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Slash and Yaoi Fiction
Title: Vae Victis
Author: Juxian Tang
Fandom: Gundam Wing
Pairing: Treize/others
Rating: NC-17
Warning: rape, extreme abuse
Archive: yes
Feedback: juxiantang@hotmail.com
URL: http://juxian.slashcity.net
Comments: Vae Victis (Latin) - Woe to the Vanquished
Summary: The fate of the conquered is always a sad one, and Treize gets to learn about it better than many others


This story is for Blue (you shouldn't have ever said you wanted to read that Treize-rape thingie :-))

When night came, they separated him from the others again. No one said a word when a soldier bent towards him, put a hand on his shoulder; but Treize could feel their gazes on himself as he got up and followed the man. He didn't struggle any more; in the beginning he had - and it only turned uglier: being beaten half-conscious under uncompassionate stares of his comrades - and then being dragged away all the same. He knew everyone thought it was somehow his fault that he was chosen this way, singled out like this. Sometimes Treize thought it really was his fault.

He tried so hard to keep his back straight, his face impassive; he knew it didn't matter - within minutes all his dignity would be gone, and everyone would know it, would hear every pathetic noise he'd make. Some probably would even be able to see it, with all those fires lit around. But for these moments as he felt his fellow sufferers look at him, he still tried to pretend nothing happened.

"Move your ass, princess!"

The man pushed him too hard - and the chains on his ankles got in the way. Treize stumbled, catching the air inefficiently - and landed on his hands and knees on the ground.

Please don't let them laugh... They didn't laugh, did they? Blood pounded in his head so loudly that he really couldn't be sure if he heard laughter behind his back. But the words said by one of the soldiers he heard distinctly.

"Already with his butt up to the air. How nice."

He clenched his teeth, with his lip between them - and slowly, blood seeped into his mouth, warm and salty. He couldn't look up - wasn't able to muster enough defiance in his gaze to stare at his captors. Hands jerked him up, yanked into a circle of men. The flame of campfires danced in front of his eyes, making him feel dizzy. But they wouldn't let him fall, held him too tightly for it.

"Did you miss us, beauty?"

Treize tried to escape a thumb pressed to his split lips, as fingers patted dark bruises on the side of his face - but there was no escape. The man groped his face as his other hand snuggled to Treize's groin, cupped there. Obscenity of this touch made him shiver.

"Here, I know you like it," the man drawled.

A few days ago, he would spit in the man's face for these words; he had spat in their faces. It didn't impress them any more; and he had lost his right of being outraged, of being contemptuous.

The rough thumb pressed harder, parting his lips. He could've bitten - why was the man so sure that he wouldn't? Treize looked up exhaustedly; he knew there was weakness in his gaze but he could do nothing with it.

"Come on," the man whispered, his voice low and hoarse, the notes of intimacy in it sickening. "Work that pretty mouth. Suck... suck like you really mean it."

His hand on Treize's groin worked as well, rubbing and pressing. Treize didn't want to feel it; but even through the cloth of his uniform pants he felt his flesh respond.

"Oh really," another soldier said. "How long are you going to pleasure the slut? It's not what he's here for."

The hand was gone, and for a moment, on a primary level, Treize wanted the touch back. He shook himself back into reality, desperate at his own weakness. For God's sake, what did he become - if he could enjoy it, if he could get aroused like that? Someone struck him; he felt his head dangle and the side of his face go numb. But at least there was no ambiguity in blows; he could feel pain without feeling shame.

"Isn't he cute?" someone said laughing.

Their words hurt - but their hands hurt worse, roaming over his bruised body, pulling his clothes open. Treize didn't know if he struggled - and if it was what made them hit him again. He stifled a cry, biting his lip harder, when someone's fist caught on his ribs that had been fractured a day or two before - but some yelping sound, pathetic in its weakness, escaped him despite his efforts. They held his hair and his face, their hands groped on his chest, twisting his nipples, and between his legs, tugging on his genitals, fingers striving inside him.

His pants went down, tangled around his chained ankles, and his shirt was yanked over his head and twisted around his cuffed wrists. Awareness of his nudity was sharply humiliating; he couldn't get used to it, no matter how many times it happened. Gritting his teeth, Treize closed his eyes- and if not seeing his own battered, wasted body in swaying light of the fires made him invisible.

It didn't, of course. A pinch on his swollen nipple, particularly cruel, caught him unawares; he gasped and heard them laugh.

"Look at the slut. I bet he never dreamed of being pleased in so many way."

"A natural born whore."

He was pushed on his knees, made bend over. Fingers that stabbed into him, two or three at once, tore the tissues that stopped bleeding only a few hours ago. Pain made him fall forward, forehead on his clasped hands, as Treize struggled to keep silent. It felt wet and hot around thrusting fingers, and he knew he bled again. They didn't seem to mind - were not squeamish about it. In any case, his blood was going to be the only lubricant he would get; only it wouldn't make things easier.

