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He didn’t want to see Ludger’s face. He didn’t want to see any part of his pretty, perfect face, with that youthful gleam of innocence still shining behind his bright turquoise eyes, still as clear as his own must have been at that age. So Victor fixed the problem. He’d always been a problem solver, really, and Ludger’s much, much more beautiful bound and gagged, kneeling in subservience.
Tapping the riding crop against a gloved hand, he had to admire his own work. Ludger’s hands are tied behind him, intricate knots and patterns around his torso and back holding him firmly in place, breathing slow and controlled against the fabric in his mouth, eyes covered by a tight blindfold. Sometimes Victor trails the leather along Ludger’s back, and tries to control himself when Ludger shudders underneath it, his own arousal making itself known, surging through his veins.
“You know you’re gorgeous, don’t you?” Victor asks - more of a statement, really, and Ludger doesn’t reply, shoulders rising and falling with each breath he takes. The sun is setting on Lake Epsilla, large bay windows letting in the dying light of the day, and it makes the wood glow red, fire burning like the flames behind Victor’s irises as he regards his double with contempt. “Tell me what you want,” he whispers, trailing the end of the riding crop along his neck.
Ludger squirms against his restraints, making a muffled noise against the gag, and Victor kneels down close to his face, running a finger along his cheek, cupping his chin in his hands, “I didn’t quite catch that, Ludger.” Even the sight of the other’s partially-exposed face is enough to make him want to puke, and he shoves Ludger away, standing up.
“Tell me again,” Victor commands, positioning his riding crop at the base of Ludger’s back and giving a sharp strike. Ludger twists and turns at the contact, moaning against his gag, and tries desperately to voice again what it is he wants. Victor knows that it’s a futile effort with how tightly he’s gagged, but hits him anyway with the tip of the leather, long and tapered. He knows how much it hurts, he knows how much it stings, but Ludger can take it. Victor knows he’s always been able to take the pain.
Because Ludger is Victor and Victor is Ludger, carved from the same flesh, time and space the only thing separating one from the other.
“Again,” Victor says, louder, more forcefully, and Ludger nods and cries out against his bonds, his head dropping to rest on the floor, his body shaking with desire, with insatiable lust, with all the words never spoken between the two of them, filled only instead by their urges for one another, caged in a prison of their own passions.
Victor can almost make out I want you, I want to taste you, I want all of you gagged and muffled, and it’s enough for him to comply to Ludger’s requests, sitting on the edge of the bed. Dragging Ludger by the throat, he shoves Ludger’s face into him and rolls his hips upward and the fabric of his pants brushes against Ludger’s face. Victor’s still fully clothed. Victor’s still fully clothed and Ludger’s hands are incapacitated, and the only thing he can do is moan against his gag, feverishly pressing his lips into the zipper of Victor’s pants.
Leaning over, Victor pulls the fabric from Ludger’s mouth and traces a nail under his jaw, “I know you can do this, hm?” and it sends Ludger into a frenzy, freed from part of his restraints, and he bites and tears at Victor’s pants, tongue darting out to try and open the button and pull down the zipper, begging and pleading for him to give him what he wants.
There’s a momentary wave of disgust when Victor runs his fingers through Ludger’s silver hair, soft strands slipping through his gloves. He’d tried so hard to forget his past, forget his family, forget everything that had made him Ludger and here Ludger was, tonguing his pants, begging for his cock, reminding him that the only thing that separated them was their dimension.
Pressing his fingers into the back of Ludger’s scalp, he finally unbuttons his pants, his cock already hard listening to Ludger’s desperate pleas, wanting nothing more than to see Ludger take him in his mouth, his pretty lips wrapped around his shaft, tongue sliding out. Not standing the idea of Ludger take control, even if only for a few minutes, he wraps his fingers in Ludger’s hair, standing up. Ludger’s the perfect complement to his own height and he doesn’t dwell on the thought as he presses Ludger’s head down on his length, forcing him to take all of it in his mouth whether he wanted to or not.
