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The Artifact	By : PandaBearzh Category: Final Fantasy Games > Final Fantasy XIII-2 Views: 1996 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the final fantasy fandom. I do not make $$ from this fiction.

Chapter List
- 15
- 16
Hope, Rosch, PSICOM
Note: When the chapter title says "New Arcadia" It's some sort of flashback. This one includes: 3PLUS, Abuse, BDSM, DP, RapeFic, S&M, Tort

This was one of those times when the lights stayed on. They had been on for too long for him to know the exact duration, but it had been for days. Of course, it seemed like it must have been weeks, but he knew it was probably only days. Compared to his other problems, it hadn’t seemed so bad when he had first arrived. But of course, after the waiting began, he soon recalled that it was the silent environmental stimuli that really seemed to have the worst effect on him. He thought it would be the position, the starvation or the dehydration, but in this moment he would have gladly given anything to get someone down here to turn off the lights! Actually, he would probably give everything for anything to happen at all. If the bright lights were working against him in this situation, it was honestly the waiting that was his truest enemy in his predicament. He had to wait for them. He had to wait to even wait. The entire game was waiting, preparing himself for what would happen—what might happen—if he could prepare himself at all—which he knew faithfully that he could not. PSICOM took special care to ensure that the young rebel captain had the barest understanding of what occurred in his surroundings. If he could, Hope would have admired the energy that was put into his torture, but being the subject as he was—his opinion was somewhat biased against it.
There were two points of exploitation, his body and his mind. Both seemed to be utilized in equal measure, and Hope wasn’t sure which might have been more effective against him. They wanted what was in his head, and he wasn’t going to give it to them, no matter how simple the information. It was strange, and he sometimes wondered if perhaps there was more to what Rosch demanded than he was aware. Unlike Raines, he had only ever asked him about Noel Kriess once—and then moved on to another subject—one of such apparent triviality that Hope knew that there must be something more to it. Was he trying to weaken his spirit so that he might be able to obtain a different answer from him about Kreiss? There was no alternative response that he could provide. He hadn’t ever met this Noel character, and no matter how many times he was asked, his knowledge of him would always be ignorance of his existence. So why was Rosch now interrogating him about a stupid myth—a myth everybody on Cocoon grew up with? It didn’t matter. He refused to say a word. If he did, Rosch would surely have no point in keeping him alive, and the demon didn’t seem to acknowledge the fact that there was another that sought an audience with the young male in his custody. No, Rosch had made it quite clear that he didn’t answer to Raines.
He didn’t dare miss him. He didn’t dare think about him. When he was down here in this pit, he tried to push even the memories he shared with his master as far away as he could. Those times when he was summoned were somewhat rare compared to these long periods of waiting, and he cherished every moment that he was able to spend at his side. It pained him greatly when those times would come to a close, but in the interest of being of convenience to his master, he had always volunteered to return to this Hell like a good boy. Raines wasn’t around at the moment. He wasn’t going to be around for a good long wait, and hadn’t been around for a good long wait already. Where he had gone he didn’t know, but Raines had told him it would happen for a little bit. Very quickly the young male had learned that a little bit outside of this ship was a very significant amount of time inside of it. Raines didn’t seem know that, and Hope didn’t want him to. As daunting as they seemed, these sequential waits between periods of human contact were something that Hope was almost proud of. It was definitely the worst part of this whole ordeal. Yes, the damn waiting, and he was surviving it one horrific second at a time.
He was lying now, and he was doing it in the middle of the room. His eyes had been closed for days so that he might not see the damn white light any longer. Even though his chin was tipped against his knees, it was so blinding that it pierced his strongly aching eyelids and flashed red into his retinas. He wished that he could rescue them from their torment; cover his face with his palms or sleeve, but it wasn’t any use. He had no clothing and the thick metal bracelets that he wore latched his wrists together behind his back. They were too tight, and when he wriggled to placate himself from their strength, they greedily bit his skin to blister. If only they were a hair looser, he could have devised a way to alleviate their positional burden. Yes, he would have slipped their union under his feet and quickly covered his eyes. But no, of course that would be impossible like this: the more that he moved against them the tighter they seemed to wind—or the more swollen his wrists would grow. He couldn’t look to see which was truer. He didn’t want see at all.
And so he waited quietly, hearing only the softest echoes through the walls of his bright cage, and holding onto them as some sign that reality did in fact exist beyond the cube. There were a few voices in the distance, but he had heard so many of them that he didn’t even bother trying to determine who the voices belonged to. It was undeniable though; the strong squeaking of their boots was drawing nearer, and he supposed that it might be possible for his waiting to be over. If it had, he considered if he should switch his position to the one that was expected of him when the officers arrived. He was supposed to be sitting upright on his ankles; not lying on his shoulder with his knees drawn against his chest. Hah! Fuck that, even if Cid told him not to give them an excuse for punishment. The officers always found excuses for dehumanizing him, and even at times when he did try honestly to do exactly what they said, he would always suffer some sort of impromptu abuse anyhow. There just didn’t seem to be much of a point in it any longer. Loyal to his somber perspective, Hope continued lying in his position, uncaring and irrespective to the entrance of the squeaking boots as they entered his domain.
