Not in This Lifetime

Trigger warnings & Author's notes

May contain: Violence, extreme domination, degradation, sadism, non-consent/coercion, slavery.

This is a combination romance/smut.

I am not entirely sure where I am going with this, I haven't written anything in a very long time so apologies if it's messy. Really, it's basically a first draft without a plan that's barely pieced together in my brain.

I don't know much about much, I'm just a horny fool writing. Always open to feedback and suggestions.

I think I am going to try alternating between the past and present. I will try to keep things clear. We'll see how it goes.

Chapter One: the end of a good thing

Mile was sure his arm must be broken, as he found that he couldn't lift it at the shoulder. He acknowledged that he should probably be more concerned about that, but his body was so full of adrenaline that he felt no pain or fear, only anger, and the need to destroy these people who were here to destroy him and the cause he had worked so hard to build over the past eight years.

His comrades were perhaps more accepting of the situation at hand; the entire town was ablaze in fires set by the rebellion soldiers when it became clear that the Royal Army was here to uproot them. They had made prior plans to burn any buildings that might contain sensitive information if such a situation were to arise. The majority of the townsfolk were accepting of this plan as well, which just showed how much support the rebellion actually had.

Mile grimaced as he took in the sight of the inferno around him. When he heard reports that the general of the Royal Army himself was leading a brigade into town, he knew it wasn't going to be good, and without giving it much thought, he had rushed out to confront the general and his army head on. The general hardly bothered with the rebels, and had always sent out his subordinates to deal with them in the past. Mile wondered how he learned the whereabouts of their base. He felt as though someone had likely betrayed them.

Mile stood, his left arm dangling at his side as he faced the general and a small group of soldiers. The general had ordered the rest of his brigade to scour the area for documents, to capture or kill any rebel soldiers they came across, and to save the town. The scene was utter chaos as brigade soldiers were running around doing their best to douse out burning buildings. Rebel soldiers were setting fire to random buildings and houses now, not discriminating.

It wasn't supposed to end like this.

Prior to this moment, Mile had been running through the chaos and was tackled by a soldier and dragged to the ground. He grunted as he wrestled the other man, both of them failing to get the upper hand. Finally, Mile threw a punch, satisfied when he heard the gruesome crack it made when his fist landed square in the man's face. The man grunted and fell backwards, but Mile felt another soldier behind him.

The larger man grasped Mile's left arm from behind and twisted it unnaturally behind his back while slamming him into the ground. He gasped in pain as his face hit the concrete below. The way the man was holding his arm made moving in any particular way excruciatingly painful. Mile panted into the ground as he heard the soldier speak into his radio.

"Black sheep engaged, requesting back up, sending coordinates."

Black sheep. Mile scowled at the uninspired code name they'd given him. With a surge of what seemed like unnatural energy, no doubt from the adrenaline still coursing through him, he jerked his body away from the soldier and leapt to his feet. Somehow he heard the deafening crack of his shoulder more than he felt it. Everything felt like a dream. He was in a daze. This wasn't really happening.

The soldier stumbled backwards to the ground, stunned by what had just happened. In an instant he was was on his feet and pursuing Mile. Fuck, the man was fast. In another instant Mile felt his face back in the dirt as he hit the ground hard, the soldier dragging him down again. The two men tussled on the ground momentarily. From behind them, Mile heard a deep voice speak.

"Let him up, he is surrounded."

He felt the man's weight lift from him and he quickly staggered to his feet. This brings us back to the current moment in time, Mile facing off against the general and his men, the raging inferno burning around them. Mile found he could no longer lift his arm.

"I am so fucked," he thought, but he stood firm as the general approached him.

"Domarc," the general said calmly as he got within a few feet of the younger man. Mile said nothing, seething. The general's shoulder length blonde hair framed his face perfectly and gave an almost angelic air to him that didn't seem to fit into the chaotic and bloody scene currently playing out. Mile felt a new hatred coursing through his veins as he faced the other man.

"Your base is surrounded. Your second in command is dead. I have one thousand soldiers with me, and another five thousand ready to move if ordered to do so. The rebellion is no more. It would be in your best interest to surrender."

Mile was stunned. Cerys ... Cerys was dead? He couldn't wrap his mind around this. The general was lying to him, he had to be.

Mile unconsciously took a step backward and reached up to press his palm against the dull ache in his forehead. The area was bleeding slightly from when he hit the ground at one point. The carnage around him appeared far away and the sound of his own heart beating in his head seemed to be the only thing he could clearly hear. Perhaps if he made a run for it he could slip away, find Cerys and the others, regroup... this wasn't real. He just needed to get out of this smoke and chaos and clear his head ...

The general frowned as he recognized that the younger man was about to bolt. He'd dealt with many a trapped enemy before.

"Mile. Don't. You're injured. You have nowhere to go." He stepped closer to the younger soldier and Mile stumbled backwards, away from the intimidating man in front of him. The general sighed as Mile turned and ran.

"Secure him. Do not injure him more than you have to."

Mile found himself on the ground yet again, face in the dirt as multiple soldiers held him down. He yelped as his injured arm was then pulled behind him, followed by the other. He felt the cold steel of restraints securely fastened around each wrist behind him, and then attached to a heavy chain that was promptly placed around his waist just above his hips and secured with a padlock. Seemed like overkill, he thought bitterly.

The general approached again, not acknowledging Mile this time.

"Take him. I'll be along shortly."

"Sir!" The soldiers barked in response, and the two closest pulled Mile from the ground.

"On your feet, Domarc."

Fuck that. Mile ragdolled, collapsing at the feet of

The soldiers.

The two men looked at each other and in a seemingly unspoken understanding, hoisted Mile up, one of them grasping him under his arms, and the other by his feet. They proceeded to carry him out of the madness, stopping only when they reached a fleet of vehicles belonging to the Royal Army. A third soldier opened the back of a large, white cargo van, and the men proceeded to hoist Mile into the vehicle. They tossed him unceremoniously onto the floor of the van and sat in seats along the side, One of them pausing first to pull the doors shut behind them.

Mile groaned, his forehead pressed against the cool floor of the van. Just a dream. A nightmare. He clenched his eyes shut as they waited what seemed like forever in the back of the van, but was probably really only a few minutes. As the adrenaline began to wear off, Mile began to feel the horrific pain in his shoulder. It was surely broken. He groaned again into the ground as the pain flooded through him.

The door to the cargo van burst open suddenly and the general appeared. He climbed into the back of the van, taking a seat nearest to the doors and to Mile's head.

"Let's move," the general called into the cab of the van, and they set off, a few vehicles following suit while the majority remained behind to finish dealing with what remained of the rebel army.

Mile was sweating profusely, every bump in the road causing excruciating pain to course through his shoulder. He whimpered into the ground of the van. This was all too much. The pain was unreal.

He thought he felt a gentle hand stroke his hair. It reminded him of how his mother used to do the same when he was a child. Was he hallucinating? Felt like he might be. The stroking continued, and Mile found it soothing and did his best to relax. The pain came in waves and seemed to be getting worse with each one. Eventually, he passed out.