Disclaimer: The recognisable characters appearing in this story are © Wizards of the Coast, Inc., all rights reserved. They are used without permission and for entertainment purposes only. No profit is being made by the author for writing this story. No infringement upon nor challenge to the rights of the copyright holders is intended; nor should any be inferred.



A/N: I have been wondering about Drizzt's lack of sexuality and this is what came out of it. It's not very happy, but kind of accounts for his avoidance of sexual issues and it distracted me from my pitiful lack of inspiration regarding the other stories I'm currently working on.


Warning: Non- consensual First time and quite dark. Oh yes, and slash of course (no big surprise there I guess).




He is watching me again. And one could say that of course he is watching me, because it is his task. He is a Master of Melee-Magthere after all and I am a student, here for nothing else than to be observed and corrected in movement and technique, but in his gaze I sense something different. The way these dark red eyes sweep over my body makes my skin tingle. Not an unpleasant sensation, but one that I do not fully understand. How can a mere look make me feel this way? Wary and strangely thrilled all at the same time,. I know he wants something and yet I have no idea what it could be. His focus is different somehow than it should be, lingering in strange places. What could a Master want from a student? In moments like these it is, that I hate the lack of knowledge the most. Why has nobody told me about such things? Or is it just that I am once again too naive concerning the ways of my people? My uncertainty is frustrating. I think back to the last painful meeting with my father, when we clashed so violently. There was something I did not know then and I don't know if I even want to now. But do I want to find out what these other looks mean? Are not some things better left hidden in the shadows?

The current exercise is one I already know well, so I let my attention wander a bit and discover my elder brother, who is watching him as he is watching me. I see him notice that he has a witness and also the short, questioning gaze he gives Dinin, accompanied by a small gesture that is, to my dismay, mostly obscured so I cannot tell its meaning. It only serves to increase this weird excitement inside of me when he turns back afterwards, the intensity of his attention even stronger than before. The fact that Dinin smiled in answer to his query and is still doing so should probably worry me, but all I can actually do is to remain watchful.

In the following weeks he keeps up his strange silent scrutiny, apparently with the consent of my brother who does absolutely nothing to interfere and slowly my nervousness increases. I can't help but wonder about the motives behind these stares and it all starts to run in circles inside my head and refuses to make any sense until I am weary enough to let myself be talked into a night time visit to a tavern by a few of my fellow students. The place is called The blood pond. A name that does nothing to inspire any trust, but at least promises a few hours of distraction from the riddle that is slowly taking over my entire thinking.

I even try a few of the cheaper drinks, although it is against better knowledge to do so, but nothing seems to help and the loudly singing group of Dwarves at the table right next to us is nothing short of annoying. With a soft disgusted sigh I get up and try to find a way towards the door which will safely take me past a rather suspicious looking black robed figure and through the rest of the crowd. Unfortunately I sense the black one coming after me after I have taken but a few steps past him. I continue on my way towards the door with both hands on the hilts of my weapons, rudely pushing past a pair of smelly dwarves, who are drunkenly meandering in the general direction of their fellows. Their cries of outrage follow me until I step out on the street and the door closes with a dull thud shutting out all the irritating noise.

The black one appears before I've taken more than three steps.

"Stop right there Do'Urden." The dark figure hisses softly and I freeze. It's him! I've been focused on him so much during the last few weeks that I'd recognize his voice anywhere.

"What are you..."

"Shut up and come along boy."

I obey this familiar and commanding presence instantly and purely out of habit; a habit that was beaten into our heads and bodies early and thoroughly during the first days of our training in Melee Magthere. And despite the endless lectures about constant vigilance we've received there as well, it takes more than five steps for me to start wondering what he might be doing here and why I am following him so docilely.

"Where are we..."

But once again he cuts me off.

"Shut up boy. Don't make me force you."