“Is he dead?” One of the voices sounded young and was perhaps only eighteen years old. With those three words, Hope could tell that he was relatively new to his conscribed position, as the male didn’t seem very eager to be in his cage any more than he was. What was this? Some sort of training? In a strange way Hope found it offensive. The men who had been charged with supervising him had always appeared to be stronger, louder, and of the more violent type than he had seen on Pulse.
“Shouldn’t be. Has no right to be,” another growled. His tone was more of the sort that Hope was accustomed to, and actually identifiable, as its owner had been in this room on previous occasions. Three heavy steps closed the distance from the door, and his eyes jammed more tightly closed when the PSICOM Captain’s voice barked down at him from directly above. “Hey. Did you die? Goddamn it, answer me you little fuck!” A hard leather heel pitched against the small of his back, choking a surprised groan from Hope’s throat. His eyes cracked open and jammed tightly shut again. There were three males here, and he was right when he had guessed who they were.
The first, the one looming darkly above him, was Captain Niklas Ackley, the man in charge of this wing. He was a tall man in his early thirties with an impressive build and nasty temper. His hair was rather thick, but always given careful attention in styling, resulting in an appearance that was as reliable as his sadism. His friend, Dominik Moritz, often accompanied Ackley when he visited Hope, but seemed to have a more twisted and hidden disposition. Although he would never be the man to initiate any sort of situation, he would always be the first to propose it and the second to engage in it. Otherwise, his kind eyes and clean smile made for an entirely handsome dark-skinned Captain—one that Hope had managed to have the misfortune of underestimating in the past. The third male lingered by the door and was indeed a new face to the prisoner—or perhaps he had met him before but had forgotten him? His features seemed so entirely unoriginal and stereotypical that Hope figured that there were either over a hundred clones of this man, or he was simply a pale face in a crowd of unscrupulous mercenaries that weren’t worth the time to commit to memory. In fact, the only detail that the teen possessed that was worth anything to Hope at all was the number of stripes on his uniform. Unlike Ackley and Moritz, the youth was a lieutenant.
“You deaf, boy?!” Ackley spat loudly, making Hope flinch and cringe. “I said fucking answer me!” He stepped over the frail body beneath him and ground his boot tread against his cheek, discharging small particles of sand and soil on his skin. Hope swallowed, recognizing the strong rotten iron scent caught between the crevices in the rubber. He knew exactly what room those boots had just stood in, and he wasn’t keen on visiting it ever again. What was the question? Was he dead or deaf?
“No, I’m not—Augh!” Ackley had kicked him onto his back, but Hope kept rolling away from him, trying to minimize exposure to his core.
“You’re going to bruise him, Niklas,” Dominik grinned, kneeling over the rebel captain and smoothing a lock of hair off of his cheek.
“Like I give a shit if he gets a little banged up. Looks like you forgot why I brought you down here.”
“We brought you something,” Dominik informed quietly, sliding his dark fingers over the rising thatched diamond pattern on Hope’s skin. Though his touch was warm and careful, it was pushing Hope to a warier edge than he had balanced with Ackley. Whatever it was that the group had brought him, he didn’t want it. Anything that he had ever “received” from them had either caused him pain or had demanded that he give up something big such as dinner privileges, water, clothing—the list went on. The man continued, “Aw, c’mon, angel. Don’t be like that. Won’t you smile for me? Aren’t you excited for your gift?” and Hope let his sore eyes focus on his expression, trying to see through him to whatever it might be. Dominik’s strength was his charisma, and especially in contrast to Ackley’s methods, it always caught Hope off guard. Still, no matter how much he cared, Hope knew it was just a mask. No, as much as he wanted to voice his grief, it wasn’t a mistake he would make with Captain Moritz twice. Even now that he was dangerously close to submitting to his alluring tone, he was only counting the seconds until that hand on his throat would vice his neck.
Very slowly, he allowed the corner of his lips to curl into what he imagined could have been a very twisted and forced smile. It seemed to appease the dark captain though, as he began to pet Hope’s head softly with a smile of his own. The hand at his throat didn’t remove itself, but didn’t tighten either.
“There’s a good boy,” Domink assured. “And, you know what, if you keep being a good boy then Lieutenant McMannon will give you your present. Doesn’t that sound nice?” Hope’s eyes snapped to the young officer, zeroing in on the tiny object that he was casually flipping over his knuckles. At first it did look like a coin: it was small, metallic, and lightweight.
“That’s—” Hope blurted, sitting up and unconsciously lurching toward the key. The two captains were on him before he could finish. Dominik had spun his hips to face him, and Ackley was jerking the chain of his handcuffs into the air, forcing the young captain to bow forward against his friend.
“Angh—no—sto…p,” he pleaded, bending himself forward away from the sadist. His head bowed against Dominik’s shoulder when the man slipped between his knees, and tried desperately to press lower against his chest than the Captain would permit.
