Archive of Our Own ^beta

Agony erupts from the base of Ghost's ring finger, a scream forcing itself out through his gritted teeth as the appendage is severed. His heartbeat echoes in his ears, and he swears he's never felt pain quite like this ever before, which should seem unlikely, yet he can't help feeling faint, something that has never occurred before. He squints through the torment, whimpering at the sound of sizzling flesh as Varré takes the time to cauterise the wound. Once the ordeal is over, Ghost slumps to his knees at Varré's feet, breathing heavily and clutching his hand to his chest.

"Never forget that feeling of agony, for it is what binds you to Luminary Mogh, to all of us." The surgeon laughs, bloodied hand coming to rest upon Ghost's head, combing through the brown tresses almost affectionately. "You have the sweetest scream, my lambkin."

Panting for breath, Ghost is still unable to form any words. Incapable of any kind of response, Ghost merely sets his jaw and shuts his eyes as his head is tilted up towards Varré. The ache is unlike anything he's ever felt before, causing him to wonder if Varré had done more than simply amputate one of his fingers. Is this some kind of spell? Surely it shouldn't hurt this terribly?

"Poor thing," Varré says, running his fingers along Ghost's sparse facial hair, tone lilting towards mocking. 

The more Ghost tries to speak, the harder it becomes to move his tongue, the muscle almost swollen inside his mouth. He feels strangely exhausted, numbed, and barely registers the taste of iron as Varré opens his mouth by pressing his thumb between his chapped lips. Drool slips down his chin.

"Perhaps I've been too hard on you, running you ragged with all these tasks, hm?" Varré leans down slightly, his voice lowering with the rest of him. Ghost tries to move away, but his head remains where it is held in place by the other’s grip. "Perhaps," he says again, "you deserve to be rewarded for your efforts."

Some distant part of Ghost wants to protest, but it feels so far away, buried so deep within him, it feels much easier to simply allow himself to be moved around as Varré pleases, which happens to be closer to his body. A latent sense of disgust wells up in Ghost when he realises the thing he's pressed against is Varré's crotch, which feels hard under Ghost's cheek, even through the layers of the surgeon's uniform.

He's too exhausted to do much more than hold his throbbing hand and sit there as Varré pushes aside the front of his uniform. He jerks his head away as Varré pulls the front of his trousers down, his erection springing loose. But the surgeon has him under his control, Ghost is sure of it now, and forces his head back to where it had been.

"Now now, my sweet lambkin, don't fret," Varré says, audibly smiling behind his mask as he brings Ghost's face closer, forcing his mouth to press against his skin. "I'll reward you soon enough, I just need you to get me nice and wet. You can handle this one last favour, can't you?"

Ghost opens his mouth to object, but it's like wading through thick molasses, and it only serves to give Varré an opportunity to take further advantage of his mouth. With a thumb shoved between Ghost's teeth, Varré pulls him forward, feeding his cock down to the very back of his throat at an agonising pace. All Ghost can taste and smell is his own blood, still caked onto the surgeon's gloves and being forced into his mouth.

"Hmmm, yes, that's lt," Varré praises, torturously lingering against Ghost's gag reflex as he remains sheathed down to the base, Ghost's dry lips cracking at the stretch and adding more blood to the mess already dripping from his face and Varré's cock. 

He should feel humiliated, should be biting down and fighting to free himself, but all Ghost manages to do is gag around the dick in his mouth and attempt to blink through the tears welling up in his forest green eyes. He sniffles and coughs when Varré pulls out, catching his breath, only for his throat to be invaded once more. The process repeats, gaining in momentum along with the light moans coming from behind Varré's mask, and Ghost is forced to catch himself with his hands against the surgeon's thighs, the stinging in his left hand aching anew and causing him to whine around Varré's cock.

"Fuck--" Varré curses in response to the feeling of Ghost's mouth vibrating around him with the sound he'd made, and pulls himself out of the other's mouth before he can truly lose his composure.

With his head released from the surgeon's grip, Ghost attempts to make an escape, falling onto his side and trying to right himself in order to crawl away. He only gets so far as raising himself onto his hands and knees before Varré is on him again.