"Easy, easy," someone said behind him. "If he bleeds too much, we won't be able to sell him tomorrow."

"Won't be able to sell him? A handsome piece of meat like him?" another one chuckled. "Some people will go over their heads for getting him. An officer, an aristocrat - look at him, you practically can see his blue blood."

His blood that trickled over the fingers slamming into him was certainly red - just like the drops that fell on the ground from his bitten through lip. Thinking about it made Treize shiver in something that sounded like hysterical chuckle.

"He finds it funny," a man said. "He likes it."

A kick in his side was so savage that he couldn't breathe for a few moments, reeled on his knees, whimpering softly. A hand in his hair kept him from falling. Treize felt his feet being pushed apart, as much as his chained ankles allowed. It was never enough, never convenient for his rapists - and they kept hitting him for that.

He should've prepared himself as crude hands pulled his buttocks apart - but he could never be truly ready for the scalding pain that pierced through him at the first thrust. He bit his linked hands, muffling the noises into the shirt wrapped around his wrists - but he couldn't be completely silent.

This weakness was the worst; and with cold terror Treize thought it was not just his body that was giving in but something in his soul as well. They degraded him; their defilement of his body changed him irreparably, turned him little by little into what they called him - a bitch, a slave.

When they had raped him for the first time, he'd borne it without making a sound. It was not that it became worse since that time - though, maybe, it did, as he never had enough time to heal. Yet Treize just didn't feel so strong as before; and knowing it added to the humiliation of being taken as he was, in a doggie position, with his face buried in his clenched hands.

But even that was better than feeling his hair being yanked, his face raised.

"You don't think we forgot of your mouth, do you, pretty?"

A cock pressed to his lips stank acridly. He wouldn't take it, they couldn't make him... Oh yes; they could - and they had done it numerous times before. Shivering, Treize recalled his own desperate cries when they punished him by twisting his balls; it still hurt to be touched there. But he could've put up at least token resistance.

He didn't. He was so tired of pain and constant reminding of his shame; this tiredness seemed to go deeper than in his bones, and he didn't know if he would ever be able to get enough rest. Maybe, only after his death.

Death... He should've been dead - died as a hero - or just unnoticeably in the battlefield - not let himself be captured and dragged to the slave market with dozens of other captives. Or he should've found a way to end his life now, when his little personal catastrophe happened and they broke him, made him stoop as low as it was possible.

But he felt too weary to seek for a good way to die. And he couldn't even hope his captors would kill him; so far they hadn't done anything irreparable to him. Or his body was just too enduring to let him out of here.

A cock slammed in his throat, making him gag. He felt wetness between his closed eyelids - but it was just from stinging pain in his scalp as the man who fucked his mouth pulled on his hair, from waves of burning heat spreading through his body as another man kept thrusting into him. He was not crying, was he? He wouldn't cry for them, for his enemies...

His throat felt raw and abraded as a cock was pulled out of it - and at the next moment warm thick fluid hit his face. Treize's hands flew up instinctively, trying to wipe it away. The soldiers knew how much he hated when they did it, hated it even more than when they came to his mouth and made him swallow.

"No-no," a man said, kicking his hands down; should've expected they wouldn't let him... "I like you with my spunk on your face, redhead."

A heel of a heavy boot stepped on his hand, driving it into the ground. Treize breathed shallowly, hastily, trying not to make a sound. The pressure grew; his skin tore and started bleeding. But only when he heard thin bones crunch, he let out a short, harsh cry.

He cradled his swelling hand as they continued fucking him first holding him on his knees and then throwing him on his back. The position was uncomfortable, for them as much as it was for Treize - so, they grew angry, shoving and yanking him. It was difficult to breathe when a man leaned on him, and Treize thrashed in panic. He couldn't stay quiet any more, couldn't keep his eyes closed. Above him, there was cold starry sky and a face of a soldier, distorted in upcoming orgasm. The sky was much more pleasant to look at but Treize couldn't focus on distant stars as his legs were wrenched apart and as pain kept splitting him.

"He's such a sweet whore, I almost feel sorry to give him away tomorrow," someone said above him derisively.

"It's not like you won't find another piece of ass soon," another man remarked. But the thought of tomorrow auction, of making some money on him must've turned them on. They fucked him with new vigor.

When they finished, he couldn't get up. He lay curled on the ground, sobbing, and knew his comrades heard - how he cried, how he disgraced himself with this weakness - but he couldn't stop. And even as he tried to muffle the sounds against his hands, whimpers still broke free.

"Hey, beauty." A hand grabbed his hair, made him turn his face. "That's our last night. Do you feel sorry?"

The words had no meaning; Treize just let them slide over him.

"Oh, I know you will. Listen here - I want you to remember us - no matter what will happen to you."

I'll remember, Treize thought - and despite his will, almost something like a smile rippled on his lips. Don't you doubt - I'll remember.

