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Kiss of a Blade

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Ramsay Bolton ran the cold steel of the knife lightly over Theon’s battered chest and admired the glint of light reflected in the blade as well as on the prisoner's sparse, golden body hair.


Theon shuddered and moaned.


“So,” Ramsay purred, “what’s your name again?”


This was already an old game. Theon tried to remember his name but it was hard. He’d been strapped to this cross since forever and his mind and body was weakened for lack of water, food, and rest. Although it seemed impossible not to remember something so simple as a name, he would sometimes forget it no less. Ramsay Snow would hit him or cut him and tear him out of his semi-conscious state and scream at him, spittle flying and urging Theon to say his name and then he would answer, “Reek. My name is Reek.”


But at other times, more dangerous, slippery times, a gentle hand would rouse him of his pained slumber, and a soft voice would whisper, “Are you thirsty, Theon?” and he would groan and nod and open his mouth for the proffered water that was so tantalizing close to his dried out, bleeding lips. Such a mindless gut reaction caused by starvation and thirst would result in hours of pain and violence.

In the end, he would cry and bleed and brokenly repeat, “I’m sorry, Master. I’m sorry. I’m Reek. Reek. I am. I am Reek, forgive me, Master” until his voice gave out and he lost consciousness.


He had to remember that his name was not Theon, only Reek. He was Reek. I am Reek. I have to remember.


“I asked you a question. What’s your name?” The tone of voice was low, caressing. Dangerous.


“Reek, my lord. My name is Reek,” he whispered and felt the sting of the knife cutting him right above his right nipple and into it. There was no reason for the cut. There was no reason for any of it but there had to be one. If only he knew what it was.


“That’s right, Reek. The knife pressed harder into the defenseless skin. “Do you like what I am doing to you?”


“Yes, my lord. I do. I do.” That was the right response. Saying no to Ramsay never was.


Ramsay lifted the knife and Reek let out a breath of relief. Ramsay smiled and let his thumb run over Theon’s, no Reek’s bloody nipple.


“Then why doesn’t your body respond to me?”


“My lord?”


Ramsay shifted his touch from the right nipple to the left one and pinched it lightly before stroking it gently. The soft stimuli made it harden into a tiny puckered circle of pink skin. Reek moaned.


Ramsay then reverted to the right nipple and pinched it as well, but this time none too gently. Reek hummed in pain. The skin stung from the cut and the touch, and the nipple remained soft.


“I don’t know my Lord. I’m sorry.”


Ramsay’s face got very close to Reek’s and Reek tried to pull back but his hair was instantly gripped in a hard vice by Ramsay’s free hand.


“Don’t move”, Ramsay hissed. Theon swallowed and looked out into the room. Anywhere but into Ramsay’s colorless eyes.


He could feel the warm puffs of air from Ramsay’s nostrils. Hear how the man inhaled deeply. The pull on his hair made hit eyes water. He felt Ramsay's lips on his vulnerable throat. Not kissing, just there.


A tremor ran over Reek’s body. His britches had been removed days ago. He’d soiled them of course, and the stench had been too much even for Ramsay Snow’s peculiar tastes. Reek felt Ramsay press against him, felt the man’s cock press against his own bare, and ruined crotch. The cut had healed, but badly and it was a gnarled mess of skin and hair and forever damp from piss, and puss and blood. Ramsay grinded himself against the sore mound and Reek’s breath hitched from the pain and from the threat of more assaults on his body and being.


“Do you love me?” Ramsay’s voice was hoarse and Reek recoiled inwardly but he managed to close his eyes, take a deep breath and whisper as he always did, “Yes.”


“Yes, what?”


“Yes, Master. My lord. Yes, I love you.”


“Then you would agree that I should rid you of anything that does not love me back, isn’t that right?”


Reek’s reddened sea coloured eyes sought out Ramsay’s icy ones and in them he saw only glee and malice. He whimpered in terror. He was lost. Helpless. Hopeless. He couldn’t bare more pain from Ramsay’s flaying knife. He couldn’t.


“My lord, I love you,” he cried. “Reek loves you. All of Reek loves you and all of Reek wants to serve you. Please. I’ll do anything! I am your Reek. I am yours. Please, Master.” Tears streamed down his face and dripped down onto his heaving chest.


“Ah! There’s that word again. I told you if you said please again, you’d wish you hadn’t.”


“I’m sorry, Master! I forgot. I am so sorry! I won’t say please again, I promise,” he babbled.


“Enough! Since your nipple clearly doesn’t appreciate my attention, let’s cut it off as proper punishment for overstepping set out rules, shall we?”


He let go of Reek’s hair and Reek’s head instantly fell forward, as he broke down into sobs. Fingers immediately gripped his chin firmly, and forced his head back up. He couldn’t stop crying but he managed to lift his eyes and stare into Ramsay’s cold eyes. He wasn’t supposed to look away now. He knew that. He kept on crying as Ramsay let go of his chin, and he didn’t let his head fall down again, but kept staring like a drowning man into those heartless eyes. Ramsay took hold of the skin on Reek’s injured nipple and still staring into Theon’s eyes, his knife began to saw off the puckered skin.


Theon’s screams echoed through the room and Ramsay’s lips curled in heady satisfaction.