Drops of Crimson: Hunted

[ladydeathfaerie]

Title: Drops of Crimson: Hunted
Fandoms: set in the world of the Mutant Sues, this fic will have characters from the X-Men, the Avengers, and one Mutant Sue
Characters: Remy LeBeau, Clint Barton, Alasdare "Dare" Scott, a few others
Rating: going with a pretty strong NC-17 here. seriously.
Warning: sex and torture. sexy torture?
Disclaimer: i do not own anyone from the Marvel universe. Dare is mine, but you don't want her. honestly. girl's a mess. i swear i'm not making any money from this. i just do what the sick voices inside my head tell me to. i write purely for my enjoyment. and possibly the comments. please don't sue, harass, or bother me. i have no money to pay you, but i do have a really nasty temper. and i know some good cuss words.

Author's Note: this whole thing stemmed from not being able to focus on any of my other projects. shocking, i know. i asked cathryne for a pairing. she handed me Remy and Clint. the rest is all me. Daz will recognize the title and some aspects to this fic, because the idea for it came from the Sueniverse and involved different Sues. but i loved the darkness of that world and someone has gotten really fed up with being ignored, so he came screaming at me with this. gee, i wonder who that could be.

Summary: "A blood whore is someone who ingest a vampire's blood to de point that dey addicted to it. Like a drug. All dey can t'ink of is another fix. More blood. Not a full vampire, but not a full human anymore."

Drops of Crimson: The Index

The plague came silently, with very little warning. Hardly anyone noticed it at first. Mostly because the first victims were the unnoticed and unwanted of society. The homeless were so vast in numbers that no one knew how many were out there. Consequently, no one knew how many went missing. No one except for the other homeless. And they tried to find help. But no one wanted to listen to their paranoid, delusional ramblings about things coming out of the shadows to steal their friends away. It was the same when sex workers became the targets. People didn't think they needed to care about those they considered to be less savory than themselves. It had always been that way for people living on the outer edges of society. If they weren't productive and if they didn't fit into the neat, clean, nice slots 'normal' people expected them to, they didn't matter.

That mentality lasted until the plague moved into the general population. Naturally it was subtle. An elderly person here or there, who seemingly died in their sleep. Peacefully. No one paid it any notice. Why should they? It didn't affect them. But it kept happening. And when it became several elderly people in one go, people wondered but still figured age played into it somewhere. So while they thought about what was happening, they still didn't do anything about it.

But then came the turning point in the whole damned thing. A busload of kids went missing. Young kids from some elementary school out on a field trip. The story hit the news that night, reporters on every station, from every local and national and cable broadcast, going on and on about how authorities had no idea how the bus had simply disappeared. The news programs were bombarded by images of distressed parents who begged for whoever was responsible to give them their children back.

Searchers eventually found the bus in a secluded section of woods a few days later, miles from where the bus had last been seen. Film footage showed that the doors were ripped off their hinges and windows shattered. Seats were torn up, as if something wild with large claws had scratched and shredded them. Books and papers were scattered all over the floor of the bus. Shreds of clothes were found here and there. A girl's shoe. Several smashed electronics. And everything was coated in great arcs of dried blood. There was so much blood that authorities were sure that there was no way any of the children had survived.

There were those on scene who were certain some kind of wild animal was responsible. A bear or a mountain lion. Something that had gone rabid and had simply attacked the bus in a frenzy.Game wardens and others were quick to say that the claw marks weren't right for bears or mountain lions. Then there were some people who insisted it was the work of the local mythological bogeyman. Experts in cryptozoology came out of the woodwork and hastened to assure people that said local mythological bogeyman would never harm children. It was a hysteria-inducing frenzy for the media and a never-ending nightmare for the parents.

A few days after that, a search and rescue squad found the first bit of hard evidence as to what had happened on that bus when it had gone missing. Someone found a phone, screen cracked and case coated in blood, under some leaves along a path through the trees. Shadowy footage showed the interior of the bus as three pale, crazed looking people boarded it. There was a moment where they stared around at all of the children. Then they blurred into motion and the air was filled with snarling and screaming and the picture became too blurry to really see. Several moments later, the picture cleared up to show tree trunks and greenery, starkly lit by the flashlight function on the phone. A child's voice was whimpering in the background between gasping pants. Then came a scream and the phone focused for a moment on one of those crazed people. The fangs were exposed and easy to see. A second later, the video went dim and the screams were drowned out by the sound of wet tearing.

A pair of hikers found the remains of the children a week after that.

But that video was only the beginning. Those missing children were only the beginning. Soon, people were disappearing from their residences. From their places of employment. From their cars, from their college campuses, from their dorm rooms. The lucky ones were the ones who were found dead and lifeless. The unlucky ones were found crouched over their victim, feasting violently. None of them were found in the daylight.

More and more evidence piled up and it became obvious that vampires were real. Just as it became obvious that they were hell bent on destroying civilization as everyone knew it. The big brains got together to try and figure out why it was happening. How it could be stopped. Local authorities advised people not to panic, to stay in their homes after dark and to keep out anyone who seemed suspicious. People they didn't know who knocked on their doors in the middle of the night. And, as it became obvious that the vampires weren't going to stop, some people took the fight to the streets and started hunting the hunters.

The attacks came in earnest then, with groups of vampires going after anyone who posed a threat to their way of life. That was how the school in Westchester came under attack. The X-Men were on the front lines of the fight, doing everything they could to protect a world that had tried countless times to get rid of them. Each of the teams that Xavier had put together were out there, fighting the good fight, making use of their many and varied mutations. Making the world safe for the mundanes by killing vampires for them. And, for a time, they were successful.

Which was why the vampires targeted the school first. The X-Men presented their biggest challenge and they were determined to destroy anyone who could stand in the way of whatever future they were working for. Stories of the attack were all over the news, though they didn't show the carnage left behind by the undead. That was a wise choice. If people had seen what those creatures had done up there... The country would have moved into immediate panic and there would be more innocents dead because of that panic.

The Avengers, having seen for themselves just how easily their fellow heroes had been felled, amped up their efforts to stop the plague from spreading any further. It was worst in the big cities, where there were large groups of people massed together. In the country, where the population was much more sparse, the plague had a hard time taking hold. Farms and the people on them were especially hard to hit because the animals ended up being used as an early warning system.

But even the Avengers, with all of their high-tech equipment and Stark's money, were ultimately unable to stop the tide of vampires trying to destroy the country. And so they decided that splitting up would be a good idea. Each of them picked a place and went there in the hopes of making a difference. He picked staying behind in New York. He was determined to help save the city he'd called home for a long time.

Up until now, he thought he'd been doing just that. Because now...

A rough hand curled into his hair and jerked his head up, sending needles of pain shafting under his skin. The story he'd been repeating to himself for what must have been hours was driven out of his head, bringing him back to the reality of his situation. He opened his eyes to find that he was still chained up in someone's odd idea of a dungeon. The walls were paneled with expensive, real wood paneling that gleamed with wax and age. The floors were the same, laid with parquet tiles in a shade of wood stained a little lighter than the walls. It looked like the room had been designed to be some kind of rich man's play room. Or possibly a wine cellar. Which made the decor stand out that much more.

There was a cage in one corner, presently empty but looming with dark promise. The door hung open and it made the cage look eager to have an inhabitant. There was a small part of his brain that thought it was staring at him hungrily. Waiting for its chance to swallow him alive. Heavy iron hooks had been imbedded in the walls and the ceilings at various intervals, and chains hung from hose hooks menacingly.

He spied a rack on one wall, laden with implements he suspected were used to deliver all kinds of pain. He didn't pay much attention to them, because he really didn't want to identify anything he was looking at. There was an honest to God pillory in another corner, the wood polished and gleaming around the dark stains that marred its mellow coloring. There was a St. Andrew's cross near the door, next to a table that had a lot of different things laid out on its surface. Even from where he was confined, he could see whips and floggers, paddles, what he suspected were plugs and clamps, and a few things that gleamed bright and silver in the electric lights hung overhead. He could only imagine what those were.

The door to the room was closed, a heavy wooden thing bound with iron so that it sported that medieval dungeon feel. Even if it had been open, there was no way he'd get out of his bonds. He was on a thick mat on his knees, thighs lashed to his calves so that he had no way of moving his legs. His arms were drawn behind him, just past the point of straining his shoulders, and a sheath of leather wrapped around them from mid-upper arm down to his fingers. A single, heavy iron cuff held his wrists in place, connected to a chain that was hooked to the wall behind him. And a collar circled his throat, wide enough that there was no real way to drop his head forward. He could feel the thick padding under it, likely to keep the metal of it from cutting into his flesh.

