Pretty Dead Boy...
A Trainer and His Boy
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A trainer is sneaking into some neophyte's room and saying they ought to test that everything works alright after the reproductive system augments. It would be a shame if something didn’t and it wasn’t rectified. This boy he's taken had had fine ideas about the value of virginity. He'd screamed and cried and tried to fight. Not that he ended up being any real match, even when he used his teeth He was busy clawing and biting, and it was then he felt something blunt and huge opening his cunt. And then it’s too late, as the head rams into him.
He's trying to resist, clench his hole tight, yet it's to no avail. In fact, it only makes his trainer push forward harder, wanting to get deeper into that tight heat. And he cries into his pillow, babbling about his purity. It doesn’t make a lick of difference. The cock is shoving further in, speeding up to a proper rhythm. It's so absurdly big in him, aching. He’s not aroused at all, not until a hand finds his cock and starts manipulating it. Not properly stroking him, nor enough to truly enjoy. But enough to make his cunt just a little wet. To make the pull and drag more pleasurable for the trainer, if not the boy he’s taking. The trainer, who does find sick pleasure in his agony. And oh the boy cries so pretty It gets him some sloppy, biting kisses. Which only serve to make him cry more, trying in vain to squirm away. To pretend this isn’t happening. Which only gets him pulled back and fucked deeper.
Certainly, he bleeds. Certainly, he tears, splitting open with a bloody slicking. Probably screams out when it happens, screams that his trainer is tearing him. His face is shoved into the pillow, muffling his cries, but it wouldn’t matter much. No one comes to his aid, it’s too common an occurrence. He's slowly realising that. That the screaming is no good.
His trainer speeds up, punching into him, relishing in each pained, choking cry, grip tight enough to bruise. And it's soon that the boy raises his head and starts pleading again. "Don't finish inside me, don't, please..."
“Cute, that you think you have a say. We’re testing all of your new reproduction system. All of it.” Of course he’s going to fuck a baby into the boy. And now he's really properly sobbing.
When his trainer—his assailant—comes, he yanks the boy as close as he can, brushing his cervix and giving no chance to squirm free. No escape from his fate. He knows what's going to happen to him. And it's not the only time his trainer comes to his room. And soon enough, he's doubled up being sick on the training field. Given no quarter for it though, no consideration to his condition. And he knows, with blood-chilling dread, what condition it is.
His trainer, of course, visits his room again that night, grinning and taking him again in celebration. He's got no fight in him this time. Just whimpers. Which isn’t nearly as fun, but the trainer gets a cruel satisfaction in knowing he’s broken the boy entirely in now. In the boy knowing there's nothing he even thinks he can do about his misery.
When things progress, and he sees other in his cohort in the same condition as himself, he thinks the same fate has come down on them. Finding out many of their pregnancies the result of eager, youthful exploration, of camaraderie and some measure of love nearly breaks him again. He wishes so dearly that could be him. Loved, with someone at his side. Instead, he’s just his trainer’s plaything, hurt and abused and alone. He'd even take it if his trainer gave him love, for all he hates the man.
And maybe he does give some love. What he calls love, anyhow. Twisted and painful as it is. Enough that the boy is falling in twisted love. Enough that after he delivers, he doesn’t protest when his trainer comes to him to take him again. He tries to cuddle to him when he's done. Gets held away, with a snarled “act a warrior.” But no blow, not this time.
"I can't." It's too soon after the delivery, far too soon, for him to be fucked again. "Hold me?"
“Fine.” The hold is both too tight, and far too loose. As if the man has never done so before.
But the boy nestles to him, head against his chest. "My insides hurt."
“If you’re trying go to medicae I’ll give you a reason to be there,” he says, not believing it.
"No, I mean it. Really."
“Your insides always hurt after. You’ll be fine.” He had always been fine, anyway.
"Am I supposed to still be bleeding? It gets on my uniform..."
That gives him pause. “You’re still bleeding?”
"Not as if from a cut. But some."
“Get up.” Something small rankles in him at going back on his threat, but it’s overtaken by refusal to loose his plaything.
He does, staggering a bit as he gets to his feet.
Shit. The trainer yanks some measure of clothes on and pulls the boy out the door. “Come.”
He does, obedient as a trained dog.
When they arrive, he’s shoved in the direction of an apothecary. “Fix him. He’s still bleeding.”
The Apothecary shoves a thermometer against the boy's forehead. "He has an infection."
“So fix it.”
"He'll be out of action for some days. I need to perform some procedures."
“Sure, fine. Just fix him.” There is no please. No softness. Just a demand and an expectation to be obeyed. And he is obeyed. The Apothecary gives the boy a sedative so he can inspect his uterus for pieces of afterbirth left behind. And finds one. The man stays, watches. Unsure if it’s to make certain no one else uses the boy, or to re-assure himself that he’s getting cared for and treated.
The boy looks very pale, lying there. Grey. And small. And somehow… he realizes he does actually like the boy. Actually, love him, perhaps. If he knew how to love, anyway. He thought they'd beaten and raped the love out of him a long time ago. Yet here he stands, guarding the boy he’s done the same too for a year now. There's milk leaking through the boy's shirt, ready to feed his baby, tucked away in the creche. And didn't it always hurt, after they took his babies away? His chest aching with milk? Hadn’t it felt like his heart was torn out? Like he wouldn’t be whole again? Grief shudders through him, for himself and for what he’s caused his boy.
This boy still has his baby, at least. Close by, at least. He’ll make sure it stays that way. It's as if it hasn't occurred to him until now that it's his baby, too. A sibling to the ones stolen. And it doesn’t occur to him, until he’s given an update on the boy’s condition. On his boy’s condition.
The Apothecary looks him in the eyes when he talks to him. Unafraid, brothers of equal rank. "A piece of the afterbirth was left behind."
“But he’ll be alright?” It’s really all he cares about now.
"He'll need some heavy antibiotics. It's lucky we're where we are and when we are. If this was Nuceria, I'd tell you to kiss him goodbye."
As it is, he wants to kiss the boy. Wants to learn how to clutch him close without leaving bruises behind. “That bad?”
"These sorts of infections kill fast without the right interventions."