The man touched his smiling lips, parting them - and his cock went into Treize's mouth. Hadn't they done it so many times before? Only this time it was soft.

He didn't understand at once when warm liquid flooded his mouth; thinner than sperm and much more abundant. Then the realization struck him. This... this they hadn't done to him yet.

Treize struggled - like mad, the agony of his body forgotten.

"Hold him!"

It took four or five on them to finally pin him down; and one more to keep his nose shut to make him swallow. And even then Treize would prefer to choke - but his weak body took over his weaker mind - and he swallowed instinctively, in his need to take a breath.

He didn't know how many of them pissed in his mouth. He threw up violently as soon as they let him go - and despaired when understanding that it only added to the mess he was in. Oh God, what had he become? What had they done to him... It was worse than rape, worse than pain - worse than anything that he'd ever been through before. He couldn't stop writhing, couldn't keep from crying.

"Stupid cunt." Someone kicked him in the belly but he hardly felt it. It seemed something was finally ruined in him so badly that there was no way to resurrect it.

"We need to make him some more... presentable if we gonna sell him," another man said.

"Right. Get up."

They didn't want to touch him; Treize understood it and, absurdly, this thought pushed him a fraction deeper into despair. Even they found him repulsive now.

"Go to the lake."

Lake... they were going to let him wash. It was the only thing that could make him move - and he got up, first on his knees and then on his feet, and hobbled where they showed him.

The water was so cold it felt scalding; there was thin layer of ice at the shore, breaking around Treize's ankles as he walked in. When he was knee-deep, someone grabbed him, preventing from going farther, pushed him forward. He fell on his fours.

It was not even deep enough to drown... Treize put his face to the water, swallowing hasty gulps of icy-cold fluid, trying to get rid of the hideous taste in his mouth. His throat was injured, with the pieces of ice, but soon he stopped feeling it, didn't feel anything until his stomach spasmed in pain.

"Move. How long are we going to wait?" someone said from the bank.

He rubbed his body furiously, trying to scrub their touches away from him. But he couldn't get clean, of course; the dirt wasn't on his skin any more but inside him.

He choked on water; so cold... Maybe, he'd manage to freeze to death - oh, it would be wonderful, it was what he wanted more than anything else. But please let it happen sooner, please let it happen before he'd go up the auction black tomorrow...

He felt numb as they told him to get out of water. His limbs didn't obey him properly any more - or was it the chains that hindered - he'd almost forgotten about them... He fell, and knew he wouldn't get up again.

"Really," someone said, "I'd shoot him if he was not going to bring us money."

Please, please let me die, he prayed silently. He just couldn't get any more.

A sound of hooves clattering on the hard ground was distant and then approached. It had no meaning for him - just like a voice that sounded - a male, rich velvety one - didn't have meaning as well.

"What are you doing here?"

It was an unfamiliar voice - even with his muddled mind Treize understood it; but he couldn't open his eyes, couldn't look. Even a simple act of parting his eyelids was unimaginable.

"Mind your own business, mister..."

"You are on my land."

There was an authority in the tone, and the soldiers must've felt it. Treize heard their explanations. Prisoners... enemies... an auction...

"I see you don't waste your time."

The voice was cold and acidic; but a hand Treize suddenly felt on his shoulder was not cold. A hard hand, calluses on it from holding the reins and fencing - it touched gently. A warm hand...

He shuddered, moaning, torn between the wish to lean into this hand and fear that it could be gone.

"Shh," the voice said. "Shh, don't worry, it's over now."

"We're gonna sell him tomorrow," one of the soldiers said sullenly. "If you have some business about him, you gotta pay."

The hand was gone. Treize had known it - it would end up like this; there was just a moment of relief.

"Is it enough?" There was a steel note in the voice - and Treize didn't hear what the soldiers answered. But suddenly a key clicked in the lock of his cuffs, freeing his legs. Another movement and the chains on his wrists fell open as well. For the first time in days he was not chained...

"Hush, little one," the man whispered over him as Treize shuddered and thrashed. Solid strong arms embraced him, put something warm around his body - a cloak? He felt being picked up, pulled up to the saddle.

Someone held him against his chest; but only when the horse moved Treize finally believed it was real, opened his eyes and looked up. The eyes of startling blue looked at him from under long bangs of moon-white hair.

He had never seen the man before. But at the moment as he looked at the glowingly beautiful face tilted to him, he thought he must've known him, met him - maybe, not in this life but in some other one. As if there was some link between them, stronger than time and place, that couldn't be broken.

"It'll be all right," the man said as his fingers ran over Treize's forehead, pushed loose strands of hair away. "You're with me now."

And for some reason it made sense - that it would be all right because since now on they were going to be together. Treize really didn't want to wonder about anything or to know anything more apart from it - but he thought he should've, so, he asked:

"What is your name?"

The man chuckled and the answer came in a soft voice as his hand kept patting Treize' face.


The End

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