Deductions of a personal kind (TrisscarxEverUndine)

Trisscar

Trisscar

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Dameon had expected to awaken chained in a dungeon cell, separated from his two friends by chill stone walls and the restraints he would be in. What he hadnt expected was to wake up on a soft bed, with his wounds dressed. He was still restrained, but the chain was padded where it was clipped to him and there was only one, attatched to his ankle. It looked long enough to reach the bathroom and the window seat across the room, but not long enough to get to the door or out the window itself.

Obviously someone didnt want him to get out or hurt himself. But who. The tall man with the incredibly pale eyes that he had fought with certainly wasnt very keen to make sure he came to no harm. the last thing that Dameon remembered was being struck down by the silver haired older man that had been watching the fight. That dirty cheater. He had won the fight fair and square. Looking around Dameon sighed, he had to use the restroom. Pulling himself down from the bed he tugged the chain with him as he used the facility. When he came back into the room he suddenly stopped, realizing that he was no longer alone. Staring at the same man he had fought awhile ago Dameon glared heatedly, pulling himself into a defensive position. Being in his pants only was making him rather uncomfortable. He waited for the man to speak, locking his own brown eyes with the pale orbs of his captor.
 
Brown eyes, reddish brown hair, muscular but thin. This man was a warrior, obvious by his physique, the scars on his body and... The way he fought today. Sherlock had never fought anyone like that. No one had ever fought against the 'Dark Prince' and held their own. But this man... This man had, and would have beaten The Holmes Prince if Lestrade hadn't snuck behind the lad and struck him over the head. Lestrade was always trying to protect Sherlock, he couldn't fault the man.

Sherlock had ordered the man be treated like a prisoner of royal standing. No dungeons, no dark and dank prison cell with heavy irons chains. No, none of that. He wanted to observe the man, he wanted to know who he was. He had an unexplainable urge to know everything about this man, his would-be killer. The Prince knew his opponent could've killed him, but Sherlock had started doing quite a few more things that could've killed him as well. No, the simple truth was that Sherlock Holmes, the 'Dark Prince', had hesitated. As soon as he saw the honey brown eyes of his opponent he hesitated, and he didnt know why. That, of course, was simply killing the Prince.

Sherlock let himself into the captive's quarters. He watched the man emerge from the privy and found himself staring at the man.

"Who are you?" The dark haired Prince asked. He heard his own voice carry across the room, knew how it sounded to the man, how it sounded to the women too. Deep and so sepulchrally resonant, stern and smooth at the same time, like a jaguar inside a cello.

When the man didnt answer Sherlock got impatient, "You're boring me. I did not come here to be bored, I can get that from anyone else. Not you. Now, who are you?"
 
While Sherlock was staring at him Dameon was staring back. Now that its wasnt dark he could see the form of his captor much more clearly, and reluctantly...he liked what he saw. Tall and muscular, broader in the sholders than he was but not by much, slim and fit also. The black unruly curls accuented the sharp cheekbones and peircing silvery grey eyes, the pale abalaster skin giving this man a porcelin look.

But no matter how attractive or his type his captor was, Dameon wasnt about to be woo'ed. Glaring at the slightly taller male in open defiance Dameon alowed his soldjer training to take over, his body shifting into a more defensive postion when the man spoke. He was in trouble, even the voice of his captor was alluring. A deep tenor that could easily go lower to a soul trapping bass. Swallowing slightly in nervousness Dameon stood his ground, debating how to answer this cold and calculating man. Finnally he decided just to tell him his name, after all he probibly wasnt getting out of here any time soon, so what the hell.

"Dameon Hutchson, Angarian phisician. thats all your going to get out of me, so sorry if im boring you mr but if your looking for entertainment youll have to go elsewhere"
 
Sherlock's eyes widened infinitesimally. No one had ever dared speak to him like that before. This man was a captive and yet he was still fighting, in a way. Sherlock felt a small tug of admiration at his chest, so he was a warrior then, through and through. The Prince let a small smirk play over lips.

"Well, Dameon the Angarian, It so happens that I am looking for entertainment. And I do believe you will provide it to me...eventually. We have plenty of time for it."

His silvery eyes stared unblinkingly into Dameon's brown eyes until the man looked away.

"I want you to tell me, who was it who trained you? Were you sent to kill myself or my brother, the King?"

Sherlock strode forward and brought his fist toward the warrior's throat only to be blocked by the man's forearm. Dameon staggered back a step and Sherlock took advantage by pulling one of his legs out from under him. Dameon fell backwards onto the floor, his head landing with a sickening crack and the Dark Prince followed him to the floor.

