(no subject)

[little_words]

It had been several weeks since Noir had received that strange call, and his new life continued as normal. Or at least, as normal as it could possibly get, given the circumstances. He'd fallen into something of a routine over the past month or so; he would awaken, wash in his private bathroom and make his way downstairs for breakfast. After eating, Noir would wander from room to room, turning down the sheets to make sure it wouldn't stagnate and breed dust, and also going through the things in the rooms to see if he could glean any more information about what kind of people his relatives were.

So far, he'd determined that his great-grandfather loved horses, antique war weapons, and scarves. His great-grandmother had been fond of horses, also, and chocolates in all forms; in one of the many boxes he'd found a collection of pressed candy wrappers from decades earlier, but still smelling as fresh and sweet as though they'd just come from a confectionary. If there were letters or writings kept by either of them, he had yet to find them, and as he perused through the rooms and hallways and closets he couldn't help but to rack his brain, trying to come up with some little tidbit his parents had told him about his deceased relatives.

It was during the third month of his move-in that he was suddenly roused from his sleep by a heavy thud and the sound of smashing glass in the distance.

Noir immediately sat up, his heart pounding in his chest. His room overlooked the back gardens and, as he strained to hear any further noise from within the mansion, his eyes slid across to the window fearfully, half-expecting to see a face pressed against the glass.

There was none, and the relief he felt was small, but welcome.

After the first night in his new home, Noir had been insistent that his helpers end up going home to their own families instead of lingering to wait on him at all hours of the day. He had been met with protests, of course, but at the end of it all the staff had gone home with smiles of gratitude and promises to return as early as possible the next morning. Noir, who had lived most of his life alone and knew how to cook and clean for himself, found this unnecessary, but his helpers were nothing if not stubborn and dutifully returned to help with the mansion's upkeep day after day.

The only person he had not managed to persuade to take a night off was the security at the gate, and Noir couldn't fault him for that. The guard was provided by an outside company, but was no less friendly and courteous than his other helpers were. Noir had seen him whenever he toured the grounds, but they had exchanged few words aside from morning greetings. He wasn't even sure what his name was...

Noir was abruptly brought out of his thoughts when he heard the musical tinkling of glass, and his heart leapt into his throat. He held his breath and quickly scanned his own room for any signs of life; while large, there were few things to hide behind, and the corners of his room were cleared of furniture and anything that could cast shadows. All the same, he reached over to turn on the lamp at his bedtable, and lowered the settings enough it couldn't be seen under the crack of his door.

Slowly, he slipped out of bed, his bare feet padding quietly across the carpet as he made his way to the window. Like before, there was nothing amiss in the back gardens, but as for the front... he would have to move to another room to see. Thankfully, one of the rooms at the front of the manor was only a short trek away, and the weeks spent exploring had instilled him with enough of a sense of familiarity that he didn't need a light to see his way through the dark. That was some advantage, at least.

Breath still caught in his throat, Noir switched off the lamp and made his way carefully through the dark for his front door. It opened with a creak that had his breath hitching and he froze, still as a statue, and listened intently to see if he had been heard. Nothing. His breath came out in a soft huff and he slipped down the hall, his hand reaching out to feel along the wall while he mentally mapped out the layout of this section of the house. His steps were measured and slow across the aged wooden floorboards, but thankfully they didn't creak, and he was still able to listen for the intruder should they approach.

If he could just get to the window facing out, maybe he could flick the lights or something and get the guard's attention... it would be a quick motion, but it would have to be enough for now. He couldn't think of any other safeguards, hadn't even had the chance to discuss it with his helpers during the time he'd been exploring. This far removed from the city, he thought it was safe.

Right when his hand alighted on the door handle he heard another smash, but this time it was accompanied with footsteps, heavy, fast footsteps rapidly approaching and growing louder and closer and---

Noir quickly threw his weight against the door and launched himself into the room without a second glance, shutting the door behind him with as soft a sound as he could. The latch clicked firmly and he felt around the handle for a lock - breathing a sigh of relief when he found it - and once the door was secured he backed away slowly with his heart pounding in his chest.

