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Father knows best. Lords know best. Heke knows this. Ramsay knows what's best for Heke.
Ramsay is familiar with Heke's body in a way no one else could be. Ramsay has broken him and made him share himself in ways he'd never thought of. Both of their mouths are crammed full and it's hard to position themselves, but Heke finds a way. Ramsay tastes musky in is mouth and his own groin feels so wet and tight that he can't tell whats what. He thinks Ramsay's fingers are inside him and he's fairly certain it's Ramsay's tongue that's flicking against the tip of his cock, but everything is like hot white light. He wasn't ready and his pupils are wide and burning. He's burning up and Ramsay's fingers are inside him.
He holds other things too: finger, knife, cock, tongue. They all slip into him in different places. He opens his lips, he spreads his legs, he's panting, moaning, panting. Ramsay does things a boy shouldn't know yet.
He's sixteen when they start playing games, seventeen and he's dressed like a lord. Heke doesn't ask when he comes and goes. Heke doesn't ask when he tears into him, cursing and drunk. He's supposed to serve this boy.
Roose knows how to take the steam out of him. Perhaps other things as well-- secrets maybe?
Ramsay pulls out so his seed smears across Heke's face. Disgusting. That's the word he uses. He says it like a lover's promise that vanishes with the dawn.
"Father will want to leech me."
Ramsay will march himself off to his father as a taunt. Look at me. Look what I did. How is it to spend another year wifeless.
It is cold and bland. The days blend together like winter nights spent in blizzards. Men's intrigues are mostly beneath him, at best boring. Everything is a vague march forward. Ramsay holds little promise. As fertile as bastards are, their future is barren. A mule of a boy, fit to bray and labor.
They game together, or rather, Ramsay tries to play at his father's level. He's easy to figure out. Ramsay has no mind for subtlety. Simple things motivate him.
To make him serve is easy. When he's too unruly, ply him with drink. When he's desperate give him false hope. When he's cocksure, unbalance him. Make him struggle. Leave him drowning then reel him in. Pull him to his feet as he's gasping. Bathe him after. Give him dry clothes. Make him feel as if he is special.
House Bolton is a house of flesh whether taken or given willingly. Ramsay must learn this the hard way, especially when he has so much to give. His thighs and chest are broad and strong. Each turn of the mill has tightened him, packing muscle against fat, both clinging to bone. Roose leaves plums by his plate at dinner, just in case he's fogotten.
Ramsay remembers things he isn't supposed to. He forgets things the wrong way too. He remembers cold strong hands. He remembers being prodded at like a horse, proving his viability. He forgets lessons, forgets his place, forgets his name, but remembers pale ice, the knife that isn't a knife cutting away. Heke teaches him too. How to cover a girl's mouth so the sobs don't carry, how to tell if a body will be more fun cold. Heke is foul, disgusting to be sure, but he's his. He would call themselves lovers, but that's stupid-- Heke is his servant, and Ramsay does not love.
His lips are naturally thick. Heke is the one who suggests what they'd be good for, but his father is the first to try them. He doesn't say yes or no when Ramsay kneels. He just stares. Ramsay is losing the game, but it's better than his put downs.
Heke is appreciative when he suckles him. Reciprocates even. The two of them take turns sucking each ther off after a kill. Ramsay likes to make him fuck the bodies with seed still across his face. Sometimes he'll give Heke a taste of his prize by licking him clean after he rapes her. He's been more than generous with a man so beneath him.
This night they are in his quarters. They started with kissing. Ramsay doesn't like kissing often. It reminds him of his first nights, and being treated as another boy's pet. He kissed Heke forcefully though, gnawed at him mid-embrace then took to his neck. Red welts trailed behind his gnashing teeth. Heke probably feared for his cock. He ought to. Maybe when he tired of Heke he'd bite it off. Instead Ramsay took it gently, his lips fluttering against him when he reaches his groin. Ramsay spread his legs wide so Heke could pleasure him as well. Servants always repay a master's kindness.
Later that night his body is covered in tiny mouths. His father watches as the leeches sate themselves, growing bloated. Bad blood wells up and bad blood outs them both. Roose is again silent, his face that of stern judgement. The maester is shooed away. The are alone. Roose toys with Ramsay's hair. It wants cutting. So he trims it. His fingers weave back and forth and long strands fall to the floor as Ramsay reclines. The leeches tame him even if it's only temporary. Ramsay's smile is loose and easy. Roose is satisfied.
"Tell me how you find Heke. I gave him to you, afterall."