He lifted his eyes until he was almost looking directly at Gambit's face, stopping at about chin level. He knew better than to look the man in the eyes. And he knew it was LeBeau. He was wearing a spicy scented cologne and there was a fine stubble on his chin. "Where she at?" the man asked without preamble.

"Good evening to you, too, Gambit. I hope you slept well. I'd say I got a solid two hours. I can't say much for the hospitality, despite the fact that you tried to make me feel at home," Clint replied, blatantly ignoring the question put to him.

LeBeau gave a soft chuckle that held absolutely no humor in it. "Always were a talker, Clint. You not gon' talk you way out of dis so you go ahead and tell me where to find Dare."

"Why? So you can try and turn her into one of your groupies? Sorry. Not going to happen. She's already traumatized from having to roast the Wolverine. I can't imagine what it would do to her to have to do that to another one of the X-Men."

There was silence a moment. The faint smirk that LeBeau had been wearing faded into a flat line. Apparently he hadn't known that Dare had toasted the man to a crisp. Oops. Clint's bad. "I should have known better dan to send Logan. I was sure he'd sway her to my way o' t'inkin'."

"The way she tells it, he charged her with claws bared. She defended herself the only way she knew how. If you sent him to try and convince her that she should go to the dark side, you picked the wrong man for the job. But we both know that Logan was never a diplomat. That's more your specialty," Clint told him. He watched the flat line of Remy's mouth pull down into a frown.

"Dere no reason for Logan to attack her," the man mused. Clint suspected it was mostly for LeBeau's own ears, as if he was thinking out loud. Even so, it made Clint think about the scars he'd seen and the story Dare had told him.

"You're saying Logan wasn't some kind of crazed animal after the change?" Clint asked, making sure to put the skepticism he felt in his voice.

"Dat exactly what I'm saying," LeBeau returned, conviction coloring his words.

"Then I guess he didn't like being one of your puppets and he chose death rather than turn Dare over to you. Because he attacked her. She bears the scars to prove it," Clint said, not bothering to explain to the other man which kind of scars he was referencing.

"It don' matter none. Remy still gon' make Dare his," the Cajun said, a touch of dark pleasure in his words. Clint could well imagine what the man had planned in order to make his words a reality. And Clint swore to himself that he would do everything in his power to see that it didn't happen.

"Pretty sure she'll pass on that. You're not her idea of a good time," Clint said.

"Oh, but I am," Remy offered in return. Clint didn't bother to look at his face. He knew from experience that vampires were accomplished liars. LeBeau moved then, feet treading silently on the wooden floor as he circled his captive. "You don' know? Before Dare hook up with Logan, she Remy's girl. She still got feelings." The last was whispered against Clint's ear, Remy standing almost directly behind him. One of the man's hands sifted through Clint's hair before a single finger trailed down the back of his neck and then across his shoulder until he got to where Clint's arm was pulled behind him. "It don' take much to convince her to join me. She weak. She need someone strong to take care of her."

The man's words made Clint want to frown. He kept it to himself so as not to give away anything he was thinking or feeling. It wouldn't do for Remy to know that he was off base where Dare was concerned. Because the woman he'd met was pretty damned self-assured when she wasn't busy being shell-shocked. He'd watched her take to hunting with a zest that did not fit with the picture Remy was trying to paint for him. Hell, he'd watched her take on large groups of vampires with a maniacal smile on her face and a fire burning, quite literally, in her eyes. "You think you're the man for the job," Clint remarked, careful to keep his tone even.

"Dare gon' help me reshape the world," Remy told him. Clint felt more than heard him move and soon that finger was trailing over the slope of his other shoulder. There was a tingle of heat where the man touched him and Clint wasn't sure if it was a legit thing or if it was Remy's doing.

"I think she likes the world as it is. Minus all the blood suckers, of course. Have you considered what's going to happen when she realizes you've been turned?" he asked.

The man made a scoffing sound that told Clint everything he needed to know. LeBeau didn't care what Dare thought or felt. He cared only about what he thought or wanted. And he thought he wanted Dare. Pity for him. Clint was fairly sure he wasn't going to get her. What he knew of her was enough to tell him that she'd never buy into the shit LeBeau was shoveling. "She be upset. At the start. But Remy gon' soothe her anger away."

"Good luck with that. The woman is a fucking one man army and she's more than capable of torching you and anyone else you throw at her."

"Hmmm." The word was non-committal and it told Clint nothing. "We gon' see about dat."

Yes. They would. Clint wanted to shift around so he could see what the other man was doing, but his bonds kept him firmly held in place. He kept the curse that rose up from the depths from passing over his lips. Instead, he asked the question that had been plaguing him since LeBeau had slammed him into a vehicle last night. Or the other night. Time was kind of fuzzy when there was no clock to look at. Or no windows to track the movement of the sun by. "How is it you're still alive? Word was everyone at the school died in the initial attack. Hell, I was there. I saw the bodies. There was no way any of you survived that mess."

"You see my body?" LeBeau asked, moving out from behind Clint so that he could once more see the man. There was a double meaning in his question that Clint didn't bother answering. He watched as LeBeau crossed the floor until he was near the far wall. He leaned up against it, his shoulders the only thing touching the wooden surface, and smirked across the room at Clint. "Remy got his ways. But dat not important. You should be more concerned `bout what gon' happen to you here."

"I imagine you're going to torture me in an effort to convince me to tell you where to find Dare," Clint replied. He made sure to sound very non-chalant about it. Bring it on. He wasn't going to tell LeBeau shit.

"Torture, yes. After a fashion," LeBeau replied, one hand slipping into a pocket on his jeans. When he pulled it back out, he showed Clint the key that he held. "Much as Remy like violence and blood shed, dat not de only kind of torture to be had. We gon' try somet'ing different."

Clint watched as Remy closed the distance between them, a decided sway to his hips that was entirely too suggestive. It made Clint think that maybe, just maybe, he and LeBeau had very different ideas as to what constituted torture. LeBeau's empty hand teased its way across Clint's face as the man once more moved to stand behind him. There was a definite tingle under the skin where his fingertips grazed it. A moment later, Clint heard a soft click and the collar at his throat fell away. Clint took the opportunity to let his head drop forward, reveling in the ability to actually move his head.

The cuffs at his wrists came next. Slowly, nimble fingers undid the sheath keeping his arms confined. Pain lanced up into his shoulders when he tried to work feeling back into it, blood tingling as it moved more freely through his veins. The strain was more evident now that his arms were no longer confined and he wondered if the enforced position had done any damage to his shoulders. Clint spent several moments working the tightness from his muscles, getting rid of the pins and needle feeling that suddenly filled them. Even as he did that, LeBeau was undoing the straps that kept his legs bent.

Clint was well aware that the man wasn't worried about Clint trying to escape. He wasn't sure he could even move at the moment, after having spent hours confined in that position. And even if he had been able of getting to his feet and running, he knew there was no way he'd get away from LeBeau. Not unless the man wanted him to, at any rate. LeBeau had unnatural speed and strength on his side. Clint didn't even have a weapon.

So he let the Cajun manhandle him into a standing position, taking the opportunity to work the kinks from his legs. The muscles in them burned after the enforced position and inactivity. Getting away from the man would be easier if he had the ability to use his arms and legs. That wasn't a possibility if he was chained up the way he had been.

While one of LeBeau's hand remained curled around his arm, the other began a slow and careful trip across Clint's chest. The touch was intimate, meant to entice and arouse. Though who was meant to be enticed and aroused was beyond Clint. That hand found the neckline of Clint's t-shirt and curled around it. The sound of cloth rending was loud in the silence of the room and the brush of cool air against bared flesh left Clint feeling a little chilled for a few seconds. Then LeBeau's hand swept across his skin and heated tingles followed in its wake. "She like all dese muscles?" he asked, fingers tracing the swell of Clint's pecs before moving on to the ridges of his six pack.

"I heard no complaints," Clint replied. He didn't like that the tingles were building with each touch, that they were coaxing a fire to life somewhere deep in his belly. He was pretty sure it was something LeBeau could do with his mutant abilities. For a moment, Clint wondered what else LeBeau could do with his mutant abilities. Then the thought was driven from his head when the man moved to stand behind him, chest pressing against his back while his roving hand roved a little further south.

He'd always heard that LeBeau was good with his hands, fingers adept and skilled from years as a thief. Clint had always felt it was a huge, steaming pile of shit. He'd thought wrong. Even one handed, the Cajun managed to somehow work the button on his jeans from its hole. It took him no time at all. Then he was drawing the zipper down with two fingers, so very slowly that Clint found himself filled with anticipation. Which was wrong. Not because LeBeau was a guy. Clint had no problems getting naked with a really good looking guy. He had problems getting naked with a vampire who was trying to destroy humanity one soul at a time. Too bad no one had mentioned that to his libido.

