This is the anon that claimed, btw. XD Also, major failure ahead, since I don't usually write. Yeaaah.... --
Lovino isn’t quite sure when it began—time no longer had any meaning to him, except for when the day’s punishment began and ended. There is no indication as to whether it is day or night—there are no windows here, and the only light comes from the candles that the Spaniard lights when he enters the room.
Currently, he is bound to the bed once more, arms raised above him, wrists bound and lashed to the headboard. A dark and heavy blindfold is wrapped around his eyes, and his mouth has been taped shut. He is used to the deprivation of these senses now, and he can only be grateful that Antonio hasn’t completely cut off all of his senses. Not being able to see, or move and talk is hard enough as it is.
The Italian shifts as much as he is allowed to, just to stimulate some circulation in his body, flexes his fingers and his toes; the room is cold, and he is naked. He’s always naked now—what use was there for clothes? They were only torn and ripped away in the end. He has also given up struggling a long time ago; struggles brought nothing but pain and more degradation beyond what he thought was humanly possible.
Lovino lies there, and waits for Antonio’s return. It is inevitable.
--
“Lovino…” There’s a croon in his ear, and it’s the Spaniard. There is also a strange smell, and it takes awhile for him to realize it’s the smell of food. The Italian is used to the sterile smell of the room, and the scents from whatever Antonio has brought overwhelm him, makes his nose hurt. There is some shuffling, and the suspended Italian is dropped onto the bed. He tries to move his hands apart, but finds that he can’t—they are still bound together. The texture of the sheets on the bed makes him cringe. He lies there, afraid to move. He feels the bed dip, knows that Antonio has sat down on it.
A pair of calloused hands moves the Italian in an almost gentle fashion—adjusts him so that Lovino sits in Antonio’s lap. It’s not longer as embarrassing to sit in the man’s nap naked; he knows that before, he would have screamed and cursed and attempted to physically harm the man. Not anymore. The Italian sits there, shivering, not making a sound until he feels the piece of tape being ripped away from his mouth, and he utters a small cry of pain.
Antonio presses a finger to the other man’s lips, smiles, even thought Lovino can’t see it. “Sh, it’s alright…” His voice is low, and soothing, but it makes Lovino shudder. The Italian feels Antonio reach around him for something. “Open your mouth.”
Lovino obeys, and opens his mouth. Antonio presses something into his mouth, those fingers lingering in his mouth for a few seconds, and it’s only when they are gone does Lovino bite down, and chew. Spanish olives. This is repeated for a few minutes, and when Antonio is done, Lovino laments. Only olives? Nothing else?
But no, he can’t complain.
It’s better than what he usually gets.
“What do you say, Lovino?”
“Thank you, Master, thank you thank you thank you…”
Room 101 [1/?]
--
Lovino isn’t quite sure when it began—time no longer had any meaning to him, except for when the day’s punishment began and ended. There is no indication as to whether it is day or night—there are no windows here, and the only light comes from the candles that the Spaniard lights when he enters the room.
Currently, he is bound to the bed once more, arms raised above him, wrists bound and lashed to the headboard. A dark and heavy blindfold is wrapped around his eyes, and his mouth has been taped shut. He is used to the deprivation of these senses now, and he can only be grateful that Antonio hasn’t completely cut off all of his senses. Not being able to see, or move and talk is hard enough as it is.
The Italian shifts as much as he is allowed to, just to stimulate some circulation in his body, flexes his fingers and his toes; the room is cold, and he is naked. He’s always naked now—what use was there for clothes? They were only torn and ripped away in the end. He has also given up struggling a long time ago; struggles brought nothing but pain and more degradation beyond what he thought was humanly possible.
Lovino lies there, and waits for Antonio’s return. It is inevitable.
--
“Lovino…” There’s a croon in his ear, and it’s the Spaniard. There is also a strange smell, and it takes awhile for him to realize it’s the smell of food. The Italian is used to the sterile smell of the room, and the scents from whatever Antonio has brought overwhelm him, makes his nose hurt. There is some shuffling, and the suspended Italian is dropped onto the bed. He tries to move his hands apart, but finds that he can’t—they are still bound together. The texture of the sheets on the bed makes him cringe. He lies there, afraid to move. He feels the bed dip, knows that Antonio has sat down on it.
A pair of calloused hands moves the Italian in an almost gentle fashion—adjusts him so that Lovino sits in Antonio’s lap. It’s not longer as embarrassing to sit in the man’s nap naked; he knows that before, he would have screamed and cursed and attempted to physically harm the man. Not anymore. The Italian sits there, shivering, not making a sound until he feels the piece of tape being ripped away from his mouth, and he utters a small cry of pain.
Antonio presses a finger to the other man’s lips, smiles, even thought Lovino can’t see it. “Sh, it’s alright…” His voice is low, and soothing, but it makes Lovino shudder. The Italian feels Antonio reach around him for something. “Open your mouth.”
Lovino obeys, and opens his mouth. Antonio presses something into his mouth, those fingers lingering in his mouth for a few seconds, and it’s only when they are gone does Lovino bite down, and chew. Spanish olives. This is repeated for a few minutes, and when Antonio is done, Lovino laments. Only olives? Nothing else?
But no, he can’t complain.
It’s better than what he usually gets.
“What do you say, Lovino?”
“Thank you, Master, thank you thank you thank you…”