Day 12, oh god how did this happen

[therealkaichan]

He hated to be touched when he was reading.

That was his only true command. If he was reading, then the Druids wouldn't touch him. They would be around, humming their spells and sometimes talking among themselves, but they wouldn't touch him.

Sometimes, he could tell what they were looking for, so he opened a book and made them wait. He made himself wait as well.

Reading was his safe space, after all. The words couldn't touch him or hurt him, the words were just words. When he read, there was no past, no nameless child trying to steal food, no kind priest offering him a new home, no sad eyes looking for answers on his own. There was no soft, seductive voice, guiding him into more mistakes.

But as always, after a long time of reading in the dim light of the many rooms of the old Glast Heim cathedral, his eyes started to hurt. He sometimes forced himself to continue reading, he denied himself, and denied them. That was how Attis was, after all. He was a monster among monsters.

He closed the book and smiled. Everything looked blurry, but he didn't need to see to feel them approach.

He closed his book.

The wait is over.

There is nobody close.

You should not read in this light.

"Is there any other kind of light here?" Attis chuckled, rubbing his eyes so they would stop stinging.

You could light more candles.

"I could, yes."

You are strange, Priest.

"Isn't that convenient for you and your little order?"

Certainly.

Attis laughed quietly as he felt them move closer. He didn't open his eyes as the first one touched him, or as he felt the cold fingers over his hand. It was fine.

Was it a good book?

"It was... A good book, yes."

Good. Now stay calm, we will take care of everything.

"When haven't you?"

The only answer was a quiet chuckle, and then familiar cold fingers on his eyelids. Attis smiled, tilting his head back a little, until he felt another one move closer from behind.

At first he couldn't get used to them. Back when they were assigned to him, when that one talked to him for the first time, he thought he wouldn't ever get used to it. He had accepted his fate, his new road, but it was still a strange thing.

Back then, he disliked them because they smelt like death, like decay, they smelt rotten. All of those he associated with the life he tried so hard to leave behind. To the days that had turned him into the monster he was. But it was different now. They smelt different. As he parted his lips to welcome those cold fingers in his mouth, he could only think of old books. They smelt like the books he loved to read until his eyes stung.

He smiled as he felt the cold air on his chest. He knew the ritual well. Soon one of them would touch him from behind. It was always a different one, he could tell by the smell, he could tell by the voice as they spoke among themselves. It would humm strange spells on his ear, words that weren't meant for him.

Will you give yourself to us today as well, Priest?

He didn't answer, he just sucked on the fingers.

And there it was, the embrace he expected, the humming, the other ones approaching to take his hands, and the fingers slipping from his mouth to leave a trail down, wet with his own saliva.

Will you gift us the kind of spell we can no longer weave, Priest?

"When have I ever stopped you?"

Never. Not when you shiver, not when you cry. You have never stopped us.

"It's my side of the bargain, isn't it? It's the price for the knowledge I asked for."

You could've ordered us, Priest.

"I could've, yes."

He felt those fingers, slowly touching him over his pants. He heard the humms, the cold touches on his neck, his chest, his hair... His body responded to the sensations long before he could even try to process them, his hips moving to press against the hand.

You will give us the magic of the living. And in exchange we will give you the knowledge you yearn for.

"You are talking so much today..."

He felt the Druid's hand cupping him, he felt the firm caress, and he felt the Druid's voice rise among the chorus of voices. Attis smiled, leaning back against the one behind him.

He liked to think of it in practical terms sometimes. The Druids could no longer harness the energy of the living, they could no longer do the magic they had done for so long. And that was all he had to offer, right? The life he didn't want to have, the body he did not care about, that was all he had. And it was all they wanted, so it was fine.

They could take what they wanted.

You want this, Priest. As we are damned with this existence, you are damned with yours.

"Don't..."

You do. You feel comfort from the touch, you feel that the emptiness goes away. It's your small lie. You are as pitiful as we are.

Attis shivered. He was exactly that, wasn't he? Another damned, a pitiful, pathetic fool who roamed the corridors along the rest of them.

You want the silence of release.

Of course. Of course he did. As much as he lied, as he tried to tell himself that it was just an exchange, the truth was that the touch made him forget. Forget the thoughts, the life he left behind, the life he had chosen, the eyes, the priest, and that voice, smooth like velvet, promising him that the pain had a meaning, that it was all part of something, of a change, of a revolution.

Cold fingers gripped him, and he wondered when it was that they had gotten rid of his pants as well. It didn't matter, it was perfectly fine like this.

Don't open your eyes. Give us the gifts of the living, and I will give you the silence you want so much.

Fingers against his lips again, that was another one, he could easily tell by the amount of hands touching his body. He opened his mouth, once again welcoming the intrusion with lips and tongue, as the hand on his member started moving at the same pace as his tongue did.

Everything grew blurry, just like his vision did all the time. There were so many hands, one pulling his hair, another pinching a nipple, one cupping his testicles, another pushing against his entrance, there were hands keeping him in place, and a third finger making its way inside his mouth.

There were other touches, but they were lost in the sensations that the slow, firm touches filled him with. It wasn't enough, of course, it had been too little time, and he knew well that a quick release wouldn't be enough for them. It was filthy, he thought. But it smelt like his beloved books, it smelt like his safe space, and that was good.

Do you want more, Priest?

His response was muffled by the fingers, but that was fine. He knew the message had gone through when a fourth finger pushed its way in, when the touches on his member grew faster, when the pull on his hair, hard enough to hurt, started guiding his head to move.

And then it was all sensations, and no thought.

He felt lightheaded, as he always did when they had him channel that kind of magic. All he could do was breathe through his nose, as the hand on his hair pushed and pulled, as the smell of old paper and the Druid's song invaded all his senses, as the electricity ran through every fiber of his being.

It felt good.

Release, even when needed by whatever ritual they were doing, was completely irrelevant to him.



They left him, kneeling naked, on the very same room.

They muttered among themselves, about the results of their magic, about whatever they spoke in that strange language of theirs.

He shivered, but it wasn't because of the cold air.

You should get dressed, Priest.

Attis laughed.

"I should, yes."