Hentai Game
folder
Yu-Gi-Oh › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
2
Views:
1,980
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Yu-Gi-Oh › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
2
Views:
1,980
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own YuGiOh!, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Hentai Game
I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh, the story, or the characters. Wish I did, though.
Black boots, clicking, as he went down the hall: He opened the door of the last cell and went in. “They found out, didn’t they?”
Pegasus looked up at him from the bed. “I didn’t tell them.” His voice was hoarse. He tried to raise his head. They saw us, maybe…” He pressed a bloody hand to his face, and fell back against the bare ticking.
“They couldn’t have seen us.” Seto crossed the small cell in two strides. “I took every precaution.” Grabbing him by the shoulder, he pulled Pegasus upright. “You fool.” What was it about his bruised, defeated face? It sickened him. “We had a different meeting place each time.” His head flopped back a little, dirty, grayish hair, brushing the mattress. “The other prisoners were always gone.” He could feel the bones of Pegasus’ shoulder between his fingers. He shook him; “It’s your fault they found out.”
“I know,” voice rising as he spoke, “it has to be.” Pegasus’ face twisted, but was that fear, or pain from Seto’s grip on him? “I don’t know what I did.” He sounded near tears. “I was so careful,” he swallowed, “every time, I was so careful, slipping away.”
“You, careful.” Seto felt a wave of disgust go through him. “We know how good you are at keeping secrets.” He hated the dirty feel of Pegasus’ airman’s uniform against his hand.
His face was a mask of bruises. “They know I told.” He sounded tired. “I think they know everything about what happened between us.” Staring down at his own dirty-nailed hands in his lap, “when we met;” he did not raise his head; “whose secrets I told you;” his hair fell forward, too tangled to cover his face the way it should have; “what happened to them afterward.” He looked up, meeting Seto’s eyes for a moment, “how you touched me when we met.” His gaze slid away. “I tried,” he said weakly.
“You always try.” Seto threw him backward and heard his head hit the mattress. “Look at me, you!” Pegasus did not respond. “Goddamn it, I said look at me!” The one eye in the damaged face remained closed. “You’re lucky I chose you.” He spat the words at him. “Did you think of that?” Do you know how many others I could have picked instead?”
Still, Pegasus said nothing. His face was slack. “Wake up!” Seto hit him. “Look at me, damn you!” No response. He hit him again.
Slowly, his one eye opened, and Pegasus looked at him. “Seto?” His voice was nearly inaudible.
“Don’t call me that!” The anger filled him, and the disgust. “Did I give you permission?” He hit him, first one side of his face, then the other. “A filthy prisoner like you, calling me by name.”
He was hard, now, erect and throbbing, just like every time. What was it about this place, about tearing off the dirty wool of his airman’s trousers and violating his bony white ass? Why did he want it most, when Pegasus was too weak to fight?
Why bother asking himself questions, though? The beauty part of this uniform was that he could have anyone in the camp: He could have them whenever he liked, and wherever he liked, and however he liked. What point was there in asking why he always ended up with the same scrawny-assed American, a man who would betray his comrades to a camp guard?
Pegasus stared up at him. “I’m sorry, Seto, I’m sorry.” He repeated it over and over, his voice dull. Seto took a moment to stare into his face, his mouth bloodied, his eye swollen almost shut. Was that fear he saw there, or shame; it had to be one of those, but what it looked like was desire. He pulled the trousers down, exposed his ass, every bruise clear against his dead-white skin.
His legs were like sticks, the muscles burned for calories long ago. He couldn’t have resisted, even if he’d wanted to. He wouldn’t have, though, not him. Seto shoved his legs out of the way, entered that ass where so many others had been. How many of them did he want there? Pegasus’ body shook a little, every time he moved. “I’ll kill you, doing this, someday,” he muttered, and he thought he heard Pegasus whisper “I don’t care.”
That was impossible, though. Pegasus was unconscious. He had to be, he lay so still. Seto could barely see his breathing. He left him where he was; didn’t bother changing his position, or covering his body; didn’t pull up the airman’s trousers crumpled around his ankles. Then he readjusted his uniform, and left, locking the cell door behind him.
