Break Down
folder
Final Fantasy VII › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
9
Views:
886
Reviews:
28
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Final Fantasy VII › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
9
Views:
886
Reviews:
28
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Final Fantasy VII, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
6
Chapter 6
The prisoner’s fingers were torn and bloody, the nails almost ripped off as he worked frantically at trying to dislodge the small grating in the cell floor. The back of his heels were bleeding and bruised too, after being uselessly used to try and kick the grill inwards. Giving up trying to pry it open with his sore hands, he began pounding at the unyielding metal opening with his fists in frustration.
Exhaustion and disappointment made him curl up onto the now less than white mattress. Sweat, and now blood, soiled it. He put an arm up over his eyes, trying to shut out the soft light that never went off, never dimmed. He was no longer aware what day it was, what time it was. He didn’t even know if it was morning or night. His meals gave no indication either. For all he knew, he could have been eating the stew that they served, for breakfast. It was the only thing they gave him to eat anyway. It never varied. It was never added to.
Once a day, he would hear the rattle at the door that signalled he was being fed. At first, the sound meant nothing to him other than letting him know that food was being presented to him. Now though, he looked forward to the sound, for it represented the fact that there was somebody on the other side of the door, another person. He had tried yelling, goading....but no response ever came back.
The plainness of the room was driving him mad, the lack of anything other than the white walls to look at making his fertile brain scream for something, anything, to take away the boredom that was slowly killing it.
Idly, as he lay there, he found himself picking at the scabs that had formed under the manacles that still bound his wrists together, the skin beneath blistered where he had tried to pull his hands free, using some gravy from the stew as a lubricant.
Only the stinging pain from his now bloodied fingertips forced him to stop, and he dropped his hands between his folded knees, falling again into a restless sleep.
The clanging of the metal door being wretched open jerked the prisoner back to alertness. Even though it wasn’t someone he wished to see, the general’s appearance in the cell meant there was someone finally to talk to, somebody to interact with. It was something to break the tedium he had been suffering from.
Sephiroth stared down with distaste at the captive. During his incarceration, the blond hair had become lank and greasy, and on his small face was the beginning of stubbly facial growth. The boy was beginning to smell again, the lack of soap and simple basic hygienic products causing his body odour to hang in the air. At least he was civilized enough to wash away any waste produce from his skin, the general noted, his eyes stealing across the prisoners exposed nether regions.
Feeling the scrutiny of his captor’s gaze upon him, the prisoner sat up on his knees, tucking his feet beneath him and folding his clasped, bound hands in front of his naked genitalia. He noticed the general’s quick smirk.
Sephiroth looked at the bloodied hands that covered the boys flaccid penis.
“Have you been hurting yourself?” he asked, mock concern in his voice. “Don’t you know, that’s my job!” He laughed inwardly at his own little joke.
The prisoner however, did not. Instead, he glanced guiltily over towards the little grating that he had been trying unsuccessfully to shift. The general caught the quick movement of the boy’s eyes, and followed with his own, looking at the bloodied grated cover. He could have told the captive that the removal of the grill was impossible. But, if it pleased him to try.....
Going across to the prisoner, Sephiroth undid the clip at the collar that was fixed around the boy’s neck, letting the heavy chain attached drop to the floor.
“You look like you could use some....exercise,” he said cryptically, as he walked back out through the open cell door. “Follow me.”
Standing up, and walking on legs that were slightly unsteady, the prisoner quietly trailed behind, taking in quickly that there were no guards about in the corridor outside. He looked at the generals unprotected back, and raised his fisted arms.
The prisoner’s fingers were torn and bloody, the nails almost ripped off as he worked frantically at trying to dislodge the small grating in the cell floor. The back of his heels were bleeding and bruised too, after being uselessly used to try and kick the grill inwards. Giving up trying to pry it open with his sore hands, he began pounding at the unyielding metal opening with his fists in frustration.
Exhaustion and disappointment made him curl up onto the now less than white mattress. Sweat, and now blood, soiled it. He put an arm up over his eyes, trying to shut out the soft light that never went off, never dimmed. He was no longer aware what day it was, what time it was. He didn’t even know if it was morning or night. His meals gave no indication either. For all he knew, he could have been eating the stew that they served, for breakfast. It was the only thing they gave him to eat anyway. It never varied. It was never added to.
Once a day, he would hear the rattle at the door that signalled he was being fed. At first, the sound meant nothing to him other than letting him know that food was being presented to him. Now though, he looked forward to the sound, for it represented the fact that there was somebody on the other side of the door, another person. He had tried yelling, goading....but no response ever came back.
The plainness of the room was driving him mad, the lack of anything other than the white walls to look at making his fertile brain scream for something, anything, to take away the boredom that was slowly killing it.
Idly, as he lay there, he found himself picking at the scabs that had formed under the manacles that still bound his wrists together, the skin beneath blistered where he had tried to pull his hands free, using some gravy from the stew as a lubricant.
Only the stinging pain from his now bloodied fingertips forced him to stop, and he dropped his hands between his folded knees, falling again into a restless sleep.
The clanging of the metal door being wretched open jerked the prisoner back to alertness. Even though it wasn’t someone he wished to see, the general’s appearance in the cell meant there was someone finally to talk to, somebody to interact with. It was something to break the tedium he had been suffering from.
Sephiroth stared down with distaste at the captive. During his incarceration, the blond hair had become lank and greasy, and on his small face was the beginning of stubbly facial growth. The boy was beginning to smell again, the lack of soap and simple basic hygienic products causing his body odour to hang in the air. At least he was civilized enough to wash away any waste produce from his skin, the general noted, his eyes stealing across the prisoners exposed nether regions.
Feeling the scrutiny of his captor’s gaze upon him, the prisoner sat up on his knees, tucking his feet beneath him and folding his clasped, bound hands in front of his naked genitalia. He noticed the general’s quick smirk.
Sephiroth looked at the bloodied hands that covered the boys flaccid penis.
“Have you been hurting yourself?” he asked, mock concern in his voice. “Don’t you know, that’s my job!” He laughed inwardly at his own little joke.
The prisoner however, did not. Instead, he glanced guiltily over towards the little grating that he had been trying unsuccessfully to shift. The general caught the quick movement of the boy’s eyes, and followed with his own, looking at the bloodied grated cover. He could have told the captive that the removal of the grill was impossible. But, if it pleased him to try.....
Going across to the prisoner, Sephiroth undid the clip at the collar that was fixed around the boy’s neck, letting the heavy chain attached drop to the floor.
“You look like you could use some....exercise,” he said cryptically, as he walked back out through the open cell door. “Follow me.”
Standing up, and walking on legs that were slightly unsteady, the prisoner quietly trailed behind, taking in quickly that there were no guards about in the corridor outside. He looked at the generals unprotected back, and raised his fisted arms.