The Princes' Torment

[jessamygriffith]

I am playing around with a crossover of Sherlock BBC and Anne Rice's 'Beauty' trilogy, an erotic slave world set in a fantasy medieval world. For now this is a one-shot. Though now when I think of it, a modern setting would be interesting? But too much work.

Warnings - Slave AU. I think you know the world, if you have ever read Anne Rice's Beauty trilogy. Slaves are trained by Masters, and in this case, they are acting as ponies, drawing carriages. Good slaves serve in the Castle. Willful ones go to the Village and their service is sold for a year. All slaves are princes and princesses of neighbouring kingdoms that have a treaty, and send their kids to this kingdom for their education. The slavery things isn't permanent, and some become masters, and they all go home after their term of service.
Rather good books, though when I first read them, I was all, ENOUGH with the spanking, woman, I see your kink. Now I am wiser. Older too. Fuck.
Pairings - Sherlock/John eventual.
Rating on this - amazingly, it is PG-13!!! Aside from nudity, there is no sex happening. How about that?
Word Count - 2100
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Sherlock was with the other ponies in the yard during their time of relaxation when the new pony was brought in, naked as all slaves were, shivering and with white-rimmed eyes. With brusque but gentle hands, the stable lad unbound the cords that held his hands. He ran a hand comfortingly down the man's arm and nudged the blond-haired man to his knees. "Go on, then," the stable lad said. "You've an hour before we put you up for the night. You'll be fine." He turned and left them.

Interesting, thought Sherlock. The new pony had a long scar, old but still vivid on his left shoulder. Usually the princes brought to this land for their training were perfect of form and figure in the full bloom of youth and vigour. That this one was marred made him stand out. The new pony had brownish blond hair. It was the colour of new wheat straw in the flickering torchlight of the yard, straight and just long enough to fall over his forehead. His conformation was perfect for his new role - not too tall, with good musculature. His face was handsome in a boyish, good-natured way with a tip-tilted nose and sensitive lips pressed tightly. Sherlock estimated him at a few years older than his own twenty years.

"Trot on over here, little one," called Matteo, a strapping pony with snapping dark eyes, glossy black hair and a heavily muscled, tanned body. "I've a nice carrot for you, if you are sweet-tempered and don't buck too much." Some lazy laughs from the other young men sprawling together on the grass followed this sally, but the new man didn't seem to hear. His blue eyes fixed on nothing, he moved with practised grace on all fours to the base of a tree away from the others.

As he brushed past Sherlock, Sherlock murmured, "Don't pay any attention to Matteo. He likes to think he is a master in this stable."

If the pony heard, he made no sign. Sherlock watched him move past, all grace even on all fours and blinked, his lips parting. The man's back was marked - not in the usual fashion of the Castle or Village with red glowing stripes from a strapping. Strapping or whipping was usual, and mostly confined to the buttocks and legs. But this man's back was striped with red lines of thin scars, some of which were still healing and crusted with scabs. 

The man reached the base of the tree and sat back on his heels,  facing the group but not looking at anyone. Hiding his back, thought Sherlock. Not that it would do any good. Every pony and lad here would know soon enough. He felt a sudden surge of disgust. The training of the Castle was not meant to scar, never. How had this happened? The man had obviously served some time in the Kingdom as a slave, judging by his smooth movements. What had befallen him?

"Oh, come now," said Matteo, moving on all fours closer to the newcomer. "Don't be like that. You're one of us now, little one. A little horseplay never hurt anyone." Sherlock could see the new pony's shoulders stiffen with tension, coiling up as Matteo crowded closer. His chest was rising and falling faster, and the blue eyes rose from the grass, pupils dilated and seeming to look through Matteo's chest.

Oh. Not ignoring Matteo, no. Sherlock felt a curl of excitement. The man was obviously close to panic, a fight or flight response totally disproportionate to the situation. And yet the man's gaze was unfocussed in the way a predator's was - not watching directly but instead taking in all movement around him - Matteo, the other ponies stirring nervously, the swaying of branches in the trees. A sound, the merest twitch and the tipping point would be reached. Sherlock gathered his feet under him, ready to intervene.