Prototype 47992: It was probably the best game he’d ever designed; every detail true to life, even down to the smells. Seto took the disc out of the console and put it back in its case. Too bad he was never going to okay this one for production.
Black boots, clicking, as he went down the hall: He opened the door of the last cell and went in. “They found out, didn’t they?”
Pegasus looked up at him from the bed. “I didn’t tell them.” His voice was hoarse. He tried to raise his head. They saw us, maybe…” He pressed a bloody hand to his face, and fell back against the bare ticking.
“They couldn’t have seen us.” Seto crossed the small cell in two strides. “I took every precaution.” Grabbing him by the shoulder, he pulled Pegasus upright. “You fool.” What was it about his bruised, defeated face? It sickened him. “We had a different meeting place each time.” His head flopped back a little, dirty, grayish hair, brushing the mattress. “The other prisoners were always gone.” He could feel the bones of Pegasus’ shoulder between his fingers. He shook him; “It’s your fault they found out.”
“I know,” voice rising as he spoke, “it has to be.” Pegasus’ face twisted, but was that fear, or pain from Seto’s grip on him? “I don’t know what I did.” He sounded near tears. “I was so careful,” he swallowed, “every time, I was so careful, slipping away.”
“You, careful.” Seto felt a wave of disgust go through him. “We know how good you are at keeping secrets.” He hated the dirty feel of Pegasus’ airman’s uniform against his hand.
His face was a mask of bruises. “They know I told.” He sounded tired. “I think they know everything about what happened between us.” Staring down at his own dirty-nailed hands in his lap, “when we met;” he did not raise his head; “whose secrets I told you;” his hair fell forward, too tangled to cover his face the way it should have; “what happened to them afterward.” He looked up, meeting Seto’s eyes for a moment, “how you touched me when we met.” His gaze slid away. “I tried,” he said weakly.
“You always try.” Seto threw him backward and heard his head hit the mattress. “Look at me, you!” Pegasus did not respond. “Goddamn it, I said look at me!” The one eye in the damaged face remained closed. “You’re lucky I chose you.” He spat the words at him. “Did you think of that?” Do you know how many others I could have picked instead?”
Still, Pegasus said nothing. His face was slack. “Wake up!” Seto hit him. “Look at me, damn you!” No response. He hit him again.
Slowly, his one eye opened, and Pegasus looked at him. “Seto?” His voice was nearly inaudible.
“Don’t call me that!” The anger filled him, and the disgust. “Did I give you permission?” He hit him, first one side of his face, then the other. “A filthy prisoner like you, calling me by name.”
He was hard, now, erect and throbbing, just like every time. What was it about this place, about tearing off the dirty wool of his airman’s trousers and violating his bony white ass? Why did he want it most, when Pegasus was too weak to fight?
Why bother asking himself questions, though? The beauty part of this uniform was that he could have anyone in the camp: He could have them whenever he liked, and wherever he liked, and however he liked. What point was there in asking why he always ended up with the same scrawny-assed American, a man who would betray his comrades to a camp guard?
Pegasus stared up at him. “I’m sorry, Seto, I’m sorry.” He repeated it over and over, his voice dull. Seto took a moment to stare into his face, his mouth bloodied, his eye swollen almost shut. Was that fear he saw there, or shame; it had to be one of those, but what it looked like was desire. He pulled the trousers down, exposed his ass, every bruise clear against his dead-white skin.
His legs were like sticks, the muscles burned for calories long ago. He couldn’t have resisted, even if he’d wanted to. He wouldn’t have, though, not him. Seto shoved his legs out of the way, entered that ass where so many others had been. How many of them did he want there? Pegasus’ body shook a little, every time he moved. “I’ll kill you, doing this, someday,” he muttered, and he thought he heard Pegasus whisper “I don’t care.”
That was impossible, though. Pegasus was unconscious. He had to be, he lay so still. Seto could barely see his breathing. He left him where he was; didn’t bother changing his position, or covering his body; didn’t pull up the airman’s trousers crumpled around his ankles. Then he readjusted his uniform, and left, locking the cell door behind him.
Prototype 47992: It was probably the best game he’d ever designed; every detail true to life, even down to the smells. Seto took the disc out of the console and put it back in its case. Too bad he was never going to okay this one for production.