With an inward sigh I suddenly resign myself to an unknown fate and decide to follow silently, if only to find out why he has been watching me all this time. I still have my weapons and I'm confident that I'll be able to put up a defense that will hold long enough to at least give me a chance to get away from him if he should decide to attack me. Even though the chances of that are rather slim in my estimation, since Dinin would probably know more about any possible conflicts or threats than I do and his reaction to Master Hynashin's query wasn't particularly alarmed.

After ten minutes of silently dogging his steps my natural stubbornness takes hold of me and I try again to pry some information from him, but before I'm even halfway through the first word I find myself slammed roughly against the nearest wall. My hands fly towards the hilts of my weapons, but anticipating this, by now almost instinctual reaction, he has stepped so close that I can't move anymore which leaves me free to do nothing else but to close my hands around them and remain this way.

Again I feel this strange anticipatory tingling under my skin, which makes me gasp slightly, something I instantly resent him for. So near. Warmth and the beating of another heart, which I can nearly feel at this nonexistent distance between us, send an involuntary shiver down my spine. I must end this. His unusual closeness is too distracting! All my senses seem sharpened suddenly, overwhelming me with sensation and even though I know very well I should not do it, I give in to my momentary panic and try to push him away. Any other time the slightest hint of an aggressive move against a Master would result in a terrible beating, but to my great confusion he only gives a short chuckle and takes a small step backwards.

"Don't worry boy. I won't harm you."

The soft, silky purr does nothing to lessen my confusion and all I can do in this moment is to stare back at him, eyes wide and breath still going quickly from this strange, disturbing mix of excitement and fear.

"Come now."

This time he takes hold of my shoulder to drag me along and too dazed by my own chaotic thoughts I don't resist. The longer we walk though the angrier I become, until my face burns in silent rage. He seems to take a sort of quiet enjoyment in my fury, which only serves to heighten it. I need an explanation, but he is obviously not inclined to give one and my own jumbled thoughts don't yield anything remotely useful either. I am also angry with myself, for without knowing why I feel compelled to do what he says, to follow without question and I half want to feel this disturbing kind of closeness for another time, which confuses me, because I have never before had the urgent need to touch or be touched by another person.

Suddenly the prospect of what might happen tonight frightens me, although I don't even know yet what it is going to be. It seems I'm soon going to find out though, seeing that we have apparently arrived wherever we were meant to go. This where consists of a small, nondescript hut, which is huddled between two bulky stalactites. Without a trace of hesitation he steps through the door, apparently in full expectation that I'll follow. So I take it that he's familiar with these grounds then. The knowledge does absolutely nothing to soothe my nervousness. I follow nonetheless, maybe partially out of sheer curiosity and despite my still burning anger. After I've been thinking about him and his motives so much, how could I pass up this possibility when it is practically shoved at me? I have long ago learned that there is always a risk involved in any gain.

Inside my eyes start scanning the surroundings almost automatically. It is what I've been taught to do for years. There's not much inside this small building and as far as I can see there are only two rooms. This one and a smaller one behind a half opened door, where I can see the edge of what must be a bed standing upon the bare ground. Here in the entrance area there is merely a table and three chairs next to a narrow cupboard.

"Are the rooms not to your liking?" He inquires scathingly with narrowed eyes, automatically making me take a small step backwards. He sounds dangerous now.

"Not all of us can be nobles and grow up in luxury Do'Urden."

For a moment I'm overcome by a new wave of anger. My childhood was in no way luxurious! How dare he judge my life just like this. Defiantly I stay silent and glare at him, but the following laugh is even worse. It actually makes me cringe slightly because of the sheer malicious glee which lies in the soft sound.

"Tonight you'll learn though, what it means to be owned!" He hisses and suddenly I can't move anymore. Panic bubbles up in my chest and sends my heart into a frantic pace. Magic! This is magic! But I can't fight it and wondering how he managed this won't help me. All I can do now is to watch as he comes closer, teeth bared in a vicious grin. Is this what Dinin consented to? I curse myself for being such an easy prey. How stupid of me. I must remember never to trust Dinin's judgment again.

