#dmitrixmagnai
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So far, Dmitri had had few dealings with the Council directly. Gideon had seemed far more interested in a psychological solution to Dmitri's acting out, although so far it had only riled Dmitri further. Likewise Roland and Stigr had been irritated with him, though he knew that they both found those sorts of punishments rather distasteful - and Roland had Rhys to appease as well. Still, they were only a small group among the total, and Dmitri had heard unsettling things about Raphael's appetite for mutilation. As Magnai released his hold on Dmitri's balls, Dmitri renewed his attempts to get away and managed to rotate partially onto his stomach, though Magnai's hand on his cock remained.
"You're the one that's touching it," he hissed. For someone threatening to get rid of them entirely, so far Magnai had more of an interest in Dmitri's cock and balls than anyone else at the castle. Despite his bravado, Dmitri could smell Magnai's arousal now, found himself caught in some kind of feedback loop with it as a gush of slick rushed between his legs. Magnai could probably see that he was wet from this angle. The smell must have been overwhelming - it certainly was for Dmitri. "You want me to behave for you? Am not going to. I'll behave in my fucking grave."
Magnai latched onto that fear, satisfied. A base, instinctive kind of terror for the slave with all his ideological protests to fall prey to, but that was typically the case. It was easy to come to peace with death, less so to do the same with mutilation. It only told him it was the appropriate threat to make for this particular case. "For now, it might be," He said flatly, finally releasing his hold, "I'll take it to the council myself. Let them vote on whether or not they'd like you better gelded. Not like you need this for anything anymore, do you?" Magnai's fist closed around Dmitri's straining prick, only holding it, the length of him burning hot against the varcolac's cool palm as he watched the omega's chest shudder with his breaths. There was no denying the alpha's own arousal now, but he ignored it steadfastly with a clinical sort of focus. "You keep making a nuisance of yourself and what do you think their decision will be?"
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The squeeze was torturous. As much as Dmitri squirmed, trying to jostle Magnai's grip loose, he almost feared that a twist in the wrong direction would pop his testicles off entirely. Tears had formed at the corners of his eyes, watering with the pain. And then finally the grip loosened and Dmtiri could breathe again. He took several deep, ragged breaths, his whole torso flush, cock red and angry. If Magnai had spoken any sooner, Dmitri wouldn't have been able to hear him, entirely drowned out by the rushing sound of his own blood in his ears.
"You- You wouldn't. That's not allowed." There was true fear in Dmitri's eyes now, wide with horror as he looked up at Magnai. He'd heard of werewolf clans that did such things to their male omegas in the ancient, backward belief that castration made them more fertile, or obedient, or both. Dmitri's father had always told him it was barbaric, that a good alpha would never ever allow it. Krovs, too, frowned on the mutilation of it's property. "You're disgusting."
Magnai watched the slave writhe for a long, intent moment, inhaling slow with his lips parted to draw in the scent of Dmitri's desperation. He had never been cruel just for his own gratification, but the slave's body was begging in a primal language his own knew easily how to respond to and the urge was hot in his veins, curling low in his gut. Dmitri couldn't know his tormentor was feeling a similar surge of resentment towards his own flesh, wrestling the temptation down again in deference to the more important work he had intended to do here. He was in control.
Magnai's grip slackened around that hot, fragile flesh, but his hand remained, a clear threat. He waited long enough for Dmitri to catch his breath, only watching him, eyes glittering, until he saw a bit more clarity in that dark gaze. "Behave, whelp," He growled finally, "Or I cut these off. You understand?"
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The boot lifted off Dmitri's chest, allowing him to get his breath back. Or so he thought - he'd barely taken half a breath when Magnai's hand grasped his balls suddenly, harsh and tight, and the air was squeezed out of his lungs again. It felt like Magnai was trying to pop them with the force of his grip. Dmitri's eyes buldged, his torso twisting, trying to escape. He could barely hear what Magnai was saying, let alone respond to it.
That sort of treatment ought to have made Dmitri soft in an instant, but it seemed like the more he hated it, the more it hurt, the more Dmitri despised Magnai, the more aroused he became. His scent was intense now, a thick smog of it swallowing the room. He shook his head, his body begging Magnai to stop, even as he swallowed the words back down, too stubborn for his own good. Right now, if Magnai turned him over, he'd see where Dmitri's body was leaking, his hole weeping for Magnai's knot.
Magnai had heard in broad strokes about Dmitri's encounter with the Israeli councilman, that the slave's mind had been tinkered with as a lesson. A powerful compulsion to linger this long. Whatever Rechter had done had clearly sunk deep into Dmitri's psyche, to have him stiffening in front of Magnai's eyes with such obvious panic polluting the thick arousal in his scent. It wasn't all that rare that slaves discovered an unknown craving in themselves for the treatment they received at the hands of Krovs' masters, but this was no such case. That didn't mean it wasn't potentially useful to pretend that it was.
