Written for the LJ PoT kink meme. I feel all sorts of filthy for writing this, and it's about my first try at something smut-like.
I hope Atobe and Jiroh will forgive me vv

Atobe had noticed early that his friend's being narcoleptic was, in fact, very convenient. Jiroh trusted him, choosing his lap to sleep on far more often than those of the other guys. When Atobe made Kabaji bring the sleeping beauty home into his own bed there never was any sort of complaint uttered. Instead, once he woke up, he would notice Atobe beside him, smile, snuggle up to him and go back to sleep. Mostly he just stayed for the night.
Jiroh trusted Atobe, with all of his heart, and he liked it that way.

When they started their second High School year it became evident, that Jiroh loved Atobe. He wouldn't sleep on anyone else's lap anymore, and when Atobe was not around when he fell asleep, he would often get nightmares. There rarely was a time Jiroh did not stay over night at Atobe's house anymore. His parents had arranged for his personal room, but more often than not the blond would not even bother going there and just stayed with Atobe.
Jiroh loved him, because he gave him the support he needed, and Atobe thought that maybe Jiroh should give him something in return.

The other boy stared up at Atobe, wide-eyed. He had just been napping peacefully on the diva's bed when suddenly a sharp sting going through his wrists had risen him. Jiroh was confused. He had never been in any sort of pain while being with Atobe, always protected, sheltered from the world. And now, when he tried to move his hands – why were they placed above his head? – there was cold and pain shooting through his wrist, and they justwould not move. Jiroh wriggled. A lump began forming in his stomach. Why wouldn't Atobe say anything? And what, just what in the world was happening?
Jiroh stared. Atobe smirked.

When the other boy began pulling his pyjama pants down, Jiroh began shaking. He might be a little naïve, but he was not stupid. And his hands were bound, and his clothing was being removed, and it did not take a genius to figure out what was going on. He silently begged Atobe to just stop doing whatever he was doing there – because Jiroh could trust Atobe, and this just wasn't right, and Atobe just couldn't be doing this, but Atobe's smirk never wavered while he finished undressing Jiroh, then brushing a lock of blond hair out of his face.
Jiroh's eyes were starting to burn. Atobe leaned down and kissed him.

As Jiroh tried to escape the mouth violating his own, soft tears began trickling out of his eyes. Atobe growled, grabbing his chin and holding him in place. His tongue forced entrance into Jiroh's mouth and he almost had to gag, all the while chanting in his mind. Stop, stop, stop, oh please, stop!

Atobe prepared him. He prepared him thoroughly, always gently prodding and scissoring and only slowly adding a second and a third finger, but it hurt. It hurt, like Jiroh had never hurt before. He thought, if Atobe had not been so gentle it would have hurt less. Because Atobe made it seem like he cared not to hurt him. Because he made it seem like sweet love-making, not the rape it actually was. Because being violated like that, his trust in Atobe being taken advantage of like that broke him, shattered him into tiny little pieces, never to be repaired again.

Atobe looked at the boy beneath him, tear-stained face consorted in mental agony, his legs spread wide, just right for Atobe, he smiled. The perfect payment for all the years of home he had been able to give the boy.
He leaned down to whisper into Jiroh's ear. "And like this, my love, you are beautiful"