A/N: This little ficlet came about because of Astra's AMAZING webcomic Weaponry. The art, the characters all appealed to me, and was delivered so well that I – who is totally against Choose Your Own Adventure type of stories/comics – completely and absolutely am enjoying the journey into the deep and colorful world of Weaponry. In the beginning I did not think much of the pairings. I was more intrigued by the individual characters and their potential for growth. Then, without me realizing it, sneaking like a thief in the night, the loathsome character Shrapnel suddenly piqued my interest – or in particular his interest in Arrow – former slave Laird Hood. Soon, I was squealing like a fangirl at the sight of picture drawn and colored of the two, and this ficlet came to mind.

I hope you enjoy it. It takes place shortly after Arrow and Shrapnel's….not so pleasant first encounter, and right before the night raid by the pirates and their students.

Pairing: One sided Shrapnel + Arrow

Warnings: Reference to past assault. Shrapnel. 'Nough said.


wEaPoNrY **yEnOpAeW

TO TAKE

"And when you look long into an abyss, the abyss also looks into you."
FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE, Beyond Good and Evil


When Diego first saw the newest weapon walking into the Ballista's cabin, the first thing that went through his mind was that the Ped was the scrawniest would-be pirate he had ever seen. His eyes took up half his face, doe-like and filled with uncertain wonder. He was pale, skin similar to a noble woman who stayed sequestered in her walled castle, shunning light and anything remotely passionate. His hair, tucked under a silly looking hat fell around a round child-like face, a complete picture of innocence that had no place here in Weaponry Academy. Really, he looked like a lost maiden walking between a pack of louse-ridden curs. Easily startled, face and eyes reflecting every emotion that he felt like a little babe not yet weaned from his mother's tits.

The captain had allowed him on board and dubbed him a proper weapon's name, so there had to be more to the whelp. Perhaps a runaway like that Gannon brat.

Whichever the case, the Ped entered his domain and attracted his attention. Those large eyes made him wonder how they would look filled with pain and fear, how would that perfect white skin bruise after meeting his fists, how far could those scrawny bird-like legs bend back under his larger hands.

Yes, he had felt the interest in his loins from the moment he laid eyes on the boy, a thrill to see how quickly the romantic wonder would break. And he wanted to break him, Diego del Vandros wanted to destroy that frailty, wanted to take that innocence and sully it beyond redemption. The Ped had to be hiding something behind that pure look and wide grin – Diego trusted his captain too much to think he'd let a fool walk the deck of his precious academy.

He was never a man who held back in his wants. So he did not hold back when he lured the Ped to him and once the door was shut he attacked with every intention of reaping deep pleasure on that white body. That frail shuddering back on the floor before, the narrowness of the bones protruding from beneath straining cloth, everything was his to take.

He had expected terror, tears, and some struggle before he overcame the boy. Oh, he did see that terror, and there were tears…but the struggle…the struggle…

Blood had been spilled, his nose shattered, and even with the Ped knocked senseless and stripped underneath him – too weak to full ward off his assault – Diego knew that he had witnessed something magnificent. He would have claimed him as spoil right there, taken him and branded him as HIS, but then that blasted Milosh stormed, forcing him to step away from this exciting anomaly.

But though had over the newest acquisition, he was in no way finished with the Ped. Fear, anger, lust; Deigo no longer wanted to ruin the boy, he wanted to take him, remake him, to see beyond that façade of happy smiles and innocent eyes.

Now he laughed a low sound that hurt his injured nose but made him want to bellow his mirth out into the air. He stood before the weapon's cabin room; behind him he could hear the excited activity of the weapons preparing the Ballista for battle. He had observed that the Ped had not been among them when overseeing their going-about, and when noticing the warning look from young Milosh he figured that the soft hearted fool had left his spoil back on the De Havilland. Leaving them under the watchful eye of Cannon, he set off to find his new curiosity.

The sun had nearly completely set; the sky more dark with little peeks of the angry red and gold sun. He did not have much time to explore before his presence on the Ballista was needed. So without further delay, he pushed into the cabin.

It was dark and empty inside except for a single lamp that was lit in the far end of the room. Its frail flickering light illuminated the hunched, partially disrobed figure of the Ped, who was leaning over the ruins of his shirt and sewing the cloth with a needle and thread. He did not look up from his work, and even from across the room, in the poor lighting, Diego could see the contrast of his hair brushing the curve of his bruised cheek. The color was striking, blue and black.

Diego wanted to tear at boy and see where else he had left his marks.

Finally, poor instincts finally alerted, the Ped stopped in his manic stitching and lifted his head up to stare back at the pirate. Eyes widened momentarily, hands and cloth lowered. There was a queer stillness, calm yet taunt, waiting for Diego to make the first move and knowing that there was very little that could be done when the strike came.

