"Get away!"
"Don't get so upset; it's only a game."
Kurama wondered, not for the first time, when he had fallen so low. He bit through Karasu's shoulder to stifle his screams, and couldn't fathom how things had come to this, degenerated like this. Reduced to the casual fucktoy of two men in a hallway of the Dark Tournament. Reduced to this.
He thrashed, whimpering pitifully through Karasu's flesh as he was lifted up, pressed between two very large, very male bodies, the second cock guided into his hole, fingers wedging in around Karasu's own dick and aiding Bui's much thicker weapon in nudging and penetrating. Kurama bit down harder, nearly fracturing his rapist's collar bone, and screamed into Karasu's free-flowing blood, writhing in agony. The two mouths, Bui having removed his armor and Karasu, his mask, met moaning above his head in flashing tongue and teeth, Bui grunting when Karasu pulled away, his head lolling and a perverse smile appearing, open-mouthed with thin pale lips turned plush from Bui's teeth, as he giggled at Kurama's distress and tight, tight sheath. A discordant rhythm of thrusts was set by Bui and ignored by Karasu, and Kurama plastered himself to Karasu's chest, jerking and squirming, tormented, as if to beg for leniency, mercy, that he would not be granted.
The two men laughed, and Kurama was momentarily pleased that he couldn't plead with Karasu's shoulder between his teeth.
Still, the mere extent to which he wanted to was humiliation enough to last ten lifetimes. Kurama's eyes rolled into his head as they raped him, laughing and exchanging words he couldn't hear through his unremitting pain.