Because the slow, careful tug at his zipper was enough to send blood rushing to his dick fast enough to leave him dizzy.

Zipper down all the way and fly finally open, LeBeau's hand slipped into the front of his jeans. A dark chuckle ruffled the back of his neck, the other man's breath hot against his skin. "You always go commando?' he asked, voice right there in Clint's ear.

Before Clint could even think of answering, long fingers curled around his dick and gave it a squeeze. His head actually swam from just that touch. Clint fought against closing his eyes in pleasure, thought about what would happen to Dare if he fell victim to the man's ploy. Not that doing so stopped his cock from aching. But it did help keep his head clear. The hand on his arm left it in order to shove his pants down over his hips. Despite the moderately tight fit of them, LeBeau managed to get them down around mid-thigh. Then the man rubbed up against his ass and Clint felt the hardness of LeBeau's cock press into the crack teasingly. Fuck.

"You dat eager for my touch, Hawkeye?" LeBeau whispered in his ear, his other arm sliding around Clint's waist to hold him in place. Clint said nothing, kept his attention focused on why this was wrong on so many levels. "You don' want to answer, dat okay. You body tell de story for you."

Those long fingers squeezed and stroked. gliding up toward the head of his dick. Clint's hips responded without consulting him, bucking up into the touch to get more. LeBeau let go another dark chuckle and dragged his palm back down toward the base. "You get dis hard when you get fucked in de ass?"

He let his thoughts turn to Dare. He hoped she'd made it back to base with little trouble. He hoped she was safe and continuing the work he'd started. She was a natural at it. She could do so much more than he could ever hope to accomplish. He also hoped like hell that she was going to keep on with the attacks and leave Clint to his fate. The last thing he wanted to happen was her being taken hostage by LeBeau in the midst of some misguided attempt to rescue Clint from the vampires. He was pretty damn sure that whatever LeBeau had in mind for her, she would hate it. Which meant the only thing he could do was keep her location safe and protect her. Even if it meant his death.

"I see. We gon' play dat game," LeBeau said. His hand gave one last squeeze to Clint's cock, then said hand fell away. The arm at his waist remained where it was. It didn't take much effort on LeBeau's part to force Clint into motion. The man steered his steps across the floor until they stood before the St. Andrew's cross. Even before Clint could think to fight free of the man's hold, LeBeau was already wrapping one of the cuffs around his wrist.

It didn't take the other man long to cuff Clint to the surface of the cross. That wasn't to say that Clint didn't get a kick or two in before LeBeau managed to secure his legs to the base of the cross. A trickle of blood at the corner of the other man's mouth said Clint's foot had smashed his cheek against his teeth. LeBeau's tongue slipped out to so very slowly lick the blood away, then he was pressed up against Clint's body. His mouth was on Clint's, his tongue shoved between Clint's lips in order to slip deep into his mouth. With it came the metallic tang of LeBeau's blood.

When Remy drew back, Clint's head was spinning from lack of air and the tingle had started up under his skin again. With it was another tingle, deep in his belly. Clint was sure that was because of the vampire's blood in his system. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant sensation, which told him that there was no way in hell he wanted to ingest any more of it.

LeBeau was smirking at him, one hand resting on the edge of the table that held all manner of sex toys. Clint gave the table a dispassionate once over before looking straight forward. His actions earned him a soft chuckle. From the corner of his eye, he saw LeBeau turn and give his attention to the contents on the table. After several moments of silence, he finally reached out and picked up a metallic toy and a leather harness. Clint didn't bother to ask any questions. He knew that LeBeau wanted him to. And he knew that he'd find out what the man had planned for him whether he asked those questions or not.

The smile the man gave him told him he should be very worried about what LeBeau was going to do next. Then the Cajun stepped around him, hand trailing across his abdomen as he went, until he was behind the cross. Clint took a moment to steady himself, to bring up the many conversations he and Steve had had over the years about how to keep calm in the face of something unknown. In the face of something with the potential to be painful or worse. He concentrated on simply breathing, in the in and out of his breath, while he waited for LeBeau to do what he would.

The press of fingers against his ass came as something of a surprise, though Clint had been mostly prepared. Heat tingled where they touched the ring of muscle, where they glided and slid around the opening. Clint did his best to ignore the sensations, to will his body to ignore them, but the tingle and the heat saw muscles relaxing until a pair of LeBeau's fingers slid deep into his ass.

There were no words to be said. No soft sounds of pleasure. No deep sound of disgust. No angry grunts. Clint did his best to ignore the sensations rushing through him as those long digits slid in and out so slowly that it seemed as if LeBeau planned on spending the entire night fingering him. Despite his best efforts, though, Clint felt the muscles relax. Felt them soften and let go. A flick of LeBeau's wrist made Clint's cock twitch in anticipation. Then the touch was gone and he was left waiting for the next bit of torture.

He didn't have long to wait. There was a soft noise that was brief and unidentifiable. Then the tip of the toy the man had picked up pressed against the relaxed muscle guarding his ass. Clint knew something was wrong when the toy felt warm and wet and slick. It slid up into him comically easily, and tingles spread through him from where it touched his flesh. He knew then what LeBeau had done and he cursed himself for not seeing it coming. There was a slight bulge near the base, and LeBeau had to press hard to get it past the ring of muscles. Clint bit back the grunt that came with the pain of that intrusion. Then he was biting back the moan when LeBeau patted the toy so that it delved just a little deeper into Clint's ass.

A moment later, Clint felt the man slip leather between the cross and his skin. One hand held it in place while the other worked a strap of leather between his thighs. LeBeau brought the harness up, fitting his cock into the opening in the front, and buckled it into place. It left the dildo trapped in his ass and his dick framed by leather that fit snugly around the base. It wasn't quite like a cock ring, but it was damn close.

The Cajun took a moment to study his handiwork, then a hand reached out to take hold of his dick and stroke it. The damn thing twitched in his hold, silently begging for more. LeBeau gave it a quick squeeze, then let go and stepped back. One hand reached for a small white rectangle that rested on the table, holding it up so Clint could see it. He didn't have to look close to know that LeBeau held a remote control.

The man didn't say a word, simply played with a few buttons on the remote before pressing down on what Clint assumed was the button that turned the toy on. Sure enough, a gentle vibration saw the toy rubbing against the walls of his ass. Which prompted that heated tingle to rush through him. The vibrations lasted for about thirty seconds, just long enough to see Clint's hips shifting of their own accord, then it stopped and the toy went still. After another minute, the vibrations started up again.

LeBeau watched him for five minutes, during which time the toy vibrated at alternating speeds for different lengths of time. The respite between each bout varied, leaving Clint off balance. There was no rhyme or reason to the toy's programming. And each round of vibrations left him aching for a release he couldn't achieve on his own. The harness made it hard for him to come. Not impossible, but hard. And without a conveniently placed body part, it would take much longer to climax.

LeBeau waited until the toy was vibrating before he set the remote down on the table's surface. It was only a few feet away from Clint, but it might as well have been all the way on the other side of the world. There was no way he could reach it with his hands and feet bound to the cross. "You know what a blood whore is?" LeBeau asked, drawing Clint's attention away from the remote. Too bad he couldn't pull it away from the vibe in his ass and the ache in his cock.

"No," Clint said, proud and relieved that his voice came out sounding normal.

LeBeau offered him a smile and moved forward, letting his abdomen rub against Clint's hard dick. "A blood whore is someone who ingest a vampire's blood to de point that dey addicted to it. Like a drug. All dey can t'ink of is another fix. More blood. Not a full vampire, but not a full human anymore."

Well, that sounded fucking lovely.

LeBeau leaned in further until their lips were barely a hair's breadth apart. "Gonna turn you into my blood whore, Barton. Gonna make it slow and painful. You gon' beg me to finish it before de week is out. And when you do, I'm gonna take great relish in turnin' you into my whore. You gon' beg me so sweetly wit' dat tempting mouth of yours to feed you my blood. To give you my dick. And den, when you fully caught in my web, you gon' give me Dare."

Nails raked the length of his cock, sending shockwaves of pain and pleasure rippling through him. It happened to coincide with the vibe pulsing fast inside of his ass. Clint couldn't hold back the groan, couldn't hold back the orgasm that rushed through him. His cock twitched before erupting with spurts of thick ropes of come that splattered his chest and LeBeau's hand. He watched the other man lick his spunk off his hand. The look LeBeau gave him sent the first real shaft of fear through him.