"I will have answers from you, it is up to you how they are retrieved."
 
Dameon was stunned partially by the blow to his head from the floor contacting it, but that didnt stop him from slamming his knee up into the taller mans groin and scrambling up and away from the psycho.

He staggered like a drunk, his vision swimming slightly. Backing as far away as the chain would alow Dameon trembled slightly when the chain tugged tight around his ankle and he couldnt get any farther back. He may be a warrior but he wasnt used to unprevoked attacks.

"What the hell! why did you attack me! and what do you mean 'assasinate?' why would i know who the black prince is! ive never seen him!"
 
Pain pooled in Sherlock's stomach as he landed on the floor, but he still managed to enjoy the way the man scrambled away from him. He couldn't keep the smirk from his face when he watched Dameon shiver in his shackle, though it was quickly gone after Dameon's shouting.

"Well, there you are wrong, physician. You have seen this 'black prince' and I am hard pressed to believe you were not sent here to kill me by the Angarians."

He stood slowly, straightening his black leather jerkin, letting the Angarian process his words and come to the realization himself.

"And even if you weren't sent to assassinate myself or my brother, what were you sent here for?"
 
Dameon was angry with himself for the retreat he had done, quickly pulling his composure togather and glaring at his unpredictable captor. Mulling over what hed been told Dameon scowled, the peices coming togather.

"So. Your the 'Black Prince'. Funny..I thought youd be more impressive."

Dameon knew that the jab would likely get him in trouble but he didnt care. He was not at all happy with they grey eyed man at this time and he really didnt care that he was insulting his benificiary.

"And no. I wasnt sent to kill you. I and my companions defected, we were lost. we had wandered in the woods for three days before you found us."
 
Defected? That was something the Prince did not expect. His steely eyes examined the man before him. Strong, stubborn, willful. Yes, he liked what he saw very much. The other man lit the fires of excitement in his blood and he had been bored for such a very long time. He was starting to be glad of the existence of Dameon.

"Well if you have defected as you say, I would think you would show a bit more respect to a Prince, especially since I saved your pathetic little life. But I think next time we see each other you will have a completely different attitude."

He exited the room and turned to the two men guarding the prisoner's room.

"Teach him a lesson. But not too rough, I want him alive," the men grinned at the prospect of violence and Sherlock turned to leave.

"Oh," he turned back to the men, "Do leave the face alone. I find I'm growing fond of it," and with that the Black Prince left.

----

It had been two days since Sherlock Holmes had seen the Angarian prisoner. And he was utterly bored with his own existence. His dark hair fell into his eyes as he looked down at his left forearm. He often resulted to dragging his hunting knife across his skin, desperate for a release from the stifling boredom of everyday life. Everyone he knew was so dull, except this Dameon character. He was just as exciting as seeing the blood, glistening and red, drip onto the floor of his quarters. He supposed he should visit his new friend and see if he had learned his lesson yet.
 
He was pissed. There simply wasnt any other word for it. He was utterly and compleatly pissed at this so called 'Black Prince'. The guards had done a nice job of roughing him up and Dameon was covered in bruises. The ankle that was encased by the chain had been twisted from the struggles he put up and no one had thought to bring a doctor for him afterword.

For the past two days Dameon had been nursing his hurts in the room as best he could, at least that silver eyed bastard had left him alone for abit. He had a split lip as well. When the guards had gotten alittle handsy Dameon had managed to break one of thier noses, but it got him punched in the face for his troubles of keeping himself from being raped.

Regular but not exacty appetizing meals were brought to him and he was given enough water so he wouldnt get dehydrated so at least they wernt starving him to death. Sighing heavily Dameon pulled the blanket he had encased himself in up higher around his head to block out the rest of the world. He had made a little nest of blankets, pillows and fur rugs in a corner of the room that gave him a good atvantage point. No one would be sneaking up on him now. Yawning he alowed himself to fall into a light doze, his red hair the only thing visible out of his coccoon of blankets. He was waiting for his captor to show himself agian so he could chew him out after all.
 
Sherlock winced slightly as he made his way toward the Angarian's room. His left arm was stiff from the wounds he'd inflicted on himself. A few had needed stitches which he had done himself and afterward he had wrapped his arm tightly, but it throbbed in the most delightful way. He pushed past the guards and found his captive cocooned in blankets. Dameon was asleep, and as Sherlock sat quietly on the edge of the bed he noticed the fiery color of the man's hair.

"Have you changed your attitude yet, Physician?"

