aut_nihil | (no subject)

Oh, fuck. Carver shivers, eyes closed tight, but he does what he's told. Works his belt open and lifts his hips to work his pants down before he can think better of it, think about it at all. "I don't want to see them," he murmurs, not quite pleading, but very quiet. He prays the others don't hear. He prays that Pope understands what he's asking, that it's easier when Pope's on top of him like this. Blocking the enemy from sight.

A soft grunt of understanding. Yeah. He gets that. He doesn't want to see them either.

And it feels better this way, being on top of Carver. More like he's positioned to take an attack if they turn violent.

Yeah the thought of protecting Carver...that helps. Relaxes him, just a little, just enough for his cock to get harder.

"You know how to take this," he says. Whatever it takes.

Okay, Carver thinks, and he can breathe a little easier when Pope doesn't snarl at him or order him to be quiet. To take it like a test. He can feel Pope's cock swell, growing in his hand.

There's a twinge of a thrill in that, even under the circumstances.

Carver opens his eyes, meeting Pope's gaze briefly. "Yeah," he murmurs. He wonders if Pope means he knows how to take torture, or that he knows how to be fucked. Both are true. "Go slow. And just. Press."

He'll try and think of Riley, Carver decides. Of someone who cares about him, who'd want him if they weren't being forced.

I'm sorry, he wants to say but doesn't.

Go slow. He'll go as slow as their audience will allow.

He thinks of the bartender.

He presses against Carver, breathes out, because it does feel good, God help him.

It's just a moment, Carver tells himself, breathing slow. Trying not to flinch because it hurts, it hurts to be touched at all right now, but Pope's breath is hot against his neck and he just closes his eyes. He makes a small sound before he can bite it back, wrapping his arm around Pope. Clinging to him, trying to disappear.

Carver makes a sound. Pope oversaw so much of Carver's training and the man took it all like a man, like a hero, never whimpering until now. It makes Pope stop, makes him go even slower, which he realizes probably makes it worse for Carver psychologically.

He swallows hard, throat working. Holding on so tight to Pope, trying to disappear inside of him. It's fine, he tells himself, it's fine, it's just a moment. The mechanics are like sex and it's better that it hurts, really. Pain is a teacher.

It's fine.

He almost tells Pope that, tries to tap it out in morse, but then Pope slows, shifting the angle maybe without realizing, and Carver's breath catches. He meant to hold still but he squirms under him, biting back noise because there's a moment where it feels good. Or it could, maybe.

That sound was different.

Part of him wants to tell Carver to stay silent; he's trying to imagine the bartender and hearing a man groaning kills the illusion. he also doesn't want to invite the audience any closer than they are.

But he needs to know if he's hurting Carver and the only way to do that is through sound right now. So he tries again, pulls back and pushes in just the way he did before.

Oh, fuck. Carver shivers under Pope, trying so hard to hold still, to be quiet. Sometimes people cry or flail during the tests but it's better to take them stoically, to endure without making a fuss.

None of the tests ever felt good, though. Not for a second except maybe the relief when they were over, and Pope says they've done a good job.

Carver holds tight to Pope, reaching for armor, stability, something. But being pressed this close together means that there's no way Pope doesn't hear the way his breathing changes, the way Carver tries so hard to bite back a whine when the angle shifts to something better, easier. When the pleasure curls through him and makes him twitch under the commander. When he starts getting hard, just a little.

He doesn't want this to hurt. He doesn't want to injure Carver. He also, he realizes slowly, doesn't want Carver to just lie there and take it. Doesn't want Carver to not feel good, too.

Carver's breathing turns heavier against his ear and God, that's erotic, he can't help responding to it, moving his hips steadily back and forth.

"Like that," he whispers. It's okay if this doesn't hurt, this time.

It's easier with a rhythm. With that drag, and the pressure, and Pope's weight over him. Carver shudders, unmoored, but he rocks back into it. Trying to chase the sensation. Like that, Pope tells him, so soft the enemy won't hear, and the praise makes him groan. Makes him arch into it, some of the sick tension bleeding away.

He spreads his legs more, making a small sound as Pope fucks him. Doesn't hurt him. Keeps him safe.

Carver is so tight around him and now they're moving together, and he chokes out a moan because it's good, it feels so good and it's been a good long while since he got laid.

