If he'd really put the time into thinking about it that time in the broom closet, which never seemed to be quite long enough ago, had been tolerable. Or at least as much as being raped could be but it was something you learned to live with in this world, in his world. It had been searing and brutal but he'd only been conscious for a fraction of it, and he barely remembered his attacker's face. He wasn't forced to look whoever was doing it in the eye, he wasn't being toyed with, he'd just been taken and left and compared to this it had all been fairly dignified, private even. This was the complete opposite of that, this was in the open being laughed at, and he'd give a week's food rations just for it to be in some broom closet, away from an audience.

The grips on his wrists keeping him down put dense pressure on his bones to the point he could even feel the ache through the effects of the drug. The initial high of it was starting to slow down now and he was gradually regaining some form of stability, even if the effects would last a while longer yet. The Latino shifted back and gripped both his ankles, forcing him to lift his feet up onto the edge of the chair seat. His breathing picked up even more when he realized the position that put him in, made worse when his hips were grabbed and dragged forwards, closer to his feet. He attempted then to slam his knees together, only to have them pried back open wider than before.

"Nu huh, now don't play hard to get, little lady."

That sounded less angry and more amused, which was considerably worse. There was intention in his tone, and again he felt the scraping of that knife as a warning, along the skin of his inner thigh. He held still, apart from the heaving of his chest, and earned the blades removal before it reached his genitals again, but it was little comfort with what he thought was going to come next. There was still a grip matted in his now very messy red hair, preventing him from looking at the man in front of him straight on, and even if he could he probably couldn't focus with the drug interfering with the speed that his brain processed the electronic signals from his 'eyes'. They were wide though, taking in a vision of blurred, over colourful graffiti on the ceiling. By this point he was barely containing his whines of panic, gritting his teeth and trying to behave to make this as painless as possible for himself. By this point he figured asking them to stop again was useless, so he didn't bother. All he'd be doing now was degrading himself further, if that were even possible. They weren't going back now they had him in this position, and they were in no rush.

He closed his eyes when he felt nothing for the first few moments, trying not to envision the Latino in front of him eyeing up his very exposed hole. The humiliation was drowning him, but not so much that he didn't retain his sense of self-preservation enough to just allow it. There was a soft clink to his left as that offending knife was placed down on a table just beside the chair, making him open his eyes a moment to glance as best he can sideways at it. Well, at least the knife was out of the picture now. Real-time seconds later he felt the initiation, the beginning of what he anticipated being very painful; a slicked up (with god knows what) finger probing him, or what he guessed to be a finger unless this guy was that freakishly narrow. It made him squirm, squeak a little more, grit his teeth and close his eyes again hard. Just tolerate it Alex. It's better than death. Was it? He could hear laughter above him to his reaction, making him tell himself to try and just hold still and play rag doll through it, deny them SOME satisfaction but it was easier said than done when you had a thug poking you in places you ought not be touched.

The drug addling his brain made it feel like ages, that intrusive pressure on his orifice seeming unrelenting but thankfully not yet painful except to his pride, what little he had. It twisted in his gut every time he felt the touch get harder, threaten to breach him, making him pale with nausea. The end of this torment was abrupt, leaving him cold but that was preferable. Every muscle in him was tense, every ache reminding him of what was happening. His headache was still throbbing loudly when he heard the zipper go, a sound to silence everything else in the room. If it were possible he tensed even harder, bracing himself. Oh god this was going to hurt, this was going to hurt, and he was going to have to be awake this time.

He felt hands on his knees as the Latino shifted forwards with a low growl, and Alex felt the flanks of his hips brushing his inner thighs. There was a pause…

"Make her tilt her head forward, boys, I wanna see those pretty eyes…"

He felt pressure on the back of his head but he offered resistance, his muscles all so tense that it was difficult to force him to move now. He gritted his teeth hard, forcing the thug on his left to let go of his wrist in order to use both hands, and forced his head forwards. The other, still gripping his hair pulled it back out of his eyes, revealing those startling bionic blues. Brown eyes stared right into them, like a dog trying to intimidate its opposition, and Alex watched the overly slow smirk etch onto his face. He was only maybe a second behind real time now, the drug's high was rapidly wearing very thin and in that moment while they exchanged stares his brain gave him two choices: The first was to be sick, because in his peripheral vision he could see the man's lower regions were bare, and more than ready for the crime he intended to commit with it. He knew he was seconds away from a thorough violating and it would all be done to a chorus of grunting and laughter.

He chose the second option: with his left arm free he lunged sideways, grasping at that blade on the table, pulling his own hair in the other man's grip as he did so and then slashed blindly out across in front of him. Initially he had no idea if he landed a hit or not, but he did feel the grips holding him down be released…