Covers flew off Dameon and Sherlock was met with an angry glare and a split lip. He frowned, he knew he had told the guards to leave his face alone. One of them would pay for his disobedience.
 
Dameon was startled out of his sleep by the voice of his captor. He had thought he was in a lighter doze than he was, but apparantly not. Glaring heatedly at the other man Dameon pulled the blankets around himself agian, covering his entire body expect for his eyes and nose, then turned himself partialy away from Sherlock huffily.

"hell no. and ive got a bone to pick with you. Prince or no prince youve got no right to treat me this way. the next guy you send in here to beat me up for no reason ill break more than his nose got it? As far as im concerned your no better than the bastards that i used to work for. Let me go, kill me or leave me alone. Ive no interest in talking with cruel and vindictive men. also, tell those thugs of yours that the next time one of them tries to rape me ill chop off the offending appendage got it?"

Dameon knew he was acting a bit huffy, but hell hed been beat up for no reason, sustained a twisted ankle that hurt like hell and had almost been raped two days ago. It didnt exactly put him in a good mood.
 
The Prince's frown deepened when he heard Dameon say he was almost raped. He hadn't even thought he needed to say that the prisoner wasn't to be treated that way. The man before him also looked a bit paler than he had last time. Sherlock placed the back of his left hand on Dameon's head. He seemed to have a slight fever.

"I apologize about the guards. They will be aptly punished. And I will send the physician a physician," he chuckled softly, but stopped as he brought his throbbing arm back to his chest. He knew he shouldn't stay there for long, he was a tad pale himself from the blood loss, and weaker too. He moved to stand and Dameon's hand darted out of the covers to grab his wounded arm. Sherlock drew a sharp breath and earned and odd look from the prisoner. He detached the man's hand and stood.

"I'll see to it that you're brought some better food."
 
Dameon flinched away from the touch, expecting the black prince to strike him again as he had the first day. When he instead began apologizing and that a doctor would be sent confusion became apparant on his face. Lashing out quickly Dameon grabbed the mans arm, blinking in shock when a intake of breath indicating pain reached his ears. Looking closer at the apendage in his hand Dameon realized that the prince was wounded.

Frowning he offered little resistance when his hand was removed, simply watching the prince as he moved away.

"stop it with the Jekel and Hyde thing. Either be cruel and let me suffer, or be as kind as someone like you is able and leave me be. I dont want to have to guess your mood everytime you come to torment me."

His stomach did grumble however at the prospect of better food, he realy was tired of the gruel he was being given.
 
Sherlock let himself smirk a bit, "Did you prefer the other half of my hospitality better? I thought that you would take to this side of me better."

He left the prisoner again, sending for his best physician. He gave strict orders to the servants that the man was to be treated with kindness, given good food and for his shackle to be removed. That would certainly surprise the red head. As he left the room the fire in his veins cooled and he craved excitement once again. For some reason this Angarian was affecting him strangely. He felt the need to figure out what it was exactly about the warrior with fiery hair. He hoped the man would recover quickly.
 
It took several days until Dameon was feeling more like his old self and in that time his ankle had healed up mostly and he was healthier from the good food and kind treatment. He was still quite confused about his captors treatment of him however.

He was napping once agian, this time in the window seat to get some sun. He had just finnished a shower and his red hair was slightly damp, the soft robe he was wearing had come open at the sholder and was showing his lighlty tanned torso. He looked far more peacefull than he did when awake, his handsome face relaxed in slumber. Though he somehow knew even in sleep it wouldnt last, as his captor was probibly going to be paying him a visit soon enough.
 
Sherlock felt so suffocated by the tediousness of being of royal blood. Meetings and papers to sign, he was glad it was not he who was King, being a Prince was boring enough. His left arm was still healing, the stitches not even ready to be removed yet. He used his right arm this time, his hunting knife going too deep in most places, leaving sloppy and jagged red ribbons in his pale flesh.

He sat for a moment, feeling the boredom slip away into pain and dizziness. Afterward he bandaged his right arm and redid the dressings on his left. He slipped into his black evening jacket and made his way to Dameon's room, stumbling only slightly.

When he entered he found the red headed Angarian in much better health. Sleeping peacefully, his face relaxed, the man's breath came softly. He crossed the room, trying not to make much noise.

He sat on the bed deciding to wait for the man to wake on his own.
 
Dameon yawned, stretching his stiffend limbs with a smile as he peacfully awoke. he was feeling rested and happy, much better than he had been. that is until he realized his captor was sitting on the bed watching him.

Scowling Dameon inched further into the seat, huffing slightly.

