Thread: Sword & Shield

When she approached him Tierian didn't flinch. Cool. Calm. He was naked, bound, standing in a camp full of men who would likely sell their own mothers down the river just to be the one to eviscerate him personally, yet his stance, his attitude, it was completely relaxed. When Keara approached him, when she stepped to him close, when her hand danced up along his skin the prince simply smiled in response. Of course she was touching him. She was a self-righteous bitch, but she still knew a man when she saw one. His back was firm. His body was straight. She was caressing his cheek now. 'You know, every word that comes out of your mouth only makes me want to hurt you. Badly.' Tierian grinned. His response? He puckered his lips, giving the air a brief little kiss. Then came the punch. The fist came as hard as any man's, elbow grease and all - his lower half remained still, but from the waist up Tierian whipped to the side along with her hand, shoulders and all, long mousy brown hair temporarily shielding his features as his head twisted, dipped, and then whipped up, one foot staggering back briefly toward the end. His hair, long and straight, a mild waviness to it, left his face and went back its normal resting about his neck and atop his shoulders as he straightened back to full, snickering. Amused. Not a bad fuckin' punch, little girl. Not bad. He watched quietly as she went back over to the table. To be honest he watched quietly because he was watching the sway of her ass with her steps, and it was a nice ass indeed, that approval something he took a breath and parted his lips to voice, but before the prince could he caught sight of her procuring a parchment. He couldn't see anything of it from this angle, but the way she spoke about it did have him a little intrigued. When Keara returned to him Tierian's face remained straight, his jaw set forward, but his eyes slyly followed her hands. To no avail, though. That curiosity was briefly jarred when, behind him, he felt the sudden push as Keara shoved him forward. Unapologetically the proud warrior's body was jerked forward - naked, yet somehow still proud, if not prouder in his nudity - and was forced to bend over the table in front of him. He bent at the waist. His body lurched, his knees strained a bit from the force, his head tilted to the side and his eyes flashed closed, a heavy grunt passing from his lips when his cheek collided against the wooden top. The man's first instinct was to shove himself backward, because what the fuck, and as he readied himself, though he felt her brace her stance behind him that wasn't what stopped his resistance. Rather, it was the parchment now reached around and dangled in front of his face that stole his attention back. The prince's eyes rolled as the brownish-redhead spouted off about her crest as if its nobility were anything but imagined. They widened, however, when that next part came - and with it his face grew terribly pale. It drained of its color in an instant. Wait. She wouldn't. She wouldn't. Fucking. Dare. His teeth clenched. His heart raced. It was then his body thrust backward, because fuck this, he put his weight into it and dug his heels against the ground. Tierian threw himself backward against her, into her, but found his effort to no avail - the hand gripping the back of his neck was firm, and as she braced herself against him she actually surprised him, a lot, with her strength. Strength enough to wear heavy plate and manage a sword? Like hell he was buying that yet, but for a woman this was not typical. His bent over position didn't help things either. He struggled. His shoulders jerked. Tierian's body shoved itself back a few times against her grip, gritting his teeth, struggling against her hand, his own, balled into fists, straining against the hemp around his wrists so damn much he risked running the skin there raw. It was her lips that paused him mid-struggle. When Keara bent over, when the captive prince felt the dip of her bosom tickle at the bare skin of his back, when he felt her lips to his skin, her hot breath, her sudden, sultry words, he froze. With that was not just a freeze of his straining against her, against his bonds, but a halt in any active thought whatsoever. He listened. Tierian didn't even breathe for those couple of seconds, he just remained there, bent atop the sturdy wood, and listened. Branded with the symbol of the enemy, his body was about to be disgraced in the worst of ways. It wasn't even Ellencia's symbol specifically, but that of Keara's family line, her own personal crest that he would forever be shamed with the stain of. It was imminent. It was very real, and it was about to happen. But he found that his body stopped resisting, his mind drawing a complete blank. It sickened him. It turned his stomach, but as she continued that hotly-breathed whisper... '...that you belonged to me.' ...there was something about it. The feel of her breasts against his back. The feel of him bent over, naked while she was still clothed, and having failed so far in that brief physical struggle, leverage against him aside. The feel of her breath. The delight of ownership in her words. The permanency of the impending threat. This was the kind of thing he did to others, that he'd do to her - not the other way around! Yet still. Still, Tierian found his heart racing against his chest. He found his face and skin completely pale, his body going cold, yet somehow his blood was boiling at the same time. And when she licked him, when she licked him, when Keara's tongue playfully traced the inner curve of his ear he couldn't form a coherent fucking thought, his body shuddering beneath her grasp as his only response. Well, that, and his dick suddenly getting very, very hard. Thank the gods she was not in any position to see that for herself. Then it happened. Tierian's eyes could not widen any further than they already were, but if they could, they did. The shock of the sudden, instant and horrendous burn the moment the parchment touched upon him came out first as a sharp gasp, followed by a sputter for breath. Ghh... nnnghhnn!! Grahh!!! A throaty snarl filled the tent. He shoved himself backward, hard, only to find the added hand on his back now making it less possible to move against her. The smell of burning flesh was instant and sickening. The pain shot through him like a surge. He was being burned. He was being burned. Tierian's teeth grit down painfully hard and his shoulders jerked from side to side. He couldn't get free. He couldn't fight her from this position, not with his neck and lower back being pressed down on. You cunt! You fucking - you cunt! Get off of me!! He shouted, the acid burning beyond the skin, scarring the once-perfection of his sculpted form and continuing on to sear at his nerves. What happened then was a de-evolution of his struggling back against her. The throes of his body slowed over the course of the eleven or twelve seconds she'd been holding the acidic paper against his skin, then after a few more they stopped completely. It was more piercing than any blade, this pain, first burning where it touched, then completely numbing, followed by that feeling resurging in the form of a dull, throbbing ache. His body gave up completely. He stopped fighting. He didn't whimper. He didn't cry. But as she held the burning parchment against him still, the moment-ago prideful Prince Tierian Alyren of Tamur felt his eyes go from a clench shut to just a simple closed, and his body already felt several degrees colder, a slight shiver coursing through him.