fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme | Prompt Post #2

ROUND 2

Seeing as we've reached 4,000 comments in Round 1, it's time to make a new one. Same (lack of) rules apply. Gentle reminder to everyone to refrain from posting extremely long prompts, though. While no word limit will be imposed, take note that it is very unlikely for someone to fulfill your prompt if your prompt alone is already several paragraphs long and containing a number of specifications.

ANNOUNCEMENTS:
-(01/14/2016) We now have a TRADING POST where you can exchange fills with people.
-The prompt freeze is over! You may resume posting prompts. The next freeze is scheduled on February 8, 12:00 AM (PST) or if this round reaches 4,000 comments; whichever comes first.
-Due to popular demand, we now have our first couple of rules!
RULE #1: No prompt must exceed 250 words. Any prompt that exceeds that WILL be screened.
RULE #2: Please state RPF in the subject line if your prompt involves real people.
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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

(sidetone before we get into any remotely smutty territory: i know percival mentally refers to him as ‘boy’ a lot here, but my headcanon credence is firmly in the 18-24 range, cause if there’s one thing that squicks me the fuck out, it’s underage.)

Percival doesn’t sleep a wink, of course. Even a light doze proves absolutely impossible between the sharp burn of the Skele-Gro and his mind’s tireless, increasingly creative speculations of what Grindelwald has planned for him next.

Instead, he sits quietly in the darkness, and waits for the boy to return.

It takes an agonizingly long time before he does. Or it seems like it, at least - there’s absolutely no way to tell time in the cell, between the awful, monotonous solitude and the pale, unvarying light of the Lumos Sempiternus cast on the ceiling. One of the very first casualties of Percival’s imprisonment, beside his wand and his dignity, was his sense of time. Sometimes, he thinks he might miss his watch even more than his magic.

Finally, the cell door creaks balefully open to reveal the boy, his skinny arms wrapped precariously around a large wicker basket. He sets it down across from Percival before drawing out a cracked mug and a large, sloshing pitcher full of what must be water.

He fills the mug half-way, pale hands sure and careful on the pitcher’s handle.

“Drink slowly,” he cautions, passing it to Percival’s trembling hands.

Percival ignores him, but regrets it immediately, as his stomach rebels and the water ends up streaked all over his front. The boy says nothing, just refills the mug and hands it back over, his face carefully blank.

Percival drinks in slow, measured sips this time, letting the cool water wash away the taste of bile heavy in the back of his throat.

When the mug is empty, the boy reaches back into the basket and takes out a small bowl. When he uncovers it, the air grows heavy with the rich, salty smell of soup. Percival can’t help it - he drools, staring covetously at the bowl. The boy drops a spoon into the bowl and hands it across. “Slow,” he cautions again.

Percival ignores the spoon in favor of holding the bowl up to his face with both hands. It’s plain chicken broth, but fuck if it isn’t the best thing he’s ever tasted in his life. He slurps carefully, having learned his lesson with the water; by the time the bowl is empty, his stomach is full for the first time in what must be months.

The relief from the meal is short-lived. Before too long, there’s a sharp pressure in his bladder - a foreign, painful feeling after weeks of dehydration. The boy notices his discomfort, and unlocks Percival’s manacles with quick, sure hands.

“C-can you stand?” he asks quietly.

Percival can, it turns out, but it’s a close call. The boy slings an arm around his back and helps him over to the small bucket in one corner of the cell, which Grindelwald had graciously provided for him before deciding his prisoner was better off in manacles, completely stripped of all dignity.

After he’s relieved himself, the boy walks Percival over to another part of the cell and helps him sit, propping him up gently against the wall.

“I n-need to wash you,” he says quietly, keeping his eyes carefully . “If t-there are any more wounds on you, they sh-should be cleaned. Will- will you let me?”

Percival nods, too overcome by the possibility of finally being clean again to speak. Perhaps this is Grindelwald’s new torture: teasing him with the possibility of cleanliness after all these months, only to…

Only to what? Percival shakes his head; dislodges the thought. There’s no point in contemplating Grindelwald’s next move right now - he’s too tired and weak to do anything about it, even if he did have any inkling of what the future holds for him.

“Okay,” the boy says, looking relieved that he doesn’t have to cajole Percival into it. “St-stay there, all right?” he adds, rising and walking over to the cell door.

Percival resists the urge to roll his eyes. Where else would he go, after all? Still, the boy shoots one last nervous look over his shoulder before closing the door behind him.

Prompt Post #2

Fill: If You Keep Holding Me [4/?]