Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10631604.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Yu-Gi-Oh!_GX
  Relationship:
      Manjoume_Jun_|_Chazz_Princeton/Marufuji_Ryou_|_Zane_Truesdale
  Character:
      Manjoume_Jun_|_Chazz_Princeton, Ojama_Yellow, The_Ojamas, Marufuji_Ryou_|
      Zane_Truesdale
  Additional Tags:
      Violence, Implied/Referenced_Incest, Choking, Cruelty, Implied
      Relationships
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-04-16 Words: 4582
****** Unrepentant ******
by Hambone
Summary
     There was no rhyme or reason to the attack, and so there was no way
     to prepare himself to fight back.
     Zane has to satisfy himself somehow.
Notes
     There's no reason for this other than my own self indulgence. A lot
     of implied things, but nothing has to be anything more than you want
     it to be.
     Enjoy!
    Cushioning his head in his hands, Chazz let his eyes scan the email one
more time, as though he would have missed the meaning the first three read-
throughs. Nothing changed. Mussing his hair with his hands, Chazz lowered his
face closer to the desk, staring blindly at the grain of his desk, breathing in
slowly.
    “What’s up, Boss?”
    He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and said nothing. Maybe, just maybe this
time, it would actually work.
    “You look real tense!”
    Or perhaps, like every other time, it would not.
    “Not now,” he ground out, pressing his forehead against the wood.
    “Is it another email from your brothers? Those guys sure are mean to you.
I’m lucky my brothers are so nice! What do they want now?”
    “Nothing.”
    “It sure doesn’t look like nothing! Should I get the others to-!”
    “No!”
    Finally snapping, Chazz whipped upright, grabbing his deck in a shaking
first and staring deep into it.
    “No, I don’t want your help, I don’t need your help, and besides that I
doubt you could even give me any help! Is it too much to ask for you to zip
your fat lips for once in your pathetic little lifetime?”
    With the usual theatrics Ojama Yellow flew backwards through the air, tears
streaming from its sluggish little eyes.
    “Boss! Don’t say that!”
    “Shut up! I need to think!”
    He tossed his deck in the first drawer he could pull out, catching a nail
on the desk and hissing angrily as he slammed it shut. The cards scattered
everywhere inside but he didn’t care, whatever, he wasn’t fazed by things like
that, right? He had more important business to deal with. He had to write back.
He had to think of some way to explain how he’d been beaten not once but twice
by lower-class students. That he was no longer the idol of every Blue on
campus. That once again he was a disappointment. Chazz dug his fingers into his
scalp and pulled his elbows in tight until the sticky skin of his cheeks was
stretched taught, sweating in the slowly waning autumn heat that poured through
his windows.
    “Having a difficult evening?”
    Chazz’s blood froze and then thawed in such quick succession that even with
his head lowered to the desk he felt dizzy. He spun his chair around fast
enough he nearly fell off it.
    “Zane!”
    Leaning against the molding, Zane crossed his arms and stared. The door was
shut behind him, locked. Chazz hadn’t done that. Zane had let himself inside.
The silence with which he accomplished it was far more disturbing than the fact
that he’d done it at all and Chazz found himself feeling sick all over again as
he realized this meant there was a chance Zane had caught him talking to what
essentially appeared to be himself. His reputation had taken enough dents
already this year, he didn’t need the most promising student and duelist of his
class on campus to start considering him a freak as well.
There was a long moment of total silence as Chazz waited for Zane to explain
himself or berate him or- or something, and in which Zane did absolutely
nothing. His eyes were so cold and dark, focused so fiercely that Chazz felt
pinned to his desk chair, and, in his casual clothing, coat hung primly in the
closet, it made him feel smaller than ever.
    Then he remembered himself, straightening his neck until his chin was at
the right angle, even when sitting managing to look down his nose at the
upperclassman.
    “Do you normally just barge into people’s rooms like this?”
    Zane gave him a calculatingly dismissive snort.
    “No.”
