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Crosshair came to tormented wakefulness with a start. For a moment he thought he was still being injected with toxins, and no, please left his mouth in an endless stream. Fear was a darkness that devoured his whole heart with shredding teeth.
Then he realized he was awake. His cell was open, the door rising probably the sound that had awoken him.
They were here for him.
Here to humiliate him by making him walk to his own agony.
This all passed in the manner of a few seconds as the light in his cell came on. He pushed himself back against the wall, already in a cold sweat.
Please don't take me, please don't take me.
Yet it wasn't a stormtrooper who entered.
He blinked, eyes watering, still adjusting to the light.
His heart never ceased racing.
Hemlock stepped in, the bars sliding down behind him. The cell that left him nearly clawing at the walls with how small it was each day grew smaller, smaller than even Hemlock's large size could account for, like his presence sucked in the space around him, sucked in anything that could be a relief, like mere distance.
Shaking, Crosshair looked him over with big eyes. He didn't like anything about this man, but he certainly didn't like the small smile that graced his features, the force he rubbed his left hand with, the heat he thought he saw within his ice blue eyes.
Crosshair couldn't speak, just sat there, waiting for whatever torment would be done upon him. Though, he glanced around. It was dark in the other cells, still night.
Was Hemlock here because something new had come up and he required more information? Had he had a sudden idea as to why the re-education program wasn't working on him?
"I trust your dreams were pleasant," Hemlock said, clearly teasing him as he took in his distressed state.
"Lovely," Crosshair replied in a barbed tone. "I'd like to get back to them."
Hemlock sighed. "I'm sure you would. However, I have… wants of my own."
Hemlock glanced back, and Crosshair tilted to look past him. The guards were leaving, heavy dread falling upon Crosshair's shoulders to trickle down his whole body. There was a pit in his stomach, his breaths coming fast.
When Hemlock's eyes fell on him once more Crosshair wished he could sink through the wall.
Hemlock moved fast. One moment he was eyeing him, and the next he was grabbing him. Crosshair was weakened from lack of proper nutrition, being tortured all day, and being stuck in a cell, so he couldn't react quickly as he was dragged to his feet, and slammed face first into the cell bars. His wrists were held in a tight grip that squeezed his shoulder-blades uncomfortably, and tugged too hard at his shoulders.
Crosshair couldn't slam himself back without hurting himself, but he tugged hard. That hand tightened, his wrists aching. He did try to press off of the bars, face throbbing, but then Hemlock was behind him, right hand on the back of his neck and slamming him back into the bars. Crosshair couldn't kick him without losing his balance.
The violence had him grunting, but he did try to hold in a scream.
Hemlock laughed in his ear, breath hot, Crosshair cringing back.
He leaned into him, and Crosshair flinched. That was certainly an erection pressing against his ass.
"You are incredibly frustrating," Hemlock hissed.
He released his neck to start tugging his trousers down.
Crosshair squeezed his eyes shut, and forced himself to groan rather than whimper.
"Why isn't the re-education program working on you?" he demanded, the question rhetorical. "I lie awake for nights on end trying to figure it out." His voice was almost a husky growl. "Your brain scans are quite similar to that of other clones I've worked on despite Tarkin's tampering with your chip, and the scar tissue of having it removed, and yet…" A dark, frustrated laugh left him. "Nothing," he growled. "Nothing! You're defective, a failure. And I can't abide failure. I willfigure you out, but in the meantime"—his lips ran along Crosshair's ear—"I can take it out on you."
As he was speaking he had managed to get Crosshair's trousers down to his knees, Crosshair fighting him as best he could despite the pain in his wrists that went all the way up to his shoulders.
No, no, no, no, Crosshair mouthed over and over again.
He had thought he'd already experienced the worst he could ever since that stupid mission on Barton IV, and yet somehow, the hole he had been thrown in kept getting deeper.
Hemlock was a solid, warm weight against him, and clearly strong.
His gloved hand ran over his ass, making him shudder. He flinched up against the bars as he spanked him, Crosshair's cheeks reddening from the virulent shame of it. A whine might have left him.
