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soncnicaTitle: But The Storm Is A-Coming 'Cross The Hills Tonight 2/7
Author: soncnica
Rating: R, G, idk
Genre/Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Wordcount: cca. 1.700 this chapter
Summary: Jared is King Dean Morgan’s knight. He is the one the King calls for whenever torture or punishment has to be done and Jared’s expertise is whipping. Jensen is his next victim. Or is he?
Warnings: Gore, blood, whipping and all that goes along with that, mystery, magic, abuse of history and knighthood, angst?, NO character death, NO disfigurement, hurt!Jensen, h/c.
Disclaimer: I seriously only own the grammar/spelling mistakes. Everything else is NOT MINE! ALL IS FICTION. The title comes from a song called A bar in Amsterdam from the band KatzenJammer and does not belong to me.
A/N: I just wanted to write Jared whipping Jensen, is that so bad? Don’t answer that. And well, this is what I came up with. If you decide to read this story, just trust me, I know exactly where I’m going with this. Thank you! And yeah the story is finished and it has around 7 chapters, I'll try to post every few days.
Beta: The ever awesome![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
marlowe78.
CHAPTER 2
The pale, glistering skin under his hand trembled; sweat breaking out and slicking his palm, Jensen’s breathing speeding up, rising his side up and down. He tightened his hold and moved his hand here and there, digging his fingertips into the softness of Jensen’s stomach and his thumb into the hardness of the man’s lower back.
“Jensen…” he whispered again, trying to get the man to make some noise besides the harsh panting he was doing now.
He tugged; trying to make Jensen roll over and look at him, see his eyes and what the state of the rest of his body was in.
He didn’t know what had been done to Jensen when he’d been caught and he didn’t want to injure the man more.
Not yet.
He tugged harder, knowing he was leaving bruises, but Jensen was a strong man, muscles defined so roughly and clearly all over his body; strong shoulders and legs, flat stomach with muscles carved into it, arms so strong, that could pick up a mountain. Years of fighting; sword and hands, would do that to a man.
Jensen’s body rolled over slowly, making Jared shift a bit back so that he was able to look at the man’s eyes.
They shone green. Watery green.
“Jens…”
“How much?”
Jared startled and frowned at the question that sounded almost ripped out of Jensen’s throat; it was like someone poured pebbles into his mouth and ordered him to speak.
There was spit and vomit crusted at the sides of the man’s mouth, eyes bright, pupils looking okay, breathing a bit fast, but alright, the heartbeat under Jared’s fingers steady and fast, but not too fast.
There was some dirt on Jensen’s face, but no blood and no blood was a good thing.
Jared tightened the grip he had on Jensen’s side, keeping the man down to the floor when he whispered: “Sixty.”
Jensen nodded, his hair sweeping the floor.
“When?” he croaked out.
“Three hours, then two days later you’ll be hanged.”
Jensen closed his eyes and didn’t open them when his cracked lips whispered: “They’ll come get me.”
Jared smiled: “We’ll be waiting, Jensen.” and ran his hand up and down Jensen’s stomach, fingers brushing the coarse hair at the base of Jensen’s cock.
He wanted to touch so badly, licking his lips in hunger for it, but then Jensen whimpered this pathetic little sound that made Jared snap his eyes back up to the man’s face.
“Let them come.”
He let go of Jensen, who rolled back to his side, grabbing his knees and pulling his legs back up to his heaving chest.
Jared leaned over, covering the naked body with his black cloak, submerging them both into the darkness where no eyes and no ears could come and whispered into Jensen’s ear: “I’ll be back in three hours, okay, you just take it easy, alright?”
Jensen sighed, a relaxed sigh that made Jared close his eyes and breathe in.
“Everything’s gonna be okay, just trust me.”
He stroked Jensen’s lower back, finger massaging the man’s tailbone, but he didn’t go further with his fingers… couldn’t.
“I gotcha…” he ran his hand up, fingers a soft pressure up Jensen’s spine to his nape and stopped to hold the shuddering man there.
“Please, just trust me.”
If there was a nod, Jared didn’t see it, but he did feel Jensen lean back and relax into his hand.
He squeezed once then let go.
He rearranged his long cloak and the sword, looked down at the man and said: “Try to get some sleep.”
“Fuck you.”
He smiled: “Yeah…” and walked away leaving Jensen to curl up even more and maybe find some sleep and dreams, because those would soon become elusive.
“Louis!” he yelled, knowing that his voice could be carried far in this stone cold dungeon, and that the man would hear him wherever he was.
And he did, running towards Jared as fast as his legs could carry him.
“Yesss, yesss, Jared, Sssir.”
Jared smiled and put his hand on the man’s shoulder: “Louis, how many times do I have to tell you not to call me Sir? ‘s just Jared, okay?”
