Work Text
The first time Sanderson had come to him was when he was at his weakest during the Middle Ages, around the eleventh century. He had been in the depths of his realm, hidden within his shadows when he could sense a disturbance- an unwanted guest in his home. It always felt like a spider slowly crawling down his spine when Sanderson was close to him, an unease settling deep in his chest and weighing him down.
Sanderson had offered a dream, a dream of a very young child- one that he was willing to allow him to corrupt. He hadn’t told him what he wanted in return, just told him they could discuss the finer details later. He blames his delirius state for even accepting the deal without knowing what he had to do. His hunger was gnawing at him, he just wanted to feed. He remembers the first hunger quenching spark of fear that ran through the dream, how it left him shuttering and clutching the blackened dream closer to his chest.
He remembers the first time he felt the sand whips on his legs, how they moved like snakes up his body and he had pathetically choked. He had tried to get away, but not even with the fresh meal coursing through him could he escape the well fed Sanderson. It had been jarring when he had turned to yell at the dreamweaver and saw the glint in his eyes. His fear of the sandman had only intensified after that night, being held bound as the other ran his hands over his body. It had been humiliating, Sanderson was apparently curious about the other- believing he was the only one who could influence and feed off of dreams.
It had hurt, being in prolonged contact with the dreamsand, like millions of crawling fire ants nipping at his skin. He had wanted to vent his frustrations but his mouth had been covered by a part of the golden snake-like whip and he could only stare in muted horror. When it was over and Sanderson had gotten his fill he offered another dream to him, for behaving so well. It was insulting and degrading but he would fade without it. He remembered thinking fading would be preferable than this- anything would be preferable than this- but his heart jumped into his throat and his stomach twisted. It was painful just starving, he didn’t want to know what death felt like- he vaguely remembered what it felt like from all those aeons ago.
He had taken it, the second offered dream and this one wasn’t as sweet- but rich. He was cautious, slowly feeding on the dream as his eyes stayed locked on Sanderson. However, the dreamweaver simply smiled innocuous at him and disappeared in a cloud of honeyed light. Only once the unease had lifted did he ravage the dream, vowing to take his revenge on the golden man once he was strong enough. He sat and plotted, the taste of fear lingering on the back of his tongue serving as a motivation to gather strength.
However, months had passed and he had not been strong enough to venture far from his realm. The next time he met Sanderson was when he collapsed in the forest, just outside a village. He didn’t know how long he had been laying there on the forest floor, soaked in rain water and nose full of the earthy scent of pine and wet soil. He had thought the golden light coming toward him was a villager’s torch, but the flicker had been wrong and the unease had settled in. The unease had brought with it a prickling sensation that started at the nape of his neck and trickled down his spine.
It had felt as if he had just blinked, however when he opened his eyes the space around him was illuminated by gentle candle-light. The scent that greeted him wasn’t the musty forest but the inviting and calming smell of camomile and lavender. He also noted he was dry and warm, back pressed against plush bedding. He knew this was not his realm, the unease which had settled before was now a frantic pull which told him to run. He tried too, he remembers that, trying to move and have the heart stopping moment of the hauntingly familiar nipping of fire ants along his wrists. He realizes the color of the room, the deep browns and soft yellows, the overstuffed pillows and thick curtains over high arching windows.
He was in the Sandman’s realm. He struggled, adrenaline flooding his system and trying to aid his weakened body in escaping. But at the scratching touch of a snake along his neck he froze, breath stuttering to a halt as his wide eyes snapped to where the whip came from. Sanderson floated near the bed, closer than he would have liked, and watched with curious and amused eyes. He would never forget the words he heard echoed in his mind that night.
‘You could feed off yourself with how I affect you.’
The night had been a blur, he had gotten nothing in the beginning- nothing to stabilize himself with. He fought consciousness, no matter how desperately he had wanted to fall into oblivion he knew if he did he would fade. This was not how he had ever wanted to fade, at the hands of another and so pathetic. He had tried to deny Sanderson, but he was either too weak to speak or his voice had fallen on deaf ears.
How many times had he fallen into Sanderson’s clutches? How many times has he allowed his enemy to do as he pleased- only gaining in return the right to eat and survive? He had lost count after the first century had passed, knowing this game would never end so long as Sanderson had the upper hand. He had vowed to kill him then, he would not fall to the same torture Sanderson gave him but he would make sure he could never do it again.
