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whump-card · 17 days ago
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Undertaking Alchemy: Chapter 3: Specimen Collection
CW: intimate whumper, captivity, noncon undressing and voyeurism, restraints
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Read on Ao3!
~~~
The overnight reduction was a failure. It rendered down into a blackened sludge that gave no magical response to any test that Ailen put it through – and he wasted the day trying them all. It went down the toilet and the alchemist struggled to find a new approach, cross-referencing his notes with books and scrolls and reagent compatabilities and forever stumbling across his own records of tried this, tried this, tried this. No result.
His panic grew as the sky outside his narrow windows darkened; he started distilling spirit of hartshorn just to be doing something, watching numbly as pale liquid dripped into the receptacle.
Edelgard would return soon; Ailen had nothing to show for his day. He would be beaten again, he was sure of it. His dread grew as the hours slipped past; he didn’t touch the meal that Marbles brought.
It was almost a relief when the iron bolt slid with an announcing clunk. No more waiting. They could just get it over with.
Ailen rose to stand a few steps from the door, facing it, his hands clasped behind his back and his head bowed to stare at the floor. Edelgard paused when he entered, taking in Ailen’s presentation.
“Little alchemist?” he questioned, closing the door behind him.
“I have nothing,” Ailen said, completely resigned and exhausted, “I have nothing. Sir.”
Edelgard inhaled, held it, and exhaled.
“I’ve been doing some research of my own, Ailen,” he said, almost casually.
“… Sir?” Ailen blinked, frowning slightly.
“I have provided you with a world of ingredients to work with. But there is one that you do not have access to, considering your… anatomy.”
Ailen’s blood ran cold. Don’t say it, don’t say it.
“The seed of life, as it were,” the wizard’s voice rumbled low, “I thought I might provide you with some.”
“You don’t have to do that, sir,” Ailen said quickly. Edelgard laughed.
“What’s a bit of effort on my part in service of discovering the philosopher’s stone? I’m happy to provide… though,” he stepped closer to Ailen, his sulfuric scent enveloping the alchemist, “I may need some assistance in collecting.”
“No,” slipped out of Ailen’s mouth.
“What was that?” Edelgard took Ailen’s chin in his hand, lifting it slightly. The alchemist kept his eyes trained downwards.
“Sir, please,” Ailen whispered, “I can’t…”
“Oh, you won’t have to do a thing!” The wizard patted his cheek – making Ailen flinch – and stepped around him, approaching the central table. “I just need you to… hold still.”
Ailen turned to face him, keeping his eyes trained down even as they blurred with tears.
“Please don’t do this, sir.”
“Don’t be dramatic, I won’t even touch you.” Fabric rustled as Edelgard started undoing the buttons of his robe. “Undress.”
Shaking, Ailen wrapped his arms around himself. This was a line he would not willingly cross.
“No,” he choked out, “No, I will not.”
He could feel the wizard’s eyes on him for a long moment, then two mage hands, blue-white and spectral, materialized in front of him and seized his wrists before he could react. They dragged his arms out to a T, and Ailen yelped and stumbled as they were nearly yanked out of their sockets. A second pair of hands appeared before him, and started unbuckling the belt of his leather apron.
“No,” Ailen said, “No, no, stop, please!”
“Look at me, Ailen.”
The alchemist’s breath caught. Throughout his entire time here, anything close to eye contact would result in Edelgard lashing out, punishing him. This conflicting request led to uncharted waters. What did it mean?
Regardless, Ailen knew the order couldn’t be refused, and he looked up at his captor. Edelgard’s robe was open, and the front of his trousers unbuttoned to reveal a sizable member, flushed and engorged, resting in the wizard’s hand as he leaned his hips back against the table’s edge. Ailen dragged his eyes up to Edelgard’s face. The wizard’s mouth was stretched in a lazy smile, his cold blue eyes meeting Ailen’s in a lustful stare. He had crow’s feet wrinkles that might have made him look friendly, had they met under different circumstances, had his face borne a different expression. Instead the smile, the stare, the fine lines, they painted a picture of man who salaciously enjoyed the suffering of others. Who enjoyed Ailen’s suffering. Ailen instantly lost all hope that Edelgard could be reasoned with; pleas tumbled out of him anyway.
“Don’t do this,please, sir, don’t do this!”
Even as he begged, more mage hands formed and began to manhandle him in earnest. His apron was lifted away and dropped to the floor, and his arms were twisted and forced upwards as his sweater vest was peeled off over his head. Hands plucked at his shirt buttons, his arm garters, his hair tie. Ailen shook his head and tried to twist away but the mage hands were relentless, as was Edelgard’s stare.
“Stop!” Ailen sobbed, “Stop this, please!”
The wizard was stroking himself, his head tilted back slightly.
“Keep fighting,” he grunted, “Just like that.”
Ailen dry heaved, overcome with horror. Cold hands slipped inside his open shirt, ghosting over his bruised ribs and working the garment off. His legs felt gelatinous, and the only thing keeping him from collapsing in shock was the many gripping, grasping, pulling hands. Now that he was shirtless a pair of the ghostly claws started on his trouser ties, while one groped his thigh, one fisted in his braids, and many more squeezed and fondled his arms and torso.
“Please,” he cried out desperately, “Please, stop it!”
“Hush now,” Edelgard breathed, “Just keep looking at me.”
The wizard gave a flick of his free hand and a cold palm clamped over Ailen’s mouth, stifling his pleas into whimpers. Ailen screwed his eyes shut, refusing to cooperate.
