FicWad

Whole World In Here

His face still hurts when they march him back to his cell. His face, and all the random scrapes and bruises from the fight, too. When he was in the infirmary he'd tried to convince them to put him in a different cell, to get some distance between him and Almasy, but the Balamb guards just look at him like he's trash, and don't listen to a word he says. /You're lucky you're not getting isolation/, they told him, /coming up with a shiv on your first day here/.

It wasn't /his/, Squall tries to tell them. He was just defending himself. They can't put him back with Almasy, the guy's already tried to kill him.

"Shut up, Leonhart," Warden Kramer says, not rough, just kind of bored. "Nobody wants to hear it."

Almasy isn't in the cell when he gets back, though. Which is kind of a blessing, in the way where it means he won't have to deal with the asshole for a while, and also kind of a curse, in that way where he can't relax while he's wondering what comes next.

As far as he can tell, Almasy thought the fight was a good time.

It hadn't been a stand-back-and-hit-each-other thing like in the movies. It'd been up-close, too personal right from the start, grappling with each other and rolling across the concrete floor, shoving each other into the cafeteria tables, no distance and no mercy. And Squall had been getting the worst of it -- Almasy's got six inches on him, and probably about forty pounds of in-prison-with-nothing-to-do-but-lift muscle.

And then Almasy pulled the fucking shiv.

It was all kind of a blur after that, especially once Almasy cut him. Squall kind of lost it, and he's not totally sure how he managed to get the shiv out of Almasy's hand. There was blood in his eyes, blood everywhere, and Almasy's hands around his throat and he lashed out and then Almasy was cursing and then somebody else hit him in the back of the head, and he woke up in the infirmary.

So now Squall is stuck here, lying on his bunk and staring up at the springs above him, and wondering how the hell he's going to get through his sentence without killing or being killed. It's still light in the hallway, the sort of dim fluorescent light that makes people look half-dead and feel uncomfortable. It occurs to Squall to wonder if the lights will go off; it feels late, but he's totally disoriented from the time in the infirmary, and of course they took his watch when they checked him in. Turning the lights off would be humane, wouldn't it? Only that doesn't necessarily mean anything. Nothing else about being here has been comforting.

He drops off at some point. He must, because he starts awake, groggy and aching, when the cell door clangs and slides open again. The lights are dimmer now, but it's still not fully dark. "And no more fucking trouble," says the guard outside.

"Heh." Almasy's voice. "Don't know what you're talking about. I'm a fucking model prisoner." There's a muffled thump, and a sound like Almasy's swallowing a grunt of pain, and then a shadow falls over Squall's bunk as Almasy steps into the cell.

"Save it for the parole board," the guard says.

Almasy doesn't answer, and the cell door clangs shut again. Squall lies still, listening to the sound of the guard's footsteps retreating. He tries not to let his breathing give him away.

Not that it matters. Almasy reaches down and grabs the front of his shirt, hauls him bodily out of bed before Squall's braced himself enough to fight back. "Have a nice nap?" he says. There's blood still on his face from the fight, and the cut Squall gave him arcs right down across the middle of his face, between his eyes. It's raw and ugly, like it hasn't been treated at all.

"Look," Squall says, his hands wrapped around Almasy's wrists, trying to pull away, "just cut it out, okay? We had a bad fucking day, but that doesn't --"

"Shut up," Almasy interrupts, shaking him. "We need to get a few things straight here. You're going to learn your fucking place."

That doesn't sound good at all. "Stop it," Squall says. He's groggy, still struggling to wake up completely, and he's in no shape for another fight.

"Sure thing," Almasy says. But he doesn't let go. Instead he shoves Squall up against the wall of the cell, hard, the painted concrete cold against Squall's back. The thin cotton of the prison uniform isn't any kind of insulation. "Pretty boy like you's going to have a bad time of it here, without somebody to belong to."

"Let me go," Squall says, his heart pounding, loud in his ears. "I'll call the fucking guards over here."

Almasy laughs. "Do that. Xu just went off duty, and I know the guys on the night shift." His grip tightens on Squall's wrist until the bones ache. "You get Raijin and Fuujin's attention, you'll wish you hadn't. They won't help you out, Leonhart. We'll just take turns."

Squall's stomach lurches. "Bullshit," he says, but he's more hoping he's right than anything else.

"Try us," Almasy says, and he sounds so happy about the idea that Squall doesn't dare try to call his bluff.

"So what you're telling me," Squall says, and he's stalling for time and they probably both know it, "is that I can let you rape me, or --"

"Or I'll let everyone else," Almasy finishes for him. "It's pretty simple. You give it to me now, or I'm not going to step in for you when every guy in the cell block wants to fuck you sloppy in the showers tomorrow." He reaches up and peels the bandage off Squall's face casually. It stings. "You're wearing my mark already. Might as well take the protection you can get from it, right?"

"/Protection/?" Squall echoes, outraged. Almasy just smirks. Squall's gaze flickers up to the raw gash in Almasy's forehead. "I marked you, too, though."

Almasy backhands him across the face. "Don't go trying to make trouble for yourself, Leonhart. You don't have what it takes."