And yet, here he is. Only four months after his latest defeat, hugging a tree and waiting. This defeat had hit him harder then the one in the dark ages- yes it had been a shock to his systems to have so much power one day and the next have nothing, and in that respect that was the hardest day in his long life. But this time he had had minions, free thinking and who fed on fear just like him. When he had watched the Sandman be reborn from his nightmare sand he could feel the tides shift- feel the mare’s eyes turn to him and heard their maws drip.
He had wanted to flee then, take what power he had and hide away somewhere not even his shadows could find- but he was prideful. He was angry. He let reason slip and for that he paid.
And with the unease settling and the spider awaking from her nest, who crawled her way down his spine he knew he wasn’t done paying for his mistake. He closed his eyes, bowing his head and gripping the bark of the tree so tight it cut under his nails and purple blood welled up and down his fingers.
When he cracked his eyes open he could see that the tree was now illuminated by a soft golden glow, flickers of dreamsand floating around him. If the other breathed as he did, he knew he would feel the breath on the back of his neck. His breath halts as he feels the coils of the whips around his ankles, their grip vice-like. Flashes to when he was thrown around with them, the ache of his ribs reminding him to choose his words carefully.
‘I didn’t expect to see you back so soon.’
The voice is tense yet somehow still sounded heavy with sleep as the words licked his psyche like flames to dry book-paper. An involuntary shiver racked his frame, causing him to turn his face into the bark of the tree. He hated how the other had trained him to be obedient and docile. It went against everything he had ever known, to submit like this- to beg like this. He had every right to want to live and be able to live as those guardians. Yet here he was, fearful to ask. Some dark part of him admired Sanderson for eliciting this reaction from him of all beings.
“I...I’ve come to make a bargain..” His voice is wavering and he curses himself for it. He wants to continue speaking before he loses any courage he had built up, but this was not like when he had been able to fight. This was different, he was at his weakest since the dark ages and Sanderson was even more powerful now then he had been back then.
‘I don’t make deals with murderers.’
Ah, there it was, the echo in his mind he had dreaded the most. His knees buckled under him as the weight of knowing he exposed himself as still living without gaining anything in return. He wanted to sob, grip on the tree loosening to the point his hands dropped to the forest floor and he slumped against the tree. What should he do now? His mind reeled as he tried to clumsily come to some miracle conclusion where he got what he needed and the deal was sweet enough to entice the Sandman- ah.
“I’ll…” His throat seizes up, hot pressure builds around his nose and a burning sensation attacks his eyes. “I’ll do anything,” He gasps silently, blinking back the sensation and tightening his hands. “please.” Its whispered, he barely heard it but the way the snow crunches behind him- why hadn’t he noticed the snow until now?- he knew Sanderson had heard it all too clearly.
‘Anything?’
The voice questions and he can feel the coils around his ankles loosen and travel. He lurches forward, tilting his head down as he presses a shoulder into the bark. His eyes stare wide over his shoulder, downcast and watching the whips- which really did look like snakes now- wind themselves between his thighs and up to his hips. He could feel bile rise in his throat, denying the shaking of his body was anything but the cold finally getting to him.
“anything…” He managed back, eyes flickering to Sanderson in a moment of either bravery or foolishness. The smirk that split the guardian's face had Pitch regretting ever coming here.
‘Accepted.’
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Normally the dark did not bother him, but this time it was accompanied by the burning bites of ants around his eyes and wrists. He didn’t struggle against the binds this time nor did he attempt to move his body away from the lingering fingers. He wanted too, so desperately, but he was here in the Isle of Dreams- so very far from any inviting shadow. His jaw is permanently clenched, muscles taut like a bowstring and chest heaving as he is smothered by the smell of chamomile and lavender. A whine leaves him as he feels the hot tongue glide from his naval up to his collarbone, trying to keep the gag that wants to jerk him away at bay. The graze of teeth along the juncture of neck and jaw has him tilting his head up- almost like he was willingly exposing his neck to Sanderson. Really he just didn’t want the other to kiss him. He could feel the slide of new tendrils dance up his legs.
‘I still wonder why you never tell anyone of our...little deals.’