"Enjoy de day, Barton," LeBeau drifted toward the door. He stopped just before it, turning to face Clint. "You gon' wish I killed you when dis all done."

The door closed behind the man with a soft click, the lights going out a moment later. Clint was left in the dark, the vibe in his ass whirring furiously. It felt like it was trying to burrow its way deep into his body and the stimulations ran straight to his groin. He pulled at his bonds, hoping against hope that they were lose enough to let him break free. They weren't.

When the vibrations died and he was left limp and sweating, head hanging down as he tried to force himself to calm, he hoped like hell that Dare stayed away.

~*~

"What game we gon' play tonight?" LeBeau's smooth voice asked, shattering the stillness surrounding him. Clint was awake, but that didn't stop his heart from pounding in his chest. He'd lost track of how much time he'd been LeBeau's captive. It didn't help that there wasn't even the gentle ticking sound of a clock to help him count how much time passed. There was nothing but silence and darkness. Silence because there was nothing in the room other than Clint and he'd long ago tuned out the sound of his heart beating, his breaths moving in and out of his lungs. Darkness because LeBeau had put a blindfold on him sometime after that first game and had yet to take it off.

He didn't bother answering. He knew LeBeau didn't care what he said. The man already had his game planned out. All Clint could do was hope he could survive it with his sanity in tact. The first night, bound to the St. Andrew's cross with a vibe plugged into his ass, he thought he'd go insane from the sensations. The vibe never repeated a pattern, and it never ran long enough to bring Clint to release. The heated tingles died out relatively quickly, something for which he had and hadn't been happy about. But the vibe going in his ass, the walls dry, had left him feeling chafed only a short time after LeBeau had left him in the dark. And his cock... It had been so painful and so in need that LeBeau had merely had to brush a fingertip across his skin to see him shooting off like Independence day fireworks.

For the time being, Clint had been locked in the cage with little more than a pillow and a blanket. But his hands had been wrapped up in a leather sheath, like the one he'd been wearing that first night, so that he couldn't actually jerk himself off. And LeBeau had been sure to leave him with a raging hard on before he'd locked him away. No toy in his ass this time. But there had been a parting gift. LeBeau had put him on his knees and forced him to give head, had made sure that just a touch of blood had been beaded up on his dick so that Clint got that brief taste. So that his throat and belly had tingled and burned and begged for more. After shooting his load down Clint's throat, he'd left him in need of something more substantial than that fleeting taste of blood and a hand on his dick.

"Not'ing to say, pet?" LeBeau asked. Clint heard the lock rattle as the key was fitted into it. The cage door creaked open and a hand was there on his arm to tug him out. Clint found himself stiff and sore from the confinement, his knees and legs refusing for a time to do what was being demanded of them. Still, LeBeau wouldn't be denied and he eventually forced Clint from the cage. He stumbled as the other man dragged him across the room. "Dat okay. I know just de game we gon' play. You gon' like it."

Clint's thighs hit something hard, then he was being pushed face down against it. LeBeau anchored his hands by connecting a chain to the ring on the arm binders, which made it impossible for him to lift up off the table. It became even more impossible when he felt LeBeau wrap leather straps around his thighs, effectively securing them to the table legs. The position left his dick trapped between the smooth surface of the table and his belly and even just the pressure of his body laying on it made the blood start rushing to his groin.

Hands curved over his ass, kneading the cheeks while both thumbs stroked closer and closer to the crack. A shiver rolled up his spine when the first thumb touched that ring of muscle. When it pressed inside, he spasmed. There was no way to stop the groan of need and pleasure that bubbled out of his throat. He tried lifting his hips, but the bands around his thighs held him almost completely immobile. "You turnin' into such a good whore, Clint," LeBeau said with a chuckle. Hard not to turn into a whore when every touch was designed to build his need and bring him to the very cusp of orgasm time and time again. He'd lost track of how many times he'd been left alone with the vibrator in his ass. When he'd needed to come and had been unable to reach completion because there wasn't enough friction. Because he couldn't touch himself. Because there were no sweet lips to wrap around his dick.

The hands pulled away, thumb slipping free to leave him empty and wanting. He voiced his sense of loss with a whimper. It earned him another laugh. Then he heard a zip, the soft rustle of clothing as LeBeau rid himself of his pants. Those magic hands returned a moment later to begin massaging his ass with firmer strokes. The occasional finger slid inside of him, pumped in and out in order to prime him for the main event. Through it all, Clint moaned like the whore LeBeau wanted him to be. Begged without words for something bigger and harder. Hated himself for giving in so easily. And prayed to whatever God wanted to listen that Dare didn't try to find him.

The blunt head of LeBeau's cock pressed against his asshole, the only warning he got before the man was pressing himself inside. Clint expected the tingling heat again and he wasn't disappointed. The warm, wet sensation of the vampire's blood coating the inside of his ass was almost enough to make Clint come then and there. Almost, but not quite. He was gone. He wasn't that far gone.

"So tight," LeBeau commented, burying himself inside Clint's ass to the hilt. "You still gon' be my whore when you turn over Dare?" he asked, drawing back so he could press forward.

"You aren't getting her," Clint rasped out, voice hoarse with disuse.

"You so sure about that, homme?" the man asked, repeating his actions once again. The glide of his dick in Clint's ass was a lovely thing. But it wasn't so great that he'd give someone else up to the depravity the man found amusing.

"I'm not telling you shit, LeBeau. Go fuck yourself," Clint ground out.

"How `bout I fuck you instead?" LeBeau offered the question, then slammed his hips into Clint so forcefully that Clint had to clench his teeth to keep the howl of pain from escaping. What had been enjoyable and pleasant was suddenly painful and abhorrent. It didn't stop Clint's dick from begging for some attention. The friction caused by LeBeau's hips slapping into his ass wasn't enough to bring him to orgasm. And the position he was bound into wouldn't allow him to move anymore than he already did. If he ever got out of this, he was going to cut the fucker's head off. "How you like dat, whore? You like it when I fuck you like you not'ing more than a piece of meat?"

Clint said nothing, kept his thoughts to himself. He hated that he was starting to slide so easily into that little bubble of desire and passion and need and hunger that would give LeBeau ownership of his soul. He hated that he wanted more. He hated that he had to fight himself in order to keep from begging for the blood. He hated that, even now, with the man fucking him until he was going to bleed, Clint wanted more. Literally the only thing that kept him going was the fact that Dare was safe from the man's brand of insanity. If it meant keeping her safe and untouched, Clint would spend his lifetime being LeBeau's whore.

He marveled at the journey his mind took pretty much daily. One moment, he was hungry for the man's cock, for his blood. For whatever he wanted to do to Clint. A blow job. Fucking his ass. Using the vibe on him. Clamps, whips, just about anything LeBeau wanted to do, Clint was game for. If he got to come, if he got that sweet heated tingle, he was game. He'd beg and mewl and plead for it, if those things would get him what he wanted. The next moment, he was disgusted by his actions and thoughts. He would force himself to dredge up images of Dare's face as she'd told him about Logan. What it would do to her if LeBeau got his hands on her and turned her.

That was how he fought from falling under the man's spell. That was how he kept himself going. The hope that he'd either get free and kill LeBeau or he'd die without spilling any secrets and Dare would be safe and that would be the ultimate 'Fuck you!' to the former X-Man. But it got harder. With every day that passed, with every new game that LeBeau played, it got so damn hard. He just wanted to quit. He wanted the whole world to go away.

"Where you go, little whore?" LeBeau asked, his hips still. Clint could feel the head of his dick caught against that ring of muscles, the rest of his erection outside his body. Clint knew what was coming and tried to brace himself for it. But how did one brace themselves for a drug? How did one protect themselves from addiction when it was so easy to fall into that pit of want and need? Clint was already halfway there, wasn't he? "Remy t'ink you need a bigger dose dis time."

There was silence a moment, and Clint strained his ears to try and catch a hint of what was going on. Before he could pick up any sounds, one of the man's hands pressed against his back while the other managed to drive two fingers into his ass. His dick followed after them and filled Clint up. With his fingers. With his dick. With the warmth wetness of his blood. The pressure and heat were insane and Clint couldn't bite off the yelp of pain and surprise.

He felt the blood work its way into his system as LeBeau held his hips still with his cock shoved all the way up Clint's ass. The man's fingers massaged the walls closed around him, making sure that there was some pleasurable stimulation happening even while he was filling Clint's body with drugs. "When you finally my full blood whore, when you give me Dare, gon' let her watch while I fuck you. Maybe she be sweet and let you go down on her. Maybe she even let you fuck her."