The hell I don't, Squall thinks, but right here and right now he probably doesn't. He can taste blood, just a little, where his teeth cut the inside of his cheek just now. "You expect me to just take your word for it, that you're going to watch my back if I go along with this?"

From the way Almasy smirks, he can tell he's not doing all that good a job of holding out. "Yeah," Almasy says, "I do. If you're /mine/, you're worth protecting. If you're not mine, then you're trash, and you deserve everything you get. From me or anyone else."

Squall feels queasy. He's had too much adrenaline in too little time, and it's left him shaky, unsettled, drained. "Yours, huh?"

"Yeah," Almasy says. "I'm going to be your whole world in here, Leonhart." His cock twitches, hard against Squall's hip. "Say yes, and it might not be so bad."

Squall's mouth feels dry. He can't meet Almasy's eyes, bright blue and focused. He's going to hate himself no matter what happens next. "Yes," he says, his face turned to the wall, his stomach in knots.

Almasy lets go of him, and steps back half a pace. "Good choice," he says. "Get on your knees." Squall looks up at him in alarm, and Almasy is smirking again. "We can probably make a deal with Raijin and Fuujin to get some KY later. Right now, if you want it slick, you better be a good cocksucker."

Squall tries to decide which part of that sentence to object to first, and Almasy puts a hand on his shoulder, right over a bad bruise, and pushes down. "I don't," Squall says.

"Sure you do," Almasy answers, using his other hand to tug down the waistband of his pants until his cock is bared. "You just haven't yet."

It looks way too big, this close up. Squall wants to protest again -- Almasy expects to get that up his ass? But he said yes already, and he's pretty sure this'll only get uglier if he changes his mind now. He swallows hard, working his tongue against the roof of his mouth, trying to come up with some spit. It's not working so well.

"Go on," Almasy says smugly. "You don't have to wait for permission or anything."

A little jolt of anger and maybe something else runs down Squall's spine. He's got his back to the wall and he's stuck in this little room for years even if he manages good behavior somehow, and there's no way this is safe, especially with his mouth bleeding, and how did he get this fucked over?

He opens his mouth, and Almasy does the rest of the work for him, pushing forward so his cock is thick and heavy on Squall's tongue. It's not comfortable at all, his jaw stretched too wide, Almasy's cock filling his mouth too full. The knowledge that this isn't supposed to fit here is almost overwhelming, and Squall wonders if it's still like that for people who do this voluntarily.

"Come on, Leonhart," Almasy says, "at least try a little. Pretty boy like you must've gotten a blowjob before. You know how it goes."

The thing about having your mouth full of someone's cock is that you can't argue with him so well. Squall can't decide whether that makes this easier to stand or not. He tries to move a little, tries to figure out how to do this. He can't get much of it in his mouth before he starts to feel like he's going to choke. How do people manage this?

Almasy tangles a hand in his hair and gets a good firm grip. "Now do it like you mean it," he says, and thrusts.

Squall chokes immediately. His hands come up to push at Almasy's thighs, and he's making noise without meaning to, awful little victim sounds as Almasy fucks his throat. His eyes water reflexively, and he hates how that's going to look.

"I'm doing you a favor, you know," Almasy says, and he sounds way too pleased with himself. "You'll never get my cock wet enough if you don't work for it a little." He shoves his cock down Squall's throat a few more times and then pulls out. Squall's mouth feels raw, his lips swollen and his throat sore.

"Choking me hardly counts as a favor," he growls, and Almasy hauls him up by his hair.

"Give it a few weeks," Almasy says, "and you won't choke anymore." He spins Squall around, pushes him into the wall, yanks his pants down. "I'm only going to tell you this once," he says as he steps up close and kicks Squall's legs apart. "Don't tense up." But his cock presses into the crack of Squall's ass, and Squall can't help tensing up a little.

Almasy smacks his ass, hard, and Squall jumps, making a little outraged yelp -- that turns into a low, broken sound he wishes he could take back, as Almasy's cock splits him open.

"Oh god," Squall says, his hands scrabbling at the slick-painted concrete for something, /anything/, to hold on to. The wall is freezing, and Almasy's body is hot against his back, and his ass burns where Almasy's cock is shoved into him. "Oh god, I can't. Stop. I can't take it."

"You can," Almasy breathes in his ear. "You're taking it right now." He rocks his hips, and just that little motion is enough to make Squall clench his teeth, hissing. Someone farther down the row moans, and Squall shudders.

"They're -- fuck," he whispers, head down, trembling. "They're listening."

Almasy pulls out a little and rocks into him again. "Of course they are," he murmurs. "Only time you get privacy in Balamb is when you're silent." He sounds pleased, hungry, /savage/. "And you don't want that tonight anyway."

Squall sucks in a shaky breath. "What do you know about what I want?"

"You want to get left alone in the morning, don't you?" Almasy asks, and laughs when Squall nods. "Then you'll make some noise tonight. Let everybody know you're spoken for."

"Don't," Squall pleads. He's too full, stretched open and stuffed with Almasy's cock when there shouldn't be anything in there at all, and the idea of the other prisoners on the hall listening to the noises he makes while Almasy rapes him -- it's awful, humiliating and infuriating and he's horrified to realize that it's making his cock twitch.