Matteo did not disappoint. Teeth white in his handsome darkly tanned face, he knelt up and smiled down into the man's blank face. "The question is," he said in a voice that was mock-intimate and meant to carry to the others. "The question is - are you going to be a stud, or my little mare?" Someone gasped, and there was a muffled snigger from Matteo's stall-mate, Philip. Matteo ran a finger down the man's face, caressing the fine lips. There was absolutely no reaction - the man was utterly still, as if no one was leaning into his personal space and touching him. Matteo was piqued and braced both arms on the tree behind and bent his head down for a kiss, trapping the man.

Here it comes, thought Sherlock. You don't imprison someone who has been abused in such a fashion. He was not wrong. The man's focus snapped to Matteo and within a split second Matteo had been knocked backwards with a powerful thrust. The blond straddled him and with one hand on Matteo's hand and stretched it up over his head. Expertly he twisted the hand and wrist, pressing the palm down to the grass. It looking agonising, by the way Matteo bucked under the smaller man's strong thighs. Ignoring the writhing figure beneath him, the blond used his free hand to thrust two stiff fingers into the vulnerable soft notch at the base of the throat. Choking, Matteo thrashed harder and tried to push the smaller man off with his free arm but with a warning squeeze and jerk on his caught hand he stilled.

The man's voice was hoarse, as if from disuse or...abuse? "If you try that on me - anything like that, ever again, I will break your wrist. I am no one's mare. I am no one's."

Sherlock's cheeks had flushed. Oh, but how I wish I were yours and you were mine. That was amazing. Cautiously he crawled over, letting the blond man see him coming. He knelt next to the man, shoulders close but not touching. Sherlock cocked an eyebrow. "Well, Matteo. I think you've your answer. You will work with him if you are harnessed together, but you are not to play with him again. I'd hate to see what he would do if truly provoked. He's quite a dangerous pony, it seems and might kick you to a deserving death."

"Who says I am dangerous?" asked the blond man in his roughened tenor. He hadn't looked at Sherlock at all during this little speech, keeping his eyes only on Matteo. Watching the immediate danger, thought Sherlock. More and more interesting. He felt a flush of warmth and his penis hardened even further.

"I do. Everything about you speaks of military service - your musculature, your movement, the way you subdued the frankly over-sized Matteo here. Then there's the old tan lines at your neck and wrists, the scar on your shoulder. If Matteo wasn't such a stupid pony, he might have seen that you are no one to trifle with. But I'm sure he's learned his lesson." Matteo nodded, and Sherlock took a risk. He rested a hand on the man's bicep. "You can let him up now. He won't bother you again." Sherlock flashed a sharp look at Matteo to be sure the message was clear. Because if you do, Matt, you will deal with me as well. Matteo closed his eyes in submission.

The muscle under Sherlock's hand relaxed by degrees. Sherlock tugged, and the man allowed Sherlock to pull him away. Philip came to help his friend, half-scornful and half-amused at how quickly Matteo had been beaten. But as the blond man turned away, Philip saw the scars and he opened his mouth to speak. Sherlock bared his teeth at him, eyes narrowed and Philip flushed. His eyes flickered over the blond's back again, pity warring with horror in his eyes. Sherlock followed the blond back to the tree and watched as the smaller man leaned against it again, head back against rough bark, eyes closed and throat moving as he swallowed. Sherlock sat facing him, legs crossed. He perused the man again, and nodded to himself.

"Border wars, or assassination attempt?" he asked, and the blond's eyes snapped open. Sherlock tensed - the man's body was coiling up again.

"What?" asked the man in a low voice. Oh yes, a dangerous one, indeed. Sherlock liked him.