The man's fingers pressed down, sending a spasm of pleasure straight up Clint's spine to his brain. Every muscle in his body contracted. His dick jerked against his belly, the warm stickiness of his come painting his flesh and the table beneath him. And his ass squeezed down around the man's dick until more blood leaked out to flood Clint's body and brain with that tingling that he now understood was a buzz. "You like dat?"

LeBeau did it again, which brought forth the same reaction. Clint hadn't been aware there was anymore left in him, but he came again and his ass squeezed again and he whimpered with need as the warmth rolled through him again. While his muscles were clenched and his body was riding the growing high, LeBeau pulled back in order to thrust in another time. Drove himself deep and shoved Clint further over the edge. His cock twitched once more, a faint trickle coming out. Jesus fuck, he was going to lose himself fast if LeBeau kept this up.

The next thrust drew a loud cry from Clint's throat. It was half pain, half pleasure. It was fully crazed. His hands tried to find purchase against the table, despite the leather that encased them. His hips tried to rock up into LeBeau's, even though he knew it wouldn't happen because the straps kept him in place. So he cursed the man, let go a string of angry swear words that brought chuckles up the man's throat.

"Yeah. You like dat." LeBeau repeated his actions. Pain raced along every single nerve ending, snuffing out the pleasurable effects of LeBeau's blood. Snuffing out the pleasure he felt until he was nothing but a massive ball of pain. And just like that, Clint was out of the moment. The buzz was gone and every inch of him hurt. And he knew, he just knew, that he would barely be able to walk when the other man finished with him.

Talk died out as LeBeau turned all of his focus to Clint's ass. He thrust hard and deep, bringing pain roaring to life in Clint's body that he knew would take a good long while to forget. The bonds made it impossible for him to pull away, left him at the other man's mercy. Mercy that seemingly didn't exist anymore. Clint tried to keep back the cries of pain, but it wasn't always possible. There was that one thrust that hit hard and deep. There was the press of LeBeau's fingers. There was the way a nail or two dug into Clint's flesh.

There was so much pain that all he could do was pray that it would end soon and he'd be left alone in the darkness. LeBeau gave no impression of stopping any time soon, leaving Clint to seek out some way to ride out the event without having to think about it. His thoughts spun away, back to a time when the Avengers were all still together. Clint could recall laughter and tears. Fights and apologies. They were friends, yes. But they were also family. It was a happy memory and it helped edge the pain aside for just a little while.

At least, it did until LeBeau introduced a new pain. A thin line of searing agony cut across Clint's back and he came back to himself with the thought that LeBeau had drawn blood. Clint had suffered a knife cut a time or two in his day, so he recognized the signs. He suspected that LeBeau had used one of his own nails and had done it because he knew Clint's attention had lapsed.

He was certain that it had happened when LeBeau leaned over him, hips inadvertently pressing his cock deeper, so that he could lap at the blood beading up on Clint's back. The teasing touch of the man's tongue traced the line he'd carved there, collecting the crimson beads welling up on Clint's skin. It was a far more sensual touch than Clint had expected and it made muscles contract without his consent. His ass squeezed down around LeBeau's cock. The action drew a moan up both men's throats. "You taste like arrogance," LeBeau told him and swiped his tongue along the cut once again. Another spasm of muscle saw LeBeau's hips shifting so that his cock slid in and out just a tiny bit. That motion saw Clint's cock firming up yet again and the pressure of his body mashing it into the table started tremors spreading out from his core to his limbs. "And discipline."

That brought a short, sharp bark of laughter up Clint's throat. Discipline? That was a good one. Cap would have a good laugh at that one, too.

A hand reached up to tangle in his hair and he found his head pulled back painfully, neck stretched tight by the move. He could feel LeBeau's breath, breath the man didn't need anymore, soughing against his ear. "Discipline. You tryin' so hard to keep her safe. She gon' be mine, no matter what you do. Give her to me and all dis gon' end." His hips drew back, only to slam forward again. The move was violent, shattering pain like glass along his nerves until the splinters drove deep into his muscles and his soul. "Give her to me and I fuck you slow. Make you feel good."

Clint wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. But the words stuck in his throat, mostly likely by the driving thrusts that buried LeBeau's dick deep in his ass over and over again. So instead he snorted out his answer, letting the man know that he wasn't going to give him what he wanted. It earned him another of those nerve-shattering thrusts and LeBeau's hand pulled his head back even further. Several words that Clint didn't know followed, and this time he felt the sharp points of LeBeau's fangs graze the flesh of his throat.

"I turn you now, you gon' give me what I want. But what fun dere in dat?" he asked. The tone of his voice promised Clint that he would live to regret denying LeBeau's requests. There was more of this kind of torture to come and he'd be lucky to survive it. "So I gon' keep you here in dis room. Keep you on the cusp of hunger. For food. For my cock. For my blood. And when you finally have enough, you gon' beg me to give it to you. You gon' beg like a baby. And you gon' give me Dare. And you gon' know dat you a weak, pathetic mortal."

With the last of his words, LeBeau pounded his hips against Clint's ass. The pain was like nothing he'd ever imagined and it took everything in him to hold on to the cries. When LeBeau came, it was with a roar and a thrust of his hips so hard that Clint felt sure the man's dick was stuck in his ass. But LeBeau withdrew, leaving Clint bound to the table. Leaving him with his ass in the air, asshole gaping, while come dribbled out of his body to patter accusingly on the floor.

~*~

The blindfold had been bad enough. It was a bitch being deprived of the one thing that he counted on most of all. But he'd been okay so long as he'd been able to listen and touch. Those senses had been taken from him, too. Someone, and he was pretty sure that someone was LeBeau, had entered the room silently and slipped up beside him, only to press ear plugs into his ears. They were good ones, too, because he couldn't hear anything other than the rush of his blood in his veins and the air filling his lungs when he drew breath. His blood was rushing pretty fast, truth be told.

And then the sense of touch had been taken away in the form of a latex mitts that covered his hands up to the middle of his forearm. Those had then been bound together with a tight strap wrapped around his wrists, making it impossible for Clint to do much more than curl his hands into fists. Just those two things were nightmares unto themselves. So, of course, there were more nightmares to be had.

Once the mitts were fully employed, he was tugged from the St. Andrew's cross to stand in the middle of the floor. A length of rope or chain had been connected to the mitts, leading him to believe they sported rings on them. He'd thought that his arms would be drawn up over his head, but they weren't. Instead, hands forced him to his knees. Whatever was connected to the mitts had a set length, so it was the lack of extra length that saw his arms pulled up over his head. His shoulders groaned with the strain, and it took everything in him to keep the moan of pain to himself.

As soon as he was kneeling on the floor, leather straps were wrapped over his calves just behind his knees, obviously secured to the floor and meant to keep him in a kneeling position. He could rise up on his knees, if needed, but he couldn't stand. He made note of the fact that his legs were spread open for easy access. A hand trailed across his face, fingers following the line of his jaw, before they slipped away and he was left alone.

Not for long, though.

His companion returned, announcing himself by once more touching Clint's face. The tingle that ran under his skin told him it was, indeed, LeBeau. Time for more games.

That hand ran from his cheek to the back of his neck. Then it slid down his spine until it could cup the curve of one ass cheek. Fingers kneaded the muscle there for a moment. Left off in order to slide inward. There was a faint touch to the pucker of his asshole before those same fingers spread his cheeks wide. He couldn't help the grunt of pain when the blunt head of the plug pressed into his ass. He felt the contoured bit stretch his muscles briefly before moving past the tight ring. It was a slightly larger plug than had previously been used and Clint felt like his ass was going to rip in two from the pressure. A hand tapped at the end, drove the point deeper, and brought a shudder up his spine.

He barely had time to catch his breath before a hand curled around his cock and fisted it gently. Cool, silky liquid coated the questing palm, making the strokes smooth and easy. Arousing. Traitorous thing that it was, his dick swelled up fast under the hand's ministrations. The gliding motion sped up, fingers squeezing down tighter and tighter until Clint felt his climax starting to build. His tormentor felt it, too, because the hand gave one last squeeze, then it fell away and he felt something wrap around the base of his dick.

It was one of those cock rings that not only went around the base and behind the balls, it split the balls down the center and imprisoned them tightly. Finger tips flicked the head of his dick, right where the slit was, and sent maddening vibrations along the length to the base of his spine. Clint couldn't stop that shudder, nor the one that followed when that hand was there to curl around the flared head of his dick. It pressed the slit with a finger, squeezed the tip, played with it until precum oozed out of the opening. Then the hand was gone and something cold, something metallic, touched his dick.

