Work Text:
"Say his name, you fucking slut."
It's hard to say anything with a cock shoving its way past his gag reflex- and when he doesn't, and can't respond, the blow to his stomach nearly makes him vomit. Tears stain his face, his eyes red, watering. He tells himself it's just because of the gagging, but the only thing keeping him from sobbing is the cock in his mouth, as his ass is ravaged by a brutal, careless cock. His assailant shoves himself inside him, again and again, bringing his hips back against him, amplifying the sound of his skin against skin. He doesn't even know what the man fucking him looks like, just that he's so big- his hands and his cock are so big. He gags when the cock is pulled from his mouth, and doesn't even realize that he's just drooling puddles on the floor, his lips torn and bleeding.
"Say 'Fuck me, Boss.' You can do it."
There's a foot crashing into his stomach, and his head hits the floor. He can't stand it anymore- he's lying in a puddle of fluids he can no longer identify- piss and cum and drool and blood. For a while, he can't even discern what is happening to him- his vision fogging over as someone shoots another warm load over his face after dragging him up by the hair he's been so eager to grow out. His hair- he loves his hair more than he can comfortably admit- but now the blonde, pretty locks are hanging over his face, matted and wet with piss and cum, and right now, he fears that it might be pulled out, and he nearly starts to sob again at the prospect. He just wants this one thing. He wants his hair. John liked it.
"Come on- it's not that hard- say his name, pretend that's his cock if you have to."
Ocelot has never felt more shame than when his own cock twitches at the words 'his cock'. His cock. Pretend it's his cock. He doesn't want to- but the image in his head makes the sensation of being fucked and filled so much more keen- sharp, almost, a shock from his dick straight to his brain. He mentally catches a glimpse of Big Boss in the shower- Big Boss' voice vibrates through him- his cock, he just-
His hair is twisted, and his head is lifted up again- his blue eyes are dull and hazy as he looks up at someone- someone he remembers forcing the screams out of- someone now slapping him across the face with the back of his hand, his knuckles gnarled and fierce. It continues until Ocelot's nose begins to bleed- and he's never looked more pathetic in his life, sniffling, wet, bleeding.
"Scream." the man above him growls, throwing his head back to the ground, his boot pressing against his neck. "Scream so this whole place can hear you." he mocks, pressing down even harder. No, Ocelot thinks. He's going to die. His neck is going to snap. The pain in his rectum has dulled to a soreness, but each thrust seems to sting, and when the cock inside him finally starts to spill, he opens his mouth noiselessly- it burns inside him. He almost finds himself screaming when he's almost immediately filled again by another man. No more. This one is tearing into him. Punishing him.
The foot on his neck grinds down on him, making it so much harder to breathe. He almost breaks. He almost starts crying for John because there's no one else in his world- John, please, John, it hurts.
He doesn't even realize that his knees have been skinned to a bloody red, or that each kick to his sides and stomach have left massive bruises in their wake. He doesn't realize that his face is going to be black and blue with prints from each slap. He's not going to be able to hide this. It's his own fault- it's all his own fault and if he could just see John's face once and feel his hands picking him up because his legs can't even work anymore and he's gone as limp as a rag doll- he could fix this. But why would he want this? Why would John want this creature- crawling, bleeding, used and fucked and pissed on?
"Are you deaf now? Fucking scream his name like the useless bitch you are."
They're angrier now, he can feel it. He feels it even more when they turn him onto his back and he can see again and his vision is blocked completely by men standing around him, waiting for their turn, or jacking themselves off to his predicament. The cock in his ass is relentless- the man fucking him murmurs praises under his breath about how good he feels- how hot he looks as he's fucked. Someone grabs his cock and tugs, and he makes a noise of frustration. No, no. You're not going to make me cum. But he's already hard, and if he thinks hard enough, his brain can imagine that John is fucking him. But he's so much more- him- his commanding presence, Ocelot's entire self given over to what could almost pass as worship.
And then there's hard metal in his mouth and it's already sliced his lip. More blood. He panics.
"Say his name right now or I'll cut out your tongue and slit your throat wide open, you understand?"
There's more tugging at his cock, painful, sensitive, and inside, he still feels the nudge at his prostate and despite himself it just feels so fucking good. Blood trickles back down his throat- his tongue- it dawns on him that they're going to take his tongue and finally,
he screams, just as the knife makes the first cut. He still has his tongue.
What he doesn't have, is control. He screams like he's never screamed before. "John- oh- John, please John, please John, fuck me I need you I'm-"
He squeezes his eyes shut and for a moment he imagines none of this has happened. He feels Big Boss breathing against his neck, the fuzz of his beard scratching his cheek, and then Boss has his hand down his pants and- Ocelot's eyes open the moment that he realizes he's cumming. He sobs, all pretense abandoned. He's filled with seed again, and dumped onto the floor. He chokes, and nurses his tongue as they leave him behind, struggling to get off of the floor.
He manages to turn his head and lie there for what feels like hours- or minutes- or an eternity. Blood leaks from his nose, his mouth, the gash he doesn't realize is in his side. He doesn't believe what he's seeing. It's impossible. It's John. He has a body, and it's warm, and the hands on his face are so warm and his fingers are so calloused, but so good. Ocelot feigns a smile, his lips cracking, his mouth colored completely with the dark red of his own blood- teeth and tongue and lips.
"John..." he murmurs, lifting a hand to touch him- making sure he's real. He is. He is sweet and real and he smells just the way he remembers. "John."
"Ocelot?" Big Boss' voice rings through him before he blacks out.
In the following days, Big Boss finds the men responsible. He crushes their skulls. Each and every one.
He does not see Ocelot for the next three months.