Judas Kiss

Judas Kiss
By Eline

Fandom: Enzai (BL game)

Disclaimer: This is fan fiction, based on commercially created and copyrighted characters and scenarios. There is no money being made off this fic.

Warning: Rated extremely non-consensual and disturbing.

Here be spoilers for Vallewida's past (again).

* * * * * * * * * *

Some philosopher had put forth a school of thought that hell was different for each individual on the basis that everyone perceived things differently. Vallewida knew for certain that his version of hell would have Durer in it.

He had not resisted when Durer had dragged him to the well-appointed quarters where higher ranking officials were usually received. At least Bollanet was not there. He gave thanks for such small mercies and prayed for the strength to survive another around of Durer's attentions.

But the sadistic official did not have the whip or strap in mind that night. Durer had ordered Vallewida to remove his clothes, enjoying his discomfort because humiliation was his favourite prelude to more degenerate acts. Bent over a table, Vallewida endured the invasive touches that invoked an unwilling series of responses from his body.

It was worse when Durer was in a good mood and wanted to play. Vallewida preferred the beatings to this forced intimacy with a man who knew his body all too well.

"It's almost been a week since the last time I've had you," Durer murmured as Vallewida squirmed under his hands. "Your hole is still so tight, it's practically begging to be filled."

Vallewida remained silent. Durer would get that much grudging obedience from him, but nothing more.

"Do you want it filled, whore?" Durer asked softly as he dug his fingers in deeper, forcing a groan from Vallewida's lips. "Answer me."

When Vallewida refused to give him what he wanted to hear, he felt Durer's fingers leave him. "Stubborn little sluts need to be taught a lesson," he pronounced.

Vallewida tensed up again as Durer moved away and strode into view with his baton in his hand. The black stick was two inches thick and made of polished oak. If Durer had meant for the sight of the baton to cow him, he was successful for Vallewida knew that the unyielding wood would rip into him without mercy.

"Your hole can accommodate it easily, I'm sure," Durer said before going behind him again and pushing the tip of the baton between his buttocks. Vallewida did react this time, but Durer held him down with one hand on his neck as he attempted to escape. "Hold still, bitch! If your hole is too good for the likes of me, then you can fuck my baton instead."

Vallewida felt the rounded tip pressing at the ring of muscle that clenched shut protectively against this invasion. It would tear him apart--without lubrication, without any preparation. And Durer would do it, this much Vallewida knew.

"No! Stop . . . I--please . . . please, don't . . ." Vallewida despised himself for capitulating, but his jailor had all the power here and no compassion whatsoever. The tip of the baton pushed inwards despite his resistance.

"Oh? Since you begged so nicely, I'll ask you again--my cock or the baton?" Durer's gloating tone made Vallewida's flesh crawl even as he slumped over the table in defeat.

"Y-your cock." The words were bitter--so bitter--on his tongue as he uttered them.

"Very well then--get on the table. I want you on your back. And hold your legs open," Durer snapped as he released Vallewida's neck and removed the baton.

Red with shame, Vallewida obeyed, lying on his back and spreading his thighs so that his most intimate orifice was accessible. He hated this position, for he would be forced to see Durer's sneering face looming over him.

Durer took up position between his legs. "We'll save the baton for when my father visits, hmm? You'd like that wouldn't you?" he leered.

Vallewida's shudder of revulsion made Durer laugh. Cruel fingers expertly manipulated his nipples as his jailor stroked his member erect with dismaying ease. He squeezed his eyes shut as a dizzying wave of pleasure swept over him. "Uhh . . ."

Durer gathered the drops of fluid seeping from the tip of his penis and laughed. "Vallewida, you little tramp--you get wet so easily when I touch you. Just a like a woman . . ."

*That* pulled Vallewida away from the reality where oh-Lord-Jesus-Mary-and-Joseph, Durer's going to put his prick into him and drags him down into a far darker place.

The places that he cannot remember. The things best left forgotten.

It never stopped at Durer and Bollanet. There was only so much denial could do and even that does not explain why he has fortnightly "dreams" about Bollanet. Who in their right mind would be dreaming about Bollanet unless it was a nightmare? There were only so many times one could wake up from nightmares like that feeling sore, dirty--and without the lovely varnish of lies now, Bollanet's prick had been inside him. Really, honestly, god forbid, he was going to throw up--

It did not stop at the faceless and nameless procession of soldiers who had used him for their sport. It always ended with the face of a friend in a dark cell where he lay bound and helpless.

"Why didn't you listen to me?"

It was a friend who is ripping his clothes to shreds. It was a friend who is touching him in a way that is all wrong. It was a stranger he thought was a dear friend.

"You shouldn't have interfered."

What he thought had been affection had turned into lust and Vallewida was forced to wonder just how long this had been hidden from him as a hard, insistent mouth pressed against his lips.

"But it doesn't matter. Nothing does any more."

This man, who had sat beside him in church--this man whom he had not known as he thought he had. The first person outside his family he had told about his engagement--the one he would have asked to be his best man. It was more than just painful. It was a violation of something more sacred than trust.

"No . . . Eris, don't!"

Vallewida liked to think that his friends had been generally honest and kind people.

"Stop . . . No . . ."

Would an honest man be involved in this sort of thing in collusion with his corrupt superiors? Would a kind man be doing this?

And it was not Durer's face he sees leering hatefully down at him as he is mercilessly penetrated.

"Eris . . ."

The pain was like a stabbing spear, punching into his bowels with brutal force again and again until he thought that his spine would snap with the next thrust. It doesn't stop as hard, forceful kisses rained down on his protesting mouth.

He did cry out once, when the enormity of what was happening to him was finally pushed home as the body atop him writhed and shoved itself deeper into him, climaxing with shocking violence.

"Naa, Vallewida, it looks like your career in the military just wasn't meant to be. You will always be mine now . . ."

"That's not me . . ."

Enough.

"Just like a woman . . ."

It is enough to send him spiralling downwards again into the blessed darkness. The memories stopped there. Away from the shame and the pain. Away from the betrayal.

"That's not me. That thing there, it's not me. That's not me!"

Away from Durer, who was doing his best--worst--as he coaxed a far more willing participant to cooperate with his depraved desires. Someone else who would welcome Durer's prick--someone willing enough so that he would not be torn beyond repair. So that he could forget this violation along with the other razor-edged memories. Because in the end, he was not brave enough to relive such a betrayal again.

* * * * * * * * * *

Notes:
- This is based on the fan disc vocal drama (Betsuri: "Separation") version of Vallewida's past where Eris is "Erisraldo".

- The anime OVAs do not include Eris, but the game and the vocal dramas do.

- Durer did use a baton on Vallewida while they were entertaining Bollanet in the text novel Enzai the Diary.

I abuse Vallewida horribly, but I'm just following the trend set by the makers of the game. *sweats*