“I said, look at me.”
The hands holding Ailen’s left arm twisted violently, and the alchemist screamed through his nose as muscles and ligaments were strained to a near-tearing point. He opened his eyes, frantically blinking away tears, and focused on Edelgard. The wizard’s smile broadened, an expression that made Ailen feel faint.
“Good.”
The hands on his arm eased. Fingers slid down into Ailen’s trousers, easing them and his undershorts off his hips. A hand gripped his ankle, lifting his foot. As much as Ailen tried to kick them away, the mage hands removed his shoes one at a time; his trousers and undershorts followed. Ailen found himself half-standing, half-held up, supported by the many hands; his clothes were scattered around him, leaving him in nothing but his knee-high stockings. Fingers dug into his hips, his calves, the bruises down his side, his biceps and wrists. His nostrils flared as air rushed in and out in a panicked staccato.
All the while Edelgard was touching himself, his breath rising as he gazed at Ailen. The alchemist refused to look at what he was doing, but focusing on his captor’s face was just as upsetting. The way the old man’s smile twitched with pleasure and effort, his eyebrows slightly drawn, and the overt, undeniable excitement in his pale eyes made bile rise in Ailen’s throat and tears roll down his face. His struggles weakened; his movements became purely reactionary, twitching away from icy fingers whenever they shifted on his skin. But he found his footing again, and felt some small relief there – but it didn’t last long.
Edelgard lifted an eyebrow, and Ailen’s stomach sank.
“Let’s take a closer look at you.”
The mage hands tightened in sync, and dragged Ailen downwards. He whimpered through the palm covering his mouth as his knees hit the floor, then his ass, then his back. Then, hands lifted his knees and spread them, exposing him for the wizard’s easy viewing.
Ailen screamed and sobbed through his nose, struggling with all his might, kicking his legs and bucking his hips – but the mage hands held him fast. Through the fog of panic in his own head he heard Edelgard laugh.
My distress is what he wants, Ailen realized, This is what he enjoys… And yet, Ailen couldn’t make himself stop struggling and crying. Some deep instinct had been triggered, that of an animal in a trap, and Ailen would have gnawed off his own limb if it meant escape.
At the very least, he was no longer being forced to look at the wizard. He stared wide-eyed at the vaulted ceiling, dusty crossbeams, and antiquated chandeliers, but nothing could distract him from the sheer humiliation of being put on display against his will. Worse, the cool air against him highlighted that he was slick with arousal once more. He could only hope that Edelgard didn’t look too closely or, God forbid, touch him.
“You’re beautiful… My little alchemist.”
Edelgard’s breathing grew more labored and heated. Ailen twisted against the mage hands relentlessly, his face burning up with shame and disgust – disgust with Edelgard, and disgust with himself. What about this situation was activating him? How could he make it stop?
The wizard groaned and sighed. Glass takked against wood as he set a cup down, and Ailen could just barely hear fabric rustling over his own panting and whimpering as Edelgard rearranged his garments. Without warning, the mage hands vanished as one. Ailen’s knees snapped together and he curled up in a ball on his side, pressing his forehead into the floor. His whole body ached, inside and out, from muscles struggling so hard they strained to many new bruises from the rough manhandling. With his mouth free he sobbed, loudly, wordlessly, hopelessly.
Footsteps approached him.
“Now now, Ailen. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Edelgard crouched, taking one of Ailen’s braids and rolling it between his fingers, “I didn’t fuck you, did I?”
“Go away,” Ailen said in a trembling voice. The wizard tsked.
“I just provided you with a precious resource, and that’s all you have to say?” he leaned in closer, “Say thank you.”
Ailen grit his teeth in silence.
Edelgard gently rested a hand on Ailen’s hip, sliding it over the curve of his captive’s rear.
“Say thank you.”
“Thank you!” Ailen choked out, hating himself for complying – but the fear of being violated further won out.
“Good.” Edelgard stood, straightening his robe. “Don’t let it go to waste. Work through the night if you have to.”
Ailen hugged his limbs closer, shaking uncontrollably, as the wizard left. He stayed there, on the floor, surrounded by his clothes, unable to think or breathe or move. There was only the icy horror, the gut-churning disgust, the burning shame.
Eventually, the discomfort of the cold, unforgiving floor pressing against Ailen wakened his rational mind. It was a slow, arduous process, standing up; he had to push himself upright, get his feet under himself, grab a nearby cabinet’s trim for support, drag himself inch by inch upwards, onto his jelly legs, until he was standing, almost like a person.
A small glass measuring cup on the main table caught Ailen’s eye. He knew what it was immediately; it contained a small amount of while fluid. He stared at it dully. All his humiliation, for as little as that? A hysterical, sickly laugh bubbled out of him, and he slapped a hand over his mouth to kill it, scrunching his eyes shut in a wince. He stood there, shivering, until a thought crept in.
What if it makes a difference.
Ailen was a great alchemist for a reason. His curiosity outweighed many of his inhibitions; and here, that curiosity rode on the back of desperation.
He dressed, quickly. Splashed water on his face. He spared a glance in the mirror over his sink, and saw bloodshot eyes and frizzy hair, puffy new growth at his roots.
How long had he been trapped here?
He turned away from the sight of himself, finding it hard to bear. He returned to the center of the laboratory with a vigorous step.
If the “seed of life” was the key to the philosopher’s stone – and by extension, his freedom – he’d take it.
Do better. Be better.
~~~
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