The footsteps raced down the hallway and he heard something loud and heavy smash into the wall directly adjacent to his room. There were muttered curses and the same raspy, haggard breathing that he'd heard over the phone. He heard the drag of something sharp over the walls and he quickly clasped his hands over his mouth, eyes shutting for a few seconds and reopening to try and help him to see better in the choking darkness.

And then the footsteps stopped, right outside the door. Noir quickly shifted back and pressed himself into the furthest corner of the room, waiting to hear the rattle of the knob. Instead - and he breathed a sigh of relief at this - the steps began to drift away, back in the direction of... of...

Of Noir's bedroom.

He heard his bedroom door creak open, and the intruder shift further away. He heard rattling and rustling - the sheets were being overturned, the blankets yanked from the mattress. Wood banged against the wall and there was a snarl of outrage, and stamping feet. Noir tore himself away from the ransacking of his room and moved to the window to try and peer down the long driveway and through the hedges.

There at the far end, the security box sat like a beacon of hope. With the rest of the mansion cast into darkness and no streetlights illuminating the yard, he would be easily seen - if he had a light. Noir quickly began to search his pockets for his phone, and froze when he heard it ringing shrilly in the quiet of his room. The rustling noises abruptly stopped. Noir felt fear close his throat and he stared earnestly at the box in the distance before lifting his arms and waving them around, hoping against hope that there was a small chance he could be seen. Maybe the moon was high enough, or maybe... maybe...

The ringing abruptly stopped. In the silence, Noir heard the rasping, heavy breathing of the intruder, and he swallowed hard. And then there was a thunderous crack and another snarl, and he heard something clatter to the wood. He didn't doubt that he'd have to get another phone after this.

The ransacking continued, and Noir heard the heavy thud of furniture being overturned and more stomping noises. Whoever it was was looking for something - or someone - and they were growing increasingly desperate about it. Grunts of frustation, the hurried sounds of things slamming into walls and the tearing of fabric... though muffled, he heard them easily enough in the silence, and he could do nothing but press himself back against the window and hope that it would be done soon.

After what seemed like an eternity, the noises stopped. Noir held his breath, waiting; and then the footsteps sounded, pacing around the room. More furniture was kicked aside, more sheets were ripped; and then the steps began to get closer.

They stopped.

The silence stretched on, and Noir could feel himself tense unbearably, ready to run - nowhere, somewhere, anywhere. He could climb out the window, and as he waited he began to fumble with the latches on the frame, cursing himself for not thinking of escaping earlier while the intruder was ransacking his room.

In the quiet, there was an audible click as he unlatched the window, too loud, too sharp, and Noir's heart leapt into his throat.

Suddenly, the footsteps slammed against the floor and the entire door rattled on its hinges. Noir stifled a cry of alarm and hurried to get his fingers under the ledge to begin shoving it up. The window creaked in protest and refused to budge, and the door shook violently over, and over, and over as the intruder rammed into it with all their weight, aiming to break it down and get at the boy within. Noir pulled and pulled and pulled - he dug his feet into the carpet and shoved up with all his might, but it was no use.

The window refused to open.

He was trapped.

Frantic, he searched the darkness of the room for something to smash the glass with. There boxes of folded clothes, a few spare coverlets, the bed - which was far too heavy, along with the nightstand - but nothing. This was a guest bedroom, and the amenities had been made sparse for the sake of aesthetic. His eyes fell on the closet and he swallowed as the door began to crack with the force of the blows it was taking. Noir could see the wood bend in, splintering inward as the man assaulted it again, and again, and again---

And then he was in.

He would reflect, later, that though it was too dark to recognize the face clearly there was no mistaking the smell. The choking cologne was one he'd become intimately familiar with during his former job, and the man attached to it even more so, if only because of how aggressive he'd been.