    The silence persisted. Chazz didn’t know Zane, not beyond reputation, and
was growing increasingly uncomfortable as Zane continued to eye him like he was
looking for something. Zane was incredibly talented. Zane was going to be
famous. Zane was… could this have been related to his brothers? Had they sent
this superstar among undergrads to teach him, to punish him? Crossing his legs
in what looked like a smooth maneuver but was actually a spate of restless
shifting he couldn’t quell, Chazz cleared his throat.
    “Do you need something?”
    Zane cocked his head.
    “That depends.”
    Now Chazz was frustrated.
    “On what?”
    He didn’t snap, not like he could, not to Zane Trusedale, but his tone was
noticeably more venomous than usual. Zane did not react.
    “If you’re what I’m looking for.”
    That nibbled on Chazz’s anxieties. So he was sent by them. This was a test,
some sort of hurdle for him to jump, some more approval he had to garner.
Sitting straighter, Chazz let his eyes narrow.
    “And what would that be, exactly?”
    Snorting, Zane finally pushed away from the door frame and began to stride
across the room. Chazz hardly had time to react before he was lifted from his
seat.
    “I- hey-!”
    Zane slammed him down against the desk. The hard wood caught him right in
the center of his spine and he yelled, shocked. Chazz hardly had time to fall
when he was grabbed again, hauled off the ground until they were face to face.
His eyes were wide and he couldn’t help it, winded by the drop. Zane searched
his face calmly, puffing short breaths against Chazz’s cheek.
    “Mm.”
    “Wh-what…”
    His hands scrabbled to find purchase on Zane’s. How strong was he, holding
him up by the breast of his turtleneck, pulling the rich polyester against his
chin and exposing his stomach. Chazz blinked, his long lashes falling slow
against his cheeks as he tried to recover.
    “H-how dare you!”
    Zane sighed, longsuffering and low.
    “Shut your mouth if you know your place.”
    Chazz was shocked more than he had been by the blow.
    “If I know my place? My place?”
    Saying nothing, Zane dropped him. Chazz caught himself on his feet,
standing, just in time to be struck in the stomach. The blow was powerful and
perfect, like Zane had been practicing this all his life, and his stomach
turned as his knees hit the ground, bile filling his throat. Zane didn’t even
let him fall completely, another punch landing on his cheek as he bent over,
then firm fingers wound in his hair and he was once again hoisted upright.
    Chazz couldn’t catch himself; his body was steady but his mind was still
somersaulting head over heels. Focusing his eyes lazily on the face in front of
him, he tried to come to terms with what was happening. His hands reacted
before his brain did, scratching and grabbing at Zane’s uniform desperately as
some part of him, the smarter part, tried to get away.
    “Whaddaya think you’re- get off me-!”
    Panicking, his voice betrayed him behind all the anger, high, weak,
rasping. Nothing he did seemed to move Zane, as if he were a wall rather than a
man, a boy really, just a few years older and wiser. Yet right now he was a
giant, more than he ever had been before. Chazz couldn’t escape and it
terrified him.
    “Do you really think your begging will get you anywhere?”
    Zane sounded bored, annoyed, like he was reprimanding a child, the way he
spoke to Syrus when he deigned to acknowledge his brother. Chazz had never felt
Zane’s disdain directed at him before and the coldness in his voice cut him
deep, freezing Chazz inside and out. Zane too was an elder brother, just like
Jagger and Slade – Zane too held that cruel hierarchy inside him. It was as if
his nervous system reacted on pure instinct, making him drop his hands away
quickly and relax the muscles that had previously been taught enough to hurt.
The fingers on his scalp loosened just enough to let him feel the tearing in
his skin where some hair had been pulled out.
    Seeming to find this humorous, Zane chuffed softly.
    “That’s right,” he smirked, and somehow that was worse than his glare,
“submit.”
    He was biding his time until Zane let up, Chazz told himself. He was
waiting for an opportune juncture to squeeze out of his grip and bolt for the
door – which was still locked – or the window, or his PDA, or something,
somehow, to make what was happening known. For the briefest of moments the
craftsmanship of the Obelisk Blue dormitories was more a con than a pro, the
soundproof walls and high, ornamental windows now keeping their struggle
hidden. As an intensely private person this had suited Chazz fine up until this
instant, but now, when he most needed it, the rich atmosphere of segregation
was working against him.