The words startle Pitch but not nearly as bad as the hot and heavy thing pressed to his clenched lips does. There's a new, distinct smell of musk and he is glad he cannot see. He opens his mouth, holding back the gag as the salty taste coats his tongue and presses deeper into his mouth. He tries to focus on the pain, on what Sanderson had said- to stay in the here and now and not slip into a haze. But it's hard to not phase out when the head of his enemies cock rocks lazily against the back of his throat.
‘You know Guardians are supposed to be celibate? I could never do that...why, before the Moon reached out to me for help I would have a mermaid each night to warm my bed.’
He doesn’t want to know this, he doesn’t care- he was happy being celibate. Would give anything to go back to it but; that’s hypocritical considering what he is giving to live right now. He chokes as his face is pushed flush against the plush hips of Sanderson, nose pressing into pudge he would have at one time praised if it was anyone but Sanderson. Hands grip into his hair painfully, shoulders wiggling now to try and convey his need for oxygen as the fat head blocks off his airway.
‘But he should have known I would never give this up. Sadly, status as a Guardian makes no one want to spread for you..even though one might think it does the opposite.’
He’s allowed to fall back, hands completely leaving him and cock slipping from his mouth as he collapses back onto the pillows. His chest heaves, mouth open still to gulp down lungfuls of air. His lightheaded now, a combination of starvation and oxygen deprivation leaving the world spinning behind the blindfold. Swollen lips glossy from a mixture of his saliva and pre-cum, the sweet and salty taste of Sanderson so heavy in his mouth he doesn’t want to swallow- but he doesn’t want to risk spitting. So he swallows, there wasn’t much to swallow- he hadn’t climaxed. Still, it was enough to tear a retch from him which he was unable to hide.
‘Ah, so you are not mentally willing still...even if your body invites me.’
There is a pressure on his chest, the full weight of Sanderson making it difficult to breathe. His ribs ached, old bruises reawakening and crying out for Sanderson to get off of him. He shifts, moving his legs and bends one knee to try and alleviate his discomfort. The pressure increasing is what he gets in return, feeling something press into both his sides and now trapping him. An unfamiliar hand brushes along his cheek, long fingers and soft palm. His breath hitches, he had not agreed for another person to- he is blinded by light as the blindfold dissolves into nothing at the new person’s touch. He blinks up into umber eyes that glow with a siren-like quality, long wisps of golden hair as pure as starlight float as if unaffected by gravity. The face is round but no longer the round of a pudgy child but the round of a man who is in his early 20s. Pitch frowns, pearl eyes taking in the familiar form that rests on his chest. The body of the other is still soft yet its slim- soft rolls and plush hips, he could imagine the body inspiring roman artists. His eyes don’t dare travel any lower, from what he could tell the other was as naked as Pitch was.
‘Like it? I can take this form thanks to you. Seems killing me only made me stronger.’
His eyes widened, he had a sinking feeling it was Sanderson- he knew no one else who looked like him, yet some part of him had hoped it was not. Yet with the smirk that now graced the others lips he knew that even if Sanderson hadn’t confirmed it himself the smirk would give it away. His heart stutters, he had given Sanderson that much power he could now do as he used to do. “Why...of all the other spirits..do you focus solely on me?” His voice is a whisper, filled with a desperation to know why. He watches as Sanderson floats into the air, moving up and backwards. The tendrils which had once just laid dormant on his legs circled tighter, bending his knees and pushing his legs apart. His breath hitches, hands tightening to fists and only now does he flex his arms, trying to pull himself up the bed to escape the images that flash in his mind about why Sanderson would be moving there. Hands grip his thighs, pinning him down harshly as the dreamsand coils around his waist. He wants to sob as Sanderson grins at him again, tilting his head as if he doesn't quite understand what Pitch is asking.
‘Why...who else is such a slut for me..other than you?’
The word echoes in his mind, shattering what little control he had over his body, harsh tremors racking his form and teeth beginning to chatter in his mouth. The hand that wraps around him is painful, he is flaccid in the grip and each dry pull has him trying to jerk away. He closes his eyes again, turning his head away and dry sobs. It had been aeons since he last cried, body unused to the action and so only managed to produce the echo of grief. He wanted to fall now, to slip and wake up with this over but the wet press of a scolding tongue along his length had his eyes bulging and his head pressing back into the pillows.
‘I could make this feel so good for you...I’ve never treated you, have I? Only ever taken what I wanted, but..I’ve never taken what I want the most..’