"Didn't see this in your pictures," Magnai took his boot from Dmitri's chest and dropped down into a crouch, his hand diving between the omega's squirming legs to grip his balls painfully tight in one broad hand as he loomed over him, the hybrid's eyes dragging purposefully from the jut of Dmitri's cock up his chest to his furious face again. "Bold attitude for what you stink of." Magnai outwardly was still impassive but Dmitri's rage was calling to parts of him he normally ignored, tugging at instincts that too easily fell dormant when he went months away from other wolves. "What do you think I'd see if you rolled over for me right now?"
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At this point the programmed arousal was really starting to kick in. The more Dmitri despised Magnai, the more worked up he became, his cock slowly rising from flaccid, his pupils dilating. He was distracted enough by it, by his own distress at his body, that he forgot to protest Magnai's fingers in his mouth, all of his come backs, his bluster, forgotten as the panic spiked, his heart rate soaring out of control.
And then he was on his back, under Magnai's boot, grunting at the force of it. He could see Magnai working over the haphazard mishmash of tattoos that covered his entire body, from the neck down. The hammer and sickle over his heart, all his various esoteric and political symbols giving way to Ketchup the duck, from Animal Crossing, on his shin. Dmitri was his own personal canvas and he honoured every event, every important person, every interest with it. "Take a fucking picture," he snarled, squirming beneath Magnai's boot. "Or look at the ones they took already."
Dmitri's composure went out the window about as fast as his will had when facing off with Magnai's own. That, the hybrid expected, but the scent that leaked from the man fuming at his feet he hadn't accounted for. Potent, that mixture of arousal and distress. Magnai didn't even perceive the spit rolling off the toe of his boot at first, jaw tensing as both aspects of the omega's scent spiked stronger, enticing and repellant all at once. The warning growl he'd suppressed before rumbled deep in his throat as Magnai's pale eyes bored into Dmitri's head. The slave disliked the reminder of his helplessness, clearly. He needed the lesson underscored.
"You the one I'm supposed to want sucking?" He twined his fingers in Dmitri's hair, wrenching his head back crudely to stare into his face, inspecting. Sharp bone structure, deep-set eyes. Those heavy lids would make even the werewitch's glares seem seductive, no matter his intent. Magnai hooked a thumb in Dmitri's mouth to pry apart his teeth, peering inside with all the delicacy of inspecting a racing horse. "Clearly there was something pretty enough about you to be worth your life." He slipped his finger free, using his grip to shove the other down to the floor and anchor Dmitri there with one heavy foot on the omega's sternum. "So far, I'm not impressed." Magnai's head cocked, tracing his gaze over the ink littering Dmitri's skin. Cluttered, aggressive. Soft, underneath. The pup was hiding himself.
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Dmitri felt the compulsion like a shock in the base of his spine. He snarled, but nonetheless his body was in motion and he was powerless to stop it. He watched himself stand up, wade through the mess on the floor and carefully put the bat back in the cupboard he'd retrieved it from. Just as Magnai had instructed, he stripped out of his clothes, leaving them pooled on the floor and knelt, naked, in front of Magnai. He slammed his hands against the floor in frustration, but found himself totally incapable of getting up.
"Cheap fucking trick. Cunts like you lack honour." Dmitri had lost what little calm he had, his heart rate racing out of control. He could feel himself getting wet, again, courtesy of Gideon. Last time Dmitri had been in a situation like this one, it had ended in him being pinned down and fucked against his will. He wasn't green enough to think this wasn't heading the same way. "You do this because no one would suck your cocks otherwise." He spat on Magnai's boots, seeing as he couldn't reach his face.
Magnai's eyes narrowed, mulling over Dmitri's words. Personal grudge then. Personal, shrouded in ideological. That was how it usually began. "I agree," He said calmly, watching the way the slave was tensing himself, clearly ready for a fight. Magnai was still deciding whether or not it was worth it to give him one. "If I had my way, your body would be getting picked at by crows in the taiga by now." He looked down at the bat, arching an unimpressed brow. Dmitri could likely break it over his head without fazing the hybrid. "Shame for both of us it didn't go that way."
Unsurprisingly, the slave wasn't interested in taking orders. Dmitri's answer was closer to giving one. Magnai decidedly didn't move an inch from his stance, meeting that fierce gaze. "I said put it back where it belongs," The compulsion behind the varcolac's words hit like a hammer, heavy and impersonal, irritated that it even had to be. Magnai rarely cared for finesse in this; it was a tool like any other and the heaviness was the point. "Then strip and kneel here," He kicked aside an unwound length of rope, leaving a bare space of floor amongst the chaos at the varcolac's feet. "I'll gauge if you're worth it for myself."