"Now just where do you think you're going?" Varré taunts playfully, leaning over Ghost's back and pressing his face down into the dirt, skewing his glasses and forcing his forearms flat upon the grass. "I've yet to return the favour, lambkin."

The last word is uttered like a growl next to Ghost's ear, a subdued panic entering his system and causing him to shiver. It doesn't help that his face is pressed into the ground in such a way that his blind left eye is the one facing Varré, placing him in his blind spot and further laying him open and vulnerable, unable to fight back.

Varré's free hand trails down Ghost's side, sliding between his body and his clothing, and begins pulling down his pants and underclothes at the same time. Trying to crawl away only makes Varré pull him closer again, pressing his newly exposed cunt against the surgeon's wet cock. A strained whimper escapes Ghost at the sensation, panic filling him anew. He fights back with all the strength he can manage, but it only makes Varré chuckle darkly, breathily, as his cunt moves against him.

"Oh, what have we here?" Varré teases, his still bloody, gloved hand moving to brush against Ghost's small length and curly pubic hair. Gritting his teeth, Ghost grunts at the sensation and shuts his eyes tight. "Well, this certainly makes this easier, hm? My sweet lambkin, full of such wonderful surprises."

Disgust roils in Ghost's belly, but he can't focus on it as a new pain tears through him. Varré forces his damp cock into Ghost's hole, tight from disuse and practically dry from lack of arousal. Varré groans as he lays himself against Ghost's back, slowly sheathing himself as the other can do nothing but stay still, tensed with fresh agony and trying not to move, lest he make it worse.

Once his hips meet with Ghost's pale ass, Varré sighs in contentment. Ghost feels full enough to burst, almost certain the surgeon has torn him open inside, and he trembles uncontrollably. 

Apparently sensing this, Varré hums, and returns his fingers to Ghost's cock, rubbing circles into the sensitive flesh until Ghost is panting and shaking for an entirely different reason.

"See? Isn't this nice, lambkin?" Varré quietly asks, almost gentle as he pulls out the tiniest bit and rocks forward. The wetness between them-- Ghost's saliva, his blood, his arousal fluids, --causes a squelching sound at the movement, making Ghost bite his lip and try not to reveal how much Varré's fingers have affected him. The horror of the situation mixes with arousal, blood flowing through Ghost's veins faster, hotter, and he slowly begins to relax and loosen enough to make it easier for Varré to move.

The surgeon fucks him slowly, but with enough force to knock him forward, pushing him harder into the ground. The only thing holding his hips up is Varré's hands, one around his hip, the other stroking his cock with increasing speed. Eventually, Varré manages to angle his thrusts just right, hitting an area of nerves within Ghost that dislodges his last remaining ounce of fury. His mouth opens upon a cry, then a moan, then another, until he's spouting a continous cry of "ah, ah, ah"s.

"Yes," Varré all but hisses, "There we go, good boy, what a good little lambkin you are."

"P-please--" Ghost manages to force out at last, the first he's spoken since the start of this endeavour. "Please!"

"Shh, shh," Varré consoles, fingers moving faster along with his hips. They both moan when Ghost tightens around Varré's dick with the first wave of his oncoming orgasm, muscles spasming uncontrollably as the sensation hits him like a blow to the head. He shouts, quaking and shivering as Varré fucks him well through the aftershocks and into overstimulation.

With one final grunt and an exhaustedly nauseated whimper from Ghost, Varré releases into the man beneath him. Buried to the hilt, Varré sighs and rubs his gloved palm over Ghost's lower abdomen in a way that makes the Tarnished want to vomit. He pulls himself forward with his hands, and this time, Varré allows him. Once the surgeon's cock falls out of him, Ghost rolls onto his side. His eyelids weigh heavily, and his whole body aches, the pleasure from before seeping out of him along with Varré's cum.

"Well, my dear," Varré says upon an exhale, standing up and reclothing himself. "Until next time, sweet lambkin."

All Ghost hears is the sound of receding footsteps, then nothing but the white noise of Liurnia's flora and fauna. Curling in on himself, Ghost allows himself to fall into unconsciousness, distantly hoping for something to find and slay him, so that he might wake up clean and safe instead of dirty and tainted.

Perhaps he should never have doubted the Two Fingers.