"Let me go, let me go," he muttered, desperate, not even meaning to speak those words in the first place.
Hemlock released his wrists, but pinned them between their bodies. He grabbed Crosshair's jaw, turning his head till it hurt.
"Shh, shh, shh," Hemlock told him. He grinded up against him, making him shudder. "You have to be quiet. Or do you want all the other clone prisoners to know you like taking up the ass?"
He might have sobbed, trying to get his hands free. He managed, but all he could do was grip the bars till they'd be imprinted on his hands, till his knuckles hurt.
"Please," he groaned, trying to be as quiet as possible.
Hemlock withdrew just a tad, and there was the whisper of clothing being undone.
He held his breath to keep in a grunt as Hemlock pressed his hard cock in between the cheeks of his ass. All he could do was try to move away, further pressing himself against the bars he held onto for dear life.
"I brought a little something to make it easier for the both of us," Hemlock said. "After all, I imagine you're very tight."
An ironic laugh almost left Crosshair. This wouldn't be the first time he'd been with a man, and he knew when willing he could be stretched quite easily.
"Or… are you?" Hemlock asked.
He grabbed Crosshair's face again, and Crosshair squeezed his eyes shut, wanting this predator to move its gaze away, to find interest in some other quivering prey.
He didn't know what gave it away, that he was thinking of men on leave, thinking of Rampart, but a small laugh left Hemlock.
"Oh, you naughty clone." He couldn't help but shiver at the name calling.
He grunted as Hemlock slowly thrusted up against him. The grip on his jaw was seriously beginning to hurt, making him instinctively attempt to pull away.
He'd take Rampart, the man who had left him for dead, over this. Already his body was remembering him, remembering how nice it was to have a body against his, to be kriffed into a blinding orgasm.
Hemlock released his face, putting his hand to his head and bashing him against the bars.
Dizziness took him so suddenly and intensely that all he could do was grip the bars and hope he didn't collapse.
Even as throbbing set in in his head and face, and something hot ran down from his cheek, other parts of his body were realizing what kind of position he was in.
So when Hemlock fiddled with something and then pressed a wet finger against him, probing, he was heating up, body feeling a little too tight.
He bit his bottom lip to hold in a sound as his finger found what it was looking for. He didn't bother to be gentle, sliding it in slowly, but relentlessly, till his hand was flush against him.
Crosshair gritted his teeth, body arching away at first as it processed this, and then arching in. He wasn't sure which he hated more.
He knew in training he'd been taught to bend rather than break when it came to torture that had nothing to do with interrogation, but he didn't want to do it here. He couldn't, not to this monster.
And kriff, why did his fingers have to be so long?
Crosshair couldn't control his breathing, the desperate puffs as his body flooded him with adrenaline, preparing him to fight, or to flee. Yet his brain must have gotten the adrenaline confused, the sensation confused, because he could feel himself swelling between his legs, getting hotter, a pressure in his gut.
What he really wanted to do as Hemlock opened him up by adding a second finger was slam his hand against the bars, but he didn't want anyone to wake, to know this was happening, that he was the plaything of their depraved captor. So he made a fist and started slamming it into his thigh.
"Mm, that feels good, doesn't it?"
He really did enjoy him thrusting his two fingers in and out of him, pressing in against his prostate, a bright, heavy pleasure filling his gut, sparking in his balls, his cock.
"Just get it over with and rape me already," Crosshair growled.
Hemlock slammed his fingers in, and he had to raise his forearm to his mouth to hold in a groan.
The hand on his hip suddenly grabbed his hardening cock.
"I would hardly call it rape," he breathed.
"Kriff," Crosshair said against his arm, voice a deep groan.
Pleasure cascaded through him, heightening as he hardened more and more from Hemlock's touch. It was his left hand that stroked him, the thin leather a delicious glide against his skin.
His left leg shook, body getting a bit jittery from the pleasure.
Hemlock nipped at his ear, and he grunted into his arm.