"I asked - was it from border wars or an assassination attempt? Your scar," Sherlock prompted, nodding at the man's shoulder. "You are a prince, like all of us here, but you are also a soldier. That much is obvious from the sword calluses on your hands. You served, you fought. You have other, smaller marks from less serious injuries, but the ones on your hands are more serious and about the same age as the one on your shoulder. Defensive wounds. So - which was it?"

A brief flash passed through the man's blue eyes - shock? No, thought Sherlock, as the man's mouth twisted, then set. Grief. And yet Sherlock was surprised by the answer.

"Both," said the man.

Sherlock rocked back. Ah. That was different. But before he could ask more, Gregory was opening up the gate.

"Come along, you lot!" shouted the cheerful stable lad with prematurely greying brown hair. "Time for your feed for the night."

Sherlock caught the man's eye. "My name is Sherlock," he said, with what he hoped was a disarming smile. The man's eyes flicked over his face, a line between his brows. Sherlock waited.

"You were going to jump that man. I saw you," said the blond. "Why would you intervene?" Sherlock rolled his eyes, but again felt a curl of anger. Why would this man think no one would help him?

"Sherlock!" called Gregory. He waved an arm. "Don't make me call you again, you stubborn sod. I'll have you serving a stint on the meat hook if you don't move now."

"Will you tell me your name?" Sherlock spoke low. "I would like you to tell me." A disgusted sigh from Gregory had Sherlock moving away before the stable lad became seriously irritated. The blond man followed on all fours.

"John," came the rough whisper, and Sherlock relaxed. He flung a real smile over his shoulder at John.

The ponies moved to the gate and stood, brushing off grass, folding their arms behind their backs and proudly marching to their stalls, heads tossing and chivvied along by grooms. Lestrade brushed a smear of dirt from the blond man's scarred shoulder, who stilled as if restraining himself from flinching away. Again Sherlock felt a wave of fury. This was not the way a slave was supposed to react. The new pony had no trust in his Masters at all. It was wrong.

"John, you're to be stalled with Frederick, there. Your groom is Peter - what?" queried Gregory.

Sherlock was shaking his head as if at a fly. Sherlock snorted, and Gregory narrowed his eyes. "Ponies don't have thoughts, and ponies don't give opinions - yes, even without words, Sherlock. Behave. I'll get to you in a moment." Sherlock flicked his eyes to John, who was waiting for his groom, arms behind back, eyes on the ground, shoulders stiff in fear of the new life ahead of him. Gregory's mouth fell open. "You? Want a stall mate? You made the last one cry. You bit Anders. I'm sorry, but -"

They were boring! And irritating. Sherlock huffed, then drew his lips back in a silent snarl, swaying as he planted his feet firmly, standing in front of John. Gregory eyed him, a smile slowly spreading on his face. "Oho. Like that, then, is it? New... friend?" The stable boy walked around the silent and stiff John, considering. The ugly display on John's back had him sucking in a silent breath. He motioned Peter over for a low word, in which Sherlock could only hear, "...see if the Captain of the Guard can come..." Peter nodded and drove off Frederick to his stall.

It wasn't like that - well, not completely but Sherlock wasn't going to explain. He had an unaccustomed urge to protect John - the transition to life as a pony wasn't ever easy and it was clear that whatever abuse the man had suffered would make it worse. Sherlock knew how to play the game. He was a natural. And he was the best damned pony the Stables had, in spite of his little ways. Who better to teach John to survive as a slave in the Public Stables, and then to enjoy it? Moreover, he wanted to know more about John. There was some mystery about the man and his circumstances, and Sherlock wanted to know.

He turned and nudged at John's arm. He looked up at Sherlock, but didn't flinch away. Good. Sherlock lifted a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching up. Come with me? John stared at him, eyes dark and opaque but finally he looked at Gregory, gave a tiny nod and looked down again.

