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storypaint) wrote2009-05-01 10:59 am
storypaint) wrote2009-05-01 10:59 am
Only Sting a Little (Don Paolo/Luke)
Title: Only Sting a Little
Length: 1128 words
Prompt: Professor Layton (Anon) Fan Meme: Don Paolo/Luke: Don Paolo knows exactly how to hurt Layton.
Pairing: Paolo/Luke; gen
Other: NC-17 for noncon, shota
Excerpt: The first time, Paolo gave him a lollipop before he parted Luke's thighs. Luke hesitated to put it in his mouth.
The first time, Paolo gave him a lollipop before he parted Luke's thighs. Luke hesitated to put it in his mouth. He bit and nearly choked when the burn began to prickle like poison across his skin.
The lollipop cracked, snapped, and Paolo didn't stop.
*
Don Paolo was not a quiet, nor a patient man. The hatred he felt for Layton burned within him like a pilot flame. If it had gone out, one might suspect that he just wouldn't be Paolo anymore.
He'd tried ostentatious and overt plans because he couldn't even think quietly. He'd blown things up, sent carnival equipment reeling, shouted and smoked and screamed, but it was all to no avail. Layton didn't move; Layton didn't even acknowledge his existence.
That was the worst thing of all. The little boy chasing around after the professor received more attention than Don Paolo himself did.
And so, uncharacteristically, Paolo hatched a quiet plan.
*
Luke and Flora usually walked to school together, but on the days she had sewing club afterwards, Luke went on ahead and Layton came to walk her home. So every other Thursday Luke took the opportunity to explore.
He nearly had the city memorized, he felt. He knew six different routes to take him back to the professor's house, and sometimes he stalked through them pretending he was on a great archaeological mission, trying to avoid capture by the natives. He was getting a little too old for playtime, he supposed, but when he was alone, it didn't hurt.
Except today, it rather did.
*
Luke woke up with a white-hot pain burning down his cheek and his neck. He whimpered without thinking, and someone made a contented noise deep in their throat.
"Good job," the person growled. "You've done wonderfully."
Cigarette smoke blew over Luke's face, burning like tiny knives over his injury. He coughed and then whimpered again.
"Of course, you wouldn't want me to tell the professor what you've done, would you?"
"Professor?" Luke asked, voice cracking. "But what--?"
"Open your eyes," the person commanded, so Luke did. He gaped in horror at the naked man before him, his mouth twisting as he glanced past-- glanced past...
He wasn't wearing any clothes, either.
"He'd send you home for sure," the man said, twiddling the end of his moustache. "But if you do something else for me, I won't tell. I promise."
He leaned down to meet Luke's eyes and Luke felt trapped his gaze. He was crying, quite without realizing. The salt of his tears poured fire on his damaged nerve endings.
"Okay," he whispered, biting his lip.
Paolo handed him a lollipop.
*
"I can't imagine how falling into the street could make you bleed so much, Luke," the professor said, shaking his head and wringing out a washcloth. "You really must be more careful."
"I'm sorry to make you worry, Professor," Luke said, his insides curling. He felt as though any moment Layton would see through his barely-balanced facade. Surely he looked different. Surely he looked like an awful person. His presence must be unbearable to others, whether they knew what he'd done or not.
"It's okay," Layton said, pressing a cool hand to Luke's warm forehead and trailing his fingers across Luke's bangs. He smiled. "Everyone has the occasional accident."
*
The fourth time that Luke was late from school, Layton went looking for him. He'd left Flora home with the strict instructions to stay indoors, and probably he'd scared her, but he was too preoccupied with his worry.
Ever since that day Luke had "fallen" and came home late, he'd been withdrawn, jumping at every small sound. He was having horrible nightmares, and that's just when he could actually sleep. Layton had offered his bed to share, hoping to calm the boy, but Luke had just stared and fled.
He had been late twice more, though seemingly without injury. His eyes became even more haunted. He shied away from even the simplest touch.
Layton was going to find him.
*
He'd lost a shoe. He'd lost a shoe. That was all that Luke could think of, all he could concentrate on, as the man pushed into him. He'd lost a shoe. He'd lost a shoe.