Louis bowed his head for a second and then raised it up: “Yesss, yesss, ’m sorwy.”
Louis was a… peculiar man; sweet and shy at times, but when he tortured souls his eyes became hard as stone and fire ignited in them and whenever he could crack a bone in half, his lips turned up into a smile, showing his three rotten teeth… the only teeth he had.
“Alright, good. I’ll come pick the prisoner up in three hours. Make sure he’ll be ready.”
“Yesss, yesss, of couwsss’.”
“Good, good.”
He tapped Louis’ shoulder in a ‘see you later’ kinda way and left the pungent, raw smell of the dungeon to swirl around his cloak when he walked away.
But he’d be back.
In three hours, he’d be back.
He checked the stone pillar; ran his hand all over it, looking for anything out of the ordinary, he scraped off some dried almost half baked flesh off of the surface with his fingers, flicking it to the floor. Soon Jensen’s flesh would be there.
The top of the pillar was a dragon made of oak wood; wings spread wide, casting shadows each side of the pillar, providing the crowds that stood there with some shade. The dragon’s head with eyes made of green Muran glass that sparkled whenever the sun hit at just the right angle, was raised up high, looking forward, right to the spot where the King’s chair was. Out of its open mouth a tongue hung; a long, slim thing whose tip nearly touched the ground, but didn’t, because its purpose was to hold a small, iron ring where he had to tie a rope to… soon Jensen’s hands would hang from there, stretching his back perfectly for his whip.
He checked the ropes, wanting them to be fresh, not used, wanting them to be without any blood and strong. They had to be strong.
He checked his whip; made by the old masters on the shores of Lake Lash’as... it was a special whip, one he had never used before. Handle made of light wood, painted black with sigils carved into it, sigils that would protect him and whoever found himself on the other side of the handle. The lash was long, the tip of it thin and his whole body was used to how to handle it. No stroke would fall somewhere where it was not needed and no stroke would do damage in places where it shouldn’t.
He was a master. He was taught well.
He checked the sky and the sun and the dirt around the tall pillar, getting rid of some dog shit and rotten vegetables with his foot. He checked the people around him and how they ignored him completely, which suited him just fine.
He was a respected man, cruel some might say, some who didn’t know him.
The sun beat the land heavily, the sunbeams hot and unforgiving, punching the yard where the big spectacle will go down.
People were rushing to get all their business done, before the bells on the old church tower would strike five in the afternoon. The anticipation was so strong in the air, Jared could practically smell it, hell he could’ve probably cut it with his sword… it was like a solid string connecting every person walking in the square.
Jensen Ackles. Caught.
He heard words that people whispered behind his back when he did his preparations, he heard the people gasp at the mention of Jensen’s name.
If they only knew who he really was, if they really knew the real Jensen Ackles, Jared thought.
If they really knew, they’d cry and beg for him to be saved.
They would.
Jensen Ackles, thief, murderer, rapist, scavenger, kidnapper, enslaver of women and children, warrior out for a taste of blood. Cannibal.
Jared had to smirk at that last one. If people only knew what kinda ‘flesh’ Jensen liked to eat and what kinda ‘blood’ he liked to swallow down, they’d faint or go to their priest and buy penance for even thinking of such things.
His dick twitched just thinking about Jensen on his knees… fuck!
But he couldn’t get hard now, he had work to do.
Lots of work.
Impal was ready, the huge black Friesian stallion all saddled up and ready to go, even if it didn’t really seem like that, because he was happily munching on an apple Jared gave him.
He stroked the horse’s back and whispered softly: “You be ready, you hear me? You be ready when I call and you’ll get a lot more apples, okay? Good boy, you’re a good boy.”
He left the horse to his apples and hay, trusting him to hear when he’d call and went to his quarters.
There was still half an hour to go.
His sword and daggers were sharp, could cut stone in half probably, Impal was ready, he had homemade vinegar that he stole from the castle’s kitchen and a lot of ripped shirts that he grew out of a while back, wine and beer, some food. Water… he’d find on his way.
He was dressed appropriately, like a knight of King Dean Morgan’s house should be; black linen shirt that hung loosely down to his mid-thigh, black loose pants and a black cloak with a hood that felt heavy on his back. He checked his purse that hung from his belt… it was heavy with salt.
All black, good for the cold nights even in the summer, good to hide in the darkness, but too hot and too heavy for a summer’s day. But to dress otherwise would just get him in trouble; King Dean Morgan was a ruthless man, he never took a ‘no’ for an answer. So he dressed like he had to, even if he sweated like a pig and his shirt became soaking wet as soon as he even stepped out of his room.
He took a deep breath.
He was ready. He was. He just hoped Jensen was too.