"I like your size. You are thankfully rather proportionate for someone your height."
There was a wet sound that had Crosshair cringing as he removed his fingers from his ass. More of that wetness, which sounded all too like a cock being slicked up.
"So am I," he growled, the head of his cock pressing against Crosshair's asshole.
Fear had him shuddering, even though there was a bright zing of excitement coursing through his body, all electric, and hot.
He tensed, yet Hemlock began to push in anyway. A sharp stab speared through him, and his breath caught in his throat. When it did come out it was a low groan into his arm.
Just so it wouldn't hurt too much he began to beg himself to feel pleasure, to enjoy it, to want it.
Crosshair breathed deep despite how much of a battle it was, and he opened for him.
As Hemlock continued pushing in, spreading him wide, his cock pressed against his prostate. The hot flare of pleasure had him holding in a groan. Hemlock thrusted, deeper, and deeper, deep to a point he thought he couldn't take, even as it made his legs weak and lit his body on fire.
Hemlock let out a quiet, gravelly groan as his hips pressed all the way up against him.
"Kriff," he moaned, slowly, thoroughly enjoying himself already.
Crosshair tilted his head back, breathing hard from the sound of Hemlock's voice. It wasn't smooth, and seductive like Rampart's, but there were certainly many merits in the fact that it was breathy, and husky, like he was always aroused. And hearing it even deeper had excitement shivering down his spine.
One hand felt up his body under his tunic like he was admiring him, then back down to his hip.
For a moment he remembered all the torture, the fear, the agony, and he tensed around him, the sudden pain making him have to bite his arm.
Hemlock let out a low moan, enjoying his body, and Crosshair nearly sobbed.
"Had I known you felt this good I would have raped you for interrogation," Hemlock said. He let go of his cock, running his hands along his hips. "Though I did consider it. You left me thoroughly frustrated then as well." He punctuated that last sentence with a forceful roll of his hips.
His grip turned hard, painful, and Crosshair could practically feel his frustration like a bristling beast of heat and teeth and claws, and it was against him, inside him.
His stomach tugged in on itself.
That beast sprung, Hemlock kriffing him fast and hard with no build up. Crosshair had to bite down on his arm, but there was no hiding the slapping of skin against skin, the sound of their bodies coming together, the grunts and heavy breaths, the way Crosshair's body was repeatedly pressed against the bars.
His fingers shook as he held onto the bars with his left hand, the other in a tight fist, nails biting into his palm. His teeth bruised his skin, and he wondered if his insides could get bruised. It was like Hemlock was beating him with his cock as he plunged deep into him again and again. He was so deep he thought he would lose his mind, and oh, kriff, he felt so good, burning, aching. Oh, he was so delicious, bigger than Rampart, and harder about using it. And he had to admit he liked it hard. When it came to sex Crosshair had always enjoyed it rough, fast, the way it got his blood pumping and got out the persistent anger that always simmered beneath the surface, how it got his body moving.
Despite Hemlock not being very loud (probably out of the necessity of not waking up the other prisoners) Crosshair shivered at the cruel pleasure in his breaths. He loathed even sharing the same air as him, and to feel him against him, feel his heart beating against his back, it was too much. It was too much. Kriff, it was too much!
Any pleasure Crosshair was getting seemed to flee, no longer thinking of Hemlock's cock as something hot and arousing, but just another weapon used against his body. It was like a knife to him, a syringe filled with toxins, a bolt of electricity.
Crosshair couldn't hold back a cry.
A large, gloved hand soon covered his mouth and nose, and he couldn't breathe. Hot tears blurred his vision and threatened to roll down his cheeks.
"Make another sound, and I'm going to cum deep. In. Your. Throat. Is that what you want? You want to taste my cum? You want to choke on it?"
Crosshair shook his head as best he could, even as he felt a scream building in his chest.
"You're lucky I love your ass so much."
I can't breathe.
Hemlock thrusted, grunting into Crosshair's ear. By now, Crosshair was clawing at his hand, but it was a losing battle.
Let me breathe.