Gregory grunted in acquiescence. "Fine. Fine! Have it your way. But if you do anything to upset this stall mate, I'll strap your backside until even air hurts it. John, follow Sherlock, and march smartly. You are a pony now, and ponies step proud. Keep your arms folded back - yes. Perfect, John." Gregory pinched Sherlock's buttock as he moved past the groom. "I'll be having you on the hook, after all. Tomorrow morning, I think. I want you fresh and wriggling as you dangle. You do writhe beautifully." Sherlock slanted a smile at his groom, who grinned back and swatted. "Lively, now!" He drove them to their stall in the large stable past the other ponies who were being fed and watered.

John eyed the stall with misgiving - there was a feeding trough beneath a window with bowls of water, and two broad beams crossing the stall. Clean straw littered the floor, but was in no way thick enough for bedding. Sherlock stepped forward quickly, showing John how to bend over and rest so that one beam supported his chest, the other his stomach. John moved quickly to follow before Gregory could push him into place. He turned his head to watch as Sherlock thrust his face into the water bowl, drinking great draughts and licking at the drops that coursed down his face. John followed suit and Gregory said approvingly, "That's the way, John - ponies eat and sup with enthusiasm. Don't be finicky."

He continued as he brought a bucket of warm water into the stall. "Now, I am sure that all this is very new and frightening, John. You served in the Castle, yes? For a great Lord? Well, here things are simpler. Life is stripped down to basics - no perfumes, no silks. You will work hard, sweat, and sleep deeply. You will show pride in your work as a pony - march briskly and with your head up, keep your cock hard, and show willing all the time. No vanity, only honesty and obedience. Look to Sherlock if you are in doubt. For all he's a sod and behaves like a spoiled Thoroughbred, he's our most popular pony. Sherlock will show you. Won't you, Sherlock?"

Sherlock stamped a foot in agreement, and then sighed as Gregory went to work with a brush and cloth, cleaning away the day's dirt, water trickling pleasantly down his skin. He always enjoyed this part at the end of the day - Gregory's competent hands, deft and sure on his body, the sweet scent of hay and leather that surrounded his groom as he moved around Sherlock. He turned his head and rested it on the edge of the trough facing John, eyes half-closed. There, John. You see - our groom's touch will not injure. You can trust him.

John was trembling slightly, but he suffered Gregory to wash away the dust. Gregory hesitated over John's back, murmuring softly. "Steady, there. I have to wipe your back." John's face set, gaze turning inward as the cloth moved gently and ointment was applied. "There. That should help with the scarring." Gregory's voice was matter-of-fact but kind and John exhaled.

Sherlock's brows were drawn together slightly as he watched John. The blond turned his head and caught the expression. A pained smile lifted John's lips, and Sherlock grinned. Well done. John had some great store of inner strength - that much was obvious. In this new and strange situation, he managed to have a kind of stoic dignity. They both turned back to the trough as their dinner was placed in front of them - a thick meat stew. Without preamble both began to devour it, with no daintiness or embarrassment about having gravy on their faces. Gregory nodded.

"That's the way. I can see you've the true pony blood in you, John. Keep going on as you are, and you'll be the pride of the stable." He rested a hand on each of their necks affectionately, and Sherlock was pleased to see that while John didn't show gratitude for the gesture, neither did he freeze or twitch.

Later, after Gregory had cleaned their faces and teeth and the lamps had been taken away, Sherlock was woken from his slumber by a noise, a low keening of animal pain. He shook his head to clear it. A gasp, and the sound rose to a breathy sobbing noise. The hair on the back of Sherlock's neck rose at the sound. John. What the hells had been done to him?

"John," he whispered. "John! Wake up. John!" The noise choked off, and Sherlock could hear him swallowing repeatedly. "I'm here. It's only Sherlock. Here, can you feel me near you? Lean over." He felt John take a shaky breath and then he felt the sweat-damp press of a trembling shoulder against his. "Sh, sh," he crooned as if to a child. "You're fine. You're safe here."

"I'm not safe anywhere," came the hoarse reply. Sherlock pressed his lips tightly together. Wrong. That was wrong. A slave should be safe. A slave should be cradled and secure in his trust of his Master. But he did not speak this aloud. He knew he would have to show John the way. Instead, he pressed the side of his head against John's and blew out a breath.