He’s shaking, almost imperceptibly. “You can stop it though, right? He’ll be okay?”
"I can stop it. I will. It's lucky he's no longer quite mortal, he has an even better chance."
“Good. I…. Good.”
"It's good you brought him to me. He's quite unwell."
“I almost didn’t. If he hadn’t still bled…” If he hadn’t said anything….
"It's lucky you did."
“I’m staying. Until he’s healed.” The trainer leaves no room for argument.
"I think he will appreciate having someone here. It can be unsettling for the young ones."
“Yes… I suppose it would be.” Having gone through it alone, and thought it normal, he wouldn’t truly know.
"The Apothecarion scares them. Childbirth scares them more."
“He made it through the birth itself just fine.” He assumes the boy did, anyway. Perhaps he shouldn’t.
"He was rather frightened, as I remember."
Guilt, an unfamiliar sensation, writhes in his gut. “Oh…”
"It was a quite fast birth. Those can be difficult."
“Does it not make it easier? Being done with it sooner?”
"We like to give them some medication for the pain. It was hard to get it into him in time."
“Medication.” It almost seems a foreign concept, for something such as this.
"Analgesics, at least, sometimes a nerve block."
“You take such good care of them.”
"Birth is an awfully painful process, especially for the young."
“Yes… it is, isn’t it.” His gaze shifts again to the boy, another flicker of shame running through his gut.
"There's plenty of pain in our lives that is necessary. I do not find that pain to be needed."
“I think I agree on that.”
"I'll even give him some medication for pain now. He's likely to be awfully sore."
“Thank you. He said he ached, inside.”
"A little pain is normal. A lot is not."
This man, who started having kids as soon as he got his periods and always hurt terribly. Still hurts most days, even now. He learned early on to associate sex with pain. his slave-master liked to watch his big, cruel gladiator-slaves force themselves on a child. He didn't understand what was happening to him, the first time. only that it hurt. And it kept hurting after that, no matter with who. it seemed only right that would continue. So of course, when they gave him a cock, he used it to deal pain. Telling himself it made his own hurt less, because this must simply be how it works. It's only this boy he feels sorry for hurting. the one that dared try and look for love.
The one who dared give it to him, even unreturned. It's before the birth that the boy starts making overtures of love. maybe when he's quite pregnant and sore. Not even looking for proper kindness in return, at first. Just trying to express this strange love, strange affection, devotion, that has grown in him, rubbing his face into the trainer's tits, pressing kisses. Trying to rub his back or nuzzle against his beard scruff. Hardly even flinching back anymore when he’s slapped for it No, he just takes the slap. Maybe even smiles. It feels perversely like affection. It may as well be how he gets kissed.
He's at a stage his trainer remembers hating, so pregnant he's helpless. Too heavy a hit and he ends up sprawling, unable to get back up on his own. A bruise already darkening on his face, and tears springing to his eyes.
And the trainer finds himself caught between wanting to berate him for crying, and wanting to apologize. Landing on yanking the boy upright and pushing him to the bed instead. “If you’re going to lay about, don’t do it in the dirt like a worm.”
"My legs are jelly." He whines. "It's heavy. And you woke him up."
“You’re to be a warrior. Act like one. They don’t whine and whinge. Certainly not about their own baby kicking them.” But he remembers how horribly it had hurt when he was that small, that young.
"The enemy won't put things inside my organs."
“What do you think getting stabbed in the gut is, idiot?”
He curls up, like he hadn't thought of that.
“And I put something in your organs, you fought plenty hard against that.” A cruel smile plays across his face.
"It's too tiring to fight anymore. And there's no use."
“My point,” he takes hold of the boy’s wrists, and pressing them to the mattress as he kneels over him. “Is that you already had someone you saw as an enemy put a baby in you. There’s nothing to say another won’t do worse in the future.”
"Does that happen? Do Astartes get babies from apostates and xenos?"
“Not often. But then we don’t often have as pathetic of trainees as you.” He doesn’t seem to realize he’s still just… holding the wrists of his boy. Almost holding hands.
"Is that why you picked me?"
“Did I pick you for that? Because I knew you’d be too much of a weak, wriggling hole to fight back?” He leans closer, until warm breath brushes his ear. “No. I picked you because no one else had touched you. None of the other boys, none of the trainers, and I’d bet not even yourself. I picked you, because you wanted to keep your virtue, and I wanted to break it.” And he’s mighty pretty, but it wouldn’t do to say that now.
"Really? Is that... attractive?"
“Knowing I was the first one to touch, to feel? To see those pretty tears and hear all those sounds? Oh, baby it’s the best thing around.”
"Well, I'm not all new anymore. Or pretty."
“No, not new, but I get to see you swell with the babe. I get to watch you get all vulnerable, and needy. And you know I’ll always be your first. Probably be the father of your second too.”
"It's not as if anybody else would be interested."
He draws back, staring at him, a bit surprised. “You can’t be honestly telling me no one watches you, in training, in the showers. You don’t feel their eyes? Their desires?”
"I've looked! I've hoped! They look away!"
“A pity. They’re missing out on so many pretty tears. So many pretty bruises. Everything about you.” He’s such a soft little thing. Sometimes the trainer wonders how he ever ended up here.
"The others show off how they swell, how their bodies change. What their lovers did."
“You don’t? I can’t imagine you can hide it away. You certainly don’t in our sessions.”
"I can't hide it anymore. But I certainly have nothing to flaunt." It’s the wrong thing to say. The trainer leans down again, latching onto his boy’s neck with teeth and tongue. Biting and sucking a bruise impossible to deny. The bruise blooms instantly, and the boy whimpers. "What? Another sign I'm good enough to beat and fuck, but not even to kiss?"
“You think any of us are meant to do that? We’re supposed to be beating the urge out of you, along with everything else useless.” But that unease flickers in his gut again.
"The others don't get beaten for trading kisses. They get eye-rolls."
His grip tightens, nail implants digging into skin just far enough to bleed. “The others will be weak, then. They’ll be lucky to make it to their prime, let alone any battlefield.”
"They won't. I'll be far weaker. Behind in my training."
“You’re hardly the only one heavy with child. At least three others are just as unsteady and whiney as you.”