He circles me silently and the knowledge that he's right behind me sends shivers of ice cold fear down my spine. The moment his hands touch me though these shivers change and become more intense, a sharp tingling sensation that touches the inner core of my being. The feeling follows the path his fingers take, down my back over layers of cloth and chain mail, then up again gliding over the bare skin of my neck. I do not understand my reaction and the sheer force of it frightens me even as I want it to continue. A small noise of distress escapes my lips and only now I realize that despite the fact that I still cannot move he has left me the ability to speak. How can it be that he has such control over my body? More even than I have myself. The thought of my own helplessness in the face of these unfamiliar sensations frightens me.

"Have you ever touched yourself boy?" He asks, whispering in my ear, his arms snaking around me in a strangely intimate gesture until his hands come to rest on my unprotected stomach.


My own whisper sounds strangled and is nearly choked by fear.

"Yes. Touched. There."

As his lips brush my ear his fingers brush over my crotch. A move that has me gasp helplessly.

"Yes. Once." I say hesitantly, afraid of what will happen if I do not answer. "One of the Priestesses saw and beat me until I passed out."

It seems to amuse him as I can feel the shaking of silent laughter at my back. Distant memories are brought back to me by his brief touch, of half hidden figures I once saw as a child when I was still working in the kitchen of my home. I was very young back then and too scared to watch for long, but I suspect strongly that the things I witnessed back then are similar to what he has in store for me.

At the time I was shocked by the way the two bodies seemed to melt into each other, by the wild, untamed movements and noises, but now the prospect is disturbing and enticing at the same time. The relief I feel when I realize that I will not die tonight is suddenly drowned out by his next actions. Swiftly and efficiently he gets rid of every single weapon I carry on me and leaves me with a terrible sense of defenselessness. Even though I'm still fully clothed I feel very much naked and exposed. The need to move and get away from him is nearly overwhelming, but still I can do nothing.

"What are you going to do?"

I hate how all my fear seems to seep into these few words. My weakness on full display.

"I think you already know that boy." And with a cold laugh he adds: "Judging by your reactions so far you'll probably even like it."

With these rather perturbing words he begins to remove my cloak. This is all happening much too rapidly for me to be able to keep up. Do I want this to happen? Do I want to leave? Somehow both are true, but in my confusion all I manage is to croak out a panicky: " No! Stop. This is too fast! I can't do this."

"I don't care." Is the mocking answer, that goes along with my shirt being thrown carelessly to the floor. Cool air hits my skin and intensifies the sensation of warm breath and lazily stroking hands on my back. A sudden moan escapes me as his lips touch the side of my neck. Automatically I lean back my head, without realizing the significance of the movement, too caught up in the new, overpowering sensations that run through every fiber of my being. Sharp needles of regret prick me when he withdraws all contact and I bite my lips as I dazedly realize how utterly my body has betrayed me, how he broke through all my carefully laid defenses with a mere touch. Instantly the heat of embarrassment spreads all over my face. To let my guard down like this! The danger inherent in such a careless opening of my self defense makes me shiver with dread, even while the longing for more contact clouds my rational judgment. To show any kind of need is to show weakness that will surely be exploited.

When he walks into the other room though I follow, despite the humiliation and despite the knowledge of danger. Drawn for the moment by these feelings and needs I will only understand much later. And when he tells me to sit on the bed I obey, watching as he removes his own weapons. To know where he keeps them might help me one day. At least that is what I tell myself in a half hearted attempt to repress the excitement that takes hold of me as I see him undress. Exposing himself as I am exposed, but still superior.

I know for certain that he will not let me go until he has what he wants and that I will have to give in because he is in a stronger position than me. I decide that the possibility of having to face the wrath of my mother when the news of any misbehavior on my part reaches her ears will be far worse than this could ever be and so I try to prepare myself for what might come next. What I want or don't want is of no consequence in this world, that much I have understood since the earliest days of my life. I may hate how others govern my life, but I have yet to find a way to stop it.