    Looking up at Zane through his lashes, Chazz drew his lips into a tight
snarl and said nothing, ignoring the heat from where his hair was still inching
out of his skull, hoping he wasn’t bleeding. Zane had nothing in his eyes, no
malice, no joy, no anger. He simply looked blank, like he were regarding a
particularly easy question on a test or making a decision between two pieces of
toast for his breakfast. Puffing out a slow breath, Chazz kept his voice as
level as he could.
    “What do you want.”
    Zane released his hair suddenly and he dropped to the floor, hard. This
would have been a perfect moment to break for the door, but somehow Chazz felt
that it was not the time. He swallowed thickly and allowed himself a small
cursory rub of his scalp, feeling for wetness.
    “Clearly it’s nothing that you will be amenable to, so why bother asking?”
    He leaned closer, studying Chazz’s face, and Chazz took his opportunity.
Launching upright he head-butted Zane right in the nose with everything he had,
bowling the both of them forwards. As Zane slid back, Chazz moved with him,
standing, running, moving to the bathroom where perhaps he could lock himself
inside.
    Zane grabbed his collar so hard he clotheslined him, choking the yell from
Chazz’s throat. He threw him back into the carpet and then kicked him in the
ribs, wringing the wind from him yet again. Chazz fell to the side, trying to
crawl, but Zane followed him, striking him again and again. Raising his hands
to shield his face, Chazz tried to breathe, spots coloring his vision darkly as
he spun over onto his back by the force of a particularly well planted kick.
The lack of air made even the simplest of thought processes feel like a complex
calculation and he struggled to remember who roomed next to him, could he ever
hear them move around, would they come if he called. The barrage stopped just
long enough for him to flip onto his belly again, trying to protect the soft
spot, and Zane raised up a leg and drove his heel down hard into the back of
Chazz’s hand. Even without breath inside him, Chazz screamed.
    “That wasn’t smart, Princeton.”
    He didn’t bother looking up, trying to pry Zane’s boot off him. He could
see where the rubber was peeling his skin back and he clawed at whatever part
of his leg he could, looking to find flesh beneath his trousers.
    “You think you can get away from me? That you can fight me?”
    He ground his heel in harder and Chazz bit himself bloody trying not to
cry.
    “You might be big dick on campus to the first years, but you aren’t even
close to my level.”
    Chazz scrabbled at him desperately, considered biting him, as he felt his
cartilage creak.
    “Y-you’re gonna break my hand!”
    Zane let him squirm a bit longer, silent. The pinned feeling returned, more
literal than last time, as Chazz finally lost the battle with himself and a
tear slid down his cheek. Then another, and another, because the term ‘opening
the floodgates’ was not just an expression and it hurt and he was scared and
Zane had always been one of his heroes, one of the good guys, the real good
guys who actually fought and worked hard and trained to get to where they were.
    With a soft huff, Zane pulled his foot away.
    “Pathetic.”
    This time his fingers curled into the back of Chazz’s turtleneck, yanking
him upright again and tossing him with frightening ease at the bed. Chazz slid
off slightly, having only half landed on it, and started trying to scramble
further onto the mattress, as if it would get him away from his attacker. Zane
was already beside him though, grabbing the back of his neck with cold hands
and pushing him face down into the sheets.
    “Don’t move.”
    To his credit Chazz didn’t entirely freeze, still weakly pushing his hands
into the bed, turning his head to glare over his shoulder. At least, he hoped
it was a glare. Tears were still coursing down his cheeks, he could tell by the
way it made his face burn.
    “Don’t move, don’t speak,” he breathed, “what can I do then?” he eyed his
desk, suddenly, longingly, wishing he hadn’t locked his deck inside. Zane
couldn't see spirits, at least he hoped. Perhaps, if he could just knock the
drawer open, if he could let them know he needed them-
    Zane pressed his face into the sheets, hard. It didn’t hurt but it was a
sudden and uncomfortable move, making it difficult to breathe through the lump
in his throat and the tears on his face and snot in his nose.