"And babied for it, by someone at least."
“And when they squeeze those squalling whelps out and have to face the fact they’re never going to be treated that gently again, how quickly do you think they’ll break.”
"Very quickly." His arms wrap around his knees. "It's going to hurt terribly, isn't it?"
“Birth? Yes. Very terribly. You’ll bear it though.”
"How will I? People die having babies. My mother did."
“You’ll bear it.” There’s nothing for him to say, not really. No reassurances or kind words. No experience to draw from that isn’t tinged in pain and blood and nearly dying himself. The best he can offer is: “you’ll be here. She wasn’t.”
The boy nods. Thinks on it. Gnaws his lip to visible blood.
“Come here.” He pulls the boy in, and sucks the blood off his lip. The closest they’ve ever come to kissing. And it tastes like salt and iron and fear and... something else. Something he’s never tasted before. Not lust, not quite. It’s strange. It's a hungry feeling, a wanting feeling. Somewhat warm. A wrinkle of confusion passes across his face before disappearing. “Get some sleep.”
He curls up into his blankets. Curls into a ball. The trainer knows he ought to leave, but he finds himself waiting, watching until his boy’s breaths even out and he falls asleep. It doesn't look like an easy sleep. It looks clenched-up and fretful. Slowly, a hand reaches out, rubbing his back, careful of his nails. The boy starts to relax. Unclench his desperate curl. He thinks he might be able to get used to seeing this. Seeing him sleep without being used ragged.
Just a snatch of rest. But it was always so tiring, carrying children. The man eases backward, off the bed, and tucks the covers around him more securely. Ignores the screaming in his brain saying he ought to do the opposite. When he leaves the room, he makes sure the door is locked. Just so no-one else can come in. Can wake him with a cock shoved in him. He always hated such an awakening. It always seemed to hurt more. Even now, he still sleeps with his door locked the same way. Drags a chair across the seam as well.
And nobody here dares to touch his cunt. They learned that lesson fast enough when the cock trying got ripped off. He’d nearly broken the fingers of an apothecary trying to do his job, later. Now he and his holes are left well alone. He still feels sick, sometimes, dreaming of his very first time. How he tore and wept and sobbed. He’s beginning to feel the same sickness when he think of the first—well every—time he and the boy have tumbled. When he first got his periods, he thought they'd done him some terrible internal damage. At the least the boy has some education. Some access to medical care. He’d had to do with nothing but acrid wind, a dry, hard bunk and not much else. He remembers his belly aching with his first blood. And how it ached worse when they were ordered to redouble fucking him after. He had been younger than the boy is. He could barely walk by the latter bit of each pregnancy, for how small he was. At least the boy is taller, bigger, with wider hips. It will not be a miracle he survives birth, no matter how worried the boy is for it. There's a good chance he'll survive. A very good chance. But oh, the pain...
It’ll make him writhe and cry and, despite the boiling anger in his head, he doesn’t know he can watch it. But the alternative, as he can see it, is for the boy to be... alone. The way he had been, every single time. So, he resolves to be there, to stay.
The day of, he gets just outside the door, hears him cry out, and flees. Guilt consumes him the rest of the day. It's not a fast labour, but a long one, and he spends many hours of it hiding in his room. Pacing a track into his floor. Every half hour, he goes for the door, and stops, unable to go to him. He knows it must be torment for the boy. His boy. But try as he might he can’t handle hearing and seeing it all again. It’ll be too easy to slot himself into the visual, to get lost in his own, torturous births.
The boy thinks, of course he isn't coming. And in the end, he’s right. His trainer does not appear until a few hours after the baby has been delivered, and ushers him back to his room. He's wobbly on his feet, barely able to stand. And very pale, bags under his eyes. But the trainer had always been made to walk after. Had been dragged by his hair, if he couldn’t. The though of carrying his boy doesn’t even occur. Even when he stumbles, knees weak. It only gets him a moment of rest, before he’s pulled forward again.
And the boy begs. "Stop, please! Let me stop." It’s lucky they’re alone in the hall, or he would be getting hit for it. As it is, the grip on his wrist tightens painfully, but they do stop. Lets him lean on the wall. "I'll stay here." He insists. "I'll sleep on the floor."
“No. No you need to be in a room.” Somewhere with a lock. Somewhere to prevent everyone who knows he just gave birth from fighting to fuck the next one into him.
"I'm so tired. I'm too tired. My vision's all blurry."
“Even more reason you need to be in a room,” he insists.
"I can do it," he says. Like he's mostly trying to convince himself.
“If you can’t get yourself there, I’ll drag you.” Not by the hair, the way he had been when he was small, but drag him all the same.
"I can! I can. Just... slowly."
“Slowly.” The drip on his wrist does not let up, not until they’re in a locked room. He falls onto the bed with a miserable sound.
“You bore it. I told you that you would.” The closest to praise he’s gotten.
He sighs. "It was very difficult."
“And yet you did it.”
"I'm glad you didn't see. I wasn't very pretty. I threw up on myself."
“That much is to be expected. Childbirth is not a pretty thing”
"No. But did you see our baby?"
He had, a small glimpse. Better, perhaps, to lie, he thinks. “No, I didn’t see it.”
"He's real pretty. Big head."
“Must have hurt to push it out then.”
"It did. But he has little round cheeks..."
“Soft?” He doesn’t know if it would hurt more or less, to have had a baby to unused to hardness and pain.
'Very. He cried, at first. But the Apothecary put him to my breast, and he quieted."
The trainer hadn’t known that worked. Has only known screaming and wailing as his babies were stolen, never to know his touch. He just stares at his boy.
"They say I can go down to the creche twice a day, before we start training and after we finish for the night, to give him my milk."
“That…. Seems reasonable.” And far far more than he had ever got.
"Then I can see him, and hold him, and kiss him..."
“You’ll make it harder for him, when you have to give it up. He’ll wonder where you’ve gone. It’ll hurt.”
"Why would I have to give him up?"
“We all have to, eventually. He’ll be a warrior, why delay the inevitable.”
"He'll fight by my side, when he's old enough."
And, for the second time that day, the trainer finds himself unable to answer in cruelty.
