
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/697379.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Rise_of_the_Guardians_(2012)
  Relationship:
      E._Aster_Bunnymund/Jack_Frost, Jack_Frost/Pitch_Black
  Character:
      Jack_Frost_(Rise_of_the_Guardians), Pitch_Black_(Rise_Of_The_Guardians),
      E._Aster_Bunnymund
  Additional Tags:
      Non_Consensual, Sexual_Slavery, Explicit_Sexual_Content, RotG_Kink_Meme
  Series:
      Part 2 of We've_Grown_Frail
  Collections:
      Evil_Authors_Club
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-02-24 Words: 876
****** One Hand on the Devil ******
by Scarecrowqueen
Summary
     The Bogeyman had always had a fondness for brutalizing lovely things.
     Written for a prompt on the kink meme.
Notes
     Written for this prompt on the Dreamwidth Kink Meme: Nightmare King
     Pitch fights a winning war against the few people and their guardians
     who still protect them, and captures one of their captains--the last
     Pooka.
     Intrigued by this character and hoping to break his spirit, Pitch
     sends his pleasure slave to "play" with the Pooka.
     Basically, a broken-spirited Jack is Pitch's obedient love slave, and
     Pitch makes him ride the Pooka right there in the middle of the
     throne room.
     (this is for one shot format. For long fic, bonus points if the Pooka
     captain slowly breaks down the walls that Jack's built around
     himself, and coaxes out the spirited, clever, less subservient Jack
     he used to be)
See the end of the work for more notes
The uneven brickwork of the floor he lays on digs harshly into his back, a
nagging sensation in the back of his thoughts.
It had been over before he’d even known what hit him, really. One moment he was
leading his squad against a contingent of the Nightmare King’s Shadow Raiders,
the next he was on the ground, reeling from a bleeding head wound and bound by
manacles of darkest night. He drifted from consciousness twice by his count
during his transport, the second time waking up as he was now; chained, laid
out and as helpless as a lamb to the slaughter. Bunnymund would attempt to move
to alleviate the discomfort, but he is held down by wisps of blackest shadow,
ephemeral things that should be inconsequential if judged by appearance but
have bound and stretched him like bands of solid steel. He tries anyway though,
the last bit of fragile hope in his chest warring with the despair, and
noticeably flagging when a cautious wiggle results in nothing more than a
greater agitation of the stone’s edge into his shoulder blades.
It certainly didn’t give the boy above him pause at all. Despite Bunny’s
squirming, the rise and fall of the boy’s slender body is as rhythmic as ever,
sending pulses of unwanted pleasure through Bunny’s whole being at smooth,
regular intervals.
The boy fucked like a machine, if machines knew anything of eroticism or grace.
Well-rehearsed but clearly passionless, every motion was perfectly controlled,
every roll of his hips designed to bring maximum pleasure to both participants.
He had hardly hesitated once the order had been given, crawling naked from the
foot of his master and kneeling over the prone figure, his eyes set in a dead-
mans stare somewhere off to the side. He had taken only the barest of seconds
to negotiate the Pooka’s unfamiliar anatomy, carding small fingers through
thick fur in a gross parody of a lover’s caress, and never once looking
straight at the body he manipulated. Bunny had, from the moment of his capture
resolved himself to resistance against any form of torture, but this profanity
was nothing he could fight against. Indeed no defence he had could have held up
to the boy’s experienced touch. While substantially colder than any lover he’d
ever taken, the boy had a way of working the captive Pooka’s reluctant flesh
with both hands and mouth, bringing him to full arousal in moments. He had been
further surprised when the small, slim boy had mounted him with no apparent
hesitation and nothing but his own chilly saliva as lubrication, taking what
should have been an uncomfortably large cock like it was an everyday
occurrence.
Which, Bunny thought with creeping horror, was probably very, very likely. The
Bogeyman had always had a fondness for brutalizing lovely things.
The sobering thought did nothing to curb his rising pleasure however, and so,
with gritted teeth and blunt claws dug into his own palms, Bunny steadied his
self for the inevitable orgasm he could even now feel building within him.
Above him the boy seemed to sense his growing need, impaling himself faster in
short, sharp jerks, eyes still straight ahead and unfocused in the middle-
distance. Every cry from the blueish lips fell with perfect cadence, a filthy
prayer offered to the witnesses that encircled them. On all sides the duo were
surrounded by hungry yellow eyes watched from the formless shadows, tittering
with sick lust and malicious glee. To the left was the massive stone throne, a
gothic monstrosity to cradle the monster himself. Pitch Black looked on, golden
eyes gazing down the length of an aquiline nose at the obscenity spread before
him. From the corner of Bunny’s eye his placid face suggested boredom, until
one noticed the naked hunger in his heated stare, malevolent eyes never leaving
the pale, pristine expanse of the boy’s milk white skin.
Things were happening faster now, the sibilant murmurs from the corners of the
room rising in tempo to match the boy’s quickened actions. Bunny found himself
powerless to resist, his own hips flexing upwards with what little motion was
allowed to him by his restraints, unable to prevent his own body’s betrayal.
The boy’s cries grew louder, high little keening sounds on every downward
thrust. For the first time since climbing on, the boy’s hands ceased their
exploitation of his own nipples and erection. Instead, they moved to brace
himself on Bunny’s broad chest as he leaned forward, the cool contact spreading
little swirls of frost onto Bunny’s fur while the youth brought their faces
intimately close, making solid eye contact for the only time since this whole
atrocity had begun. The change in angle had Bunny seeing stars, entire
constellations of them like firecrackers in the back of his brain as he went
screaming over the knife-edge of ecstasy. And what a climax it was, to his
immense shame; toes curling, hands clenching, hips moving of their own accord,
and a sound like a helpless bellow wrenching itself from him without any
permission from his higher brain.
Bunnymund’s eyes however, well, his eyes never closed, despite his desire to
see anything in that instant but perfect ice-blue iris’s staring back, blank
and empty and cold.
End Notes
     Fic crossposted to Fanfiction.net, my Dreamwidth, and the ROTG Kink
     Meme.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
