Point of View
Gundam06serenity
Gundam wing
Yaoi, angst, romance
Various pairing
Disclaimer-I do not own any of the smexey, smexey bois…. Weelll, not in this reality, anyway -
Summary Things are not always as they appear to be… raped when he was still a child, it should have broken him. Instead, it made him stronger, gave him a purpose, gave him a cause. But is this cause really what he wanted, really what he was willing to fight for? When did it all go wrong…?
Chapter One: Memories Part I
Harsh, laboured breathing echoed, panting, screaming out his location.
"e's this way!"
Footsteps, pounding, multiplying; the sound of an entire army on his heels. His own smaller, younger feet speeding up, trying to aid him in his escape.
Thud!
Heart racing, he scrambled, hands and knees scratching, catching on the rough metal floor, a loose bolt tearing a chunk of flesh out of his knee, a dark stain creeping across scuffed, muddied trousers, as he tried, desperately, to make it into the shadows, to safety, before it was too late.
"Ack!"
He let out a startled gasp, eyes wide, as a large, calloused hand mercilessly tightened around the back on his pale, clammy neck, another firmly squeezing his wrists together at the small of his back.
He could feel the bones grating together, could almost hear them screaming out in protest to the rough treatment, crying out in sympathy, for they knew not what was coming, not really.
"I've got 'im"
Strong, scarred arms hauled his slender, shorter frame up, dragging him back, back out into the artificially sunlight clearing.
Perfectly straight, clean white teeth harshly bit the inside of his lips. Cherubim, cherry bow lips pursed tightly together, refusing to give them the satisfaction of hearing him, refusing to let them know just how much it hurt already.
"Bring 'im over 'ere!"
He sagged, allowing his body to become deadweight. If they were going to do this to him, he sure as hell wasn't going to help them in the slightest. If the kicking and biting hadn't served any purpose, save to both amuse his captors companions, and extremely piss off the man currently crushing his wrists, then he saw no point in lowering himself to screaming or, heaven forbid, begging for mercy.
"Ooo, e's a pretty one, aint 'e?"
Yet another pair of grimy, large hands grasped at his pale, once clean angular face, tracing high cheekbones with a grubby, bitten nail.
He flinched, as the taller, older mans rancid breath clouded over him. Barely resisting the urge to gag, he jerked his head backwards, trying to escape his vile touch. This only seemed to amuse them yet again. This time, the grip returned, much harsher, bighting into the delicate porcelain coloured expanse, another hand yanking at his hair, pulling his head back so he would be forced to meet his captors gaze.
Finally, something in him clicked. His eyes widened in horror.
A wide, vicious grin spread across his captors face.
He glanced around, eyes wild, noting the near identical looks on the faces of each and every single one of his soon to be tormentors faces.
All save one.
Past the group of no more than a dozen filthy, rapidly becoming half-dressed men, was a boy. Younger than him, by a handful of years, or so he would guess. Not that he could really tell from that distance.
Wide, curious emerald cut through him, piercing him to his very core, as their owner, a small, gangly boy, no older than five, sat amongst crates upon crates, overflowing with half-dismantled weapons and ammunition. Tiny, slender hands quickly and methodically cleaned each and every weapon set out besides him, as he watched the events unfolding before him.
Crack!
His head jerked to the side, the slap resounding in his ears, cheek throbbing. Tears began to well in his eyes. He fought against them, refusing, again, to allow them the satisfaction. He was better than this-he would not let them think that he was weak!
"Back with us now, eh, pretty? 's not the same unless you's payin attention, now, is it?"
Another pair of hands descended on him, then another, and another. One released his wrists, only to bind them, tighter, this time with rope, biting into his wrists in no time, tying them tight, taunt above his head, so he had to stand on tiptoes so as to not have his entire weight held by the thin, frail bones, still not yet fully developed.
One searched his pockets, finding the small silver penknife he had with him, his only protection. It seemed foolish now, that he had ever thought that the small implement could be of any use.
Another ripped at his clothes, sending a spray of small, rounded buttons across the artificial grass, the small disks quickly hiding amongst the neat, immaculate blades.
"Ooo, 'm going to enjoy this, pretty. You just stay there, like a good boy, an' we might even consider keepen you."
He flinched the first time, when the first pair of hands descended. He only allowed himself the weakness once. Only the first time.
tbc