It is not so bad at first. The sharp novelty of his touch has lessened a bit and my own reactions are not as surprising any more, even though they still leave me dazed in their intensity. But when he holds down my wrists and leans over me I can't keep my fear from showing. The position is far too vulnerable for me to be comfortable with it. Of course he savors my weakness as any Drow would. It only seems to increase his desire for more and suddenly I hate what is happening here. All excitement is swept away by apprehension.

Deep inside I know that things should feel different, not like this. Not tainted with this terrible sense of being used without consent. My body reacts strangely separate from my head though and doesn't seem to care what I think of this. Maybe I should just leave matters to my body and engage my spirit elsewhere. It is cowardly of me I know, but I fear that the disjointed wrongness of the whole picture might leave me shattered and twisted if I take part in it for too long.

In a distant part of my brain that is still functioning correctly it puzzles me how something that evokes such intense longing for more can feel so awfully wrong at the same time, but I do not have the freedom to ponder such things now. His touch is gradually becoming harsher and more demanding and I have to work harder to shut out all thought of reason and resistance. It doesn't seem to matter that I'm not very much reciprocating in any way that goes beyond passive acceptance. Maybe it even is my complete insecurity which appeals to him. I have no way of knowing.

My resolve to simply ignore what is happening, like I do most of the time anyway, is suddenly and brutally crushed when the painful intrusion of his length jolts me out my blissful, dreamlike distance and directly back into the present.

The tearing pain of his thrusts leaves me gasping and automatically I begin to struggle, to no avail. I keep resisting though until cruel hands close around my throat and eventually the edges of my vision start to blur into blackness. So maybe I will die after all, I think cynically and welcome the darkness when it takes over what remains of my consciousness. Anything is better than this perverted mix of pleasure, pain and degradation.

When I wake I'm still hurting, but that in itself is not so unusual and something I can cope with. I try out a few hesitant movements only to discover him watching me yet again. He is already fully dressed, sitting on a sturdy chair, a few feet away from the bed, gazing at me over crossed arms. I fervently wish for his sudden and complete disappearance so I might lick my wounds in peace, but of course that doesn't happen. Instead he orders me curtly to get up and dress, which I do; slowly still hampered by pain and with a burning sense of humiliation.

It is during these endlessly dragged out minutes that I decide to never again let anybody touch me in this way. I'd rather die than live through such an act another time. My mother can hurt me all she likes if she thinks this an unfitting behavior for her second born.

"You won't do this again!" I hiss in a short, stupid flash of angry recklessness, but once again my behavior, which would have led to severe punishment any other time, provokes nothing more than a short, condescending chuckle.

"Your brother was right when he called you a stubborn little brat." He says quietly, but in the next moment he is suddenly up and harshly dragging me towards himself by the collar of my half buttoned shirt.

"I will do anything I like boy." He hisses slowly taking exaggerated care with each syllable, so that I will understand every single threat in his short sentence. "And if that means fucking you again you will spread your legs the second I say so. Understood?"

The sheer hatred for my own life, its appalling contents and the nearly overflowing fury at the injustice of this situation, that is raging in my insides prompt me to growl: "We'll see about that!"

A split second later a hard slap turns my face and makes me stumble into the wall.

"Out!" He yells, an order I obey gladly and instantly. Hastily snatching up my things before I slip out of the door quick and as silent as shadow.

Later, back in my own narrow bed at the academy, I vow to make them both pay for this, all the while knowing that there is no way I will be able to make good on my promise, shaking in silent fear that he will indeed order me to repeat tonight's meeting. He never does though and during the next days as the pain in my body gradually starts to fade I notice that his attention has turned away, from me to another. When I realize that, I start to breathe a bit easier. The instinctual dislike for intimate touches though will stay with me for many years to come.