Boys Will Be Boys Chapter 25: Hold On, a maze runner trilogy fanfic

Author's note~

~The rating for this story has been upped.

~Serious trigger warnings for this chapter.~
xxxx Molestation and Non-con, in detail xxxx

Out of consideration for those who can't, won't, or don't want to read the ugly bits and pieces, I've inserted a very obvious divider at the beginning and end of the worst of it, so please feel free to skip ahead once you hit the cutoff if the content is likely to upset you.

Thank you.

An ugly, familiar voice whispered wetly in his ear, causing him to shiver in disgust.

"Where ya goin, eh? The party's just gettin' started."

Newt struggled for breath against the hand over his mouth, gripping hard enough to bruise. His guts were churning with an ugly mix of fear, anger and disgust at what he knew would happen next. He felt the arm around his waist lift him clear off the ground, felt the movement of his captor's feet at he squirmed and kicked, trying to break loose from the iron grasp of the boy behind him. He heard more laughter from around him as the boys who'd helped hunt him down moved with them; a sinister pack of hunters, anticipating a good bloody meal. Still a little tipsy from the celebrations and getting dizzier by the second from lack of air, when his abductor finally set him on his own feet Newt would undoubtedly have collapsed into a heap on the ground if not for the casually callous arm around his waist. The hand over his mouth was removed, and he gasped for breath, eagerly filling his starving lungs. The gang of boys waited silently, Newt's ragged gasps the only sound in the eerily quiet night.

Just as his breathing was beginning to level out, Newt was spun roughly around, and shoved back into the trunk of a large tree. Tough, strong hands lifted him just a little, efficiently looping an extra length of twine from his bound wrists around a broken off stub of a branch. When they released him he had enough slack to twist and turn his arms a little, to bend his elbows and bring his hands half way to his head, but nowhere near enough to shimmy the rope off the branch on his own. He was very effectively restrained, completely unable to free himself. Newt bit the tip of his tongue to stop from gasping at the pain as the rough, uncaring bark scraped and cut into the skin on his back through his thin shirt. He knew what came next. If he could hold his silence, or at least stay fairly quiet, they wouldn't feel the need to gag him. Anger and hatred glistened in his eyes as he watched the leader of the boys come towards him, a sickening smile on his face. Despite his compromising position, he wasn't completely helpless.

Arching his back away from the tree, Newt managed to twist himself just enough to take a good kick at the boy on the left of him, the closest of the five goons currently watching him with amusement. The victim, a track ho with an unfortunate and endless crop of pimples, grunted in surprise and pain as Newt's hard shoe met his vulnerable knee, causing him to stagger away and almost crumple under the force of the attack. Moving like lightning, Newt lashed out behind him with a desperate back kick and landed a more glancing blow on the retreating shin of the boy on the other side before he too moved out of range. Newt moved to turn and try for any available body in front of him when a sudden vicious back hand rocked his head back, tearing his lip and causing his sight to explode with a blinding white flash.

Thick abrasive fingers grabbed his jaw, forcing his head to properly face his tormentor's self-satisfied sneer.

"Still feel like laughing at me, Newtie?"

Newt swallowed the blood in his mouth, curling his own lip and trying for a tone of coldly dismissive disdain. His defiance may have been a little wobbly around the edges, his voice may have trembled a little, but it was all he had left.

"Oh yeah Wes, a right bloody riot, you are. Just get on with it, will you? I don't have all bloody night."

"We do have all night, but if you insist," Wes growled in a poor approximation of seductive purr. "we'll just move right along. As you're so...eager."

A couple of sharp snaps sounded, followed by the ksssht of steel on flint, and a small fire was kindled by the other goons, casting a smallish circle of dancing orange light around their little group. Wes grabbed the hem of Newt's shirt, roughly stuffing it up through the neck and twisting it into a tight little knot in the middle of his chest, the flickering light and shadow giving a cheap illusion of assets Newt didn't possess. He unhooked the button on Newt's pants, letting the buff colored cotton ride low over the boy's slender hips. Stepping back, glancing at his avidly waiting friends, he gestured to their bound and waiting captive as Frypan had to the incredible feast earlier that evening.

