Title Penitentiary

Author Kyrie Sanctus

Rating R for homosexual relations, torture and rape.

Written July 4-5, 2004

Chapters One-shot.

Synopsis My adaptation of Jak's prison experience. If he could remember anything, he could remember that man. Even if not for the fact that he'd been the one to capture him, but for the fact that he'd become his toy.

Comments After watching the opening sequence of the game, I thought that Jak and Erol, who are not only two good-looking guys, but when Erol lifted Jak's head to say he'd deal with him later, my creative--yaoi--juices started flowing.

Dedications This goes out to me. Because.. Yeah. It also goes out to any Erol fans, or anyone who thinks Jak and Erol make an interesting couple. XD

Disclaimer I don't own Jak or any other aspects of the franchise, and I don't know Naughty Dog, but I would pay them to hand him over to me (mwahaha) or find me a really, really good cosplayer!

WARNING Possible spoilers for the beginning of Jak II. Jak I players beware!

It was humid, damp, and dark. Needless to say, it was as a prison should be. There was nothing but the light filtered between small slots of the metal door, and the steady drip of a pipe in the far corner. Every once in a while, there would be a steadfast clomp of a boot outside, of a guard making his rounds. It was so timed, Jak could have told the time of day by the footsteps if he wanted.

Such a simple existence could drive someone batty. But, considering he considered himself to be batty already, these subtle noises and the theory of their madness driving powers could be perhaps what was keeping him sane in the first place. Every other day the metal door would slowly slide open, toxic rays of artificial light beaming in on his sensitive eyes, burning him to look at the people before him.

Scooped up at his armpits, he would be lead slowly to the middle of the chamber. There, he would be tossed down and strapped to the chair. It wasn't like he was able to make an escape. He was too tired, too sick. And when he wasn't so drained, the most he could do was drag himself over to the pipe to wet his hair, and perhaps quench his thirst. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. Then again, he could hardly remember his own name.

As he was hooked up to the machines, his eyelids fluttered, catching a glimpse of a tattooed man with almost captivating golden eyes. If he could remember anything, he could remember that man. Even if not for the fact that he'd been the one to capture him, but for the fact that he'd become his toy. Every once in a while, after being thrown back into his cell, the man would visit him.

"What's wrong with you?" He'd groan, giving a his prisoner a swift kick to the side. "Why aren't you responding to the Dark Eco?" He bent down, pulling the blonde's hair, forcing him to look him in the face. Jak knew his face looked pathetic. He couldn't help it. He didn't have enough energy to gasp in pain, let alone be defiant.

He was dropped, and his head hit hard steel. Again, the man was over him, his body pressing down further and further. He hovered there for a minute, hot breath mixing with the sweat already on his cheek. He grabbed Jak's cheeks, squeezing them together to purse his lips. He brought his own down upon them, forcefully.

If not for the visits, for the tormenting kisses.

He slapped his cheek, forcing him to his back. Knowing that even had he the energy to fight back, the result would just be a harsher Eco treatment. He felt a draft on his chest, realizing that he'd been stripped of his garments. "Don't worry. I'll have the guards bring you more," the man reassured, as if it was that big a deal to him.

His lips crashed down again, his tongue forcing apart Jak's lips. He didn't respond, until the hovering attacker squeezed down on his shoulder. He used what energy he had left to move his tongue, barely, but enough to be responsive. Such kisses would have felt nice, coming from someone he would have welcomed them from. But these kisses made him feel nasty, disgusting even.

And feeling a half gloved hand run down his chest and to his lower half, he could only guess what was in store. With a quick rush of pain, he could only twitch before there was more. And then a third. Though his tongue was still occupied, he managed to take a look up at the lust driven fool above him. However, as the pain subsided, and cloth rubbed against his nether-reigns, a bit of blood rushed to his face, flushing it.

If not for the tormenting kisses, for the painful pleasure.

There was a draw in the contact of lips to lips as he sat straight on his knees, unclothing his bottom half. Jak knew subconsciously what was happening, but didn't know whether to fight or to lay there. As the rustling of fabric and the clink of metal to metal subsided, his gaping mouth was filled once more, however, this time, subsequently, another gap was filled.

Jak felt like he should be bleeding. The torrents of pain resounding throughout his body were relentless, and so was his rapist. The torture seemed to continue forever, until there was a break, a pause, and he felt it could have been over. There was moisture, too heavy to be sweat, and then, cold fingers on his member.

If not for the painful pleasure, then for the torturing rape.

A centuries worth of strokes, some gripping and like needles shooting throughout his sex, some calm and gentle. Until the end was met, and an eyelid exposed a bit of blue to see a satisfied orange-haired guard. He stood, fixing his own clothing, before kicking Jak's legs, to roll him over, then his back, to force him into the wall. Though he knew it was over for now, the blond knew it wasn't the end, or the last time he'd see that man, and feel that pain.

If not for the torturing rape, then for the aching bruises.

"How are we today, Erol?" So that was his name. He let his head fall to the side to see a large, hideous man, hovering above him. "Are we ready for today?" He looked to the more familiar person, who smirked and flipped a switch. Only momentarily was there the peace of the machine waking before violent gushes coursed through his veins, his body convulsing and shaking in horrible agony.

And soon, there was only black.

End Note Questions? Comments? Breathmints? Leave them in a review. Acclaimers will be worshiped, flamers will be.. Listened to. Then perhaps shot. Or given a medal for guts, especially if they are reading this and still wanna flame. XD