He’s reeling, mouth open and eyes glossy as he looks down. He gets an eyeful of his cock resting against the tongue of Sanderson’s open mouth. He chokes, the others teeth- though nothing like his- have dangerously sharp canines. He almost mistakes them for the fangs of a snake, so much of Sanderson is snake-like it does not surprise him his teeth are anything but that. His heart is fluttering in his chest like a caged bird, slamming against the bars of its cage in what he wants to claim as only fear but is buzzing with something else as well. “Wha..what can you take..which you haven’t already stolen?” His teeth chatter together as he speaks, body shuttering as those plush lips- everything about Sanderson is plush- circle around his head and draw him in deeper.
‘Why, your pleasure, of course.’
He wants to scream as Sanderson takes him in one motion, the head hitting the back of the velvet throat, but his breath is stolen. His body arches upward as best it can with how thoroughly pinned he is, binds cutting into his skin. He comes back to his body in increments, mind fogged with pleasure he hadn’t felt before by the hands of his tormentor. His body is still taunt yet dreamsand supports him on his elevated position, a soft and pleasant tingle pulsing from where the dreamsand touched his skin. Confusion swept over him, where was the bite of fire ants? His body collapses back onto the bed and he looks down again, eyes locking with Sanderson’s as he lifts his head away from his cock. He pops out of the other's mouth with a lewd pop, white smeared over Sanderson’s bottom lip.
‘What is with that look, Pitch?’
He tugs on his restraints, trying to control his breathing. He didn’t know how to ask why it didn’t hurt, didn’t know if he wanted to bring it to Sanderson’s attention. The realization that sweeps over Sanderson’s features, however, feels more damning then it brings relief that he won’t have to say anything. He turns his head away again, trembling as he feels dreamsand flick along his still erect cock. He decides he doesn’t want to know, the look in Sanderson’s eyes after he had realized had sent his blood cold.
‘I’ve always been able to change how it affects you..I just haven’t wanted to until now.’
The admission doesn’t have his stomach rolling as he had thought it would. Instead it has his stomach sinking because now he knew Sanderson was serious about making him like this. His breath stutters, the scolding tongue moving along the pubic dip where his inner thigh connects to the most sensitive area of his body. He wants to arch away as the tongue licks lower and moves inward, running over the tight pucker he had tried to keep hidden. The probing has another sob bubbling up past his lips and he sputters as it presses deep inside him suddenly. He tries to move his legs, to close them or lift his lower half up and away from the violation but the dreamsand constricts like a python and he is trapped.
‘You always make the most beautiful noises when I touch you here…I wonder..’
That has his eyes snapping open and looking down at Sanderson fearfully. He was right, if he could he would be able to feed off the fear the other installed in him. He bit his lip when he felt a finger prob him before feeling as if he was choking on his own tongue as it breached him. The feeling was never pleasant, it felt unnatural to have something inside him, to feel it wiggle in deeper and rub along his depths in a blind search. The tongue was back, licking along the outside and up to the underside of his balls, causing him to gasp out at the always foreign sensation of pleasure gripping him. He wanted the pain back, he realized, as his cock twitched and his body welcomed a second finger.
‘I wonder if you could fit my fist as it is now.’
He wished all feelings of pleasure left him then and there but the cold grip in his chest melted away as the burning warmth of pleasure rocked his body. Those searching fingers had found what they were looking for and seemed to dig into that spot so harshly it left him trying to turn his body away. He didn’t want the pleasure anymore, not with the thought of Sanderson’s new and bigger hand going inside him. He gave a sharp cry as a third finger was pressed into him too soon, shaking his head vigorously. Words tumbled from him, he didn’t know what he was saying, the sound of his blood rushing in his ears drowned it out. Then there was a slickness running between his legs, warm and soothing and the smell of vanilla wafted to his nose.
‘There. That should help ease it. After all, this is for your pleasure, Pitch.’