Almasy bites the nape of his neck, curling one hand around his hip to pull him backward, so Almasy's cock goes in him even deeper. "Play with your cock."

"No," Squall says, shaking his head, and then his breath hitches when the pressure of Almasy's cock in his ass makes something twist and curl tight at the base of his cock. "Oh god."

"Don't want to make it good anymore?" Almasy asks, and his cock rubs against the too-sensitive spot again. "Change your mind about giving it to just me?"

"You son of a bitch," Squall says. His voice shakes. "You can't just do it?"

"If you're going to be my bitch, Leonhart, and not common property, then I expect you to do what you're told. Now get your hand on your cock."

Squall feels himself flush with anger and humiliation. He can't live like this, can't just accept it -- but he can't fight it right /now/, and at least if he's touching his cock he'll have an excuse for the fact that he's starting to get hard. He shifts, bracing himself on one forearm and reaching down to stroke himself. With his eyes closed and his teeth gritted -- well, it' still not enough to block out what's happening, the muscular weight of Almasy's body and the thick heat of his cock, but it's enough that Squall can stand this, at least.

"Good boy," Almasy says, like he's talking to a dog. "You ever take it up the ass before?"

"No," Squall rasps. He hasn't had that much sex at all, really; he doesn't like people, so he usually doesn't have the patience. If he doesn't find some way to get out of here, though, he's probably going to have more than he ever wanted before long.

Almasy makes a low growling sound that Squall thinks is pleasure. "I like that. Makes you all mine." He thrusts harder, humming in response to Squall's hiss of breath. "Go on. Make some noise for me, bitch."

"Stop calling me that," Squall demands, through clenched teeth.

"I'll call you anything I want when I'm fucking you up the ass," Almasy retorts. "Now make some noise. I want Dincht at the end of the row to hear you." He makes it an easy order to follow, pulling out almost all the way and slamming back in hard. Squall chokes on a yelp of pain, and his cock jumps in his hand. It /hurts/; he shouldn't be hard for this, shouldn't be stroking his cock roughly in time with Almasy's careless, possessive thrusts.

When he isn't making noise himself, he can hear sounds from down the row, the slap of flesh on flesh and the ragged moans of the other prisoners. Because of him, Squall thinks. They're doing that because they know Almasy is fucking him. Pinning him, forcing him to spread, splitting him open. Rubbing him raw and aching and sore. His cock's so hard by now it hurts.

"That's right, bitch," Almasy growls in his ear, "keep you all to myself if you're going to be this good. Now come for me, let me feel you give it up."

"Trying," Squall gasps out, his breath hitching. "Hurts." It doesn't matter. He's going to do it anyway.

Almasy knows it, too. "Got you hard, didn't it? I think maybe you like a little pain. Maybe you need that. Does it get you hot, getting hurt a little? Knowing you're mine and I can treat you any way I want?"

"Shut up," Squall pleads, because every goddamn word is making him harder, and he doesn't want to come like this, "/fuck/," but he's doing it anyway, his knees buckling and his ass tightening down around Almasy's cock and he's making these helpless needy bitch noises that echo off the walls of the cell and he's never going to recover from this, the whole time he's here.

"Fuck, yeah, my little bitch," Almasy breathes, biting down on Squall's shoulder, holding onto him so tight it's going to bruise. Squall shudders, jerks against Almasy's brutal thrusts, too sore now to stand it, too broken to muffle the wounded noises that Almasy jars from his throat. "So good," Almasy says. "Tell me you want me to come."

Squall hisses. "I want you to come," he says, teeth bared.

"Louder," Almasy demands.

"Goddamnit, you bastard," Squall says, his voice cracking, "I want you to come," and that gets a low growl of pleasure out of Almasy right before he drives in balls-deep and his cock pulses in Squall's ass and he goes still.

The noises from down the row are still going. Squall rests his forehead against the wall and listens, his heart still pounding. He tries not to think too hard about how sore he is, or how much worse it would be if he really did get cornered in the shower and gang-raped.

After a minute Almasy pulls out, which stings, and steps back. If he were going to fight, Squall thinks, this would be the time, but he's too tired and shaky and hurting already. He turns around, tugging his pants back up, wishing he could wash up now.

"Welcome to Balamb," Almasy says, smirking.

Squall rolls his eyes. "Thanks," he mutters.

"Thanks, /Seifer/," Almasy says.

"What?" Squall asks.

"My name," Almasy says. "I expect you to use it."

"Whatever," Squall says, trying to make himself not care, trying to find something he can still hold out on. Almasy raises an eyebrow, though, just waiting, and eventually Squall says, "Yeah. Seifer. Got it." He can feel something trickling down the back of his thigh. Almasy's come, he realizes, and squirms. "That mean you're going to call me Squall?" he asks, to distract himself.

Almasy smirks. "Sure," he says, like that's one more victory. He boosts himself up into the top bunk without a second glance. "Night, Squall."

Squall stands there, sticky and raw, his face starting to ache again. He feels bruised inside and out. This place is going to ruin him.