(no subject)

[iniquiticity]

rebel greenhouses!washington and alex in tyrant!washington verse.

cw: implied noncon, implied violence, implied domestic shit and other relationship badness, discussions of torture


it was very horrible, and very wonderful, to be held so closely by a person he felt so dearly about. very wonderful was, of course, obvious - to have warm, strong arms, and an affectionate murmur of a voice, and the suggestion of a firm chest under clothes. they could of course never risk bearing their bodies, in the case that they had to flee, although alexander had perfectly imagined knew what his lover looked like in his head: powerful and muscular and a perfect cover of chest hair, shot-through with grey. they laid at present in a stone room under a house, though there was no way to get from the house to the room. the only light they had was a bare candle or two leaking through the floorboards. alexander did not mind; he preferred the dark. he did not like to look at himself, and hate.

and oh, he hated this, hated their affections, hated his lover’s cool, deep voice in his ear, soft breathing. he hated it because very soon he would replace it with that of his husband, of their terrible king, of his master. he would permit the king to have him as he like. he would pretend that he enjoyed it, that it was permissible, that it was something he preferred. the king would stain him and alexander would prefer that he enjoyed it. the king would call him pet names had him fight back the urge to vomit, but instead he would purr, like a tame kitten.

“i have to go,” he whispered, to his lover. it was because of their tyrant that he could not even know the name of his lover. he knew him only as the general, and his lover knew him only as publius. they could never know real names, to protect each other. it was better for them to consort only in the dark, so they could not be described under torture. alexander hated it, hated every moment, hated the dark and the names and the cage he thrust himself into. the hate burned so brightly in his stomach he thought they might be revealed. he choked back the rage.

where they did not see, they touched; the general’s broad hands travelled up his arms and across his face, fingers teasing against the back of his head. the general’s thumbs brushed over his closed eyelids and then down his face. The general’s finger touched his lips. alexander could recreate the whole man, through touch, if he wanted. he knew every line of that skin through clothing.

“yes,” the general whispered. the general had a beautiful baritone of a voice. alexander heard it in his ears, when he pretended to enjoy the king. alexander heard it when his life was unbearable. alexander heard the general saying this is very hard, but please, we need you. when we are finished, you can leave. over and over, so many times, when his own helplessness set his blood alight. alexander heard him saying you are so brave, my wonderful publius. when he sat with a plastered smile as His Excellency wrought his secret rage.

he considered never leaving. might they be found here, and pulled apart? they would be forced to watch each other be tortured; alexander had seen it before. at least he would see what the general looked like. at least the general could see him. or he could flee, to the general’s hideout, and be in his arms every night.

he pulled away. the general faded into the darkness. the only remainders of him was the warmth where they had touched. the general rarely spoke unless it was required. the entrance to the little stone room was so low that he even he had to duck, and lead to a trap door into a blacksmith’s toolshop. he scrubbed off the heat and the touches and pretended only that he was not in waking hell, and he hurried back to the manor.

“good morning, dearest,” his excellency said, at breakfast, and looked at him, warmth - like the heat of rot, like the sweetness of the smell of shit - flickering in his eyes. “did you enjoy your evening out?”

“oh, very much so, your excellency,” his trained voice said. he was served bacon and eggs and toast and jam. his body ate. his mind thought only of his secret lover. “i must thank you again, for your generosity. i missed you very much.”

“i know, darling,” his excellency said, and he touched alexander’s shoulder, where general’s hand had been hours before. only this hand felt like spiders and teeth, and it was good alexander’s skin had been trained not to crawl, “i missed you too.”

“i hoped we might discuss any evening plans we may have missed,” alexander’s voice teased. he must never think you do not admire him, the general had said, and been right.

his excellency quirked an eyebrow. “after breakfast, you may tell me of your adventures,” he said, and the hand squeezed alexander’s thigh, and the general reached from his mind and held him steady, forcing him not to shudder.