"You should see him. Maybe you'd like him."
“Maybe…” It would hurt, knowing it can’t last.
"He's a nice little thing. Makes it worth it."
“We’ll see.” Maybe he’ll accompany his boy down some night after training. And when he does, they're not the only ones there. There are others come to visit their babies, and they're not all young boys, either. He has to hold himself back from taking the child, his boy, and running with them both. The presence of others, happy and hale with their families only eases the fear somewhat. His boy kisses the squirming baby, and holds him up.
“You seem….. happier around him. Do you not resent the pain he caused you?”
"It wasn't his fault!"
“No… I suppose it’s mine.” A finger reaches out to the child, curled to as to keep the sharp point away from soft skin. The baby looks up at him with big eyes, burbling softly.
“He looks like you. All…. All pretty.”
"Do you think so?"
He looks between the baby and his boy. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”
"Would you like to hold him?"
He hesitates. “You would allow me? Even after….”
"You're not going to hurt him, are you?"
“No! No, I wouldn’t—couldn’t!” His hands shake as he takes hold of the child.
"There was a boy I met here, he's a little younger than me... His parents are in the Legion, and they've been taking advantage of him."
The trainer is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, it’s barely even a whisper “The way I did with you?”
"He said they take turns."
“You want to tell someone, don’t you?” He doesn’t specify what’s being told, his own abuse of his boy, or that of the child.
"It just doesn't seem right."
“Then we’ll report it. If… if that’s what you really want.”
"It feels like the right thing to do."
He nods. “Then we will.”
"You will come with me?"
“Yes. Did you not wish to feed him first though?” He gestures at the baby still clutched in the boy’s arms.
"I do. I do need to feed him." He undoes his shirt to get an aching breast out. The trainer watches, fascinated. He’d never been allowed to do it himself, and he’s suddenly desperate to know what was stolen from him. His boy sighs in relief as the baby latches on, feeling too full after a day away.
“Should you be doing this at midday break as well?”
"If I could..."
He shouldn’t allow it. He nods. “Yes. It seems it would be… beneficial.”
"It gets terribly achy when it's been too long."
“Then it should have been allowed from the beginning.”
"He's so hungry. And I make so much."
For, perhaps, the first time in his life, the trainer opens his mouth and what comes out is: “I’m sorry.”
"For what? All this?"
“I guess. Right now, it’s mainly for not being able to see him more often.”
"Oh. That's alright. It's more than I expected."
“You should have been able to feed him in the day as well, though.”
"I didn't think of it."
“Clearly neither had anyone else,” he grumbles.
"No. Maybe it's just not typical."
Looking around, it doesn’t quite seem that way. More realistically, they had known the trainer wouldn’t have allowed it. Not until now, anyhow. And nobody had dared to go against anything he said.
He’ll not bring it to his boy’s attention though. “Maybe.”
"But I can see him more?"
“Yes, yeah. You can.”
He looks up at his trainer with an almost beatific smile. He can’t help but ruffle his boy’s hair, unable to pass it off as a rough headshove. And that smile grows wider at the rare intimacy.
“Feed your kid, worm,” he says, trying desperately to keep hold of that gruff distance.
He opens his shirt to bring the baby to his swollen breast.
Suddenly, the trainer’s mind is full of ideas, images of taking hold of those breasts, squeezing and tugging until the milk comes out. Of latching on himself and sucking his boy dry. Of seeing how long he can have those swollen tits played with until he cries. It takes a long moment and an even longer length of self-control to reign his mind back in. His boy looks beautiful like this, all swollen up and nearly leaking.
“Those- those are sensitive then?” He manages.
"And sore, too."
“Always? Or- only when he hasn’t fed yet?”
"It's worse when he hasn't fed yet, but even after, there's quite an ache."
The desire is getting stronger, only held back by the baby in his boy’s arms and the very public place they’re in. He's been very strictly told to keep his cock out of his boy for some weeks. And he will, if it means his boy lives. Or at least out of that hole. If they get desperate enough there are still two options. But he's got to wonder, hasn't it been long enough? His boy seems well enough, after all. And he never waited so long. So he plans for after. After their child has drank his fill, after they find someone to speak too about the young boy his own boy saw.
The boy spills out the story as best he knows it.
“Hn. Good of you to bring this to our attention. We’ll take care of it.”
"I want them to know who told."
The trainer starts, looking at his boy with barely concealed surprise. “Do you?” Their superior rumbles.
"They hurt that boy. There's another baby in his belly now. And I want them to know their undoing wasn't even Astartes yet."
“Very well. It’ll be done.”
He smiles with a sort of viciousness it had seemed until now he'd been lacking. His trainer doesn’t drag him out of the room once they’re dismissed, but it’s a near thing. Grabbing hold of him as soon as they’re clear and carting him back to a bedroom. Their bedroom now, for how often one stays over afterward. He's smiling even then, a wicked look.
Even still when he’s half thrown onto the bed. “Vicious little thing you’re turning into.”
"You like me like that."
“I do. Means all my training has been doing some good.” He undoes his shirt, letting it fall to the floor and makes sure the door is locked. “Strip.”
He does, nice and careful.
Finally. Large hands reach for his boy, closing around his back, around one full breast, squeezing, palpitating. Sharp nails grazing just barely over his nipple. “I’ve been thinking about this for hours.”
He moans shakily, and milk drips his from his nipple.
“They said I’m not to fuck you for a while yet, but I don’t know I agree.” His tongue laps at the milk, not looking away from him.
"No... don't listen."
“Yeah? You want me to fuck you open? Even if it breaks you.”
"I do, I miss it!"
He gives another squeeze, cruel grin already wide across his face. “And what if I just fuck these instead?”
"They'd feel nice around your cock."
“They would! Nice and soft, especially when I,” and here he gathers both in his hand, “squeeze them together.”
His boy whimpers, the ache sharp.
“I could even tie them together, keep them in place. Would you like that?”
"It would hurt..."
He licks at a nipple again, pressing just a bit tighter. “It would, but that’s not an answer to my question.”
"I don't know!"