“I’m sorry, beautiful. You have to earn it first,” Dominik explained, parting Hope’s knees with his own and sliding his hands upwards along trembling thighs. Hope didn’t even notice the gesture, and he barely registered the words that he spoke, as the blinding pain from his shoulders was screaming much louder. He knew what they wanted, and he knew that no matter what he did, they were going to take it from him. But he did have a choice: he could either play along or he could futilely resist. If he resisted he could keep some of his dignity, but dignity was so easily stolen from him that he wouldn’t have been able to save it for long.
Without another thought on the matter, he lifted his head and crushed his lips against Dominik’s. His shoulders pinched for a moment, but suddenly felt the relief of abandonment when Ackley witnessed the action. A strong tug at the back of his head ripped his desperate affections from their mark, and Dominik chuckled, adjusting his hands on Hope’s waist and pulling his weight off of the floor and onto his lap.
“Don’t be jealous, Nicklas. Just because he likes me more than you…” Hope didn’t mind. His kiss wasn’t intended as anything more than a way to get this process started. Hopefully it would be quick, and he could get back to his waiting faster. Ackley’s breath was bristling against him, carrying with it such a strong scent of cigarettes that Hope had to consciously refrain from wrinkling his nose at it.
“That’s not true, is it Princess?” he asked. Hope swallowed and bit his lip, not really sure how to go about answering the question if he could at all. If he were to show any kind of favoritism, he knew that he would be swiftly punished by the other male. Luckily, Ackley seemed to consider it a rhetorical question, as the next command he gave was a simple and unrelated one. After gliding his fingertips over the smoothness that was Hope’s plush lips, he whispered the single word; “Open.”
Hope obeyed what he understood, permitting the man’s digits to slide into his mouth. This was better treatment than he had received in the past for sure—probably they were acting this way because of the lieutenant. His eyes slid to the boy’s direction and discovered him already staring. Good. He could just stay all the fucking hell the way over there. The less people he had to deal with the better.
Something slippery was running up the length neck, and his eyes darted back to the dark skinned captain with chills. While Ackley reached for and grabbed one of his thighs from behind, Dominik’s hands roamed over his torso freely, smoothing over his skin with their warmth and rediscovering sensitive areas to pinch and tease. After completing its path to his jawbone, his tongue dove into his mouth with Ackley’s fingers, sliding between them and moving against Hope’s muscle as if the digits were of little consequence. It was a strange feeling to experience both softness and hardness there at the same time, and Hope allowed himself to open his jaw a little broader so that he didn’t bite one of them accidentally.
“Sss—Dom…” Ackley grunted, shifting his hips against Hope’s back. Dominik’s eyes smiled, but he said not a word to Hope nor his friend, instead choosing to slide his tongue against Ackley’s fingers in an even more provocative manner.
Hope let his aching eyes rest again as the men had their fun playing with him and each other. He didn’t need to keep them open, and it would make it all the easier to pretend that the officers were someone that they weren’t. His mouth felt full—and wet. The two men were relentless, and Hope had nearly overlooked the disappearance of one of the warm hands coasting his body until it reappeared again with a careful squeeze to his sex. He jumped at it, twitching his legs closed and rattling his cuff links together. The hand began to slide on him, creating just enough friction to wake it from its slumber.
“Hhhhnn!” he groaned, surprised and aroused to the action, and not caring about what sounds might sound like as they escaped what was filling his mouth. Ackley pressed against him, introducing something warm into his palms: Hope knew what it was.
“That’s my little slut,” he was whispering approvingly. His fingers retreated from Hope’s mouth, surrendering full territory control of it to Dominik. They slipped down between Hope’s thighs, below his package, and pressed too gently against his opening. It wasn’t an innocent massage: he was quite purposefully teasing the area, and Hope knew that he probably relished feeling the way that he would tighten and twitch with anticipation. He hated this part. It made him hotter and more agreeable to provoke him like this, and the captains loved to exploit it.
His fingertips closed around the girth resting in his palm and he tried to attend it, twisting him gently and pumping what he could against him with soft clicks of his chain. The fingers continued to torment his frustration while Dominik’s tongue swirled in his mouth, and Hope’s attention remained divided between the three actions and dark beautiful sensual contact with his pride. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, the fingers dove into him and Dominik swallowed the consequential and very grateful moan of approval.
“Mmmn, you really like that, don’t you, beautiful?” Dominik grinned slyly. Hope panted for breath and groaned again, throwing himself back against Ackley. “Is he touching a really good spot, now?” He was, and as much as Hope fought against it, a thick haze was descending on his logical mind again. His body was warm, and that unnerving sensation that had unfurled in his stomach had somehow managed to get swept up in the whole thing. It became twisted, contorted, and tortured into something completely opposite from what it should have been. Shit. He couldn’t think. This was a problem. All that existed was the touch that engulfed and invaded him.
“Nnm, unnh… ahhh, unh!” Again he was stroked, and again his body shook. Stroke, twitch, groan: again, and again, and again. Now that he’d found it, Ackley was practically milking the spot, and although Hope struggled to keep his groaning under control, the deep reverberant notes escaped with only the smallest degree of modesty. He was actually thankful when Dominik grasped his jaw and forced his attentions to his left shoulder. At some point when he had been distracted, the lieutenant had appeared there. “Pl—ease,” he managed, stretching his neck in the direction of the boy’s groin with a shudder. He would take anything to cease the embarrassing chords pouring from his throat.