Fire raced under his skin when the thin piece of metal slid into the head of his dick, followed the tiny channel there until it was fully threaded into his erection. The pressure was painful. Exquisite. Nothing he'd ever felt before. Nothing he wanted to feel again. It made his hips flex and jerk with the need to come. A thumb pressed the small ball at the top of the rod, making it slip a little deeper. Clint couldn't hold back the cry.

It was a mistake. Something hard and rigid fitted itself between his lips and then between his teeth. Before he could think to shove it out with his tongue, straps were being wrapped around the back of his head. He felt the leather pull tight and the buckle being engaged. Fingers pressed into his mouth, slipped over his tongue and to the back of his throat until he gagged. They lingered a second or two longer before disappearing. Clint coughed, felt saliva slide over his lower lip to drip down his chest.

The hand returned to his cock to torment it, stroking it gently with a freshly slicked palm. His hips met each stroke, silently begging for release. He was crazy with the need to come. And he couldn't stop the whimper that came when something tight and restrictive enveloped his dick. It pressed the rod deeper. Squeezed his shaft gently. Made him spit curses through the gag.

He was left like that for several moments, spit and garbled words falling out of his mouth while his anger boiled and his need soared. All he wanted was to come. He was almost to the breaking point. Each night, LeBeau found a new torture for him. Each night, Clint swore he'd never give Dare to the vampire. And each night, he'd be left alone with the knowledge that he was so close to the edge. So close to breaking. So close to handing the girl over just for a little relief.

A hand curled over his head, fingers teasing his hair before curling into it and tugging his head back. Just a bit. Then the musky smell of sex and man hit his nose, telling him that LeBeau's cock was close to his face. He also caught the metallic scent of blood, letting him know LeBeau felt it was time for another dose. Clint wanted to deny him, wanted to draw his head back and press his lips together. But the gag made impossible. The hand in his hair made it impossible. LeBeau's dick passed between his lips and made it all the way to the back of his throat.

Clint gagged, not ready for the invasion, and he tried to pull back. The hand in his hair tightened down until it felt like the appendage was going to rip the hair from his scalp. The man's hips pressed forward and the head of his dick worked its way down Clint's throat. He found himself nose to crotch with LeBeau, wiry hairs tickling at his skin as LeBeau held him in place.

There was very little Clint could do to get LeBeau off. This wasn't a blow job. This was a display of domination. Which meant the man didn't really care if Clint sucked his dick or not. He was just doing it to prove that he could and would do whatever he liked to his prisoner. It was hard to breathe, his nose mashed against LeBeau's crotch as it was. And the dick in his throat didn't allow for much of anything. The best Clint could do was maybe run his tongue along the underside of the shaft while he swallowed around the head. Maybe it would be enough to get the man to come and leave him alone.

And maybe Clint would sprout wings and fly away.

He knew the tactic for what it was. It was a means of breaking Clint, getting him to give up Dare's location. Not that it was hard to figure out where she was hiding out, if one gave it some thought. But that wasn't what LeBeau's game was about. The man wanted to break Clint in every way imaginable. He was using his blood to get Clint addicted to him. He was using sex as a means of punishment, giving hints of unbelievable pleasure behind all of the pain. It was made to appear to be a reward. All Clint needed to do was hand a young woman over to LeBeau. Clint wasn't so far gone on blood and sex that he would turn on another human being. He'd find a way to slit his throat before he gave LeBeau that kind of satisfaction.

LeBeau pulled back when he knew Clint had reached the point of breathlessness that could turn into unconsciousness in the blink of an eye. He drew air into his lungs, struggled to compose himself. There was more to come in this game. He knew that for a fact. It wouldn't do to start freaking out now. He sure as hell didn't want LeBeau to know just how much the man was getting to him.

It was when he was drawing air into his lungs that he felt the first bite of a clamp on his nipple. The expansion of his lungs saw his pecs pushed out and more pronounced. And so that was when his tormentor attached a clamp with sharp teeth to his nipple. It was enough to draw a cry of Clint's throat. That cry came out sounding garbled and wet.

LeBeau shoved his dick deep again. Held it in place while Clint struggled against his bonds and the hand in his hair so that he could pull off the shaft and breathe. LeBeau again let him get to that point where he was right on the cusp of unconsciousness. He drew back, allowing Clint to breathe. Allowing him to expand his chest. Allowing LeBeau to attach the other clamp. A fingernail dragged down the center of his chest until it hit a certain spot. It lifted away from Clint's flesh and fire burned through his chest as the clamps were pulled. His nipples were tugged out and stretched until they were filled with pain and it felt like the clamps would rip them off. When LeBeau let go, the chain thumped hard against his chest and it pulled his nipples once again. The weight that had been attached to the chain was enough to keep his nipples distended past the point of pain.

It became a game of choke and tug then. LeBeau would press his cock deep, cutting off Clint's ability to pull air into his lungs. He'd do his best to lick the shaft and squeeze the head in the hopes that it would speed things up. Then LeBeau would pull back so Clint could breathe. And he'd tug on the chain. The pain would be like fire under Clint's skin and he'd find himself screaming against the gag. Just for fun, there would be the occasional press of a hand against his dick. The rod would dig deep and the sheath would squeeze tighter and Clint's hips would flex helplessly as he silently begged for relief.

Time was meaningless without visual cues. Without audio cues. All there was was breathlessness and pain and stimulation that drove him to the very ends of his limits. His entire world was narrowed down to the smell of LeBeau as the man fucked his face, all spicy aftershave and death and the occasional hint of blood. Blood that barely even stoked the fire that lay banked in Clint's belly. It wasn't enough to bring forth the burning buzz Clint had gotten from it before. Which was not a good sign.

His arms trembled from being suspended over his head too long. His legs cramped from being bent too long. His lungs burned from the constant denial of air. His cock ached and his ass throbbed. Sweat beaded his skin, ran down his chest and back. His hips rocked in an effort to find relief. And he moaned like the whore LeBeau had promised to make him, the pain blurring into a sick kind of pleasure that filled him with heat and desire.

Fucking hell, he couldn't take it anymore. LeBeau was doing his best to turn Clint into a weak, mewling kitten starved for the teat. The teat in his case being the other man's dick. He was more than willing to take that dick up his ass if it meant release. If it meant a return of the soaring pleasure that came with a climax and the steady burn of LeBeau's blood under his skin. As long as it meant an end to all the pain and suffering, he'd gladly take it.

He didn't realize he'd drifted into thought, brain switching to autopilot so that his mouth continued working at LeBeau's cock the best it could, until he felt the man's length swelling against the roof of his mouth. The head was deep in his throat and both hands were fisted in his hair, telling him LeBeau had been fucking his face feverishly. His hips drew back and shoved in deep. Clint felt the twitch that signaled orgasm. A second later, warm, salty, bitter come splashed the back of his throat. He had no choice but to swallow it. The man wasn't pulling out until he'd emptied himself completely. Clint's throat muscles squeezed down as he swallowed and milked the cock in his mouth for all they were worth.

LeBeau pulled back for the last time, leaving Clint's chest heaving as he struggled for air. Each time his lungs inflated, the weight shifted against his chest and pulled hard against his nipples. Pain shafted through him, made his hips snap up into empty space.

The sheath squeezing his dick slipped away, bringing a new spate of hip thrusts to life. The cool air brushing against his dick made him whimper with need. A fingertip pressed against the ball nestled in his slit. This time he moaned. His hips snapped up hard. Then the rod was pulled free, the sliding sensation almost like burying his dick inside a willing pussy. The loss of pressure would have had him sagging in a weird mixture of relief and loss if his bonds had allowed it. As it was, he whimpered. A hand stroked down the length of his dick, cool and slick and so welcome after the motionless press of metal and latex.

His breath came in pants, little mewling sounds filling the air as he fucked himself into that hand. The tension came so quickly, the desire to come filling him so intensely that his hips faltered and thrust without any rhythm. He was begging, his words nothing but jumbled sounds because of the gag, pleading for his release. If he didn't come soon, he was going to lose his mind. The sensation was too much.

He felt his orgasm, felt himself right on the cusp. The hand that had been curled around his dick was suddenly gone, but it didn't matter. His hips kept pumping, kept seeking release. The plug in his ass had long since stopped being painful. The pressure of the hard rubber against those muscles only added to the need to explode. Every time his hips thrust up, his ass squeezed down tight against the plug and sent sensations spiraling through him until he was nothing but a mindless ball of need.

His hips drove up into the air so sharply that his dick slapped his belly. In an instant, the cock ring was gone and pain lanced through him as his balls drew up. His muscles went tense, body straining against nothing. Muscles snapped and shattered. squeezed down until he felt like he would break apart. And his orgasm came in a flood, every last bit of stimuli used against him while he was denied the right to blow his load creating a fountain of jism. The pressure of the plug in his ass, gripped tightly by his muscles, made it that much more intense.

