Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3582369.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Avatar:_The_Last_Airbender
  Relationship:
      Prison_Guards/Zuko
  Character:
      Zuko
  Additional Tags:
      the_boiling_rock, Gang_Rape, Non-Consensual_Oral_Sex, Anal_Sex, Double
      Penetration, Whump, I_can't_treat_Zuko_nicely, I_Don't_Even_Know,
      Shameless_Smut, PWP, Interlude
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-03-21 Words: 2527
****** Payment ******
by applebite
Summary
     After all that he’s done, he owes them, they say, he owes it to his
     country to pay.
     Zuko’s not convinced.
Notes
     Guys, I can't even - I don't know why.
     This is horrible, very graphic, very mean.
     If you've seen the tags, hopefully you know what you're getting into.
     This is in response to an old prompt on the kinkmeme at dreamwidth,
     here: http://multikinkmemes.dreamwidth.org/5649.html?thread=245521
     For reference, this is what I'm working with.
     Zuko/Boiling Rock guards, non-con
      
     Several of the guards at the Boiling Rock decide that rape is an
     appropriate punishment for Zuko's treason. Zuko is forced to give
     blowjobs and is gang raped.
     At least four guards, each of them fucks him at least twice because
     they're seriously turned on by his resistance, maybe have one of them
     fuck him while another one is being sucked.
      
     ... so yeah, that. :X
See the end of the work for more notes
They leave him alone in his cell for only a short while before a few of the
guards come up with the wonderful idea that the traitor prince has not suffered
nearly enough to pay for his crimes. After all that he’s done, he owes them,
they say, he owes it to his country to pay.
Zuko’s not convinced.
His hands are cuffed tightly behind his back and it makes it hard to keep his
balance when he’s shoved hard into the middle of the small space. Now he’s
surrounded on all sides instead of just crowded in the front, trying in vain
not to let any of them out of his sight. He counts six of them outright. They
see how he tenses right up and they snigger and laugh, closing in on him.
“Afraid, traitor?”
“Not so tough now, are you?”
“Going to cry, spoiled little brat?”
“Think you can just fuck everyone over and get away with it, do you?”
He knows it’s pointless to try to defend himself, knew that from the start, and
so he bites back his response. They’d never listen to him. Who would?
A hand pushes at him from behind and he spins around snarling, stumbling, but
manages to keep his feet under him. Someone else lunges towards him, a fist
that he barely manages to avoid, but he’s caught from behind again as another
swings at the back of his head. The group as a whole starts tossing him back
and forth between them, blows and shoves providing Zuko’s momentum. He becomes
dizzy with it.
Somehow he ends up on the floor, landing painfully on his shoulder and knees.
The wall of men moves further in towards him and somebody drags his head up by
his hair.
“It’s time to pay, Prince Zuko.” says the man who stands directly above him.
Zuko hears the others start to chime in now, a cacophony of insults and lewd
insinuations, and he feels a swelling sense of dread wash over him.
“You should be honored to provide this service to your country.”
They tear at his belt and the prison-issue tunic, ripping it up the front as
they yank it off. The remaining shreds of fabric are forced down his arms until
they become tangled in the bindings around his wrists, leaving him bare from
the waist up.
“Not like he can provide anything else of worth!”
An openhanded slap lands him on his back, crushing his trapped arms beneath
him. He scrambles to get to his feet but there are too many of them ready to
push him back down.
“No! Stop!”
The heavy burgundy trousers are pulled off with little ceremony and a knife
cuts his loincloth away. Zuko feels cold.
“Let’s make some use of this worthless body.”
Zuko tries to curl in on himself in an effort to shield his nakedness from
view. He bites a hand that comes too close to his face and is backhanded in
return. Terror makes him cower but it also makes him angry. He knows what they
want him to do and he won’t. He refuses to be degraded like this.
“Get off of me!” His voice cracks and he knows, he knows.
He’s manhandled to his knees and a blade hooks around the back of his good ear.
He knows that he doesn’t have a choice.
“No teeth, your Highness, or we start cutting bits off. Understand?”
The man doesn’t wait for an answer, just stuffs his dick in the moment Zuko
opens his mouth to take a breath. It tastes disgusting: strangely salty and it
leaves a dirty film on his tongue. For a second, he thinks about biting. But
then he thinks about maybe losing an ear, some fingers, toes… and he decides
it’s not worth it. His pride; it’ll heal eventually, but lost limbs and
appendages can’t be regrown. Still, he can’t stand the fact that this is the
only logical choice left to him and he longs to just snap and make this man
regret ever laying eyes on Zuko.