“Ivan, he asked you nicely,” Ackley observed, “He won’t bite.” Lieutenant McMannan didn’t look so trusting, but with a few more heartfelt pleas and moans from the prisoner, he was quickly revealing himself.
“Niklas.” The voice was distant to Hope when he took the young lieutenant against his lips: he was grateful to finally have something in his mouth to stifle the sounds that Ackley was orchestrating from him, and he tried to make it a fantastic distraction. He gave all of his attention to it actually pausing in the stroking he was giving Ackley in the process. Still, when the man withdrew from teasing his organ and seized his other leg Hope couldn’t help but feel a little regretful of it.
His head bobbed at the awkward angle that it was positioned at: it was difficult to reach the officer but somehow he managed to persevere his efforts. The youth seemed a little surprised at his ability initially, but soon Hope felt his hands on the top of his head as if he wanted to push into him deeper. Probably, he didn’t know if he could. It would have been more effective if his own hands weren’t restrained behind his back, but at the same time, Hope had always tried to save his best performances for someone special: and not for the likes of these people. Even now, from the corner of his eye he watched Dominik spit into his dark hand.
It wasn’t for nothing. It was the only form of lubrication that the officers appeared to possess, and Dominik considered it a gift of its own. Without offering any sort of warning, he positioned his own hard rod where Ackley’s fingers had abandoned, and thrust himself into his victim.
Hope’s eyes flipped open at the crash of pain, followed nearly instantly thereafter by a protesting trembling groan of shock that could have only born from his own vocal cords. It was some sort of miracle that he managed to not clamp his jaw down on the man he was servicing, and stole a glare at the one who had interrupted him so abruptly. Dominik didn’t seem to care what he thought, and was already pulling himself out for another thrust.
“Always such a…virgin ass!” he grunted, tossing another shove into his body and prompting another pained cry from Hope. It was so forceful that the young rebel captain forgot what he was doing, and froze in his other actions. Ivan’s annoyed consonance was no match for Dominik’s trademark smile. “Uhn, Niklas—you hear that? He does like me better.”
“Who told you to stop, mm?” Ackley warned. Hope hadn’t realized it, but his hands had stopped moving along with his lips. This was unfair. He couldn’t even catch his breath, how was he supposed to be expected to remember to do anything else? It was never fair. It wasn’t about to get any fairer. Although Hope reached to acquire the captain’s length once again in his hands, Ackley wouldn’t permit it. Instead, he jerked Hope’s legs at such an angle that he could slide himself underneath him better.
“Nik—” Dominik began to protest, “I’m not—”
“Like I give a shit,” the man answered, and Hope could read his intent without needing to see his expression. “You always spoil my fun.”
“I was here first.”
“You can share!”
Hope hung his head patiently, and offered no opinion. It wasn’t entirely uncommon for them to argue between themselves, but the tone of the conversation was making him nervous—especially at this point where Dominik had already started into him. Usually the arguing would be about who would go first, and always it would end badly for him since the two captains usually had a tendency to take out their aggressions on him instead of each other.
“Not right now I can’t….” He lifted Hope’s chin and looked almost sweetly into his eyes. Hope’s gaze lifted and locked with his, the haze was beginning to lift from his head, and Dominik had somehow noticed. “It’s okay, Angel. We’re not going to hurt you, relax.” Hope swallowed, and realized that their argument had made him tense around the man’s intrusion. Ah, so perhaps Domink wasn’t as perceptive after all—perhaps he just had a little help from his entirely uncooperative body. Although it had sounded like a suggestion, Hope knew that it was in essence, a command, and should be obeyed as such. It was difficult to force himself to relax his muscles, but with what experience he did have for it, he was able to relax relatively quickly. Meanwhile, Niklas released his thighs and accepted something from Ivan. Was it the key? No, but it would make Hope just as grateful that the lieutenant had indeed brought it with him after all. Dominik was distracting him well by focusing his attention on what soft manipulative endearments he whispered to him. His dark hands caressed his shoulders reassuringly and noninvasively, signaling to Hope that he truly must have been tense in order for the man to not have any ulterior motives. In fact, he hadn’t moved since he had commented on his tightness—perhaps he was unable to?
Ah, no—wait. Something was there. ‘Get it away—no!’ His posture straightened like a rod when he felt it, and he immediately and obviously tensed again. Ackley—he didn’t think that he was going to…
“Angel, you need to relax, sweetheart,” Dominik was demanding, squeezing his shoulder in that way that Hope supposed was intended to be calming. It only made him tenser.
“You can’t both—at the same time—” he stammered with anxiety, recalling full well how the officers had reacted to similar instruction in the past. Perhaps it was lucky then that Ackley didn’t appear to be listening to the risky suggestion that his captive had made. Hope felt his fingertips dig past his tight rim and heard Dominik sigh lightly. He wouldn’t have expected it, but Ackley actually slid against him quite fluidly; the item he had accepted from McMannon must have had some sort of lubricating quality to it. It wasn’t enough. He was still tense, and the gestures were a snug fit inside of him. Not so surprisingly, as soon as Hope managed to calm himself even a little bit, the sadist worked more fingers against him, teasing and stretching his opening almost painfully. To what end?