It’s good enough for him. Reaching under the bed and gathering his rope, looping it round his boy’s aching, swollen tits, making them perk up even more. Tying it off just tight enough to sting, but not to cause real damage. His boy writhes in pain and arousal at once, his tits once again leaking.
“Fuck that’s gorgeous. If I leave it there long enough, they might even change colors.” He sheds his trousers, prick springing to attention once freed. “Get it nice and wet for me, lad.”
He opens his mouth, obedient, where once his jaw had to be forced. The hand that finds its way into his hair is gentle, where once it yanked and tore. His trainer slips his cock into his mouth, giving a low groan as he rocks into him. “Good boy.”
He licks the way he was taught, does his best to make it good. The boy earns head scritches in return, nice and soft, relaxing, even. When his trainer is satisfied with his work, he pulls out, tipping him onto his back. His eyes follow his trainer, wide and wanting.
“Between your tits first, I think. We’ll see how long you last after that.” He straddles his boy, cock shoving between his breasts, immensely pleased at the way they bulge against the rope. The boy's hips buck up against nothing. They’re so soft, warm and bulging. When his prick pops out the other side, it’s right in his boy’s face. A beautiful sight. “This is almost better than your cunt.”
"No..." His boy whines, pouty.
“Almost, you needy whore.” He starts up a proper rhythm, fucking into the sensitive flesh. His boy writhes under him, all of it at once too much and not enough. “But you like it well enough, eh?”
"I'd like it better in my cunt!" He gasps.
He laughs, high and cruel. “Greedy little bitch. If that’s what you really want….” The trainer pulls out from between his breasts, leaving a mess of precum and spit behind, and pushes into his boy’s cunt. Solid, without mercy or respite. The boy cries out, first in pain then in bliss. “Fuck you really do love this.”
"I missed it..."
“Missed your guts getting bruised?” Because even with him being gentler than usual, the trainer’s cock will still bruise him. There’s no doubt about that.
"I used to hate it."
His trainer takes hold of his tits again, playing with the bound flesh. “I trained you up well in more ways than one, didn’t I?”
"You did. For fighting and fucking."
“Mmh, my perfect little battle-whore, you’ll be.”
"Will you keep me? When I get big?"
And he should say no, but he’s far past what he should do by now. “Yes. I’m not letting you go. Not ever. You’re mine.”
The boy looks at him hazy-eyed. "I'm yours."
His whole body moves with his trainer’s thrusts. His chest is groped as if it’s the personal property of his trainer. He’s already borne one child to him. There’s no denying who he belongs to. “Yes. You’re mine. Mine alone.”
"Never been touched by anyone else. Never... never kissed anyone else."
“And you never will. I don’t share,” he snarls, fucking into his boy harder, more possessive at the thought of other hands on him.
"You'd not like to see me fucked?"
“Why should I, when I can do the fucking and feel you myself?”
"I'd rather that!"
He gets a kiss to one breast in reward. “Good. I’d best not find you trying to get your hole filled by anyone else.”
"Be my fingers, at worst." His trainer grunts in reply, pleased, taking a nipple into his mouth. "When you're away on long deployments... ah!"
The trainer bites, sucks, flicks at him with his tongue. Intent on tormenting his boy with pleasure. It's working. He moans, kicks his legs, his cunt fluttering. His trainer sucks harder, squeezing at the already tortured breast, nails scraping lightly against thin flesh.
This is the first whimper that sounds unhappy. Another lick, another little bite, marking him darker. He doesn't dare ask his trainer to be gentle anymore.
When he finally unlatches, he grins up at his boy. “When I’m away on long deployments, you’ll be right by my side.” Before latching onto his other breast and doing the same.
"I'm not ready!" He protests.
But the trainer doesn’t care. Why would he, when he can do it anyway? Groping and sucking, a counter to the rhythm of cock slamming into his boy. Who comes almost against his own will, shuddering violently. He keeps going, until both breasts are a mottled canvas of bruises and little bite marks. Made all the darker for the way they’re tied. “It’s like you were made for this. To be kept and used.”
"I was... I was!"
“Made just for me….” He’s so close now, and much as he’d like to fuck another baby into his boy, he knows it would devastate him, when he’s so close to being able to become full Astartes. And it would likely do him harm, so soon after the last. A few babies too close together and, before he became Astartes, he could no longer walk right. So he pulls out, just as rough and he pushed in, and shoves back between those swollen tits. The boy's legs lay open, like it hurts to close them.
“You’re going to open wide for me and decide if you want a mess on your face, or if you’re going to reach the tip before I come,” he says, each thrust bringing his cockhead close.
He opens his mouth, greedily trying to crane his neck to get the tip of his trainer's cock in his mouth. And his trainer could be cruel, could pull it just out of reach, teasing and mean. But instead he guides it inside. He swallows around him like it's the sweetest treat. It’s only then that the trainer comes, groaning loud and satisfied, holding his boy’s head in place. His boy swallows it down just like he's been taught.
“Such a good boy,” the trainer coos, cock pulsing as he comes down.
He licks up the last bit of come, and smiles. One deft movement of the trainer’s long nails, and the rope cuts, sending his abused tits falling back to their natural places. He raises a hand to rub them.
“Mh, they’ll heal soon enough. Sooner still, once you join your brothers fully.”
"Will it be soon?" He sounds young, and optimistic.
“You’ll have to ask the apothecaries, but I see no reason why not.”
"Am I good enough?"
“To my eye? Yes.”
"Yours is the one that matters."
“If it’s still too soon, you’ll wait. I won’t risk any complications.”
"No. No, I want to be good."
And again, he ruffles his boy’s hair, smiling. “You will be. You’re a good warrior.”
And he smiles again, too open and earnest by half. The one thing his trainer failed to beat out of him. Perhaps there's a lot left in him. Sweetness. Naivety. All of it will hurt more when he gets the rest of his augments. The Nails will chew him alive. If it weren’t for his own, the trainer would be scared to see what they spit back out. They could drive him mad altogether.
But he just smiles, excited to see his boy in full form, a proper Astartes, battle ready. He won’t be quite so much fun to fuck when he’s not so tight, but the trainer can’t wait to see how he grows. Maybe it'll be worth losing some of his fun to see it. He’s certainly excited to find out. Maybe they'll have new fun together, with his boy more durable.