But none of that mattered now. Noir pressed himself back against the glass as though hoping his weight would be enough to break it, and the suited man advanced into the sliver of moonlight shining in through the window. He was grinning broadly, his face twisted into a maniacal, hungry expression and teeth gleaming in the light.

Back then, he'd appeared at Noir's flower shop and stood outside his apartment until he moved in with Deucalion. Whether it was because of Deuce's renown in dealing with... people trying to associate with Noir, or whether it was because of his job, the man - Remy, Noir remembered with a jolt - never came near him again. But Noir would catch occasional whiffs of that cloying cologne, and it was enough to fill him with a sick feeling that Deucalion was quick to take care of.

How had he been found...? Was this man really so determined?

"Noir." Remy spoke, and it was with equal parts relief and desperation. He outstretched a hand, and perhaps it was a trick of the light, or Noir's own feelings on the matter, but he couldn't help but feel like it was as twisted and mangled as the man's personality was. Noir pressed himself closer to the glass and shoved his elbow back with a loud crack. Pain blossomed along his arm, but the window didn't show any evidence of a hit. He wasn't strong enough...

"Remy," He offered, giving what he hoped was a receiving smile. The man froze and then laughed, and he pulled his hand back to drag it down his face. Unsurprisingly, this wasn't a comforting gesture.

"You remembered my name."

"O-of course..." He braced his throbbing arm against the window. "How could I forget you? You were.... one of my favorites."

"I was your only." Remy insisted, voice suddenly sharp. "I was your best. But then you disappeared on me, didn't you? You left, and I didn't see you - but I made sure to find you, you know. I'll always find you, we're meant to be, you and I. You know this, don't you?"

"Y-yeah." Noir nodded quickly in an attempt to de-escalate the situation. "Yes. I know, you and I are---" The words died in his throat. Deucalion's face, grinning at him from above flashed into his head, and Noir was struck with such a sense of longing that he couldn't find it in him to finish that sentence. But Remy was staring at him, waiting, seeming to grow more anxious with every second that passed by without Noir's agreement, and he had to struggle to get the words out. "We're meant to be."

"That's what I thought." Remy nodded in satisfaction and, though it seemed a moot point, given the door was caved in, he shut it slowly with his foot and reached over to flick the lights on. The room suddenly became blindingly bright and Noir gave a small cry, lifting his arms up to shield his eyes from the light. Remy was there, pulling him into his chest and into a sea of overpowering cologne, and Noir had to struggle to keep his face straight. But he accepted it, and let himself be pulled in, his small hands going to the man's chest.

His mind raced with thoughts of how to keep this situation calm. His helpers wouldn't be here until dawn at the earliest, which was still a long ways off given how dark it was outside. There was no possible way security could see him from this distance - the light, maybe, but not anything more than that. If he flipped the lights on and off it might be enough to call for help, but.... he couldn't do that without rousing suspicion from Remy, and right now he was starting to feel like it was a very, very bad idea.

He just had to keep him busy - maybe talking - until dawn. He could do that, maybe he'd ask Remy how he had been doing or.... or maybe his work, or maybe he'd make up incredibly detailed stories about his home life and --

Noir suddenly found himself on his back on the bed, and Remy was towering over him with one hand loosening the knot in his tie. The brunet's entire body went cold and his stomach dropped. He recognized the look well enough; Remy was a client from his former job, which also meant he'd been a part of the base group that wasn't allowed to "have" him in every sense of the word.

Now that it was just the two of them, it should come as no surprise that the man would seek to rectify that. There was no club, there was no guardian, there was no rule. There were just two men here. And in any fight, in all the fights he'd been in, Noir had always, always been overpowered.

"Wait---" He began, feeling his voice catch in his throat. He would be taken by this man. He would be violated. He would be overpowered. Noir's hands went to Remy's shoulders and squeezed hard, pushing to try to get some distance between them. But the man had not only height and weight on him, but bulk too, and no doubt strength; if he could break down the door that quickly, there was no telling what else he could do.

