Work Text:
Etienne started to hate the color gray.
The chamber in the Thalmor Embassy was cold and empty, save for Etienne. He tasted his own blood, the salt and metallic taste unsavory to say the least. He spit out a mouthful off to the side.
He stared at the floor in front of him, the orange light from tenacious candles enhancing the cracks and bevels of the stony ground. His blood dripped down from a nose that was most likely broken, tapping on the stone. The liquid lit dimly with the small flames, giving precious little visibility in the dark, icy chambers. Iron and the lingering scent of ozone from Rulindil's spells were all he could smell. Calloused skin from his bare feet scraped the floor as he shifted, trying to find a good way to sit. There was never a good way to sit. An uncomfortable sheet of dust on the hardened skin was one of the many things that reminded him how long it'd been since he were allowed to bathe since being locked there.
Etienne's wrists strained against the shackles keeping him to the wall from hanging slack, his weight agonizingly rubbed the skin raw against the iron from the time he spent suspended by them. His breath came out slowly and somewhat ragged. He was certain he was sick. His body was hot and he felt dizzy. Although, admittedly, the latter could've been from the blows to the head from earlier. As if on cue, his body wracked with a fit of harsh coughs, the shakes worsening the pain in his arms and abdomen, upsetting fresh wounds from knives and blades.
His eye was almost swollen shut. However, he would've loved to have them both completely blinded if for no other reason than that he didn't want to look at anything there anymore. Gray shackles that kept him prisoner. Gray walls, broken up by gray cell bars. Gray floors. Gray Thalmor robes cloaking the golden skin of his 'hosts'. Gray knives and rods that cut and struck him.
He hated it all.
While he wanted nothing more than to leave this wretched place and burn it to the ground, he began to realize he may never get that chance. He may never get the chance to hear the Thalmor screams as flames licked at the stone, smoke billowing to the sky in a thick pillar. He may never be able to return to the Guild and see his brothers and sisters in crime. He may never be able to return to Windhelm.
Revyn.
The thought of his face pained Etienne. His hands flexed into fists above him for a moment before going slack again. How long had he been down here now? Days? Weeks? Whatever it was, it was too long and he knew that Revyn had to be worried sick.
Etienne thought of Revyn's eyes, one of his many good features, glistening with tears as he waited up for Etienne to come back only to be disappointed. He thought of Revyn trying every contact he could to try and find a lead so he could get Etienne back to safety.
Etienne struggled against the shackles in vain with a bolt of renewed vigor. His wrists were raw and swelling against the iron, the chains clanking with the disturbance. He gnashed his teeth and growled with strain only to surrender to the pain, falling back against the wall with pants.
He wouldn't admit he was sobbing. He wouldn't.
Revyn.
He missed him. Gods, did he miss him. He wanted to hold him and tell him he survived and he was alright. He wanted to be there, to help, to pick up any pieces he left behind when he was dragged to this cursed place against his will. He worried about the pain his absence was causing. He worried for the fear, the loneliness. He worried and seethed over everything that came from being there and not where he belonged.
Etienne bit his abused lip and tried to calm himself down. If he were stuck there, he should at least try and think of good things for a while.
Revyn.
Etienne thought of Revyn's hair and how it felt against his fingers. The black strands comparable to satin and far more lovely. He thought of Revyn's merlot red eyes sparkling with mischief as Etienne kissed his face to wake him up in the morning. He thought of Revyn's laughter, his cheekbones, his fingers.
He remembered how Revyn's skin felt beneath his, warm and soft on a lean body, shuddering under his touch. He remembered how they'd dance and how they'd sneak off in places both private and public and go at it just because they needed to feel each other in those moments.
He remembered the contrast of his skin against Revyn's, fair and peachy against a soft gray.
Gray.
Etienne smiled ruefully.
Gray wasn't so bad. It was beautiful sometimes.
The sound of the door opening on the upper floor of the chambers registered to his ears and Etienne breathed deeply, steeling himself for the inevitable hours to come. With a defiant frown on his face, he raised his head to meet whomever it was making their entrance.