And when the boy does get the rest of his augments, get the nails, in addition to the rest, he wakes with a gasp, stands on unsteady feet. He sees the man who hurt him and all he wants is to hurt him back and—and there's blood matting his hair, and he's bleeding from his eyes and his nose, and his hands are rough. And this man, this trainer—torturer—is standing before him without armor, unarmed.
The trainer has been excited to see his boy in all his glory. Wanted to feel and press against his new body unhindered He's an easy target. His vision swims, a sea of red.
The trainer reaches toward him, smiling. And he hits him across the face. His eyes are wild, his pupils completely blown.
Entirely caught off guard, he reels, shock and confusion writ plain across that stinging, no doubt bruising face. It's very obvious there's only the bare minimum of recognition in his boy's eyes. Enough to recognize past pain, and not much more. Enough to recognise a target. And the trainer recognizes as much. Recognizes it enough to turn and run. And his boy gives chase.
As he runs, he can’t stop the way his brain shoves at him, forcing him to think of his childhood. Of the gladiator pit, of running, of never being fast enough. He's not fast enough this time, either. He's tackled to the ground. Hitting the hard floor with an impact that rattles his bones. “Please—“
"Open." The boy says harshly.
“Open- open what?” He asks, breathless.
"Legs." It truly seems he's struggling to piece words together.
He shakes his head, looking back over his shoulder, feeling fear, proper, true fear for the first time since he was small.
"I'll force them." He growls out.
“You can’t,” he gasps, not believing his own words. Pressing his legs together as tight as he can.
And his boy yanks at his knees hard enough to bruise bone. There’s nothing to be done, nothing but to have them wrenched open, pained. His clothes torn, his dry cunt bared. More memories of his childhood. Of being so small, shoved into the dirt and used until he couldn’t walk, could barely breathe. The trainer finds himself whimpering. He knows it's going to go the same, his boy yanking off his surgical gown.
“Please, don’t,” he begs, eyes locked on all that gorgeous new skin. That newly large cock.
"Stay still." He strokes that cock.
That, he has no intention of obeying, not until he has no choice left. The trainer squirms, trying to yank free, feet scrabbling against the floor. And so he gets more hits. Bruising, boneshaking ones. Uncontrolled new strength hitting like a truck. He cries out, pained, and instinctively tries harder to escape.
The boy drives his fist at his sternum, hard. Aiming to knock the breath out of him. He tries to dodge. Even pressed to the ground as he is. Half the air in his lungs escapes, and his efforts stall, legs still scrabbling on autopilot, even as he gasps. There's a hand around his thigh. Yanking his hip almost too far. Another pained cry, half strangled by lack of breath, and the struggles subside further. And his boy has his adrenaline-hard cock in his hand.
Under different circumstances there would be hunger in the trainers eyes, but now the only thing present is fear. “Please, no.”
There's blood in the boy's teeth, too. He smears a blood-stained kiss over his trainer's cheek. And shoves into him. The man screams, echoing against the walls, instinctively clenching down, trying to stop him, to get him out. It's never worked before. It doesn't work now. It only makes it hurt more, as his boy shoves inside, taking him rough and hard, slamming in. Tears are falling now, his hands pushing ineffectively at his boy’s chest.
His boy, who puts his mouth against his trainer's neck. Bites down. Another wail comes out, his back arching in spite of himself, pained and shamefully aroused as one. That's the sickest part. The pain feels good, feels sweet.
“Please—“ warbles out, and it almost feels like it could be either encouragement or plead for mercy. And it gets him only harder, rougher.
At least his boy’s pre is starting to slick the way. At least the sickening sweetness of the pain has begun to loosen him against the onslaught. And he's getting wet, just a little. Just enough to make him burn with shame. It's quite likely some of it is blood. All he can do is lay there. Tears falling as he’s driven into. Pain and shame and some sense of betrayal suffusing him.
That this is his boy, but it isn't, really. That his boy wouldn’t hurt him like this. That he wouldn’t- he couldn’t. And it doesn't look like him, really. His face all twisted up, and no recognition in his eyes. His body is all different as well. It’s almost enough for the trainer to believe this isn’t his boy, not truly. Even through the pain of the assault, it's easy to see something is gone terribly wrong with him. He squeezes his eyes shut against the wrongness of the image. Hoping it’ll fade and be something that makes more sense when he opens them back up. It doesn't. It's worse. His boy's nose is bleeding again.
“Stop, please— it hurts,” he whines, even as he reaches to wipe the blood from his boy’s nose. And his hips stutter. Like the words finally reach him. He chokes out his trainer's name. His trainer gasps his name in turn, tears falling fast and heavy now. And his thrusts slow. His face looks confused.
“Please!” The trainer cries, trying once more to squirm away.
His boy sways. His eyes flutter.
“[Name]? What-?” He doesn’t know what’s happening, doesn’t know what to do, what he can do.
"Hurts..." He whines. As if he's not the one dealing pain.
The trainer nearly chokes. “Yes. Yes it does.”
He pulls out of him, but almost not consciously. He's still not fully there. His cock comes out painted red, and the trainer’s cunt twitches around the new emptiness carved out of it. “Thank you. Thank you! I—“
And the boy sways. Crumples to the side and hits the floor.
He cries his boy’s name, reaching for him, but he's out cold, limp and heavy. The trainer has no way to salvage his dignity, to hide what’s been done. But he does his best to get his boy back in his surgical gown, and drags him back to the apothecaries. “Fix him.”
The Apothecary looks at him, and blanches. "Is that all his blood?"
He looks at his boy, and back to the Apothecary. “Not on his cock, but yes.”
"Ah. That isn't good. Let's see..."
“Just fix him.”
"I'll do my best."
He watches, chest heaving, as his boy is settled into a bay. He can’t seem to get enough air. They're drilling into his head again. He was right then, something was wrong. Something was wrong in his boy, and they both paid the price for it.
And maybe his boy hadn't meant it. Maybe he can pretend it wasn’t his boy hurting him in a way he hadn’t been since he was a child. The Nails can drive one to terrible things. And- and maybe it was something wrong with them, rather than his darling sweet boy. Because even hurt as he is, he can't hate his boy, not anymore. Probably never again.