In response, Remy took Noir's hand and brought it to his mouth to kiss at his palm. Though it was a romantic gesture, it only made Noir's skin crawl with revulsion, and he tried to bend his knees to dig them into the man's guts. He needed him off, he needed him away, he needed him gone -- but Remy only bore down harder, and dropped his grip on Noir's hand to shove them between the brunet's legs and yank them apart. He settled his hips between them, pinning Noir with his body and the Noir's eyes went wide with a combination of fear and horror.

For a moment he lay there, stunned, as the reality of the situation hit him. It was when Remy shrugged his shirt off and began to work at his pants that Noir began to violently struggle, kicking and hitting and punching at whatever part of the man he could reach until Remy clamped a hand over the other's throat and slammed him into the bed so hard Noir's vision blurred at the edges. His words were caught under Remy's fingers and his hands came up to claw at the hand holding him desparately, leaving angry, bloody welts in their wake.

The man's pants were shoved down to his hips one-handedly.

Hot, scratching fingers were yanking at the hem of Noir's pajama trousers, pulling them down, down, past his thighs.

Something hot and hard and angry was pressing against his leg, and Noir squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to be somewhere, anywhere but here - wishing he hadn't shut Deucalion out of his life, wishing he were dead, that his life was something more than this, and that he wasn't going to be violated by this man that wasn't ... that wasn't....

Though his voice was strained and wheezing, he managed to whisper a name - a name that ended on a choked scream when Remy suddenly stabbed into him, and his entire world erupted into agony.

******

Time passed, but Noir was not aware of it.

It could have been minutes.

It could have been hours.

It could have been days.

Remy's grip over his throat fell away when it became apparent that Noir was no longer putting up a fight. The breaths he immediately inhaled were filled with the scent of the man's overpowering cologne, and Noir immediately began choking and coughing. But the man was not done yet.

Noir began retreating into his own mind when the pain became too much; his world became dull, his senses numb, and the world fell into a deafening silence. Even Remy's grunts and groans of pleasure became something muffled and far off - as though this were simply a very bad dream. His gaze held to the ceiling and the way the lights flickered; the door creaked, giving off a dull, faded crunch--

-- and then Noir's vision was suddenly clear, and Remy was gone. But his world would not fill with sound again, his body would not fill with sensation, not even when familiar blue eyes appeared in his vision, oscillating between pure, raw fury and an unending well of concern and care. There was a warm hand on his cheek, and he found himself drawn into the intensity of the gaze boring into his own. There was familiarity in that look, but he couldn't quite place it...

The world began to come back to him. Pain blossomed along his lower half and he curled against it, and strong arms wrapped around him to pull him close. He became aware of a voice speaking his own name over and over and over again like a mantra, and when he was able to finally place it he looked up, gaze catching on that intense gaze and whispering hoarsely:

"Deucalion?"

Deucalion's eyes turned soft, so soft and so gentle Noir felt his entire body warm at the look. Despite the stabbing, raw pain between his legs, despite the scratchiness of his throat and the throbbing pains around his neck - he felt warm. More than that, he felt... safe.

He was tugged into a firm chest and he breathed in the scent of the man. Deucalion's scent was seductive smoke and the spice of cinnamon. It was a masculine scent, but not too cloying, not too powerful; musky and yet sweet, so sweet...

The stress of the night finally caught up with him, and Noir's eyes slipped shut as weariness took over his body. As he was released gently into the bed he heard Deucalion speak and though he was too tired to be able to react, they resonated within his mind all too clearly. He had never heard Deucalion that livid before, that angry, that furious. Every single syllable was dripping with barely controlled rage, though his voice remained a trembling monotone that seemed that much more terrifying in the silence of the room.

"Have you ever picked up your teeth with broken fingers?"