CHAPTER 1 II CHAPTER 3
Author: soncnica
Rating: R, G, idk
Genre/Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Wordcount: cca. 1.700 this chapter
Summary: Jared is King Dean Morgan’s knight. He is the one the King calls for whenever torture or punishment has to be done and Jared’s expertise is whipping. Jensen is his next victim. Or is he?
Warnings: Gore, blood, whipping and all that goes along with that, mystery, magic, abuse of history and knighthood, angst?, NO character death, NO disfigurement, hurt!Jensen, h/c.
Disclaimer: I seriously only own the grammar/spelling mistakes. Everything else is NOT MINE! ALL IS FICTION. The title comes from a song called A bar in Amsterdam from the band KatzenJammer and does not belong to me.
A/N: I just wanted to write Jared whipping Jensen, is that so bad? Don’t answer that. And well, this is what I came up with. If you decide to read this story, just trust me, I know exactly where I’m going with this. Thank you! And yeah the story is finished and it has around 7 chapters, I'll try to post every few days.
Beta: The ever awesome
marlowe78.CHAPTER 2
The pale, glistering skin under his hand trembled; sweat breaking out and slicking his palm, Jensen’s breathing speeding up, rising his side up and down. He tightened his hold and moved his hand here and there, digging his fingertips into the softness of Jensen’s stomach and his thumb into the hardness of the man’s lower back.
“Jensen…” he whispered again, trying to get the man to make some noise besides the harsh panting he was doing now.
He tugged; trying to make Jensen roll over and look at him, see his eyes and what the state of the rest of his body was in.
He didn’t know what had been done to Jensen when he’d been caught and he didn’t want to injure the man more.
Not yet.
He tugged harder, knowing he was leaving bruises, but Jensen was a strong man, muscles defined so roughly and clearly all over his body; strong shoulders and legs, flat stomach with muscles carved into it, arms so strong, that could pick up a mountain. Years of fighting; sword and hands, would do that to a man.
Jensen’s body rolled over slowly, making Jared shift a bit back so that he was able to look at the man’s eyes.
They shone green. Watery green.
“Jens…”
“How much?”
Jared startled and frowned at the question that sounded almost ripped out of Jensen’s throat; it was like someone poured pebbles into his mouth and ordered him to speak.
There was spit and vomit crusted at the sides of the man’s mouth, eyes bright, pupils looking okay, breathing a bit fast, but alright, the heartbeat under Jared’s fingers steady and fast, but not too fast.
There was some dirt on Jensen’s face, but no blood and no blood was a good thing.
Jared tightened the grip he had on Jensen’s side, keeping the man down to the floor when he whispered: “Sixty.”
Jensen nodded, his hair sweeping the floor.
“When?” he croaked out.
“Three hours, then two days later you’ll be hanged.”
Jensen closed his eyes and didn’t open them when his cracked lips whispered: “They’ll come get me.”
Jared smiled: “We’ll be waiting, Jensen.” and ran his hand up and down Jensen’s stomach, fingers brushing the coarse hair at the base of Jensen’s cock.
He wanted to touch so badly, licking his lips in hunger for it, but then Jensen whimpered this pathetic little sound that made Jared snap his eyes back up to the man’s face.
“Let them come.”
He let go of Jensen, who rolled back to his side, grabbing his knees and pulling his legs back up to his heaving chest.
Jared leaned over, covering the naked body with his black cloak, submerging them both into the darkness where no eyes and no ears could come and whispered into Jensen’s ear: “I’ll be back in three hours, okay, you just take it easy, alright?”
Jensen sighed, a relaxed sigh that made Jared close his eyes and breathe in.
“Everything’s gonna be okay, just trust me.”
He stroked Jensen’s lower back, finger massaging the man’s tailbone, but he didn’t go further with his fingers… couldn’t.
“I gotcha…” he ran his hand up, fingers a soft pressure up Jensen’s spine to his nape and stopped to hold the shuddering man there.
“Please, just trust me.”
If there was a nod, Jared didn’t see it, but he did feel Jensen lean back and relax into his hand.
He squeezed once then let go.
He rearranged his long cloak and the sword, looked down at the man and said: “Try to get some sleep.”
“Fuck you.”
He smiled: “Yeah…” and walked away leaving Jensen to curl up even more and maybe find some sleep and dreams, because those would soon become elusive.
“Louis!” he yelled, knowing that his voice could be carried far in this stone cold dungeon, and that the man would hear him wherever he was.
And he did, running towards Jared as fast as his legs could carry him.
“Yesss, yesss, Jared, Sssir.”
Jared smiled and put his hand on the man’s shoulder: “Louis, how many times do I have to tell you not to call me Sir? ‘s just Jared, okay?”