He found himself shuddering again as Dominik began to move slowly in and out of him, and was blissfully naïve of the reasons for his gentle agenda. He hadn’t experienced Dominik’s girth and Ackley’s digits inside of him like this before. Perhaps it meant that Dominik wouldn’t be able to thrust into him quite so abruptly and forcefully. The hazy veil was descending again, and the tingling of his skin returned with its warmth. It was a quick switch when the two men found a beat together, and it invited the pleasing stimulation to once again unfurl from his center. Regretfully, it didn’t last very long. Seconds after Hope was able to really starting to get into it, the two captains did exactly what he was afraid of.
“Aghhh—no, wait—” Hope’s pleading was cut short by Ivan’s impatient length sliding into his mouth again. He tried to keep his muscles slack, but it was a difficult game. Unlike earlier, he couldn’t use this man’s girth to snuff his outcries, and neither did he want it to. If Ackley and Dominik wanted to enter him at the same time, he would be damned if they didn’t have to listen to his complaints for it. They escaped him naturally and without hesitation until the captive prisoner realized that at this rate he was probably going to choke on them. He wanted to grit his teeth to bear it, but the fear of what might happen if he grazed the youth kept his muscles in check. Then there was what he understood about the captains... Even if his tears got Ackley off quickly, Dominik wasn’t as sadistic, and if he didn’t want to have to deal with this boy entering him after they were done, he knew he ought to try and get him off orally.
Hands were secured on his waist from behind, and on his sex from the front. He couldn’t tell if he was being jerked down onto them or if they were rising up to meet him, but either way, the sheer thickness of the captain’s thrusts filled him so much he thought he might split. For the most part they did move together, but their movements weren’t perfect and Hope found himself soon caught up in a whirlwind of stimulation. No, it wasn’t just a whirlwind. He was almost literally drowning in it. The abuse on his prostate triggered synapses to fire rapidly in his brain, and Hope gradually resigned himself to their drugging effects.
His body relaxed further, only enabling the messy ploughs deeper inside of him. His tear ducts were in overdrive, but not from pain and fatigue alone. The emotion of the entire scene was sweeping him off of his feet, and the young rebel felt compelled to give back to it. His tongue guided his haughty moans and pants around the flesh that lay on it, and his fingers clamored unsuccessfully for some form of access of Ackley’s skin. All three of them were still wearing their uniforms. They must have been hot from it, and he wondered how hot his own temperature had crept. It was like his skin was on fire!
“Hhhaw—” he praised, closing his lids and bobbing his head along the lieutenant again. The salty flavor of his skin was foreign to him. Cid was a little sweeter. It was impossible for him to imagine his master at this point; the young officer was just too different from the man that he admired. Hopefully Cid wouldn’t be angry at his choices today. Hopefully he would forgive this maddening sensation.
“You love that don’t you…You little whore,” Ackley huffed into his back. Thrust. Slide—Thrust. Hope moaned again, accidentally dropping the youth from his lips in the process. Quickly he leaned forward again and enveloped his slit with a flick of his tongue. “Always acting so fucking coy….” Thrust. Slide—Thrust. “…Just begging for a good fucking, heh?” Ivan didn’t want to wait, and dove back into Hope’s mouth on his own. The hand that had grazed the back of his head curiously previously grasped tightly. Much to Hope’s surprise, he began to forcibly guide his movements, gliding just a little too far back into his mouth than Hope would have volunteered. His pace seemed off until he found one that suited, uncaring of any wish or opinion of the prisoner.
To submit like this…it was probably for the better. Hope was having great difficulty keeping his focus on his tasks. His heart rate seemed so high that it might fail, but he didn’t care. Nothing much was bothering him at the moment. His wrists pinched in his handcuffs, but that feeling seemed to get lost in all of the others. His eyes blurred from fatigue, but they were now overrun with tears. His clothing had been stolen from him, but his skin was warm and sensitive to the touch. Cid was absent, and even if it was rape, at least his physical body was getting some sort of release. In this moment he waited for no one, and nothing. Instead, anticipation beat through his veins. Excitement danced in his chest like static, and this way of submission was absolutely liberating. There was nothing that he could do to stop or prevent this from happening. Finally, in this eternal moment, he experienced bliss.
The captains were worshiping his body, filling him with their heat and energy. Hope embraced what their actions were doing to it; as much as it was serving his needs, it was serving theirs even better. They had claimed control of every aspect of it from the subtle dips in his voice to the soft rattling of his ankles. His body didn’t belong to him any longer: it was wholly and completely theirs.
It was better this way…to just submit to their command.
Initially he had always dealt with these situations by distancing himself intellectually from them. He would safely lock away his fears, dreams, and humanity somewhere deep within himself. But, was it worth the effort? As coarse as they were, the PSICOM officers were right: no one cared what he thought or felt. They treated him as an object because they saw through his suffering. The pain he experienced was only because he clung to the idea that he was still somebody. If he would be honest with himself…then yes…he did want this. This was all he was good for. He couldn’t help anybody, he couldn’t save anybody, not even himself. The only thing that was getting in the way of his happiness was his own humanity. After all, who did it matter who he was submitting to as long as he still experienced this liberation in the act? He was a lost servant seeking a master to please. The instant he realized it, his eyes snapped back open.