He'd done the same to him. Worse. Far, far worse, if he’s honest. years of abuse. He can’t hate his boy for this. Even if his cunt is screaming at him and he keeps flashing back to his childhood, terrifying and in pain. It's just awful, it's awful in every perceivable way.
The entire time they work on his boy, he just stands there, transfixed. It's like he's a corpse, being processed. Painful to watch. Even more painful to experience. Even if he's kept under, plenty drugged.
“Can- will it hurt him, if I lie beside him?” Betrays his meaning.
"No. He's on plenty of analgesics."
He nods, and climbs into the bay beside his boy, careful of the wires. His boy doesn't stir at being touched. Lies there like the dead. The trainer lies there, days, unmoving, until he wakes.
He cries out when he wakes. Fussy, searching.
“You’re alright. It’s okay.”
"Hurts..." He sounds fretful, childish.
“I know, I know. It’ll ease.”
"Did it go well? The surgery? Did I do well?"
“There were… some complications.”
"What happened? My head truly hurts."
He swallows and it sticks in his throat. “They had to open you back up.”
"Is that why I feel so bruised?"
“That likely has more to do with tackling me. And falling to the floor later.”
"Did I hurt you?"
He presses his thighs together, trying to hide the blood. “You didn’t—“
"Thank the Emperor. I couldn't bear it."
“Just a few bruises.” And in physical, it’s not even a lie.
"I didn't fail you, then."
“Fail me? How would you have failed me?”
"By falling at this final hurdle."
“Oh… oh no, you’ve done so well.”
He smiles, even though he looks like it hurts.
“You’re beautiful like this as well, you know. All grown big and strong.”
"You still think so?"
“Absolutely.” Even after everything. “You’re magnificent.”
He smiles, and it looks a touch like his old smile.
“Truly. All that gorgeous skin. You’re so tall now, the way you ought to be. And my oh my, those muscles~”
"You can feel them, if you'd like."
The trainer smiles back, hands running up his boy’s stomach, feeling up newly defined abs, tracing along them until he comes to breasts, more muscle underlying them now.
The boy's breath hitches. "They're still sensitive."
“Are they now?” he teases, tweaking a nipple.
The boy's breath hitches. "Maybe... even more!"
A wide grin splits across his face. “Mmh, we’re going to have to play soon. Find all the new ways I can make you squeal.”
"Some of the boys said they make you tight again."
“Oh, do they? ‘Course you won’t be as tight anyhow. You’re bigger now.”
"Apparently they fiddle around down there."
His trainer hadn’t noticed it on himself, but then, until it was forced upon him, he hadn’t used that particular entrance for anything since he joined. “Well then a day of play is absolutely in order.”
"Remind me I'm yours alone."
“As if you’d ever be allowed to forget.”
"As if I'd ever want to.”
He smiles, only a facsimile of cruelty. “I’m going to take great pleasure in opening you up until you gape and twitch at the absence.”
"Bet you could fit a fist in me."
“Oh, I’m going to fit at least a fist in you.”
His eyes flutter, and he sighs in delight.
“I bet I can stroke myself off with hand and prick inside you.”
He nods frantically.
“We’ll find all sorts of things to fill you with, don’t you worry.”
"Put a bolter in me."
His trainer’s eyes light up. “Oh yes, that’ll be lovely.” He thinks for a moment, and his grin gets wider. “It’ll take some sneaking, but what say you on getting a missile and seeing how much of it that hunger cunt of yours can swallow?”
"Oh. Oh, we'd be in such trouble if we got caught, but... Yes!"
“Or imagine how gorgeous you’d be stretched around a Fellblade’s turret barrel…”
"Oh, you'd love to see that, wouldn't you?"
“We could use you as our standard, drive forward with you displayed so pretty.”
"The enemy would love the sight."
“And you’d love the shake and rumble of dangerous metal splitting you open as it moves.” His eyes gleam, picturing it. “If you can take enough of it, you might stay there on your own, but I’d rather chain you in place, just to be sure.”
"I'd struggle to take it. You'd have to."
“Would you squirm? Writhe? Would I have to force it deeper?”
"You'd have to. I'd try to pull away."
“Crying on the cock of our own war machine, being used and violated for everyone to see…”
"I'd make such a spectacle of myself."
“And you’d love every second, you battle-whore.”
"I would. People could use my mouth..."
“Tally up how many relieved themselves in it. Somewhere nice and visible.”
"Tally marks on my tits."
He smiles, ghosting a hand over one of the tits in question. “You’ve got ample room for it now, all heavy and cute.”
"Imagine how big they'll get with the next baby."
“They’re going to be absolutely delectable. I won’t be able to keep my hands off them.”
"You want lots of babies?"
“Mh, don’t you?” His boy looks absolutely stunning all swollen with child. How could he not want to see it consistently.
"I do. Plenty of little ones at my feet, at my breast."
“Then I’ll just have to keep you full, eh?” He knocks their foreheads together, more gentle than he ought ever be. His boy smiles so wide. He smiles back, indulgent. “I’m going to have to work to keep up with your appetites, aren’t I?”
"You've fed them to grow so great."
“And I’ll continue to do so. My ravenous little thing.”
"Kindled a fire in me. A desperation."
“I’ll make every one of your fantasies come true,” he vows.
"They're all about you."
“Then it’ll be all the easier to accommodate you.”
"You've surely done something to my mind."
“Done something to your cunt, more-like. It’s all you think with anymore,” he teases.
"Shame of an Astartes I am."
“No.” He slaps one sensitive tit, face growing stern. “Don’t you dare say that. Not when you’ve just now joined our ranks.”
"You're right. I'll do my best to please."
“You already have. Now you ought to stop ‘trying’ and simply be one.”
"Maybe on the battlefield I'll know what I'm supposed to be doing."
“You know how to fight. How to kill.”
"I do. I've been taught well."
“Then you know what to do.”
"Get down there and do it."
“There’s my boy. Exactly.”
"Show the rest of what you taught me."
“Precisely,” he coos.
"And it'll be lovely."
“You’ll ravage the battlefield and then come home and I’ll ravage you.”