    “You can learn to listen, for once,” Zane ground his cheek against the
comforter. “I’m surprised you’ve gotten so far with so little patience.”
    Chazz gasped, open mouthed, trying to think of a response. The desk was
still focused in his mind’s eye, blurry but real.
    “I-I’m focused.”
    Zane hummed and said nothing. One of his hands came to rest firmly, but not
harshly, against the small of Chazz’s spine, feeling out the lean muscles in
his back as they twitched. Like the touch on his neck, it wasn’t meant to hurt,
but to control, and Chazz responded in an almost animal way, tense but not
fighting, bent under his palm. They held the position for several seconds,
feeling one another out.
    Then Zane curled his fingers in to the fabric of Chazz’s shirt and tugged
it out of his waistband. It was not a particularly frightening action in and of
itself, and Chazz was, at first, unsure exactly what to make of it. Everything
Zane was doing at the moment was frightening in its own way, because Zane was
hurting him, and very effectively at that. But it wasn’t until his hand, cold
and smooth like a river washed stone, pushed beneath it to fan across the flesh
of his back, that Chazz really began to understand.
    “Zane,” he gasped, digging his nails into the bed, “wait-!”
    He jolted just a moment too late as Zane pressed down against him, chest to
back, holding Chazz down with his weight as both hands left their posts and
circled down around his waist, tangling with his belt.
    “Zane!”
    “Quiet!”
    “Zane, stop!”
    He got Chazz’s belt undone, started yanking at his jeans.
    “Zane!”
    One of Zane’s hands slid up under his chest, pushed fingers between his
teeth as he tried to bite them and held back his screams, even if no one could
hear them. Chazz bucked his hips upwards, hoping to dislodge Zane and
unfortunately making it easier for his pants to be slid down his hips, jerked
to mid-thigh. He kicked back but the angle was bad and he wasn’t wearing shoes,
unlike Zane. His hands were half trapped between his body and the bed and were
fairly useless as weapons, even as he dug his blunt nails into Zane’s wrist and
scratched little pink wells in his skin. He bit Zane as hard as he could and
there wasn’t even a reaction.
    “See, Princeton,” Zane grunted, pressing his palm to Chazz’s naked buttock,
“this isn’t about you.”
    He didn’t care who it was about. He was the one suffering the consequences.
Half his face was pushed into the bed and his eyes burned, glued to the desk.
It was, what, four feet away? Five? He could reach it. He could feel it. The
Ojamas were in there. They must feel him too, couldn’t they? Perhaps – perhaps
they would come to his aid themselves, they would know what he needed and go to
Jaden on their own. Maybe they already had.
    Zane smoothed his hand up the swell of his rump, feeling him, appreciating
him, and Chazz felt sick. He pushed his hips against the bed, away from the
cold body behind him, and a wheeze squeezed its way around the fingers shoved
down his throat. It was like he was small, tiny beneath Zane, the way he was
when Slade looked down at him, or Jagger laid a hand on him with meaning behind
it. But no one had ever put their hands on him in this way, never.
    “This is about me,” Zane was still talking, or maybe this had all happened
quickly and it only seemed like forever, and Chazz couldn’t trust himself and
it was terrifying, “and what I want. Do you understand?”
    Chazz tried to talk, though he couldn’t decide what to say, and it came out
as muffled gargling anyways. Sounding disappointed, Zane huffed.
    “Nod yes if you do.”
    Freezing, Chazz wondered if it was even worth it to struggle again. Then
the hand on his behind squeezed one of his buttocks and the shock of horror
that ran up his spine made the decision for him.
    Bucking his head back into Zane’s hard chest sharply, Chazz hollered around
his hand, struggling with everything he had. Zane was bigger than him by quite
a bit, and heavier too, but he still felt some give, just a little, before
being beat back into the bed. It didn’t exactly hurt the way being kicked
around on the floor had, because the beds in Blue were as soft and high quality
as they came, but the bruises forming on his gut still made the solid drop of
weight against his back knock the wind from him. In the commotion Zane switched
his fingers purpose from choking Chazz to trying to hold his face down again
and it gave him enough breathing room to scream.
