surprise to find you this way."
Angelo was sucking off his fifth straight john when the raid went down.
Pulling his mouth off the thief's prick with a pop ("oh, quit whining and get out before you're arrested," he told him, not unkindly), Angelo snatched a nearly-clean sheet off the bed and wrapped it around himself. The Pickham town guard - such as it was - performed these raids every so often, more to ensure their share of the brothel's take than any real concern about law and order, and they were usually good-humored about the proceedings. Assuming Angelo cooperated, he'd be back at work by sunrise.
"My gold!" someone shouted from the hallway. "Rat-ass blue bastards!"
Angelo looked up, his stomach knotting. Sure enough, through the opened doorway he caught a flash of dull blue trimmed with white. Templars.
In a flash he was off the bed and scrambling for the back door, nearly knocking over his fellow rent boys in his haste. There were many things he'd hold still for nowadays; Templars were not one of them.
"Oi, where you off to!" someone shouted at his back. "Afraid they'll bless that demon arse of yours right off?"
Angelo ignored him. Just a few more feet -
The door opened just as he put his hand on the knob, and suddenly the brothel was up to its ears in the blue-clad vice squad. Angelo snarled and lashed out, still mindlessly striving toward the door, but even as his fist landed with a satisfying crack on some poor Templar's face he was forced on the ground, his arms wrenched behind him as the sheet slipped off.
***
They'd put him in solitary. Actually, they'd put him in the medical ward for breaking the nose of one of their fellows, then they'd put him in solitary once they were satisfied he'd been doctored into submission. Angelo curled up in the single bunk against the cold, grateful even for the scratchy medical smock they'd left him with, and glared balefully at the door. Even now his identity was being verified, and word was being sent to Maella...
The door creaked and thumped open; Angelo started and blinked against the sudden harsh light. "I've already said all I'm going to," he told the indistinct shadow who stood in the doorway.
"I beg to differ," came the mild reply.
Angelo stiffened as his eyes adjusted, revealing the face and form of his visitor. "Marcello," he whispered, then scowled and spat. "You would be here. Why not? Now my day is complete."
"Angelo, what are you doing?" Marcello demanded, entering the cell in a fast stalk. "The moment I let you out of my sight you turn to selling yourself?"
"Isn't it how you always said I'd end up?" Angelo re-crossed his arms, refusing to betray himself by looking on his half-brother again.
"I didn't expect you to prove me right with such finality." Marcello moved closer - within grabbing distance, but by the same token if Angelo could dart past him he had a clear shot to the open door. He'd been honing his reflexes considerably since he'd left the abbey, he had a fair chance...
Marcello shifted his weight, blocking the path, and Angelo cursed inwardly. "What do you want, Marcello?" he demanded.
"Abbot Marcello," his brother reminded, "and I want an answer. What are you doing in a whorehouse?"
Angelo closed his eyes, remembering the royal purple caskets still stowed safely (he hoped) in Pickham's sole church; the friends he had neither the power or the money to resurrect. Briefly he toyed with the idea of telling his brother, imploring his help. Surely it was a better option than the endless trap of whoring, where the debts piled higher every week...
No. Whore I may be, but I won't be owned by you. "What," Angelo responded evenly, glaring at the wall, "do you think I was doing, oh brainless one?"
For a moment Angelo thought the abbot would strike him. For a moment Marcello may have been considering it. In the end, though, he only sighed. "I see. You'll sleep here tonight, and think about how your actions reflect on your order; in the morning we start for Maella."
No! "No." Angelo fought to keep his voice even. Absolutely will not leave the others trapped in suspended death!
"No?"
"You threw me away like garbage the moment Abbot Francisco wasn't there to protect me anymore," Angelo snapped, on his feet in the midst of a sudden, dizzying anger. "I won't make myself dependent on your charity."
He lunged, then, quick as only a fencer could be - but his half-mad impulse to escape was cut short by Marcello's fist grasping what was left of his hair, a stone-hard knee in his back. Angelo dropped to his knees, gasping in pain as Marcello stepped very deliberately on his calf.
"Brother Angelo," Marcello told him, every inch the Abbot, "what makes you think you have a choice?"
"So it's to be the whorehouse again," Angelo found himself saying, jerking his head away when Marcello let go his hair. "Only the uniforms are different."
***
Marcello's secretary provided him with the lists of contraband taken from the brothel along with another note, this from Pickham's embattered church - the pilgrims left there had been revived from death, as per Marcello's orders, and were asking for Angelo.
"Shall I compose a reply?" the young Templar asked.
Marcello allowed himself a small smile. "No."