Processing...

Bodily Autonomy

(For reference, I'm having it so Nico disassociates a lot, that's why things will seem to move at an odd pace)

Nico had been sprinting for the better part of 15 minutes, and he felt like screaming. His side cramped with so much force that he could feel his muscles tearing. It felt like red hot wires being sewn into his skin, and he couldn't keep this up.

The air in Tartarus didn't fuel him like the air above, whether that be in the Underworld or the mortal world.

His lungs were coated in soot. He was choking and needed to stop running, but he couldn't.

A deep, rumbling chuckle moved through Nico's bones. He briefly wondered if this was what reanimation felt like.

"Get caught now or later; you still get caught, Hades son."

fuck

All the non-existent air was knocked out of Nico when he felt a large arm wrap around his middle, performing a fucked up pseudo Heimlich manoeuvre. Tears rushed to his eyes before he could push them away, and fuck, fuck, fuck-

"Awww, someone's upset," the giant cooed. "Maybe we should make him feel better," the other said, reaching out and grabbing Nico's ankles. He'd been unconsciously kicking, like a turtle trying to walk in midair.

Nico felt a pressure building up in the pit of his stomach. Like a large balloon filling with air. It felt an awful lot like excitement, and for a sick moment, he was reminded of the day he was told the questers were returning. Bianca was on her way back. When his mama had told him, they were going on a trip to America, that they would take a boat, just like the pirates in the books she would read to him before bed.

This was not excitement, though. The pressure moved to his throat, then his head, and he was someone else now, somewhere else. He was small; he was watching.

He saw himself choking and screaming, fighting for a way out of the giant's grip as one item of clothing was pulled off after the other.

'What a fucking idiot' even as he thought it, tears built up in his eyes. He doesn't want this. That much is clear, but what is he going to do?

No one will help him. No one can.

No one would, anyway.

He's back in his body when his nose hits the ground too hard, eyes filling with tears that mix with the soot and sweat on his face. His eyes burn with it, like peppers pressing into his eyes, and so they water more, trying to flush out one pain with another, till Nico can't tell which direction he's facing.

He hears coos from the giants, asking if he's ok, laughing when snot runs down his lips, getting into his mouth and making him gag.

They find other ways of making him gag, moaning at the feeling of him vomiting around them, telling him he's so good, providing his own lubricant. They're so glad he's onboard.

He must be if he's making it so easy for them.

They use every inch of him in ways Nico can't quite remember but can never stop feeling.

Phantom hands, on his neck, squeezing hard and whispers, saying, this is it, they're going to press a little more, and Nico will die.

Nico sobs at that. He doesn't want to die like this, not now. They take that as remorse for losing the opportunity to be with them and laugh, saying it's ok. They'll keep him forever since it's what he wants.

A hot flare of terror, a molten metal rod down his spine.

Nico mouths a protest but finds he can't speak.