His name was like a knife to the gut, the way it dripped from Sanderson like poison down a forked tongue. The stab of pain dulled and his mind began to fog, eyes cracked up and staring blankly up at the canopy above him. The slick rubbing coming from between his legs was too much, it felt good and he hated it. He preyed to whatever merciful deity was watching to kill him or save him. The pressure of a fourth finger had his eyes rolling to the back of his head and the line between his thoughts and his voice blurring. It hurt still but it was bearable and he didn’t want it to be bearable. He wanted it to hurt, so he could scream out in pain and not pleasure. “Kill me please- gah!” He hadn’t meant to speak, a punishable gab of the four fingers into his prostate had cut him off but he had already said more than enough. Movement hadn’t stopped, the dreamsand still tangled around him and rubbed along his chest, arms and legs. They twisted around his nipples and grated down his abdomen, curling around the base of his cock and squeezed. He could feel Sanderson move, lean over him as the fingers of his right hand hollowed him out. The fingers of his left hand roughly gripped his chin, forcing him to look at the face that was now meer inches away from his own. The eyes of Sanderson were like the glass eyes of a doll, hollow and empty. Yet just below the surface danced a burning intensity that proclaimed he was alive and that he was angry. It was the same burning fire that he had seen as Sanderson surrendered to the nightmare, the same determination that blazed like suns when he came back to life and had flung him around. He believed that if his fingers weren’t so deep inside him, they would be buried elsewhere in his body. Then he was empty. A confused noise left him, eyes searching Sanderson’s face. Had he given up the torture? Was he going to kill him? Was that all he wanted to hear, for him to beg for death? Maybe it was another one of Lunars rules for the guardians, that they couldn’t kill anyone. Maybe this was the loophole Sanderson had been waiting for. But the shift in Sanderson’s eyes spoke volumes, he always had the loudest eyes. The smug and erotic look that filled the others eyes had his breath halting for a moment as he tried to process what it could mean. Then he felt it, the press of five fingers at his entrance. The impossible stretch as the tips slide inside easily before reaching resistance. His mouth opened, back arching off the bed again and this time the hand ran along his cheek before burying itself in his hair. It gripped him by the roots, controlling his head to angle him perfectly so plush lips could slam against his own as he felt punched. He screamed into Sanderson’s mouth, the other swallowing it greedily and pressing down onto him. Their bodies were flush against one another, Sanderson’s right arm bending and trying to push itself deeper inside him. It had been easier to take once the knuckles of the hand were inside him but he swore he tore. He felt too full, so violated to have the others fist deep inside his gut. Once Sanderson pulled away from the kiss he sobbed again, tears cascading down his cheeks. His head was forcibly tilted down, Sanderson lifting a bit off of him. He was confused again, blinking back the tears which blurred his vision before he saw the movement in his stomach. It was like a nightmare, he realized, to see something on the inside move from the outside. He choked on a pitiful scream as he felt the hand inside him open and the fingers spread. They pressed into his prostate and bladder, the overwhelming urge to piss flooding his mind and he clenched. The moan had startled him, making him tense again as his eyes flickered up to Sanderson’s face. He looked blissed out, mouth hanging open and eyes heavily lidded. The hand within him closed and he whined, body tensing hard again on reflex to dispel the intrusion. He caught the source of the sound this time, the moan slipping past Sanderon’s own lips and worming its way into his brain. His breathing picked up as Sanderson slammed him into the bed again, breath hitching as his entire body bounced and it made the fist inside him rock into his prostate.
‘Don’t hold your voice back, Pitch. I want to hear you scream.’
Was all the warning he had before the hand was nearly pulled completely out, flesh catching on the knuckles and keeping it inside him before Sanderson grunted and the fist was plunged back inside him. His eyes widened, lungs empty of air and time seeming to slow down before it all rushed back to him. He screamed, arms trying to yank themselves from the binds and legs trembling. He was rocked with each powerful thrust, each thrust in Sanderson would rub his knuckles along his prostate before pulling out. It was too much, too deep, he felt as if Sanderson was trying to punch a hole through his stomach. “N-NO! PLEA-GAH AH- PLEASE STOP! IT HURTS! EH-IT HURTS!” He was begging, crying and thrashing as he was fucked so incredibly deep.
‘That’s it...let me hear your voice..the real you..show me the side of you you never wanted anyone to see..’
He didn’t respond, couldn’t respond. Moans of pleasure and pain were ripped from his throat and he could taste blood. He sobbed as a knot was being tightened in his gut, looking down only served to dismay him even more. The sight of his cock bouncing with the power of each punch and his stomach distending with each blow had him feeling as if he may throw up. Then he began to tense, the feeling radiating from his lower back before shooting up and to his limbs. It was an electric feeling that had him seizing up. It took one final push of Sanderson’s hand before he felt the knot finally release and hot wetness splash onto his stomach. A static feeling buzzed in the base of his skull before it circled his eyes and everything went black.