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All of Magnai's talk only made Dmitri clutch the bat tighter, slide his hand down to grip the handle, extending it, accusatory, towards Magnai. Was this Gideon again, sending down a dog trainer now? He snorted, rolled his shoulders, trying to give the appearance of being relaxed, but unable to make it stick, not with his eyes so wild and mistrustful. He looked Magnai up or down, trying to determine how armed he was, but immediately found himself distracted by the muscular physique. Goddamn that Councilman.
"Bet it was Russian Councilman. Obsessed with my fucking family. Should have taken my head in a basket." He shifted his weight, gripping the edge of the mattress, feet planted firmly on the floor, ready to launch himself off it if Magnai came any closer. "That's where half of his is anyway." Even an ancient vampire like the Councilman was in for a rough couple of months healing that particular injury. Dmitri was prepared to tank whatever beating was coming his way, there was nothing left for him to hang onto, except, Cian's involvement, and he had absolutely no intention of becoming Krovs' good little dog. "Come fucking make me."
The room was a disaster, an inauspicious start. Magnai couldn't find it himself to be taken aback either. Shenker, according to his files, hadn't gone down without a fight when he was taken in and had barely stopped since. The omega was in a stance that indicated his readiness for another one, if the growl that reached Magnai's ears didn't communicate that clearly enough. He could feel the answering one trying to rise in his chest, deep and assertive, and smothered the sound with the ease of centuries of practice, deadly quiet instead as the varcolac stared Dmitri down. He wondered if the slave would even answer. He was surprised when he did - though for Dmitri's reputation, it was a tame answer indeed. Perhaps there was was something workable here after all.
"Correct," Magnai stepped forward over the scattered toys, taking his time to assess if Dmitri had truly done damage or just made a mess in his ire. It looked closer to the latter. "I'm glad we understand each other." He came to a stop perhaps six feet from where the slave was perched, cocking his head, unamused, at the way the question was turned around. It seemed obvious to him. "You're here because someone decided your ass in their bed was worth more than your head in a basket," He stated, eyes sharp on the other's face to catch Dmitri's reaction, "I'm here to make sure you validate that decision. Understand?" Magnai's gaze dropped to the bat laid across the slave's lap, making a curt, derisive snort at the sight. "That isn't going to get you out of the Undercroft, Shenker. Put it back where it belongs." The third step: testing receptivity to orders.
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In the fifteen minutes he'd been left to his own devices, Dmitri had more or less turned the playroom upside down. He'd never been in one before, though he'd had a rough idea of what to expect from other slaves' descriptions. It wasn't wildly dissimilar from the kink dungeons that Dmitri had frequented of his own volition, when he was a free man. In his casing of the joint, he'd quickly established that all of the furniture appeared to be bolted down. He'd opened every drawer and cupboard he could find, looking for any kind of suitable weapon, everything he'd rejected left scattered on the floor. He wasn't sure who was coming for him. If it was Hunter, he wanted more than just his hands to fend him off with this time.
By the time the door opened, he'd located a solid, wooden bat. In a more traditional playroom, it would be used for more hardcore impact play. He was fairly certain it was used for breaking bones here. Dmitri had situated himself on the end of the bed, a watchful gaze on the door, the bat laid across his lap. He did not recognise the man that entered. Good, he had no wish to tangle with Hunter again. He did, however, recognise the scent. Alpha. It made his nostrils flare, set his teeth on edge. A growl rose in his throat before Magnai had even spoken.
The question caught him off guard. His gaze flicked over Magnai, suspicious to his very core. A shiver went up his spine, made him sit up a little straighter, reflexively. He sucked his teeth. Why was he at Krovs? He'd expected to die. There was really only one possible answer. "Am hot." He said, with a shrug of his shoulders, fingernails drumming against the neck of the bat. "Why are you here?"
for @dmitri-shenker
Magnai had heard plenty of stories out of Krovs that might've warranted his return. One of them was practically worth making the decision all on its own -- if the varcolac had his druthers, Shenker would dead and buried already in a shallow grave, if there was nothing left to interrogate out of him. But someone liked making examples too much for that level of common sense. Magnai would see for himself how well the castle had done at taming such a poor candidate for a slave and if it was poorly... well, he'd worked with cruder material before.
He pulled the playroom door shut behind him with a heavy sound, Magnai's eyes trained immediately on the room's only occupant. He'd given Dmitri fifteen minutes alone once the guards had left the slave, the first step to any stress test: how well they responded to waiting. Magnai stood there without a word for a long moment as he gauged the smaller man, arms folding over his chest, expressionless but for the first curl of his lip at the omega's scent. The second step, and one he had a strong idea as to the outcome of: gauging how well-trained the slave was at knowing when to hold their tongue.
"Dmitri Shenker..." He growled finally, his mouth wrapping around the sounds of the name with the easy familiarity of one who spoke the same tongue, "I'll start easy with you and it'll be the last time I do. I want to know why you think you're here today."
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