Pain lanced through him anew when the chain was tugged at hard and the clamps pulled away from his nipples to leave them raw and aching. They burned and tingled as blood rushed back to them. And his dick pulsed in response. He came so hard that he felt his spunk splatter across his chest and even his face. It felt like it took forever for his body to start relaxing. When it did, he slumped against his bonds, chest heaving and dick shriveling.

Fingers swiped through the mess on his chest before shoving themselves into his mouth. The salty, bitter taste of his own come spread across his tongue. They came back a second time. And a third. And Clint could do nothing but lick at them, use his tongue to clean them off lest they press deeper and choke him.

And when they came the last time, he could taste the blood on them and he finally felt the burn start under his skin. When that came, his poor, abused dick twitched reluctantly to life once again. It was going to be a long goddamn night.

~*~

"What do you think? Can you break those cuffs?" He knew that voice. He'd dreamt of it often enough since the night of that disaster of a hunt. It sounded so close. As if she was right next to him. He had to be dreaming again. He was pretty sure he was delirious. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had something to eat that wasn't some kind of bodily fluid.

"Of course I can, darling. How can you even ask me that?" The question was drawled in a voice he didn't know. It belonged to a woman and she definitely sounded sure of herself. Which gave him a moment's worry. He was dreaming about people he didn't even know now. That had to be a bad sign.

"Will you two hurry it up? This isn't my idea of a good time. I'd like to leave here with as many holes in my skin as I arrived with, thank you very much. You're wasting daylight," an icy voice snarled. He didn't recognize that one, either. This was one bizarre dream. Especially since he wasn't seeing any part of it. Just hearing it. Maybe he was delusional from lack of food and water.

And everything else.

"Don't get your panties in a twist, Chill. We'll be out of here before you know it," the first unknown voice drawled. She sounded absolutely sure that they'd be out of there soon and without troubles. Man, he hoped so. Vampires had a really shitty idea of what hospitality was. "Are you ready, sweetie? He's going to fall over as soon as I get him free."

"I'll manage, thanks. Just do it. I don't want to linger," Dare replied. He felt hands touch his cheeks, lifting his head so that she could press a kiss to his forehead. Her fingers brushed his bangs out of the way, a soft and tender caress in the midst of a living nightmare. "Stay with me, old man. I'm here to get you out and take you home."

He licked his lips in an effort to get words out. He wasn't sure when he'd last spoken to someone. Moaned and groaned with pleasure? Yes. Screamed in agony? Yes. But spoken? No. He couldn't remember when he'd last actually done that. His voice came, dry and scratchy and hoarse. It told him it had been a while. "Shouldn't have come, Dare. He wants you."

"And leave you here? Fuck that noise. And fuck him if he thinks I'll give myself up to him. I know what he's got in store for me," she replied, and he swore he could hear the flames crackling in her voice. "Now be quiet and let us girls work. We'll try to be as gentle as possible."

"Dare. Go," he croaked.

"No," she replied. Her hands came to rest on his chest, her nails digging sharply into his skin as a way of letting him know she wasn't going to listen.

"Don't know how many of them are here. If they catch you... If he catches you..."

"Stop being a stubborn ass and shut up, Barton. I'm not leaving you behind. Have you forgotten I can fry the entire goddamn world?" she snapped at him. This time, he definitely heard the crackle of flames in her voice. "I'm taking you home. And when you've had something to eat and drink and had medical attention and slept, we are going to talk about your idiocy. And then later, I'm going to fuck your brains out."

"I can't say that I blame you on that one, sweetie. He's yummy," the first voice drawled appreciatively.

"That's enough from you, Flare," the second voice commented. "Just get it over with. I've got the door." There was a thread of steel in the last of the woman's statement. Clint wanted to consider it, but the fear that LeBeau would catch them and take Dare kept him from doing so. He wanted to tell her one more time to leave him, but she was too goddamn stubborn for her own good. He knew she would never go now. Not when she was already here and she'd brought friends to help. And, truth be told, he wanted to leave before he lost himself. He wanted to go back to some semblance of his normal life.

"On three," the first woman said. "One." Dare pressed a quick kiss to his chest. "Two." Her hands slid down pressed hard against his ribs, just under his pecs. She went so far as to wrap herself around him, as if she was shielding him from something. "Three."

Clint heard what sounded like four, small, controlled explosions. But he had to be hearing things because there was no way anyone was setting off explosions here. A second later, the cuffs at his wrists and ankles were tugged free and he felt himself start to slump forward. Right into Dare's arms. This close to her, he could feel her heart beating madly in her chest, could tell she was scared. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her close, but he didn't have the energy for it. So he was forced to hang limp in her hold as she stepped back and... Then he was floating?

It was a subtle thing and he might not have noticed if he hadn't had anything else to pay attention to.. But it was true. One minute, he'd felt his toes drag the floor. The next, there was nothing under his feet but cool air and he didn't have a fucking clue how that was happening. Then hands were there to help take hold of him, to guide him down onto what felt like a bed. A warm palm settled on his forehead. "Don't panic, old man. We're strapping you down just so that you don't fall off while we get you out of here. Once we get home, you get to rest in that big bed of yours. And we're leaving the blindfold on until then. Just try to relax."

He wanted to argue with her, but his strength was gone and going home sounded like the best thing he'd heard all day. A sheet covered him, followed by a blanket, enveloping him from neck to toes in soft warmth. Then the straps were buckled into place. The legs on the stretcher's wheels were extended. "Dare, you go first. Fireballs at the ready. Don't worry. We'll take good care of him." The order came from near his head. Then the stretcher was rolling forward and the rocking motion of it lulled him back toward sleep.

~*~

Clint awoke with a start, his mind telling him something was very wrong. He just couldn't immediately put his finger on what it was. Until the blankets slithered across his chest and his hand pressed into a thick pillow. It was then he realized that he was sleeping in an honest to God bed. The dim blue lights by the bed were those of his computer terminal. The room was dim, almost too dark to see anything in it, but he heard the unmistakable sound of someone shifting in the shadows. His senses slipped into high alert.

"You may want to cover your eyes. I'm going to turn on a light and, as far as we know, its been days since you've seen any light. Your eyes are going to need time to adjust," a soft voice warned him. Clint brought a hand up to cover his eyes, the tell tale click of a lamp switching on happening only seconds after he'd done so. Even with his hand over his face, it felt like his eyes were trying to crawl into the back corners of his head. "Your color has improved, though its going to take time for everything to heal. I'm good with creams and salves, but I am by no means a doctor. You're going to notice a slightly garlic odor on your skin. Call it a preventative."

"And who are you?" Clint asked, trying hard not to give in to the urge to lower his hand and look at the source of the voice.

"My name is Rose," she told him. "You can relax. Dare has personally threatened me to within an inch of my life if I try any villainy here."

That gave Clint pause. "I'm sorry. Did you say...?"

"You may have heard of me. I'm also known as the Emerald Rose." Yeah. He'd heard of her, alright. She was listed in a file somewhere as an environmental terrorist. Clint only knew a few things about her, as he hadn't studied her file in depth. Thus far, the Avengers hadn't had any call to meet up with the Emerald Rose.

The Emerald Rose, also known as Rosalie Emerson, was a chlorokinetic and very talented at creating all manner of natural things. Which wasn't a problem in and of itself. The problem lay in the fact that she used her talents to destroy targets she deemed too environmentally destructive. One of her biggest targets seemed to be Stark Industries. So it was understandable that Tony had compiled a file on her. He also knew she tended to work with a group of other female villains. His mind drifted to the two strange voices he'd heard with Dare. Guess it hadn't all been a dream after all.

"The look on your face suggests you've heard of me." There was a slight hint of nervousness to her voice, as if she was afraid of what he'd do. Not that he could do much. He was, for the moment, essentially blind. And he had to take it on faith that Dare had put her trust into the woman for a reason.

"I have," he nodded. "And I guess I owe you thanks. You helped my... Dare. Didn't you?"

"Yes," the woman said. If she noticed his slip of the tongue, she said nothing about it. Clint risked lowering his hand and found that the light, while painful, was almost tolerable. It took longer than he liked for his eyes to adjust, but he saw her sitting in a chair near the door, all long dark hair and emerald green clothes. She was looking at him with a soft smile on her face. "She came to us. She was desperate to find you and get you back."

"She shouldn't have come. LeBeau wants her. For whatever reason, he's set his twisted mind on having her at his side," Clint replied.

Rose's smile became a grin filled with secret knowing. He waited for her to enlighten him, but she merely stood and strode toward the door. "I'll be back later to administer some more of my preventatives. For now, I believe you are in need of some hearty food, a tall glass of water, and better company than I."