It was impossible to concentrate, impossible to think, impossible to breathe.
His shoe. It must have fallen off or gotten caught in the door or something. How didn't he notice? The professor wasn't going to be happy.
The man's breathing filled his ears, blocking out all distractions, and Luke's eyes were open, staring at nothing, imagining that damned shoe, trying to figure how he could explain this one.
And the door opened. The man silhouetted in the light from the outdoors wore a top hat, and he was clutching a small black shoe.
"Luke?" he said.
Luke sobbed.
The other quit moving, clamping a hand over Luke's mouth roughly, but the damage was done. He pushed Luke away, onto the floor, and Luke felt his chin scrape along the ground.
"Oh my God--" Layton said, dropping the shoe.
"So nice of you to visit," the man said, and Luke could hear him grinning. He relieved Luke of his weight and began to pick up his own clothing, quite at ease. Luke didn't move.
The professor would surely hate him now. He would hate him. He'd lost his shoe and he'd done this and I'm sorry about the shoe Professor and please don't hate me and and and--
He didn't realize he'd been speaking until Layton had wrapped his arms around him, pulling him up onto his lap, clutching him to his chest.
"No, no, it's okay, it's okay," Layton said, pressing Luke's head to his chest, and Luke just sobbed. It was just the two of them, then, and that was all that mattered.
"Layton," the other man interjected, but Layton didn't move. "Layton!"
"I would suggest that you stay still where you are, and wait for me to call the police. It will go a lot easier on you, then," he said, his voice somehow steady.
"Don't you want to know who I am?" the man blustered. "Doesn't it... bother you?"
"I'd rather not," Layton said very quietly, "because I'd rather not have the temptation to find you before due process of law."
"You know me," Paolo replied excitedly. "I'm--"
"Not important," Layton replied, stroking Luke's hair.
The man stood, dumbfounded and broken. Layton would know his name soon enough. Layton would be at the trial. Layton would--
--be holding that little boy for as long as he needed someone.
He was never going to care who Don Paolo was, no matter what he did. There was no chance of victory, really.
He didn't protest as the police led him away.
Length: 1128 words
Prompt: Professor Layton (Anon) Fan Meme: Don Paolo/Luke: Don Paolo knows exactly how to hurt Layton.
Pairing: Paolo/Luke; gen
Other: NC-17 for noncon, shota
Excerpt: The first time, Paolo gave him a lollipop before he parted Luke's thighs. Luke hesitated to put it in his mouth.
The first time, Paolo gave him a lollipop before he parted Luke's thighs. Luke hesitated to put it in his mouth. He bit and nearly choked when the burn began to prickle like poison across his skin.
The lollipop cracked, snapped, and Paolo didn't stop.
*
Don Paolo was not a quiet, nor a patient man. The hatred he felt for Layton burned within him like a pilot flame. If it had gone out, one might suspect that he just wouldn't be Paolo anymore.
He'd tried ostentatious and overt plans because he couldn't even think quietly. He'd blown things up, sent carnival equipment reeling, shouted and smoked and screamed, but it was all to no avail. Layton didn't move; Layton didn't even acknowledge his existence.
That was the worst thing of all. The little boy chasing around after the professor received more attention than Don Paolo himself did.
And so, uncharacteristically, Paolo hatched a quiet plan.
*
Luke and Flora usually walked to school together, but on the days she had sewing club afterwards, Luke went on ahead and Layton came to walk her home. So every other Thursday Luke took the opportunity to explore.
He nearly had the city memorized, he felt. He knew six different routes to take him back to the professor's house, and sometimes he stalked through them pretending he was on a great archaeological mission, trying to avoid capture by the natives. He was getting a little too old for playtime, he supposed, but when he was alone, it didn't hurt.
Except today, it rather did.
*
Luke woke up with a white-hot pain burning down his cheek and his neck. He whimpered without thinking, and someone made a contented noise deep in their throat.
"Good job," the person growled. "You've done wonderfully."
Cigarette smoke blew over Luke's face, burning like tiny knives over his injury. He coughed and then whimpered again.