"I almost want to be polite, and offer you up to some of my stormtroopers."
No, no, no… I can't breathe. Please, I can't breathe. I can't breathe…
Crosshair's head began to grow fuzzy and hot, his vision filling with black spots and stars. He worried Hemlock would overdo it and kill him, even as in a way he wanted the sweet relief of unconsciousness. Yet instinct begged him to fight.
Crosshair struggled, which had him tensing, Hemlock's cock a brutal torment deep in him.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Can you not breathe?" He let out a rough growl just for Crosshair's ears with his next thrust. "My mistake."
He let Crosshair go, but didn't let up as he coughed.
"Careful," Hemlock whispered, a warning to not be too loud.
Crosshair covered his coughs—coughs that tried turning into cries. His hand spasmed, not sure what to do as pleasure took over again, the pounding in his body too reminiscent of it to not be reminded of skin against skin, of bright, searing pleasure, of Rampart showing him he enjoyed being kriffed.
He found himself reaching back, holding Hemlock's hip.
There was a pleased note to his voice as he murmured, "Does that feel good? You like having my big cock deep in your ass? I bet it hurts. You like it when it hurts? I know I do."
Hemlock held his cock again, hand skillfully working that pleasure brighter and brighter till Crosshair could hardly hold in a moan.
"You do like it," Hemlock observed. "You like being used. Look at you, the tall, stoic sniper, pissed off at everyone and everything… and you just melt when there's a big cock in your tight ass. Just look at how hard you are. I bet I can get you to cum. You want to cum, don't you?"
Crosshair wanted him to just shut up, to never hear another word out of his mouth, another breath, even as his entire core seemed filled with brutal pleasure. He was getting sore, and he always did like that feeling once Rampart had introduced it to him. He'd liked seeing his partners sore just like this.
It was so hard not to moan, or whimper, or even sob.
He ended up growling as Hemlock thrusted deep, and then rolled his hips.
Hemlock stilled, and Crosshair did so as well, really hoping Hemlock was too lost in pleasure to notice Crosshair had made a sound.
He pulled out of him with a long sigh.
"Too bad. I was having such a good time with your ass."
All of Crosshair began to tingle, and he wanted to start screaming, but he worried what abuses would be rained down upon him if he did so.
As Hemlock turned him around, Crosshair tripping into him, the first thing he did was cover his mouth.
Hemlock brought him to his knees, and came in close. Crosshair's eyes went big at actually seeing his cock.
Kriff, he was going to throw up.
He tried moving away, but there was nowhere to go. His breaths came hard and fast against his bruised arm.
Crosshair struggled, but weakened from the constant torture as he was, Hemlock had the upper hand, and managed to pry his arm from his mouth. He clamped his jaw shut, teeth pressing so hard against each other that the nerves in his molars screamed, pain shooting up into his head.
As much as he clawed, Hemlock was able to pinch his nose closed. Crosshair looked up at him, and decided he never wanted to see this again. Hemlock's cheeks were flushed, hair in his face, and he was just as sweaty as Crosshair. His whole torso heaved from how hard he'd been kriffing him. And it was clear from his smile, how hard he was, that he was thoroughly enjoying this.
As Crosshair knelt there, fighting the urge to breathe, knowing he'd eventually give in anyway, his insides throbbed and throbbed. He was still hard, body still wanting to cum. His balls even began to ache.
Hemlock's eyes on him were nearly enough to make him sick, or maybe that was the lack of oxygen talking, the fear of having that cock in his mouth, down his throat.
Maybe if he passed out he'd stop kriffing him, or he at least wouldn't be conscious enough to experience it. He knew instinct brought him closer to defeat second by second, but perhaps if he injured his head or his neck…
With Hemlock holding him he most likely couldn't hurt his head.
Shab.
That left his neck.
Nearly growling from the fear flooding him, he made his right hand into a fist. He wasn't sure he could effectively hurt himself, but he was starting to think anything would be better than having Hemlock's cock in his mouth.
Crosshair was about to punch himself, when Hemlock stepped in, blocking with his thigh.