Louis bowed his head for a second and then raised it up: “Yesss, yesss, ’m sorwy.”
Louis was a… peculiar man; sweet and shy at times, but when he tortured souls his eyes became hard as stone and fire ignited in them and whenever he could crack a bone in half, his lips turned up into a smile, showing his three rotten teeth… the only teeth he had.
“Alright, good. I’ll come pick the prisoner up in three hours. Make sure he’ll be ready.”
“Yesss, yesss, of couwsss’.”
“Good, good.”
He tapped Louis’ shoulder in a ‘see you later’ kinda way and left the pungent, raw smell of the dungeon to swirl around his cloak when he walked away.
But he’d be back.
In three hours, he’d be back.
He checked the stone pillar; ran his hand all over it, looking for anything out of the ordinary, he scraped off some dried almost half baked flesh off of the surface with his fingers, flicking it to the floor. Soon Jensen’s flesh would be there.
The top of the pillar was a dragon made of oak wood; wings spread wide, casting shadows each side of the pillar, providing the crowds that stood there with some shade. The dragon’s head with eyes made of green Muran glass that sparkled whenever the sun hit at just the right angle, was raised up high, looking forward, right to the spot where the King’s chair was. Out of its open mouth a tongue hung; a long, slim thing whose tip nearly touched the ground, but didn’t, because its purpose was to hold a small, iron ring where he had to tie a rope to… soon Jensen’s hands would hang from there, stretching his back perfectly for his whip.
He checked the ropes, wanting them to be fresh, not used, wanting them to be without any blood and strong. They had to be strong.
He checked his whip; made by the old masters on the shores of Lake Lash’as... it was a special whip, one he had never used before. Handle made of light wood, painted black with sigils carved into it, sigils that would protect him and whoever found himself on the other side of the handle. The lash was long, the tip of it thin and his whole body was used to how to handle it. No stroke would fall somewhere where it was not needed and no stroke would do damage in places where it shouldn’t.
He was a master. He was taught well.
He checked the sky and the sun and the dirt around the tall pillar, getting rid of some dog shit and rotten vegetables with his foot. He checked the people around him and how they ignored him completely, which suited him just fine.
He was a respected man, cruel some might say, some who didn’t know him.
The sun beat the land heavily, the sunbeams hot and unforgiving, punching the yard where the big spectacle will go down.
People were rushing to get all their business done, before the bells on the old church tower would strike five in the afternoon. The anticipation was so strong in the air, Jared could practically smell it, hell he could’ve probably cut it with his sword… it was like a solid string connecting every person walking in the square.
Jensen Ackles. Caught.
He heard words that people whispered behind his back when he did his preparations, he heard the people gasp at the mention of Jensen’s name.
If they only knew who he really was, if they really knew the real Jensen Ackles, Jared thought.
If they really knew, they’d cry and beg for him to be saved.
They would.
Jensen Ackles, thief, murderer, rapist, scavenger, kidnapper, enslaver of women and children, warrior out for a taste of blood. Cannibal.
Jared had to smirk at that last one. If people only knew what kinda ‘flesh’ Jensen liked to eat and what kinda ‘blood’ he liked to swallow down, they’d faint or go to their priest and buy penance for even thinking of such things.
His dick twitched just thinking about Jensen on his knees… fuck!
But he couldn’t get hard now, he had work to do.
Lots of work.
Impal was ready, the huge black Friesian stallion all saddled up and ready to go, even if it didn’t really seem like that, because he was happily munching on an apple Jared gave him.
He stroked the horse’s back and whispered softly: “You be ready, you hear me? You be ready when I call and you’ll get a lot more apples, okay? Good boy, you’re a good boy.”
He left the horse to his apples and hay, trusting him to hear when he’d call and went to his quarters.
There was still half an hour to go.
His sword and daggers were sharp, could cut stone in half probably, Impal was ready, he had homemade vinegar that he stole from the castle’s kitchen and a lot of ripped shirts that he grew out of a while back, wine and beer, some food. Water… he’d find on his way.
He was dressed appropriately, like a knight of King Dean Morgan’s house should be; black linen shirt that hung loosely down to his mid-thigh, black loose pants and a black cloak with a hood that felt heavy on his back. He checked his purse that hung from his belt… it was heavy with salt.
All black, good for the cold nights even in the summer, good to hide in the darkness, but too hot and too heavy for a summer’s day. But to dress otherwise would just get him in trouble; King Dean Morgan was a ruthless man, he never took a ‘no’ for an answer. So he dressed like he had to, even if he sweated like a pig and his shirt became soaking wet as soon as he even stepped out of his room.
He took a deep breath.
He was ready. He was. He just hoped Jensen was too.
CHAPTER 1 II CHAPTER 3