The woman went out the door before he could respond. He was about to throw back the covers and climb from the bed, but he didn't even get to make the attempt. Dare came through the open door, carrying a tray laden with a plate and a glass. He couldn't read the look on her face when she laid eyes on him, but the door shut behind her with a solid thud and she marched toward the bed. "I am going to kick your ass all over the training room mats when you're better. Idiot."

"You're the one who suggested splitting up," he reminded her.

"Yeah, well. That won't be happening again any time soon," she responded. She stopped by the bed and eyed him. "Can you sit up on your own or do I have to lug your heavy ass upright?"

This close, he could see that she looked like she hadn't been getting much sleep. There were dark circles under her eyes and a hard set to her mouth that hadn't been there before. He wondered what she'd gone through trying to find him and get him back. And he wondered why she'd tried so hard. "No. I think I can manage," he told her. And he could. He felt weak as a kitten, but he pulled himself upright. Aches and pains sprang to life under his skin, reminding him that LeBeau hadn't been kind at all. He watched as her gaze flicked to his chest and the hard set of her mouth became a thin line of hatred. He swore he could see guilt warring with the desire for revenge in her eyes. "Dare, none of this is your fault."

"I shouldn't have left you on your own," she replied quietly. She set the tray down across his legs. Moved to pull a chair toward the bed. Clint caught her wrist before she could take two steps and tugged at her arm. Dare turned to look at him. He tugged her arm again, then flicked his gaze toward the bed.

"I'm not fragile, Dare. I'm fine. Sit with me. I'd like to think I withstood that shit for a good reason," he told her softly. She eyed him a moment, then heaved a sigh and nodded. She was careful when she climbed into the bed, moving gingerly as if afraid to upset him. He wanted to laugh, but she seemed so earnest in her desire to not hurt him that he simply couldn't. Instead, he held his tongue until she was nestled up beside him, his arm around her in order to keep her by his side. He gave her a look. "There was good reason, wasn't there?"

He felt her shoulders stiffen, but she didn't try and pretend she didn't know what he was talking about. They'd spent long enough together that she should know the answer to the question. He watched one hand reach out to take hold of the lid covering his plate and lift it away, showing him a thick steak, a pile of creamy mashed potatoes, and some steamed broccoli sitting on the plate that had been beneath it. "You should eat. Mystery is a really good cook."

"Dare," he prodded, fingers reaching out to grasp her chin. The look she turned on him was a mix of emotions that slammed right into his heart. There was so much to sift through. Too much, really. He could see guilt and a fragile hope. Fear. Longing. Just so much. "Tell me there was good reason."

"I... I don't deserve that," she said. It wasn't the answer he was looking for. But he could tell that she needed to explain it to him. Possibly even to herself. So he let his fingers traced the curve of her cheek and the line of her jaw. Let them trace gently over the swell of her lips. She offered him a smile that looked painful. "I know I'm still young. More like a kid than an adult. I know you're older. You've seen more. You've been with more people. You... You deserve someone not as fucked up as I am."

"Given what you've been through, I think you have a right to be fucked up," he told her. It was the truth. The girl had been through hell, even if Clint didn't know what all of that hell entailed. "You had to kill Logan. I can't imagine what that did to your mental health."

"I loved him, you know?" she asked. He thought maybe she'd cry, but there were no tears. Just a wet sadness in her voice that said she was holding them back. "He was the first person who saw me as a woman. As normal. As beautiful. And I... repaid him by burning him to ash."

"He wanted it that way," Clint said gently. She flicked her gaze at him, then away. "Gambit and I talked. A little bit. And he was the one who sent Logan your way. He was sure Logan would be able to sway you to Remy's line of thinking. He didn't count on the fact that Logan didn't want to hurt you. So Logan attacked you and forced you to end his life. Because he wasn't going to give you to Gambit and he didn't want to live the life that Gambit had planned for him."

"That doesn't make me feel better," she whispered.

"It isn't supposed to. Its supposed to make you understand that you did what you were supposed to do. And in saving yourself, you saved someone you loved, too. That has to be good enough." Clint told her. She shook her head, as if denying his words, and wrapped her arms around herself. No doubt she was reliving that moment. He wasn't surprised. Not by that. What did surprise him was this sudden vulnerability. He wasn't used to seeing it in her. And he had to wonder at it. "And I have to say, Logan was right."

His words brought her gaze his way, cloudy grey eyes staring at him in wonder and curiosity. "You are a woman. A beautiful woman. I'm lucky to have you at my side. And I'm lucky you didn't give up on me. Because I was ready to give up on myself. The things he did..."

"Remy will get his," she said, her angry words slashing the air to cut him off. "I'll make sure of it. And I made sure he knows that it was me who got you out of there. No one comes between me and the people I love. No one. Not even him."

"You know this will only make him that much more eager to get his hands on you," Clint warned her.

She gave him a look that was filled with trouble. "Fuck him and the fang he rode in on. I'll roast him the same way I roasted Logan."

Clint couldn't help the smile. "That's my girl," he replied. She looked at him again, this time with a question burning in her gaze. "You are my girl. Unless you don't want to be."

"Would I be here if I didn't?" she asked lightly. "I was serious earlier when I sad we'd fuck like mad after you got better. I plan on fucking your brains out until there's nothing left but a puddle of goo."

"And if I'm the one who fucks your brains out?" he asked.

"You think you've got it in you, old man?" she shot back, cocking a brow at him.

"Do you want it in you, babe?" he countered.

"Perv," she replied. "Shut up and eat your dinner. You're going to need your strength."

"Yes, ma'am." Clint replied, a touch of heat in his words. Then he turned his attention to the hearty meal on the tray before him. The steak was perfectly seasoned and perfectly seared and Clint was filled with embarrassment when he let go a low groan of pleasure. Dare smirked at him but said nothing, just pressed a little closer to him. The swell of her breast brushed his arm and made him consider, briefly, putting the tray on the floor and putting her on her back.

But she was right. He was going to need all his strength if he was going to fuck her senseless. So he put that thought on the backburner and forked up a mouthful of potatoes. Food came first.

Fucking could come later. It could come a lot.

Comments

[cathryne]

HOLY CRAP woman!!!!

What're you trying to do...kill me?! My brain...i just...gads!! I have no words. Congratulations...you have killed me. I hope you're happy! ;)

I have NO words except: run j in fxxbu feed zcb!

Damn you. :)

P.S i find it rather challenging to keymash on the cellphone keyboard...lol

[ladydeathfaerie]

i did warn you. it isn't my fault you chose not to heed my warning.

seriously, though, i'm glad you liked it. i'm sorry you were forced to read it on your phone. hopefully you'll rise from the dead soon.

[nanaeanaven]

First, I'm sorry I didn't actually get around to reading this yesterday like I said I would. I grievously overestimated my energy level, and I ended up sleeping most of the day away. Good news - I think I'm finally on the mend now.

Okay. That was .... Intense. Hot as fuck. Messed up. Just, yeah. All of the above. Poor, poor Clint.

And, OMG, I did NOT expect you to bring in some of the other Sues already. It was quite a happy surprise for me to see Rose pop up. I find it interesting that Dare turned to Supervillainess Inc. Interesting, but not at all shocking.

I'm geeking out all over again! lol

One minor nitpick - it's Rosalie, not Rosalee.

[ladydeathfaerie]

no worries, bb. i knew you'd get to it when you got to it. getting rest and feeling better are definitely more important in the long run. i'm glad you're feeling a little better and i hope it continues.

yeah. it was hot. i was not immune in the writing of this part. and very messed up. because only evil vampire!Remy would think to use sex as a means of torture in order to get his way. and i guess i can see how you would go with intense. there was a certain level of intensity to be had here. i just... i wrote it so i don't always necessarily see things that other people do.

yeah. the girls totally showed up here. i can't see them thinking that vampires are all that good an idea in the grand scheme of things. so, for now, they're willing to help the heroes out. and i figure Dare would take help where she could. with their skills, Supervillainess, Inc. is a good kind of help. i'm not sure what Ruby would be doing but i'm pretty sure Ria is trying to find some kind of solution

i am so glad you liked it, sweetie. even if i did misspell Rose's name. no excuse other than i'm an idiot (and i'm so used to just calling her Rose... maybe that's why). i'll go fix it.

[nanaeanaven]

You are not an idiot! It's an easy mistake to make. Anyone could've done it.

You might want to update the tag too - for consistency sake.

[ladydeathfaerie]

i am an idiot because i went right to your freshly made Sue bio post to ensure i got her code name right. and never even looked at her real name...

and thanks. i will do that, as well