"You will not get out of this," he hissed. "Besides, I'll just kriff you harder next time if you steal this pleasure from me."
Crosshair sobbed as he gave in, as instinct won. His mouth opened.
Hemlock pressed in, releasing his nose.
His body heaved, nearly gagging at the taste of him and heavy feel of him. Hemlock held his head, his face, pressing deeper.
Crosshair's eyes watered, horrible noises coming from his throat, and his whole body seemed to be floating. He figured he was feeling rather out of it from everything he was going through. He attempted to claw at Hemlock's hips, his thighs, but he was so weak.
Just breathe through your nose. Come on, breathe.
He tried, but struggled as Hemlock pushed deeper and deeper.
By the time Hemlock held him tight up against him, nose flush with his pelvis, he had lost total and complete control of his body, feeling like he was going to throw up and pass out. Parts of him warm and tingly, and for some reason his brain decided he liked that.
He could bite Hemlock, but he worried he'd either be punished, or that Hemlock would like that.
His quiet moans, the way his cock throbbed in him, let him know he loved having power like this, loved hurting and degrading Crosshair in yet another way. He kriffed his mouth and throat hard, not showing any mercy.
He began to wish for Hemlock to cum, even though he'd have to taste it, choke on it, have evidence of his pleasure in him. But maybe that would be better than feeling him all hot and hard, invading his mouth, his throat, better than having his jaw ache, his throat ache, better than struggling to breathe, than trying to stay conscious, than becoming this mess of spit that dripped down both of them now as his cock worked in and out.
Somehow he felt so good even as he was sure he'd almost never felt sicker in his entire life. Hemlock pounded into his mouth till pleasure seemed to burst through Crosshair, his brain and body thoroughly confusing what situation he was in. He was too sick to moan his pleasure, and could only claw at Hemlock, squeezing his watering eyes shut.
A low groan left Hemlock, the motions of his hips growing sloppy, and then he pulled Crosshair tight against him. There was a wet burn in him as he throbbed in his mouth, body pushing and pushing to give Crosshair all of his cum.
Hemlock was breathing quick and heavy through gritted teeth, his hands on him grasping him with bruising force. His hips rolled, stuttered, quiet, huffy breaths leaving him.
He held Crosshair against him so hard he couldn't breathe no matter how much he tried, his head pounding, body floating.
Crosshair collapsed onto the floor when Hemlock pulled out of him, coughing and gagging, hot cum dribbling out of his mouth. Usually he didn't really mind the taste, but absolutely not in this situation.
After pulling his trousers back up, Hemlock crouched down by him.
"You really did enjoy that, it seems," he murmured, sounding amused.
He dropped a cloth on top of him.
"For the mess," he said. "After all, we don't want the others knowing of our little secret. Oh, how they'd despise you, pity you… be sickened by you." The last words were a low, breathy murmur.
He grabbed his jaw, lifting him up. Crosshair could barely see him through his tears.
"If your brain continues to fail me, well… I'll be back. After all, you get me so. Very. Frustrated."
Crosshair managed to catch himself on his hands when Hemlock let go of him. He sobbed openly now, the sound not at all foreign within these walls.
A contented sound left Hemlock that only made Crosshair shake even more. He rose, stepping out of the cell. The light turned off.
"I suggest collecting yourself. The guards will be back soon, and I'm sure you don't want them to know just how delectable you are."
His footsteps fading behind him didn't give him much solace, as he knew he'd see him again in a few hours to be tortured in an entirely different way. And now his daily torture would doom him further, his failure as a specimen opening him up to rape after rape.
Crosshair sobbed as he cleaned himself up. He barely managed to climb back onto his poor excuse for a cot. He lay there, body throbbing, blood drying on his cheek, and wishing he had room to curl in on himself. The way he ached into his stomach did not help the fact that he couldn't clean Hemlock's taste from his mouth.
He hadn't known his hate for himself could deepen, but, oh, it did. Crosshair lay in a pit with an ever-deepening bottom, devoid of any hope of ever climbing out.