    “Get off me get the hell off me you monster monster I can’t do this get off
get off get off!”
    Zane dropped an elbow into Chazz’s mid back, but he didn’t stop, yelping
and hollering as best he could.
    “Shut up.”
    “Make me you loser you stupid stupid-!”
    Frustrated, he just kept yelling, knowing it was probably pointless,
digging his hands into the bedsheets and trying to drag himself out from under
Zane. Perhaps because of the uproar, perhaps because he found it amusing, Zane
let him, taking his hands off and sitting up on his knees to watch Chazz’s
pathetic performance. He was almost off the bed, reaching, his leg wrapped up
in a sheet and holding him back. He kicked around madly, falling on his face
with a loud shout and his fingers just touched the wood of the desk.
    Then Zane grabbed his hips and hauled him back like it was nothing.
    “No! No no no!”
    The drawer had shifted, just a little. Was it enough? Zane pushed him down,
hips up, fingers sliding between his buttocks and touching him intimately.
Arching back, Chazz tried, and failed, to strike at him again, gasping when all
this earned him was penetration via Zane’s thick thumb. Zane was royalty on
campus but his body fit the name Kaiser well, strong and firm as a warlord’s.
His hands were rough from work. Without inhibition, Zane buried his thumb to
the hilt of his palm, dry. For just one finger it hurt a surprising amount and
Chazz howled loudly in indignation, trying to pull away.
    Zane let him sit like that for a minute, struggling and wearing himself out
further, and then retracted his hand. The reprieve was momentary, and Chazz
knew it, he could hear Zane sucking on his own fingers, but it was such a great
relief he actually did stop flailing and simply breathed, exhausted both
mentally and physically. He lay there panting and prayed.
    When Zane shoved his index and middle finger in, up to the knuckle, he
screamed himself raw. Zane made a noise, a huff of sorts, perhaps from exertion
or pleasure or violent intent. Chazz was tired, his ribs ached, his hands
bruised, and all he could do was try to crawl.
    “I can’t, Zane, please, I can’t, I can’t-!”
    There was no attempt to pleasure him. Zane stretched him impassively,
preparing him for use and nothing else. Every now and then, if Chazz’s
struggles started to become too frantic again, he’d curl his fingers hard and
dig his short nails into the most sensitive parts of Chazz’s insides. He was
done letting Chazz have the illusion of escape, of control.
    Please, please let them have heard me.
    Zane pulled his hand out and this time there was no relief. His ass burned,
saliva really not cutting it as a lubricant. How was this something people
could ever stand to have done to them, he wondered, how could he possibly stand
this. He was going to die. The clink of Zane’s belt buckle being undone behind
him was like the release of the guillotine’s blade and Chazz began to weep
quietly, the most honest tears he had cried in years.
    When he felt the head of Zane’s cock against him, he did nothing more than
moan in quiet horror.
    “Are you done begging?”
    That word again. Eyes shut tight, Chazz whispered, barely audibly, “I never
begged.”
    Zane said nothing, pulling open Chazz’s ass with one hand to position
himself better.
    “I never begged,” said Chazz, voice cracking, “Princeton’s never beg!”
    His world split. Zane pushed inside, hard and with purpose, his hands
wrapping around the skinny bones of Chazz’s hips and tugging him back to force
their meeting. Digging himself into the bed, Chazz no longer tried to escape,
unable to use his energy for anything other than simply remaining sane, mouth
wide and silent. Zane let out a loud exhalation of air, like he had been
waiting years for this, and Chazz could feel his dick pulse inside him.
    Then he pulled back and the rough drag shook him back to his senses. His
body bent into the sheets unnaturally, tortured, and with the desperation of
his last chance he cried to his deck, “Jaden!”
    Zane stopped.
    “Jaden, please, help me, get him, get Jaden, now!”