“Nn—no!” he spat with realization and a quick jerk out of the lieutenant’s grasp. All of that was wrong! He had a master, and he was waiting for him! He wasn’t supposed to be happy here. He was supposed to be waiting like a good boy, not enjoying a PSICOM fucking party. His reflexes flushed with adrenaline, and he tried to get a good foothold against the tile. Ackley’s fingers dug sharply into his hips, inciting a pained exclamation that was very quickly buried by the joint groan emitted from the two captains at discharge. Ivan quickly grasped for him again, trying to regain control for his own end. “St—nnn!” Hope protested, locking his jaw together and refusing to willingly part his lips for him again.
“Shh, shhh, it’s okay beau—” Dominik tried gently, trying to calm the thrashing prisoner with his words. Niklas Ackley took another route, and quite effectively laced his fingers around the front of Hope’s neck. Without a single word or warning, he pulled them taught and began to squeeze, immediately beginning the slow process of an air chokehold. Hope pressed himself against the man’s hard form, and tried to wrestle from his grasp with a futile wave of his shoulders. Ackley held his position securely, and in a matter of seconds, Hope had at bargained a full surrender—at least until his hands were removed. Ackley wasn’t buying it though, and didn’t adjust his position until the male thought he was about to pass out. Even then, he didn’t remove his grasp completely.
“These bitches. They always try to pull this bullshit…” Dominik muttered, picking himself off of the floor and adjusting his uniform.
“Well go on,” Ackley’s voice encouraged from behind, “He wont bite.” Ivan suddenly didn’t look very convinced. It could have been the hateful glint in the rebel’s eyes or it maybe it was the feral way that he ran his tongue over his incisors while he gasping for air. Either way, now that his superior officers had finished the prisoner was entirely uncooperative, and uncomfortably unpredictable.
“I’m—”
“Lieutenant.” Now that there was no need for his charm, Dominik’s true nature surfaced in his tone. He was already bored with waiting for his comrades. “I believe your captain gave you an order. If you know what’s good –”
“It’s alright Dom. If he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t have to.” Surprisingly, Hope felt the clutch on his windpipe disappear, and he was pushed to the ground. Ackley stood, tucking his shirttails into his slacks before he continued, “But I guess the little bitch won’t get the present we brought her. Can’t get what you didn’t earn. Pity though.” The sole of his boot rested on Hope’s ear, “I thought we could have actually made some progress today.”
Hope didn’t answer. Right. He shouldn’t have ever believed them. There was probably no intention of letting him out of these handcuffs in the first place. This entire event had been nothing more than just another means of dehumanization. The worst of it is that they had succeeded. He had actually believed for even a second that he was worthless as a human being.
The tiniest of smiles tugged at the corner of his lips at the irony of it. Cid… he would be so upset if he heard what had happened—not because of the officer’s actions, but rather because of the way that Hope had let himself down. He had stopped respecting himself, his limits, and his needs on his own.
The small tugging evolved into a grin, and then a chuckle. Pretty soon, Hope couldn’t hold back the laughter. Was it still the irony? It could have been embarrassment. Maybe it was just the fatigue. It was any number of reasons, but Hope was losing the battle against lunacy.
“What the FUCK do you think is so goddamn funny, rat?” Ackley demanded loudly, giving weight and pressure against Hope’s head as if to remind him of his position. Hope only laughed louder.
“Pitiful. You’re all…” He commented between heaves. Ackley raised his knee.
“Nik—“ Dominik warned sharply, reaching over Hope’s body and pushing the advancing sadist from committing unsolicited true harm. “You’re not cleared for—”
“What? They don’t even know you’re here?” Hope asked with amazement. Ackley looked like he wanted to tackle his friend instead, the vein running along his neck surging a boiling red hue. As usual, he turned his anger to Hope. Dominik stepped over him, attempting to protect his friend’s career more than the physical health of their victim. Hope continued, suddenly learned in the amount of power he might have over these specific officers for their unsanctioned actions. “Get out.”
“What the fuck did you say to me you little punk?” Domink pushed him back.
“Nik—let’s go. C’mon.” Ackley’s gaze switched to his friend with bewilderment, and opened his mouth to protest.
“I said get the fuck out!” Hope yelled, pushing his shoulder off of the floor and sitting up. Lieutenant McMannon stood beside him, still looking just as confused and uncertain as he had when he first entered the room. Hope looked up at him and repeated, “You can leave now.”
“C’mon, another day, buddy,” the dark captain suggested, pushing his paler friend again toward the door.
“Bye, Mom,” Hope called sarcastically.
“Watch it.” The voice drifted from the lieutenant’s lips, and was quiet but stern. It was the last thing that was said before the door closed behind him. For a moment, Hope continued to stare at it in silence. With every second that expired, the reality of the situation dawned progressively onto him. Why had he done that? The idea that he had possessed any power over the officers was completely absurd. How would he report such a thing if he even wanted to? Likely his complaints would be ignored, and at the end of the day, Hope had only managed to turn three strong soldiers into his enemies. There was another problem that was becoming more apparent to him as well… The captains were still just outside the door. They hadn’t left, they had only departed.