But Ludger seems to love it. He’s incapacitated and relying on Victor for support, willingly opening his mouth and moaning when it hits the back of his throat, tongue dipping and swirling and tasting everything it’s able to. Victor gives him what he wants. Victor yanks his silver hair and fucks him in the mouth, disorderly and haphazardly, focused only on his own pleasure. Sometimes Ludger makes a noise of pleasure when he chokes on it, cock lodging in the back of his throat, but he largely remains silent.
And for that, Victor’s thankful.
Doubling over, Victor’s having a hard time remaining standing while he fucks Ludger in a mess of teeth and tongue and gagging noises as Ludger coughs around his shaft, getting closer and closer to his release. Just as he’s almost there he tugs sharply on Ludger’s hair, and doesn’t feel his fingers catching on the blindfold around Ludger’s eyes, fabric loosening around his face.
He isn’t thinking clearly, mind fogged with desire and lust and everything unholy, groaning under his breath as his head falls forward, eyes fluttering open behind his black mask, expecting Ludger’s eyes to be screwed shut. He expected him to be focused and wrapped in the moment, not caring when Victor leaned forward and used his shoulder to hold himself upright, but he’s doing the opposite. He’s looking up at Victor, mouth full of his cock, hands twisting in the rope behind his back, kneeling patient and waiting, precum dripping down his pale thighs.
It’s enough to make Victor sick.
His stomach tightens and his mouth waters and Victor pulls his mind away from his own carnal desires, making way for a familiar sense envy and hatred. How fucking dare he make eye contact with him? How dare he violate the only rule Victor had laid down? Any arousal Victor had felt vanishes as he pulls his body away, instinctively striking Ludger with his open palm across the cheek, slap resounding off the walls of the bedroom.
“You fucking—you fucking disgust me,” he says, somewhere between a shout and a choked sob, his shoulders shaking, trying desperately to reign in his anger as he looks at Ludger, light flickering in his turquoise eyes, filled with questions, still virgin to his own sins. Bringing his arm back, Victor’s about to hit him again but stops when Ludger drops his head, nodding. He’s—he’s—
He’s agreeing with Victor, and his stupid naïve nature is infuriating and endearing all at the same time. Victor doesn’t know what to do, so he does the only thing he can think of and orders, “On the bed, Ludger. On your fucking knees,” and Ludger complies, awkwardly shifting to kneel, his head falling forward on the pillows.
For a second, Victor thinks of pulling off the remainder of his clothing, throwing off his cravat and starting to unbutton his shirt, and stops when he reaches top of his shoulders, dusted with a faint shadow, pushing the thought from his head. It’s better this way. It’s better he doesn’t remind himself how sick he is, skin marred with his own ambitions, a stark contrast to Ludger’s pale, immaculate flesh, still ignorant to his curse.
So instead he tears off his gloves with his teeth and throws open the drawer at his bedside table, grabbing a bottle and slicking his fingers, unceremoniously pushing them inside of Ludger, prying and prodding and pressing their way in.
Rolling his pants down his thighs, he digs his nails into Ludger’s hips and forces his cock past his entrance, pleasure surging through his body. He knows that Ludger can’t keep himself upright, and Victor grabs his tied wrists by the excess rope, holding his torso parallel to the bed, keeping him suspended in the air. It’s enough leverage to work himself deeper inside Ludger, and the change in position feels so, so fucking good. He never realized how wonderful he himself could feel until he met Ludger.
But then again, there’s a lot of things he’d never realized until he met Ludger. Until he met himself. Until he met the true version of himself, as flawless as Victor never could be because he was only a copy - a fake. An artificial version of Ludger, fractured from reality by someone’s selfish desires to build their own perfect world. A perfect world that shouldn’t exist.
Increasing his pace, Victor digs his nails into Ludger’s thigh, wrapped in a series of knots, and tears at any available flesh, trying to mark his skin. Trying desperately to make him feel the same pain he felt, but it isn’t the same and Victor knows it’ll never be the same. They might be carved from one flesh but they’re two different people, Ludger prevailing where Victor had failed and it hurts. It hurts him, and his stomach wretches as he falls over Ludger’s back, black hair brushing his back muscles.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers into the back of Ludger’s head and kisses his shoulder blades and his arms and anything he can reach, holding the rope tightly in his hand so Ludger doesn’t crash against the pillows. Reaching his free hand to wrap around Ludger’s neck, he leans a little further and murmurs I’m sorry over and over until he almost believes it himself, mask falling off his face, clattering against Ludger’s back, settling against the comforter.
