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Hell Is Empty

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The fuckers who run the local jail haul everyone out into the courtyard, and Cam knows them well enough by now not to expect breakfast, or even calisthenics. They're all lined up two by two, and he makes sure to stand next to John, kind of near the back of the lines but not right at the back. John had punched one of the soldiers -- or maybe police -- who'd hauled them away from the SGC's delegation on some kind of trumped-up charges. Three of the woman's friends had held John down while they kicked him bloody, and Cam's real worried that John's gone and got himself too messed-up to escape.

John says he's fine, when Cam asks how he is.

The guards walk slowly down the lines, and then stop and pull two guys out. The men are shoved onto the bit of board flooring against the low courtyard wall and ordered to Do it. The men stare each other down hard, then the larger man flexes his arms and spits to the side; some kind of alpha display, Cam figures. The other man flinches, drops to his knees, and gets to the business of sucking him off.

Five blowjobs later, Cam is doing the Daniel Jackson studying-cultures thing, and he thinks he understands. It's about humiliation, for both men involved. It's about showing prisoners that they have no control, not over how or when they come, or who they fuck. One of the younger guys who gets blown returns to the line in tears, and no one mocks him, but no one looks at him, either. It's about power, and using that power to break people. Cam can hardly bring himself to watch.

"I can go down on you," John says, voice low enough that he won't be overheard. His mouth doesn't even move. "Done it before."

Cam has no idea what to do with that information. John doesn't know that he's bi any more than Cam knew about John until now. He feels like maybe he should say something, to be polite, to even things out, but he's got too much to lose. His whole career. He won't rat John out, and he tells himself that'll have to be good enough.

He's not surprised when they get pulled out of line and brought over to the platform. The wide world of law and justice and rights is impossibly far away; his world's just these boards, these men with guns just waiting for an opportunity. Cam stares at John, John stares back, and then John goes down, has Cam's pants open and Cam is trying not to watch as John's mouth takes him in. He's soft, and he wants to apologize when his dick starts filling. He's been told he is more than a mouthful.

When he's fully hard, a couple of the guards yank John off and pull John's pants down. They force him down over the wall and tell Cam to Do him. Cam hears a few of the men laugh, short and startled; he wants to laugh in horror himself. When the guards let John go, he pops up, making a grab for his pants. One of the guards punches him in the face, and John looks all set to fight. The guards have weapons.

"Stop it," Cam orders to John. John gives him a betrayed look. The guard grabs John's dick, slaps his balls hard two times, and when John doubles over shoves him back over the wall. The other guard has what Cam assumes is some kind of automatic rifle. He aims it at John's head and tells John that he's a something-something-something, an untranslatable insult, but Cam can fill in his own epithets.

He's not being given anything to make this easy, so Cam spits into his hand. He's not hard any more but he also doesn't trust John not to do something stupid, so he leans over John, pressing down on his back hard with one hand while working his dick with the other. John swears at him, and twists, so Cam presses harder. Then he kicks John's legs wide, moving in close before John can close up.

"Don't do this," John says. He's breathing fast and trying to dislodge Cam by pushing up on his hands. "They can't make you do this." Cam gets another good palmful of spit and goes for it. "No, damn it," John grits out, his ass tightening and his head trying to twist around. "No, man. Stop." Cam shoves on in anyway, trying to watch the guard with the rifle and John's ass at the same time. He's never fucked anyone without the usual courtesies of condom and lube -- and bed, and foreplay, and consent.

Holy fuck, he thinks, I'm raping John Sheppard, and he has to close his eyes against the thought, because it's a sure erection-killer. At least, he wishes it was. He wishes he hadn't even been able to get it up for this. He wishes John's ass didn't feel so good, tight around his dick, the tensing and flexing John's doing as he tries to get away sparking pleasure that Cam wants to go on and on.

John makes one great twist to the side, and Cam just barely catches him. He shoves John back down and then slaps the back of his head a lot harder than he'd meant to. John's face smacks into the stone, and Cam says, so very very angry with John because this is all his fault, "Just stay still and take it."

John's shoulders hunch up. Cam can hear sniffling. He hopes John's just got a bloody nose. Right now, he's so fucked up that the thought of coming inside John while John's crying seems really hot. He can picture John's face gone all blotchy, his eyes red-rimmed and glaring through the tears, his lower lip shaking as he begs Cam to stop, please. I thought we were friends, John says in Cam's fantasy, and Cam grabs John's hips, pumps into him like a motherfucking porn star, and comes so hard he hears bells and angels.

Cam pulls out fast and come drips all over, making a mess of John's ass and his thighs and his shoved-down clothes. John just stays that way, bent over, until the guards haul him up. They make John pull his pants up and then shove Cam and John back in line. They take a pair of men three rows back over to the platform, but they don't have to ass-fuck. Cam reckons he must just be special.

Or maybe it's John the guards wanted to single out. John's got a big scraped-up bruise on his forehead and drying blood on his mouth. Before John fixed himself up, Cam got a good look at the way the stone of the wall rubbed John's stomach and legs raw, and probably his dick as well. John moved stiffly, like an old man. Now he's staring hard straight ahead, at the big metal gates, as if he can block out the forced sex scene with the power of his mind. Cam's trying to map the courtyard in his mind, so that when they escape everything will go perfectly and then they'll be free. His vision keeps blurring. He tells himself he's not crying. The sun is just awfully bright.

The guards don't make anyone else bend over the wall. The whole thing is done in another ten minutes, and then the prisoners are marched back into their cells.

John says he's fine, when Cam asks how he is.

Cam wants to say something, but there just absolutely are not the words in his head that can even begin to make this thing right.

"I told you already," John says, and his voice is hoarse and a little slurred. His front teeth are loose, but he'd shoved them in place and was trying not to touch them with his tongue. "Done that before."

And Christ, Cam had thought John meant he was queer, but that, that's just so much worse.

"I'm going to kill all of them," Cam says, his eyes burning dry, like there aren't even tears left.

John manages to lie down on the cot without sitting, and curls on his side, back to Cam. "You do that," he says. His voice is muffled by the arm he has wrapped around his head, blocking Cam out.