    Zane slammed back inside him, fingers biting his skin, and then his hand
grabbed Chazz’s throat and chin harshly and pulled his head back so fast he
felt his neck crack. Zane’s face was upside down from this angle but even
still, with the blood pooling in his head and the salt in his eyes, Chazz could
see the rage on his face.
    “It’s always him, isn’t it?”
    Without any more patience Zane fucked him, violently, holding his head back
like that.
    “You always called for Jaden, don’t you, always him? What the hell does he
have for you! He has nothing! He is nothing!”
    Chazz couldn’t say a thing like this, feeling like his neck was about to
snap, garbling out forlorn little sounds as his own saliva choked him. Always,
Zane said, like this had happened before, but it hadn’t and Chazz didn’t
understand why he was being punished for something he never had done.
    “I am not nothing!”
    Snarling like an animal, Zane yanked on Chazz’s neck again, curving his
back into a bow and reaming his ass.
    “I am your everything!”
    The position was growing horribly painful and Chazz’s eyes began to roll in
their sockets as the blood to his brain was slowly cut off. As painful as this
was, passing out was almost more frightening, because what could he do then but
submit? Zane would have full control over him. It was the ultimate defeat. He
began clawing at Zane’s hands again. Whether this made a difference or not was
impossible to tell because his hearing was gone, replaced with ringing static.
He gasped and gasped, unable to breathe, the pain in his backside turning into
an amorphous throb throughout his whole body.
    It wasn’t until he was on the threshold of blackness that Zane dropped him.
It was wholly surreal, a soundless, black and white shell he was trapped in. he
couldn’t feel his hands, even as he watched them scrape against the sheets, but
he could feel Zane’s every move sting him, as if his skin had become one large
bruise. Every part of himself touching something else ached, his palms, his
shoulders, his chin, his nipples against the soft bedding. Then his senses
began to come back and he realized he was screaming. Zane was holding his hips
again, still painfully hard but not with the same blind rage as before. Now his
movements were more mechanical, still fueled by whatever evil need it was that
drove him here in the first place, the way he had been when he first walked
into the room.
    When he finished it was not with a bang, or a whimper, or even a stifled
groan. Zane stiffened, sighed, and Chazz felt a small, hot push inside him.
That was it, no fanfare, no burn. Zane pulled out and then just sat there,
Chazz’s legs still bent awkwardly backwards around his hips, cock cooling as it
rested between his ass cheeks. He couldn’t move, so Chazz simply lay, waiting
for Zane to either leave or begin hurting him again.
    Zane trailed away, breathing slowly, and redressed himself. Chazz did not
look at him, or try to. There was no hurry, just simple purpose in Zane’s
movements. He walked over to the door and stood looking at it in silence.
    “No one knows about this, or it gets worse. Understand?”
    Chazz didn’t say anything, refused to acknowledge him. Damn him, damn him,
damn you.
    Zane waited, and when he got no answer he didn’t retaliate. Very softly, he
opened the door and left, closing it carefully behind him. It was only then
that Chazz curled up into a ball, the aches in his body swarming around him
like the cocoon of an insect. He didn’t cry because he was too dry and too
hollow to. He watched the bruise on the back of his hand blacken.
    “Boss?”
    Ojama Yellow peeked over the side of the mattress in front of him.
    “We found Jaden. The others are coming back with him now.”
    Chazz said nothing.
    “What happened? Where did Zane go?”
    “Tell Jaden to go away.”
    He closed his eyes again. He could feel the little spirit drift closer,
like a small tug on his heart.
    “But Boss! You’re hurt!”
    “Tell him it was a false alarm. I don’t want to see him.”
    “Boss-“
    “I don’t want to see him!”
    He pressed his face into his knees and screamed, and his voice burned his
throat. Ojama Yellow backed off, radiating concern, but it never defied him.
Ever. 
    “Alright Boss, I’ll go tell ‘em.”
    Then he was alone again. He didn’t move for another hour, even when the
Ojamas returned shortly after, and could not look at himself in the mirror
until the next morning.
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