"What do you want"
 
Sherlock closed his eyes briefly, trying to stave off the dizziness which was plaguing him.

"Just making sure you've had no further problems with the guards. It seems as if you've recovered very well."

The Prince rose slowly and made for the door. He leaned against it heavily. He felt light and the world was twisting and turning. He felt breathless as he spoke to his prisoner.
 
Dameon frowned as he watched his captor stagger across the room, leaning on what he could for support without it being obvious. Just as he got to the door Dameon decided he would take a chance and ask the man about it.

"Hey. You know you really outa stop hurting yourself. Theres better stuff to do than cutting your arms to ribbons. Thats probibily why i beat you ya know."

Ok so maybe it wasnt a question per say...but that counted as asking didnt it?
If the man fell over Dameon wasnt sure what he would do. He really didnt want to be in contact with his captor, to be honest the man scared him abit. But he also knew his doctor training wouldnt let him just leave the man on the floor..
 
Sherlock turned toward Dameon, studying him with an intense stare as he leaned backwards against the door for support. This complete stranger had guessed more about him than anyone else in this place, including his own brother.

"Being a prince, even a dark or black one, is stifling," Sherlock's eyes fluttered shut. Why was he saying this to a prisoner?

"The people who surround me are so utterly dull, everyone in this place is a complete moron, it's difficult for someone like me to be excited about life. The blood excites me... And you excite me."

Had he really just said that aloud? He felt like he was swimming in a thick fog and hadn't noticed as his weight slid down the door to the ground. He pressed his head against the wooden door and sighed. His bandages felt wet.

"But its not as if you care about your captor, you could break my neck right now. Wouldn't that be exciting?"
 
"despite what you probibly believe about me im not the barbarian type that just attacks defensless people."

Dameon scooped the larger male up in his arms, taking him to the bed and laying him down with a scowl.

"and your bleeding again you ponce. didnt you think to rest up abit after nearly hacking your arms off?"

Dameon flushed slightly when he heard that he excited his captor, that could mean many things after all. examining the wounds he sighed softly, they would need rebandaged. Right now Dameon hated his doctor training that told him to help.

"so im as exciting as cutting. great"
 
Sherlock watched the Angarian's cheeks flush red and he found it irrisistable. He reached up and buried his hand in the physician's red hair. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the white bandages wrapped around his arm were stained crimson. Dameon removed the bandage from his left arm first and he heard the man's slight intake when he saw The Prince's mangled arm haphazardly stitched together. As the physician rewrapped his arm Sherlock saw stars on the back of his eyelids and let out a wanton moan. The combonation of the pain and the sight of this man above him made him feel more alive than he ever had, even in the midst of battle.

When Dameon finished with his left arm he moved on to his right, which was even uglier than the left. Sherlock attempted to sit up but was thwarted by a firm hand on his shoulder. Oh yes, he found this man quite intoxicating. The Prince grabbed Dameon's hand with his left hand and licked his own blood off the physician's fingertips earning him a shocked look from the man tending to him.
 
Dameon chuckled nervously as his captor slid his hand into his fiery tresses, discomfort growing as his doctor instinks kicked in and he rebandaged the wounds on the left arm. There would be some scars if those stitches wernt redone. He would have to do that he guessed.

When he heard the moan he thought it was from just the pain so he treated it as such, but when he was working on the right arm and the prince suddenly grabbed his arm and licked his own blood off of his hands Dameon was abit shocked to say the least.

"Uh...Your not a vampire or anything are you? I dont think id be very tasty."

Pulling away from Sherlock Dameon went to the medkit he had retained, getting a suture ready so he could redo the stiches. Bringing over a bottle of medicinal pain dulling alchohol Dameon held it out to his captor.

"Drink 4 swallows, that should dull the pain enough so i can redo the stiching"
 
"Not a vampire, don't think so," the Prince mumbled almost incoherently. He found he disagreed with Dameon, he thought the man would be very tasty indeed, though he couldn't understand why he thought that.
He laughed out loud as the physician offered him the bottle, did he think he needed sheltering from the pain? He pushed the bottle back at the red head and shook his head.

"Don't need it."

The man looked at him like he was crazy, so maybe he was. He felt rather good with this man's fingers ghosting here and there across his arms.
 
Sighing heavily Dameon proceeded to stitch up the wounds, rewrapping them gently and cleaning up. After he was done he went to the hall and had his guards fetch Lestrade to take the prince back to his room.

Lestrade seemed shocked that Dameon hadnt just killed the prince and tried to escape, but who was he to judge the mans character. So the silver haired man simply took his prince back to his room to rest.
 
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