The young prisoner strained to understand their muffled words, and found their calm demeanor vexing. Ackley had been forced out of the room, so why was his tone suddenly so professional? No, something was very wrong. They were discussing something. They should have been gone by now.
His eyes locked on the thin crack that framed the door, and he very quickly pulled his ankles under his rear. It had moved, hadn’t it? Or, had he just imagined it? No—now it was obvious. That door was definitely opening again!
Quickly, he ducked his head in submission, eyes darting everywhere but up at the faces of those who entered. It wasn’t only Captain Mortiz and Ackley. There were five other men, one of whom he recognized as a significant appearance.
“Get him up,” his familiar voice instructed. His personal tormentors circled him and roughly jerked him to his feet, twisting his shoulders back to force him to stand correctly. They displayed admirable control over their actions, and Hope was genuinely surprised that they didn’t twist his limbs more painfully—though, it might have only been that they were discouraged from acting out of order in the presence of Lieutenant Colonel Yaag Rosch.
“You have a visitor.” The young captain’s eyes jumped to the man’s face with hope, but quickly darkened again when he recalled how difficult it was to read it.
“No. You’re lying. There’s no one here,” he decided.
Rosch smirked, “Is that so? Interesting. I’ll be sure to pass your disinclination along.” He paused. “Too tired, perhaps?” Hope’s brow furrowed. He didn’t trust Rosch. He lied to him just as often as he told the truth, and without knowing his tell, his poker expression was impossible to penetrate. Likely, this was probably just another way to humiliate him. He didn’t want to play this game with him right now. He was exhausted.
“I’m not that tired. Are you?” Rosch stood not a foot from him with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Actually, I find your incredible potential absolutely invigorating. It’s just unfortunate that you’re so predictably stubborn.” the commander answered.
“Are you sure it’s only my potential you find invigorating?” The amused expression remained, but it was clear that he wasn’t aware what the fallen captain was referring to. He continued with some provocation, “You can try to hide it, Sir, but you can’t deny your special interest in me.” Rosch nodded slowly, but his face remained unchanged.
“Gentlemen,” he answered after a moment, “I thought I told you to get him up.” Captain Moritz and Ackley responded quickly, bending at the waist in order to accomplish their order. Hope flinched and squirmed in attempts to evade their grasp, but soon found himself being raised into the air. He didn’t like how light their strength made him feel, and he disdained even more the manner that they used to get him airborne. While each had one arm supporting his biceps, both used their forearms to spread and support his legs apart.
“Hope, I’m glad that you brought this up because I realized today that there was something I needed to share with you.”
“Stop squirming, or I’ll drop your ass!” Ackley threatened with a harsh whisper. Hope didn’t receive it; his focus was on the semiautomatic that Rosch withdrew from its holster.
“Lucky for you, I’m going to make it easy, and you’re never going to forget it.” The calm façade evaporated from the man, and Hope agreed that he would believe and remember every word he would say.
“You seem to think,” he continued with disgust, “that it’s okay make these faggot advances on my men.” He cocked the hammer release lever and pressed the sights of the semiautomatic to the inside of Dominik’s forearm and against Hope’s thigh. Hope froze, his eyes following the weapon’s movements as the tip ascended his limb. Rosch’s tone was dark and solemn, “I don’t know if you’re some sort of pervert or not. I know what you and Raines do—I can see it in your eyes when he’s done with you. Every time. You actually like this sort of attention don’t you? I expect an answer, Hope...”
Hope parted his lips to speak but no sound escaped. He tried again, and his lips moved, but again, his voice failed him. His throat felt like it was closing in on his voice box, and there was no way he could encourage it to operate for him. Rosch was looking at him, and he had a scarily unreadable expression again. No—actually, it was quite readable. It was just that he was completely serious in what he was saying. What could he do?
Hope shook his head rapidly, mouthing the same phrase over and over; “No… no….”
“Fuck. Look at you,” the commander spat, tipping the gun off of his skin with disgusted disbelief, “You want it so badly you’re fucking shaking you godamn pitiful piece of shit!” he shifted his aim and pressed it against his sore opening.
“No! It’s not like this!” Hope pleaded, quaking and thrashing against the PSICOM Captains. The two men held him tighter, and soon Hope couldn’t move at all. “Augh! I don’t do anything! It’s not me!” Rosch wet his lips and pinched his eyes closed momentarily as if the words stung.
“You’re a filthy slut,” he growled, staring at the prisoner’s erection that had refused to quell, “with filthy whorish lies! This is exactly how you like it. You’d better fucking enjoy it now, because it’s never—” he gave a harsh shove against Hope, leaning into the gesture and burying his weapon to the trigger cage inside of him—“happening again.”
Hope’s neck tossed his head back on his own accord as he tried to just breathe. He was still lubricated and stretched from earlier, but the semiautomatic felt sharp and cold going into him. It was a gun, all right, and it was loaded. How deep was Rosch planning on going? His muscles ached in protest as the gun continued to dive, and his chest was trembling violently before he heard Ackley’s cruel whisper; ‘Try not to piss yourself.’