"I want last go. Who's first up?"

In a move that seemed absurd, given the purpose of the gang, the four boys played a lightning round of rock-paper-scissors to decide who got first crack at their victim. In less than a minute a winner was decided, and he slithered up to Newt on a knee still tender from the earlier attack. He smiled greasily and ran an overly warm hand across the taut muscles of Newt's bare midriff. Newt couldn't quite suppress the shudder of disgust that coursed through him and he turned his head to the side, staring resolutely into the darkness of the forest and praying that it would be over quickly. He knew that at this point fighting would only prolong the inevitable, and result in a beating on top of it. The other boys laughed and called out in encouragement.

"Go on Doug! Have at 'im! I'm dying over here!"

"Yeah, get on with it!"

"Don't forget, I'm next!"

Wes just stood and smiled, cold, cruel anticipation painted over his hard features.

Doug was chest to chest with Newt now, breathing quickly in excitement. Newt felt him fumbling with his own fly, felt the hot rank breath moistening the delicate skin at the base of his neck, and closed his eyes, refusing to participate in any way in the distasteful actions being forced upon him.

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He felt the dry, invasive hand running possessively over his side, the sick, wet tongue testing his flesh. And then, the hot, hard length of Doug's member pressing firmly against his stomach, rubbing back and forth across the bare skin as the randy boy began to firmly thrust against his unwilling body. Every thrust ground Newt's abused back against the tree trunk and he instinctively tried to arch away from the cutting surface, clamping down on a whimper and biting his torn lip hard enough for a tiny trickle of blood to drip down his chin. Grunting like an animal in Newt's ear, Doug grabbed Newt's waist in a bruising grip and forced their bodies even closer as his thrusts became more urgent and erratic. Finally, after what felt like forever, he gave a last few frantic thrusts and great groan of satisfaction as he emptied himself on Newt's stomach. Doug collapsed against the boy for a moment to catch his breath, perspiration beaded on his face. Newt retained his stoic silence, though his forehead was knotted in concentration and his face was pale from the pain.

The others cheered, actually cheered when Doug finished, shoving each other jokingly as each waited for their own turn. As Doug stumbled off to the side to put himself back together, the next stepped up in his place. Eager, already hard after watching Doug take get off, he wasted no time in getting down to business. He spun Newt around to face the tree and freed himself from his uncomfortably tight pants.

Wrapping a long, gangly arm around Newt's stomach and pulling his body to him, he started rutting against the subtle curve of Newt's pale back where flesh met fabric. Newt curled his fingers into the bark of the tree, hanging his head and trying to keep his breath even despite the arm painfully clutching his abdomen. The forceful movements pushed him against the tree; every muscle in his arms stood out as he used all of his strength to keep his face away from the sharp, jagged bark. Focused on enduring, Newt barely noted his abuser's energetic climax; the groans of pleasure and sudden slackening of the confining arm, the hoots and praise from the others only dimly registering in his mind. He took a deep, steadying breath to settle himself before the next onslaught, but the reprieve was incredibly short. In mere heartbeats someone grabbed his body, forcefully turning him around. Hands hooked under his thighs and lifted him with a strength born from impatient need, holding his legs up and spread as a new body pinned him against the tree. Newt muffled the thin, painful moan that threatened to escape his throat as his torn back was, once again, ground against the unforgiving surface behind him by the next round of eager thrusting.

And so it went. The third boy took his turn with Newt, then the fourth had his. Newt clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth until he feared they might crack from the pressure. After an eternity of heavy breathing, wild thrusting and cries of pleasure, four of the boys were finally satisfied. Pale as the moon, chest rising and falling rapidly, Newt leaned forward a little and slumped against the ropes with his eyes closed. Just one more, he thought, clinging to the words that had become his mantra. Hold on, just one more. Hold on, just one more. Hold on. Just one more. Then it'll be over.