"Of course, you wouldn't want me to tell the professor what you've done, would you?"
"Professor?" Luke asked, voice cracking. "But what--?"
"Open your eyes," the person commanded, so Luke did. He gaped in horror at the naked man before him, his mouth twisting as he glanced past-- glanced past...
He wasn't wearing any clothes, either.
"He'd send you home for sure," the man said, twiddling the end of his moustache. "But if you do something else for me, I won't tell. I promise."
He leaned down to meet Luke's eyes and Luke felt trapped his gaze. He was crying, quite without realizing. The salt of his tears poured fire on his damaged nerve endings.
"Okay," he whispered, biting his lip.
Paolo handed him a lollipop.
*
"I can't imagine how falling into the street could make you bleed so much, Luke," the professor said, shaking his head and wringing out a washcloth. "You really must be more careful."
"I'm sorry to make you worry, Professor," Luke said, his insides curling. He felt as though any moment Layton would see through his barely-balanced facade. Surely he looked different. Surely he looked like an awful person. His presence must be unbearable to others, whether they knew what he'd done or not.
"It's okay," Layton said, pressing a cool hand to Luke's warm forehead and trailing his fingers across Luke's bangs. He smiled. "Everyone has the occasional accident."
*
The fourth time that Luke was late from school, Layton went looking for him. He'd left Flora home with the strict instructions to stay indoors, and probably he'd scared her, but he was too preoccupied with his worry.
Ever since that day Luke had "fallen" and came home late, he'd been withdrawn, jumping at every small sound. He was having horrible nightmares, and that's just when he could actually sleep. Layton had offered his bed to share, hoping to calm the boy, but Luke had just stared and fled.
He had been late twice more, though seemingly without injury. His eyes became even more haunted. He shied away from even the simplest touch.
Layton was going to find him.
*
He'd lost a shoe. He'd lost a shoe. That was all that Luke could think of, all he could concentrate on, as the man pushed into him. He'd lost a shoe. He'd lost a shoe.
It was impossible to concentrate, impossible to think, impossible to breathe.
His shoe. It must have fallen off or gotten caught in the door or something. How didn't he notice? The professor wasn't going to be happy.
The man's breathing filled his ears, blocking out all distractions, and Luke's eyes were open, staring at nothing, imagining that damned shoe, trying to figure how he could explain this one.
And the door opened. The man silhouetted in the light from the outdoors wore a top hat, and he was clutching a small black shoe.
"Luke?" he said.
Luke sobbed.
The other quit moving, clamping a hand over Luke's mouth roughly, but the damage was done. He pushed Luke away, onto the floor, and Luke felt his chin scrape along the ground.
"Oh my God--" Layton said, dropping the shoe.
"So nice of you to visit," the man said, and Luke could hear him grinning. He relieved Luke of his weight and began to pick up his own clothing, quite at ease. Luke didn't move.
The professor would surely hate him now. He would hate him. He'd lost his shoe and he'd done this and I'm sorry about the shoe Professor and please don't hate me and and and--
He didn't realize he'd been speaking until Layton had wrapped his arms around him, pulling him up onto his lap, clutching him to his chest.
"No, no, it's okay, it's okay," Layton said, pressing Luke's head to his chest, and Luke just sobbed. It was just the two of them, then, and that was all that mattered.
"Layton," the other man interjected, but Layton didn't move. "Layton!"
"I would suggest that you stay still where you are, and wait for me to call the police. It will go a lot easier on you, then," he said, his voice somehow steady.
"Don't you want to know who I am?" the man blustered. "Doesn't it... bother you?"
"I'd rather not," Layton said very quietly, "because I'd rather not have the temptation to find you before due process of law."
"You know me," Paolo replied excitedly. "I'm--"
"Not important," Layton replied, stroking Luke's hair.
The man stood, dumbfounded and broken. Layton would know his name soon enough. Layton would be at the trial. Layton would--
--be holding that little boy for as long as he needed someone.
He was never going to care who Don Paolo was, no matter what he did. There was no chance of victory, really.
He didn't protest as the police led him away.