The guard, as if sensing Zuko’s thoughts, tilts Zuko’s head back until he can
look directly into his ochre eyes. He watches the internal conflict there and
he sneers down at him, sighs, and gives an experimental little thrust of his
hips. Zuko’s eyes close immediately in response, clenched shut to prevent the
involuntary tears from escaping. Heedless of the prince’s mounting distress,
the hand in his hair tugs Zuko’s head slowly forwards, further down on the
shaft, and he chokes whenthe spongy head bumps against the back of his throat.
Judging by the low moan from above, this guard seems to like it.
Holding Zuko’s head still with both hands, he starts pushing insistently
forward. Unable to breathe, Zuko tries to pull away and push it out with his
tongue, ignoring the pain in his scalp. At some point in the struggle, Zuko
happens to swallow and the guard gets what he wants.
The cock slides down and into him easily, filling Zuko’s throat in a way that
aches and burns. He tries to cough and nearly throws up at the sudden pressure.
Something wiry tickles his nose, but he will not open his eyes to look, no.
The guard withdraws, allowing Zuko to suck in a single gulp of breath before it
all starts over, faster this time. Through his mouth, dry chapped lips
stretching around the girth, into his spasming esophagus, and out again. He
doesn’t hear what they’re saying anymore, he’s too focused on the gargantuan
task that is breathing.
His chin and neck are wet with saliva. His eyes are wet too but he tries not to
think about it.
After several minutes, the guard goes deep into his throat and starts to
shudder. He presses Zuko’s face into his crotch and his hips jerk against him
as he reaches release, giving little phantom thrusts while Zuko struggles to
swallow it. The guard finally retreats and Zuko falls to the ground, gulping
down mouthfuls of air while he has the chance.
A pair of sweaty hands land on his shoulder blades, crawl down towards the
small of his back and raise gooseflesh at every point of contact. They reach
around and grip him roughly by his hips, raise him up just a bit, and he feels
a heavy presence settle in behind him. One hand lifts away – hock and spit – to
act as guide and he shudders violently at the first prodding touch. He gags,
flinches away, tries to kick but he misses – and none of it makes any
difference.
The initial breach hurts so much that he forgets how to breathe, mouth falling
open in a silent scream. He instinctively clenches down on the thing inside
him, but it does absolutely nothing to help rid his body of the intruder, only
causes more pain while it continues into him. The burning, scraping rod seems
to go on forever, spreading him open in raw agony as it forces its way inside.
Finally, air rushes into his lungs and he does scream, a guttural cry like some
wounded animal.
When the guard is fully sheathed inside him, Zuko does not immediately notice –
not until the warmth of flesh pressed all along his backside and the sudden
lack of friction permeates his pain-hazed brain. The man is motionless above
him, panting into the hair at the nape of his neck as he has apparently paused
to savor the moment. Then he starts to withdraw.
He can’t tell whether or not it’s worse than the intrusion. Sandpaper dry, it
feels as if his intestines are being drawn out as well and his stomach twists
at the horrible thought that maybe they are. He chokes on a sob, feeling
horrified and trapped and hurt.
“Stop,” he rasps, “please.”
Close as they are, he feels the rumbling laughter of the man who’s fucking him,
vibrating all up his spine, outside and in. A warm wet line trickles down his
leg.
“Stop?” He stabs forward as fast as he can in the tight clamping walls, drawing
a shriek from his victim. “We’ve only just started, my Prince.”
“No…no, PLEASE!”
Blood gathers, coating the guard’s thick cock in red as he tears Zuko open,
wide enough and wet enough now to ease the way. He picks up a steady rhythm and
he starts to pull Zuko back to meet his thrusts, curling his fingers around the
boy’s hip bones and digging in with his nails. Zuko sobs into the floor.
Another hand tangles into Zuko’s sweat soaked hair and drags him swiftly up off
the ground.
“Open wide for me, Princess.”
The swollen prick pushes past his lips and into his mouth. He cries around it,
the sound muffled, until he realizes that the bastard only likes that more.
Zuko quiets as much as he can and waits for it to be over, accepting the cock
into his throat with the now-familiar motion. The angle makes it easier.
They drive into him from both ends now, where he is suspended between them,
spit-roasted. He can’t even fight them like this, not anymore – he doubts he
could even stand – so he has no choice but to let them use him. He’s little
more than a convenient doll, a body to bruise and scratch and fuck. There is
nothing but the sound of flesh meeting flesh, of grunts and sighs until first
one, then the other empties as deep as they can go. He chokes on the come
that’s shot directly into his throat and some of it slips out the corner of his
mouth.