"I'm here," he only said instead. He would have to discover John's history. This must be mended. Later. For tonight, he could only offer the comfort of the press of the side of his body against John's. He turned his head, John's warm hair tickling against his lips.

"Rest. I'm here, John."

Comments

[kendra42.livejournal.com]

"For now this is a one-shot" just gives me too much hope that you'll continue this! I'm mean really now! You have protective, caring, intending to help john!Sherlock and poor broken!John-it hardly gets more perfect than this! Of course, I also can't wait to read the next part of Making the Connection and Westmoreland but this story is just so good...

[jessamygriffin.livejournal.com]

Oh... well. I wrote it partly to drive my Beta half-insane with longing for the fic, and because I'd been thinking it over for a while. I read somewhere that a fic writer ought challnge themselves by writing a kink they aren't that into, and see if they can do it and make it appealing... and the Beauty books have so many things that I loved, and then went 'Oh, nooooo' at.

Challenge accepted. I am enjoying the heck out of this fic business - trying new things, and writing stuff I'd not written before. The slide is quite fast wehn you start, isn't it? From gen fic, to mature, and then suddenly I am writing phonesex and now 'real' kink, once I get into the Beauty story-verse.

So, yes, there will be more. Got a co-writer, in fact (as I am in WIP hell) and we're going to do it on the kink meme as a prompt and see how many (perhaps none) people will be shocked or titillated. I mean, the Beauty-verse - god.

So, yes! There will be more.

And as much as I try to BAMF John up in MtC, I adore fixing him in other fics, or having him fix himself. I thought it would be interesting - John-whump is common, but I wanted to see how Sherlock and Lestrade might help in this 'verse. It is quite true that the slaves are not meant at all to be scarred or injured. Pain, sure. Frustration, of course, tears, yup. Never permanent damage. I think this is why I can tolerate the 'slave' thing in the books. Also - not a permanent station in life.

[jessamygriffin.livejournal.com]

Oh hey. Updated Westmoreland finally. Got my shot of angst in, and there's magical owls and stuff.

Part 23 to 27
Yay me, why is it I write more when I am working? Must be discipline.

http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/12432.html?thread=63581840#t63581840

And now back to MtC, gurgle gurgle.

[kendra42.livejournal.com]

I've never actually read the series (though I almost died of shock when I found out my husband read the first one!) but I have flipped through the books a number of times since I worked at a bookstore for awhile. I was thinking about buying it again about a month ago when I found out that the local Navy Exchange has it-which is completely shocking. I still haven't decided because one reason why I really like this story is because I know the characters. Which, by the way, I'm doing a little happy dance that you are continuing this. I hope you put a link to the prompt here-and I'm sure, considering what shows up on the kinkmeme lots of people will love the idea and the fact that you're writing it. Can't wait for more!

[jessamygriffin.livejournal.com]

Oh, going to be anon on it for some time - after all, it's a co-write. Also - social experiment? (How Sherlockian.) I've put up three fills anon in the last month or so, curious to see what would happen. One got some good comments, not many. The crack one got hardly any. And when I compare it to something like MtC...but then people didn't comment much until after the first sex scene.

I don't expect comments on crack fills anymore. I would love to know if the quality of writing on its own is enough to have readers comment. So - eventually it will be linked back here! People who follow this blog will know. That's fine.

Beauty-verse - so wrong! So right! Good for your husband. I mean, it was more marketted for women.

You must be living abroad - the NEX! I would spit my coffee if you turned out to be my housemate (though he's a guy, so unlikely, but he's Navy too, and I wish he'd shop more at the NEX. I long for Cheetos and decent hair dye.)

If you want to not-buy the Beauty books, I have them as .pdfs. Because books abroad are pricey and I am a pirate who likes to read on the train with iPhone.