Wes hadn't said a single word through the whole sordid affair, standing still as a stone and watching the action with a grimace of amusement on his face. Looking at the lightly trembling form of Newt, restrained and waiting, he glanced at his wrung out friends and broke his silence.

"Head on back for the night, guys. I'll have my turn, finish up here."

"You sure, boss?" Doug asked, thoroughly exhausted and slurring his words a little. "We could stick around and-"

"It's fine." Interrupted Wes coldly. "There's no fight left in him. Go to bed. I'll cut him loose when I'm done."

The others voiced a mumbled chorus of acceptance, stumbling off into the night and away from the low glow of the dying fire. Wes waited until the sounds of their passage had completely faded away before he approached Newt. He grabbed Newt by the jaw, forcing his head up so they were eye to eye. When Newt refused to open his eyes, refused to look at him, Wes snarled a little and crushed his mouth to Newt's in a bruising, ugly parody of a kiss. Wes jerked back as Newt's teeth sank into his lip, easily tearing through the delicate skin. He reared back and plowed a hard fist into Newt's gut, leering with a bloody grin as Newt coughed and retched. He turned Newt around to face the tree, grabbing his shaggy blonde hair and wrenching his head back, forcing a small wad of cloth into the boy's mouth when he couldn't control the gasp of pain. He quickly tied on another strip of fabric over top, fashioning a very effective gag. He freed his member from his pants, then yanked on Newt's hair once again, leaning forward to whisper in his ear.

"You've earned this. You got me all churned up, so you've got no one to blame but yourself. No one laughs at me and just walks away."

Wes's free hand slid down Newt's bruised stomach until his thumb hooked under the waistband of his pants and undershorts. One rough jerk pulled the garments down over his hips, the fabric catching on Newt's thighs and leaving his backside completely bare.

Fresh panic exploded inside Newt as he felt the cool night air on his exposed rump. He bucked and squirmed, kicking his legs and flailing his elbows, filled with terrified energy as he fought to get away with the strength of true fear. He mentally prayed to every and any deity that might or might not exist, pleading, desperately ready to grab a hold of even the most slender chance of mercy. Please God, please God, please God. Wes cackled an ugly laugh in his ear as he swirled a hand through the slick mess the other boys had left on Newt's skin, using it to coat his own insistent organ. He kneed Newt's legs apart and pressed the head of his penis against Newt's tightly clenched hole, releasing his hair and grabbing his hip in a grip like steel.

"You're gonna beg. You're gonna scream. And I'm going to enjoy every...single...minute...of it."

In one brutal eager thrust, Wes buried himself inside Newt.

The horrific shocking pain ripped a long scream from Newt, the sound high and thin against the thick cloth gag. His back arched violently, bile rose in his throat. The pain was everything; all consuming and enormous, it felt like he was being ripped right in half. Tears filled his eyes and ran down his filthy, bruised face.

Wes gripped Newt's hips with both hands, thrusting steadily into his trembling body as he writhed and screamed, pulling and twisting his wrists against the rope bindings until blood ran down his arms. And still Wes moved inside him, each rough, angry thrust registering as it's own agonizing strike against his battered body. Wes's movements gradually sped up, the blinding pain reaching new peaks as the brute rushed towards the end. A final few brutal thrusts took Wes to a loud moaning climax, and drew another shriek of indescribable pain from Newt as the hot essence hit his torn insides. Wes stayed where he was for a few minutes, still fully sheathed as Newt hung limply from his restraints, visibly shivering and quietly crying. After he'd regained his breath, Wes slid a long, nasty looking knife from the back of his belt and cut Newt free from the tree, releasing him from the branch but leaving his hands tied together. Wes slid out of his body but held him in a firm grip to keep him from simply falling to the ground in a heap. Lifting him easily, Wes moved toward a more open patch of ground, unceremoniously dropped the incoherently sobbing boy on his face in the grass and flopping down beside him to relax for a moment.