The men switch out and then it’s someone else holding his head up and his hips,
a different dick in his ass and his mouth. He hangs limp between them as they
piston in and out of his body, eyes glazed over as his mind begins to shut
down. The two guards orgasm almost simultaneously and push him over when
they’re done. A young face looms over him and his legs are pried open, hefted
over broad shoulders and he’s had that way too, pummeled into the ground until
his spine aches.
Directly after, Zuko is dropped to the ground and then dragged up again, pushed
over to a man that’s lying flat on his back on the ground. They sit him down on
his lap, so that he’s impaled by the man’s stiff erection, every inch swallowed
by his torn and bleeding hole. A warm hand on his back forces him to lean
forward and two slick fingers work their way into his stuffed entrance. They
pry him open so that a second cock can spear into him right alongside the
first, immediately starting to thrust with a wild ferocity that batters against
his already bruised backside. Zuko cries out at the sudden increase of pain and
he tries to buck the man off of him, but then his face is turned and he is fed
more hard flesh, surrounded on all sides, skewered from every direction.
“Your face is so much prettier covered in tears.”
Though they each take their pleasure from him, they never seem to be satisfied.
He’s passed around like a toy, fucked against the walls and the floor, draped
over tables and chairs in every position his rapists can think of. They call
him a whore as they fill his body with their cocks and their seed until it’s
dripping out of him, tinged a ruddy pink with his blood.
When they’re finally finished with him, they leave him sprawled on the floor.
Somebody tosses a new set of clothes at him and frees his hands, but it’s a
long while before he’s able to gather the strength to do anything about it.
He’s left alone for the rest of the night and into the morning, but come noon
he’s dragged out of his cell and handed a mop as if nothing had happened.
He doesn’t tell anyone what happened to him when they meet up to discuss escape
plans. There’s a limp in his step that he can’t hide, but when Sokka asks, he
tells him he was only roughed up a bit by the guards.
He can still fight, he says, even though he’s not completely sure. The pain
lingers, changing from a dull ache to wicked sharp at the slightest misstep
whenever his wounds reopen. He finds himself feeling grateful for the dark red
prison garb and the way it hides the blood, but he still worries that someone
will see.
They’d know what happened, what he’d let happen, and Zuko doesn’t know what
he’d do if they did. Any of his fellow prisoners would probably laugh or worse,
but Sokka…
He would be horrified, disgusted and rightfully so – and of course he’d tell
Aang and Katara and the rest. They might be sympathetic – they aren’t bad
people after all – but they’d never be able to look at him the same way again.
They’d question the only thing he had to offer them: his abilities, his skill
as a firebender and a warrior. He wouldn’t blame them if they sent him packing.
Even if they didn’t, the humiliation alone… he might just leave on his own if
they didn’t make him. He’d been so useless in that cell, unable to defend even
the slightest vestige of his pride, ruined, threatened easily into compliance.
He thinks he remembers fighting them, but he’s not sure. How long was it before
they had him down on his knees, still and silent when he wasn’t screaming in
agony? Minutes? Or was it seconds? They’d had him outnumbered, but that wasn’t
too unusual for him considering his history. Surely, he’d taken on worse odds
at some point or another.
Perhaps… it was just fate. He does have a lot to make up for, so maybe some
spirit had stepped in to balance things out. Maybe he’d done it to himself,
he’d had it
coming.
Maybe he’s just as weak as everyone always says he is.
He spends the next few days in a sort of horrified fog, unfocused, constantly
questioning and worrying. It’s all he can do to try and keep Sokka and the
others from noticing, when one of the guards looks at him too long and he wants
to crawl out of his skin, when he slips off into his own turbulent thoughts.
Zuko wonders if any of those men will tell anybody what they did and he
shudders with nauseating shame.
Later, as they fight their way to the gondola, he hopes that it’s one of them
hiding beneath the next helmet, wishes that he had the strength to kill even
one of them instead of just burn. He seethes with rage and pain, wants to see
the look in their eyes when he proves that he could easily beat any one of them
in a fair fight, that he’s not some useless thing to be toyed with.
He hears a scream, smells the burning flesh and snarls even though he’s
fighting tears. A weakling prince, indeed.
End Notes
     Are you okay? I know, I know, shhh. I'm here for you - anonymously
     and over the internet, but I'm here.
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