The sun is low in the sky and the outlines of their bodies are cast in long shadows across the wood, moving and changing and becoming one. They aren’t so different, Victor thinks, and drives deeper inside Ludger, closing his fingers around Ludger’s throat, tightening his hold until Ludger’s coughing and sputtering for air.
“Don’t stop,” Ludger manages to say, and Victor thinks it might be the first thing he’s said all evening, and presses the tips of his nails into his Adam’s apple. Ludger gasps for air, sometimes laughing in between each sharp intake of breath, so Victor complies, Victor gives in and chokes him. He chokes him until he’s sure he can’t breathe and he doesn’t bother asking Ludger if it’s okay, if he’s alright, because he knows he wants it.
He’s asking for it with his shameless cries, bucking his body back against Victor’s cock, doing anything he can to try and get him deeper. As quiet as he is, Ludger’s never been shy at communicating, but it still repulses Victor. He shouldn’t—he shouldn’t be doing this with himself of all people, but he doesn’t stop, either, and fucks him until he comes, pulling out, spilling against Ludger’s lower back.
Releasing his hold on Ludger’s neck, Victor moves his hand and strokes Ludger’s slicked cock, pumping until he’s coming too, staining the sheets, dropping in an unceremonious heap. He doesn’t move immediately, hand instinctively reaching out to hide his right eye, but lowers his hand, remembering that Ludger’s still tied up.
Leaning over, Victor doesn’t waste any time releasing him from the complex rope work, knots slipping through his fingers, the tips of his nails darker than he remembered them being in the past, and as soon as Ludger’s free he stands up and pulls his pants back over his hips, fishing his gloves off the ground, tugging them over his hands.
He still can’t look at Ludger, not until the sun’s settled over the horizon, not until the whole world is encapsulated in darkness, not until he’s atoned for the evils he’s committed, so Victor sits on the edge of the bed and hangs his head in his hands, trying to keep his face hidden from the other man. Ludger doesn’t move at first, but starts to sit up when Victor sinks into the bed.
Victor thinks about crying. He thinks about going to the bathroom and throwing up before trying to drown himself in the insufferable heat of a bath, trying to scrub the wickedness away from his skin like he did every morning, but he doesn’t do either and just sits, silent. Sometimes he glances at the setting sun, almost disappeared over the horizon, but jerks his gaze back to his lap.
“Don’t forget this,” Ludger says behind him, and he’s slipping his arms around him, rope burns crisscrossed all up and down his forearms and biceps, placing Victor’s mask on his face. “You wouldn’t be the same without it, hm?” He laughs, and it’s so pure, ringing like the sound of heaven’s bell. Kissing the side of Victor’s face, Ludger holds his arms around his neck, pressing his cheek into his shoulder.
“Thank you,” Victor replies, reaching a hand up to hook around Ludger’s wrist, and sways their bodies together, wondering how he ended up like this. But he doesn’t dwell on the thought—if nothing else, he’d learned to appreciate the present moment as it’s given to him.
Ludger shifts his weight and presses his lips to the top of Victor’s head, “I’m sorry,” he whispers into the darkness, the sun sinking behind the mountains. “I’m sorry you can’t look at me.”
It catches Victor off guard and he pauses for a moment, eyes fixated on the floor before he turns around and faces Ludger, running his fingers over his cheek. His eyes are so bright, so beautiful, and his face is set into an expression between questioning and panic, and Victor wonders where he went wrong—but only for a second.
Leaning over, he captures their lips together as darkness settles over Lake Epsilla and wraps his fingers in Ludger’s hair, pulling their bodies close together. Finally he breaks the kiss and rests his head in the crook of Ludger’s neck, “Don’t ever apologize—you’re everything I wish I was.”