After a brief break, Wes shuffled around behind Newt. Somewhere in the fog of Newt's fractured thoughts, he found the slightest ray of hope that the monster was actually going to walk away, going to leave. Then he felt his body being lifted to his hands and knees, his hips cruelly yanked upward a half second before he, too weak to fight, was once again pierced by Wes's member. He screamed against the gag until his voice gave out as Wes, on his knees behind him, once again brutally pounded into him, the pain coming in wave after excruciating wave. Begging through the cloth, out of his mind from the agony, Newt desperately wished to simply black out as every minute stretched into an eternity. Knowing he was almost there, Wes pistoned his hips into Newt frantically, Newt's feeble cries and the sick sound of flesh slapping against flesh driving him closer and closer. As he felt the tell tale clenching in his guts, Wes drove himself in as hard and fast as he could, spooning Newt's sweat slick back and sinking his teeth viciously into the skin at the base of his neck as he desperately jerked his hips. He came explosively, crying out and drawing one last hoarse, agonized scream from the body beneath him.

Breathing heavily, his clothes clinging to him from a healthy sweat, Wes gave Newt a friendly slap on the rump before disengaging and using a handful of Newt's bloody shirt to clean himself off. He got to his feet and tucked himself away again, letting Newt slump into a boneless heap on the ground. He cut through the remaining rough restraints with a flick of his knife, turning on his heel and walking away from the broken, prone figure without a single word.

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Pants around his knees, shirt rucked up to his shoulders, Newt was lost in a world of pain and misery. Everything hurt, he could barely breathe through the pain. Eyes screwed shut, tears still escaping despite the tightly closed lids, he wished for death. To fall asleep and just never wake up again.

He lay exactly as he'd fallen for hours, his thoughts so deep in the darkness and horror of what had happened that he didn't register his vulnerable position until he was shivering so hard he could almost hear his bones rattle. Finally opening his eyes, he saw that it was very early morning, the sky not yet yielding its indigo hue to the navy of breaking dawn. He worked the vile gag from his mouth before slowly, gingerly, forcing his trembling limbs to move, easing himself up to his hands and knees. Feeling the slickness that coated his cheeks and the warmth dribbling down his thighs he began retching uncontrollably, harshly emptying himself on the grass. Only sheer determination stopped him from ending up face first in the puddle of sick. An inch at a time, gasping and panting, he made his way over to the lumpy, shadowy shape of a moss covered log.

Bracing himself over the fallen tree, he started pulling up handfuls of the soft green plant, using it to wipe away the blood and fluids that still dripped down his legs, his hands shaking violently. Once he'd cleaned away as much as he could, he eased his filthy pants back up over his hips, trying not to whimper as the fabric slid over his abraded flesh. Taking deep, steadying breaths, he slowly pushed himself to his feet, swaying a little as black spots danced before his eyes. When his head stopped spinning, he began the long, painful trip back to the center of the glade – and his own bed.

Every step was an excruciating ordeal, sending a shock wave of pain right through his core. Night was truly giving way to morning as he got closer and closer to his goal and he moved as quickly and quietly as he could, biting the hand he'd shoved into his mouth to stop from crying out. When he managed to reach his hammock without waking any of the others he fell to his knees in front of it, still conscious from spite and fear alone. He dragged off his ruined shirt and dampened the cleanest bits of it with his water bottle, using the fabric to wipe away the worst of the sweat and blood and dirt on his face. He winced his way through pulling on his only spare shirt, stuffing the filthy one under a fold of his hammock. Getting into his hammock was another long, painful test of his determination; he managed with minimal whimpers and extensive whispered curses. Pitifully grateful for it, he pulled his blanket around him and up over his head.

Desolate, defeated, filled with a sickening mix of anger and pain and shame, he curled up as tightly as he could and cried silent tears. Finally, mercifully, he blacked out into oblivion.

Author's note~

This chapter was difficult for me to write. I didn't particularly enjoy it and the hard ugly nature of it was more than a little demanding. I had to push to get it finished. I'm no stranger to writing sex scenes; I've done my fair share, but usually far more benign than this. This nasty little business is necessary to the plot though, so here it is.

And now, breathing a sigh of relief, lets move on.

See you next chapter.

~Ruby