Such a shame that he was pressed for time.

He strode in, not once looking away from the Ped, observing how he flinched and pulled back. The boy's eyes darted side to side, desperately looking for a mode of escape. But Diego was already upon him, his shadow stretched over him as he leaned forward, one arm on Milosh's top bunk.

He did not say anything, choosing instead to take the chance to study the Ped's face. The boy's features were hard now, pulled back and wary – as he should be. The place on his cheek where he had struck him was raw looking, taking up a quarter of his face. He had to consciously hold himself back from reaching forward and touching his handiwork in wonder.

He wanted to grab that frail neck and lick the curve of his marred cheek.

"What do you want?" The Ped finally found his voice. It shook, yet the demand was clear, even if the power behind it was lacking with inexperience.

Deigo tilted his head, studying that canvas that he'd left his mark on, wanting more of himself painting on the boy's skin. "What'ver I can take."

"And if I don't let you take it?" the whelp challenged, eyes firm and unwavering on his.

Oh, Diego felt his lips twisting into a toothy grin, he could see a bit of it now, that glimpse into the very thing that riled him, stirred him inside and out when he recalled the Ped. His mouth filled with spit and his tongue was tempted to run across his teeth in anticipation.

Soft features and careful words. He did not believe a bit of it.

"Best things in life," he purred darkly, looming over the Ped, "Ain't easy ta get. Ye gotta break it in, an' that makes it all th' more fun."

That small, white Adam's apple bobbed as the Ped swallowed hard, however he did not lean back or cringe away. "I don't break," he swore.

Deigo reached for him for him then, the urge to touch and take overpowering his initial control. Pure instincts saved him when he jerked back; his eye inches away from the small needle the Ped had been using to mend his shirt.

The tiny weapon glittered with menacing beauty in the lamplight…though it could not compare to the molten rage and warning in the Ped's brown eyes. Diego wanted to lunge forward and suck at those radiant orbs. He wanted to see it again, the fury, the bloodlust, the battle that did not want salvation, nor conquest, but rather the complete annihilation of his foe.

Most men, even the hard ones that walked the De Havilland, would strike to hurt, disarm, or kill.

But not this one, this wolf in sheep's clothing. This one not only wished for the death of his adversary, but he wanted to maim, he wanted Diego's pain, wanted so much to stab him through his eye. Would savor his screams in pain without ruing his actions. It was plain as day the evil that this little weapon hid.

He had to take a breath to calm himself. Now was not the time. He could easily push the Ped down and have his way, see what else the little devil could pull in his defense, but he had a bigger battle ahead, one that promised plenty blood and flesh to cut into. That would stave off his yearnings for now.

Stepping back and giving the lad space to breathe, he asked, "Didn't get yer name. What'd the Captain call ye?"

The Ped blinked suspiciously, but answered without lowering his armed hand, "Arrow."

"Arrow, huh?" He tasted the name in his mouth and found that it was not too sour. "Never know it's there 'til its deep into yer skin, eh?"

The Ped did not answer, nor did his threatening hand waver.

Diego turned around and headed back outside, saying over his shoulder, "Get yerself together an' find Cannon. Ye may not be worth much in our raid, but ye can make yerself useful at least!"

Outside complete darkness now blanketed the land and air, the sea salt fresh and tickling through Diego's destroyed nose. His blood was pumping so that his hands were flushed, his heart beating against his chest in excitement. He was not sure whether the Ped realized that he was rock hard, his desire straining against the front of his breeches.

He wanted to fuck him, this Arrow, and at the same time he wanted so much to see how the little weapon would strike back at him. How many bones would he try to break? Would he go for his eyes again? Would he try to bash his skull in while his back was turned? He wanted to see his face contort in rage and fury, wanted to feel that burning strength beneath straining muscles. Wanted to hear his voice challenge him, but with more power this time, with the experience and knowledge that he, Arrow, could best Shrapnel, Master of Pillage and Plunder.

He wanted to take him as far as he could go, to the depths of all the Hells conjured by those fanatics in their temples and churches. He would see him through to the end; take pleasure in molding him and lifting him to new heights. Arrow had stated that becoming a pirate meant 'freedom', but Diego would show him what true freedom meant – through pure vicious strength.

But there was time for that later…for blood would be spilled tonight, and he was damned if he missed out in it!

EnD


A/N: Basically, Shrapnel looked into the abyss – Arrow - found his own reflection, and liked what he saw!

THANK YOU SO, SO, SO MUCH ASTRA FOR THIS INSPIRATION!

Tristripe