"A treat to make me fight even harder."
His trainer smiles, showing all his teeth. “Every time you do exceptional, we’ll do one of those fantasies of yours.”
"Oh, you're so kind to me."
“Lovely reward for my bloody boy.”
"I promise I'll be good enough for it."
He kisses his boy, tweaking a nipple just a tad, to save his image. It makes his boy grin into his mouth.
“You’re going to be magnificent.”
"I will. You'll see."
“Make me proud.”
"Show everyone you're a good teacher."
“Come back painted red, and I’ll show you exactly how good you’ll be treated for that.”
"Fuck me while I'm all bloody?"
He nods, smiling still. “Perhaps even add to the blood.”
So, in his first engagement, the boy fights as hard as he can. Lets the Nails take over. Cuts a bloody, brutal swath through the opposition. His trainer can’t tear his eyes away from such beauty.
His boy does come back to him drenched in gore. Gets yanked bodily into their bedchamber, his trainer peeling him out of the power armor. “You were marvelous.”
"As good as you wanted?"
“Better than, for your first time,” he says.
"Another sort of virginity."
“And another I was lucky to witness be stripped away.”
"One quite as thrilling."
“It’s bliss, to have anything fall away under the Nails.”
"Makes them stop aching so."
“And oh, how gorgeous you are painting bloody.”
"Beautiful for you?"
“All of you is for me. Naturally your beautiful carnage is mine as well.”
"I'd kill just for you."
His heart clenches, pulling toward his boy. “Such a gift you give to me.”
"Any gift you want."
“Mmh, how about we start…” and here the last of his boy’s armor & body glove is stripped away, leaving him bare. “With something a tad more immediate.”
"Me opening my legs for you?"
“I said you’d get a reward. Tell me, what fantasy would you like to enact today.”
"I want you to pin me over a desk. Where people might see."
His heart rate speeds, cock already stiffening. “How many people, little one?”
"How many come to see you?"
“More, now that I’m to replace you in the training cages.” His hands are already wandering, wanting. “Yes, I think that will do nicely. Of course you’ll have to make it there like this first.”
"I will. I'll make it, swear."
A gloved hand takes firm grasp of his boy’s cock, tugging, squeezing just a bit. “I don’t care if you’re seen, but I’ve no doubt you do.” He thumbs at the boy’s tip, the slit. “Ought to pierce this. Could leash you from there….”
"You could. You should."
“Perhaps that’ll be how we get you back here to our bed, hm?”
"Led around by my cock?"
“Precisely. A nice heavy ring in you and my hand on the chain pulling you by it.”
"Showing everyone who passes it's yours."
“It, and the rest of you.” He pulls his boy into a kiss, and walks to the door. “Lead the way, then.”
He does, his cheeks burning red.
“You’re so gorgeous like this, face stained bloody, new body on full display.”
"I really spattered it everywhere."
“You did it perfectly,” he says, nudging his boy forward into the hall proper leading to his office.
"We're all messy sorts."
“And you’ll be messier for it yet, once I’m done with you.”
"And I await it eagerly."
They actually manage to reach his office without seeing anyone, though the trainer takes his sweet time unlocking the door. Letting his boy shiver, squirm in embarrassment. Finally, the door swings open, and he walks in first, moving things around on the desk. The boy shivers so deliciously, hardening in anticipation.
“Shut the door, don’t lock it.” Just a few more things to arrange.
He does, hearts beating in his throat. Once there’s a space made for his boy, the trainer crooks a finger at him, bidding him come around the desk to his side. And he obeys that too, with quick little motions. As soon as he’s within range, the trainer grabs him, slamming him face down on the desk. He cries out, groans.
“This is your place, boy. You know it, down to your bones.” He doesn’t bother with any tenderness, pressing his boy to the desk by the neck, and slamming his cock into tight wet heat.
'I know it!" He gasps out, breathless.
He sets a brutal pace, skin slapping, as he snarls. “And you earned this. You wanted it.”
"I did! I do!"
“You’d bend over on the battlefield if it meant you got the fucking you need”.
"I would, for you!"
“Just for me…” he leans closer, whispering into his boy’s ear now. “I think you’d do it for anything. Me, a horde of greenskins, any xeno with a big enough prick.”
"No!" He defends, a desperate gasp. "Just you!"
“Really? Because you act like you can’t breathe without your cunt being filled.”
"Your fault!" He insists.
“Mh, and now you ache for it. Beg for it.”
"Please." He whines. "Please, fuck my whore cunt."
“Such an eager little hole for me.” He grinds deeper, aiming for the sensitive cervix.
His boy yelps when he finds it."
Every thrust, then, is targeted, hoping to bruise. “There we go. You’d rather I fuck into this if you had the choice, wouldn’t you?”
"I would! I'd rather!"
“And you’d scream so pretty for me.”
"Like I used to, even."
He chuckles, stained, for the effort. “Such a lovely sound. But you’d enjoy it too much for today, I think.”
He whines a little, displeased to be denied.
“Aw I have such a greedy little whore. Not enough for you to have your reward here where anyone could walk in and see, you want more.”
"Just want your cock..."
And his boy sounds just miserable at the thought of not having it. He huffs, changing the angle and taking firm hold on his boy's hips for leverage. Bullying at his cervix until it finally gives. He cries out, strangled.
"Isn't this what you wanted?" he pants, pushing further.
"It is, it is, and it hurts, it's perfect..."
That pulls a cruel smile to his face, moving with more force, so he can fuck in and out of his boy's cervix the way he deserves. And it gets him screams and wails, and none sound displeased.
All far louder than can be muffled by walls. “You’re begging for someone to find us, mh?”
"Would you let them in?"
“Let them?” he stifles another groaning laugh. “There’s nothing I could do to stop it! The door is unlocked, and you’re too busy being fucked to pieces.”
"Mm... I can't fight..."
“Can’t even pull yourself off me.”
"Wouldn't even try."
He leans closer, shifting deeper. “Even if you tried, you’d get stuck ‘round my cockhead. Imagine what a sight that’d be for whoever walks in at the wrong time.”
"Watching me squirm and try to pull off you."
“Degrading yourself even more in the eyes of any who witness.”