“Aaauughhhhh,” Hope grunted, feeling Rosch’s knuckle press against him as well. When it didn’t descend any further, he dropped his head forward again and searched his expression. Initially, Rosch nearly looked alarmed. But then, he slowly pulled the barrel back towards him, clearly studying the shine on the aluminum finish. Hope knew that the wheels were turning in his mind, and he knew it would only be a matter of seconds before he realized—if he hadn’t already—that his weapon was being lubricated with semen.
“Don’t get too excited,” he advised after a moment of study. Hope strained to hear him. “Or you might make me pull the trigger!” He shoved the weapon into him again, pressing it deeper and forcing his knuckle inside of him. Before he could groan, Rosch was ripping it back out again. The sights slid along his insides, collecting an excess of liquid behind it before Rosch plummeted it once again back into his body.
“Nnngh—Please, stop!” Hope pleaded, gasping for breath before groaning again. “Auugh, please! Rosch!”
“Hah!” the man laughed, “No. I’m not going to save you. Scream his name instead. Do it.” Hope slammed his teeth down on his lower lip. “You like this don’t you?!” Rosch challenged, “You love pain! You love being a little bitch, don’t you Hope?! Do it! What’s his name! Tell me!”
“Nng—Stop! I’m begging you, please!” The liquid inside of him wasn’t doing much to alleviate the sharp corners of the Berretta, but what he found more alarming was the way that his skin was starting to tingle again. How could something this harsh be eliciting such a reaction from him? This was painful! Rosch was wrong, wasn’t he? He didn’t like pain—he was just turning everything around again! “Goddamnit, Rosch!” his voice whined. He had never hated him more than he did in this moment. He didn’t want to say Cid’s name. He didn’t want to think about Cid at all. His master had no part in this hell, and he wanted to keep him as separate as possible even in his mind. But Rosch—Rosch was making him remember his warm touch. He was envisioning his dark hair, his sturdy build… But then the demon’s demands interrupted his dream again
“Say his disgusting name you twisted fuck!”
“Cid!” Hope cried finally, “Ahn—oh, god! It’s Cid Raines!”
“Again. Say it again! Who’s your master? Do it! Or I’ll pull th—”
“Cid—Cid—It’s Cid…Agh—Cid…Please, it’s Cid….” Over and over he repeated his name, and he continued long after Rosch required it.
“Haah, aaah, Cid, nnnh,” he groaned. With his eyes closed he could envision him there. Instead of the gun, it was Cid’s length. In his vision, the tension on his legs wasn’t because two PSICOM officers were securing him there—it was due to the sturdy black straps that Cid would help him into. This scene wasn’t really so foreign. It was completely natural, and finally, he released a very natural reaction to it.
Rosch withdrew the gun with a sharp gesture discharged the extra fluid from the barrel onto the ground with a light splat.
“On his knees, now,” he advised. In seconds, Hope had been dropped from his position in the air onto the floor, and then straightened onto his knees. The sudden altitude change brought Hope back to reality, and he looked up at Rosch with red, tired eyes.
“You actually came,” he was informed. Ah. He hadn’t noticed, but he realized that it was true.
“What do you want from me?” Rosch smirked and pressed the sticky weapon against Hope’s lips.
“Obedience.” The room was quiet when he paused, and watched as his gun began to vanish cautiously into Hope’s mouth. It wasn’t that Rosch was purposefully forcing it there, but rather that Hope was cautiously trying to appease the commanding despot behind it. Rosch seemed to find it interesting at least, and permitted his actions before continuing.
“You were right. Your master—Cid Raines—isn’t here. He’s not coming for you either. Do you know why?” The gun felt odd in his mouth, stranger almost than it had felt in his rear. It was a great deal less forgiving than an erection, and the sights caught and scraped along the top of his mouth from the angle. It didn’t have much of a taste other than the bitter salty flavor of the secretion enveloping it, and Hope focused on trying to discovering some other aspect about it so that he might not have to listen to Rosch’s words. “You’re smart. You must know why. That’s why he leaves you here with me. Because through and through, you’re worth little more than vomit. He knows that. You know that. Why are you so fucking faithful?” Hope glanced up at him and started to retreat from the weapon, but Rosch pressed it back into place. He didn’t seem to actually want an answer.
“Major.”
“Lieutenant Colonel, Sir?”
“Fetch a hand truck and crate him…bring him downstairs and cap his molars. Use a twenty gauge wire.” Hope’s eyelashes fluttered in bewilderment. Exactly what was Rosch describing?
“For how long, sir?”
“Until I say he can speak again, I don’t want him opening his mouth for anyone else…and someone with such an appetite for foreign objects ought to be prevented from doing such things for his own safety.” Hope jerked his head away from the Beretta.
“No fucking way you cruel despotic bastard!” he exclaimed, trying to throw himself away from the soldiers. Captain Moritz and Ackley gathered him again easily, digging their grasp painfully into his shoulders when Rosch turned away. “Rosch! You can’t do this! Rosch! Do you hear me!?”
“Major.”
“Lieutenant Colonel, Sir?”
“Sedate him if you have to.”

Still enthused for feedback, of course.
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The Artifact