He forgets for a moment they're being watched. Ignores the fact they're in a hotel room and they're hostages, and just exists in what he's doing, in the heat of Carver around him, and he fucks him faster.

It's different this time. Pope fucked him almost machinelike the last time, a test of endurance after Carver was almost numb to it and barely reacted, just bit his hands so he wouldn't cry and took it. Here, he gasps and jerks under Pope, making cut off sounds as he's fucked, as he moves his hips to match the rhythm and feel something - anything - other than wrenched and heartsick.

Then Pope goes faster, though still so controlled, and Carver bites at his shoulder to muffle the noise he would have made. Shuddering.

There, yes, he doesn't let himself say. He's making low sounds with every other thrust now, his face buried against Carver's neck, the mattress rattling under them. He's so close now.

He can hear the noise that Pope's making. Feel the rumble of it against his throat as Pope moves inside him, holds him, fucks him hard enough to shake the bed. Carver tries to keep quiet, to bite at Pope's coat and muffle the noise, but pieces of it escape. He makes small, cut off noises as they move together, rubbing against Pope's stomach and the rough texture of his uniform and it shouldn't get him off, none of this should, but it feels good. The hurt fades into a distant echo. It almost surprises him when he comes, jerking under Pope and then going very still.

It only takes a minute more before he's spilling into Carver, groaning, a fist twisting in the sheets as he shudders with it.

He forgets completely where he is, just for that moment.

For a moment, they're just breathing together. Carver cups a hand to the back of Pope's neck, just holding him. He feels almost boneless, beyond pain.

Then someone wolf-whistles. "Damn."

Carver stiffens.

He's going to get them out of this. He has to get Carver strong, has to have him able to fight. If they fuck him again, at least it won't be like it was yesterday.

"You know how to survive this," he says softly, before he looks over his shoulder. He doesn't get off Carver, not yet. "Satisfied?"

The leader tsks, stepping in closer. There's no avoiding his gaze as he leans in, examine both of them. Looking almost thoughtful, though this time he doesn't reach for either of them. Doesn't try to grab Carver by the hair or slap him. Doesn't try to touch him at all. Why? Because Pope's in the way?

Maybe. Carver thinks. Maybe they've got more power here than they thought.

"He was sweet for you," the leader observes. "What was that like?"

"You wanted a show," Pope grunts. That's what this was for them, a show. But they gave them the lube and they aren't touching Carver and maybe, maybe, he can keep it that way. "We gave you one."

"Mhmm."

The leader cocks his head, almost thoughtful. His eyes are very blue, but there's something hungry behind them. Something ugly, and sharp.

"You're fun when you're worked up. Make him beg for it next time." The leader smiles. "Or I will. How's that sound?"

Carver would never beg for you, he thinks, but is too wise to say. He smirks as he thinks about slitting this man's throat.

"And when is next time? How often are you going to be horny for us, huh?"

"That's the fun of it! You don't know."

The leader smiles again. It doesn't meet his eyes. But there's something here, Carver thinks, even as he holds very still under Pope and doesn't breathe. They haven't been killed. Maybe the leader's trying to sell Pope as a hostage, get something for him, but the games they're playing aren't leading to information or even much in the way of control. It feels like sadism for its own sake, or a distraction. A beating would accomplish the same with much less effort, though.

Maybe they just want to do it. Maybe they're just sadists and rapists and that's as complicated as it gets. Carver breathes out slow and he hates himself but he prays that's the answer. Because sadists get stupid, and they can be manipulated.

"It's as often as I say it is, exactly how I say it is. You're more valuable in one piece, my man, but him?" The leader tsks. "I know you're fond of that one but grunts are a dime a dozen. So play along before I have to get really fucking nasty on you, okay?"

"You think he's a grunt?" Pope barks a laugh and rolls off of Carver, facing the man more head on. "You people didn't do your research."

Slowly, Carver pulls his pants back up and redoes his belt. Watching the room warily, trying to feel out his body. How much strength he has. He's still hurting, but the endorphins from the sex - because it did feel like sex this time, and not just a beating he took - have him calmer, looser. Maybe he can't fight for long but he thinks he could back Pope if there's an opening.

There's too many guards, though. They have to get those fuckers distracted. Maybe get the leader to come in alone, or send them away.

"You're going to a whole lot of trouble for an enlisted soldier," the leader murmurs, shifting to face Pope more fully. "It's admirable, really."