Soldier-Prince part 2

[jessamygriffin.livejournal.com]

Wrote up the next piece of this, it's on the meme, scroll down slightly past 'Soldier-Prince's Torment' to 'Soldier-Prince - The Platform'

http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/14213.html?thread=76573573#t76573573

Um. It gets kind of porny. But you may have guessed it would.

When I get a decent amount written I will throw it over to this blog...

[kendra42.livejournal.com]

Yep, definitely awesome! I really REALLY can't wait to read some more. Now I have to bookmark that thread. And it definitely got a lot of positive responses (of course!) Thank you sooo much for posting the link!
I'm the one that posted somewhere (don't remember where) that I'm in Zushi. I do love the NEX for somethings (like a decent sized jar of red pasta sauce (not to mention the price!) but I only buy my pesto off base. There are a few international markets spread around that have awesome stuff-I ended up buying "biscuits" from the one at More's City-Kaldi Coffee I think it's called-just to figure out what the hell the brits call biscuits!

[jessamygriffin.livejournal.com]

Wait, wait,... DERP. You did say you were in Zushi before! to me...yes...! and I was all, "Oh, hai, I go thru Zushi all the time to get to work."

*Facepalm*

Bleeding, buggering hell.

My life, my brain. The brain is drying up, I think. Or I am not pickling it enough.

Zushi I like, and Ofuna has a Kaldi as well.

The NEX I adore for grande size things like... yes decent pasta sauce, peanut butter, breakfast cereal not made of sweet potatoes or rice or plain corn, bacon and tabasco. Oh, and sour cream. Which I miss so desperately that I will eat it with a spoon, so don't ever ask me to make stroganoff.

---

Fic wise, I am glad you like how it's going, it's a bit of a stretch actually writing this particular thing... lord, I am glad no one can read when I am on the train with my notebook. I have a feeling this fic could get pretty crazy with the sex and threesomea and oh god. Why, kink meme? WHY?

I actually made up a floor plan for the Stable, punishment platform included. I think I am disturbed. It seemed like a good idea... at the time. I MAY actually put a link up for it. Craziness shared is craziness lessened, yes?

[kendra42.livejournal.com]

"Bleeding, buggering hell." I'm going to have to use that one. I think I need something different after years of "shitake mushrooms".

Don't worry about forgetting-I can't remember half the things I say (or mean to say and then forget to say it....) Which is actually the number one reason I forget to comment on stories-I mean to and then I forget that I didn't already.

I am always happy when I walk into the commissary and they have Daisy sour cream instead of that California Sunshine shit ( I won't buy milk on base because of it-they're frequently out of the Japanese brand they do carry). I tried to cook Japanese bacon one time...that didn't go so well....

I'm always paranoid that the person next to me can read English (at least before I broke my iPod :( ) I feel so embarrassed because I usually have things on my Read it Later app from the kinkmeme-though that stupid app doesn't always work!

I love the fact that you put up the floor plan, it always makes things easier to understand. I think it was a very good idea to post it-plus, it's something to tide us over while we wait with baited breath for the next part. You guys are doing an awesome job by the way.
Oh, and I love the newest part for Making the Connection (and can't wait for another update on that one...) God, I'm impatient! As if I don't have studying I should be doing....

[jessamygriffin.livejournal.com]

The picture was useful? Thank god! I don't know, Anne Rice loosely described things . For some reason it was important to me to know exactly how it looked. Thank
Goodness for old stable floor plans!

Yes, co writer and I are rather egging each other one. She is winning, having been on the kink meme longer. The ideas I get! I mean - beauty-verse isn't even my kink with all the damn spanks!

As to reading ( in my case writing!! ) porn on trains - I can't care anymore. I used to get upset about the guys with their porn weekly manga, or the sports papers that have middle sections of naked girls and porn stories. Heck with it, they do it, so can I, and no one ever remarks on their material. I never get hassled anyway. Never. Too tall and white - scary and not worth their trouble.

Become jaded! It helps!

Eat sour cream for me, you wretch. Am so hungry for it.