As Niegel had promised, Chrys was lowered to his feet, slightly relieved that the crushing feeling of his own weight pulling him down was gone. But the relief was only paltry compared to his desire to take his words back, now that he had invited Niegel in to ravish his body. He had a moment to step forward an inch before he was yanked back like an unruly puppy, tossed onto the bed with his arms squished beneath him.<br/><br/>It wasn't long until Niegel was clamoring onto the bed, edging towards him. The soldier complimented him on his choice - it had been the smarter choice, he said, as if he had another choice. True, there had been other choices.<i>But what choice wouldn't eventually end with this choice, </i>Chrys wondered.<i>I could fight, and I'd be subdued again like before. And then what? </i>It wasn't unlikely that any fight he gave would be paid back in full. Niegel was a soldier, used to fighting for his life if not dealing deadly blows to others. He would be beaten into a sodden pulp, and Chrys didn't put it above the man to rape him unconscious. If a sleazebag could do it at a party, surely a deranged soldier could too.<br/><br/>A strange feeling of unease crept into his body. Desperation of flight. Where every part of his body was sending alarm signals to his brain, telling him to run, to flee to safer destinations, but was bayed by conscious, calm thought. He could only look up at the ceiling as the legs that he had been pressing together tightly were split in two by Niegel's hand, as the man crawled forward to fill the space that had opened up between them.<br/><br/>It was a small comfort that Niegel was still clothed. The thought of their flesh contacting more than just a hand was disheartening. His skin was soft and pure, pale from being hidden away from the sun underneath his clothes. Unblemished, smooth as silk. Untouched by a man until then. Hands began to explore his skin, causing his skin to prickle and form goosebumps, and in response to the unwanted touch he went tense as a board.<br/><br/>A second kiss was forced upon him, and Chrys begrudgingly took it. What followed was much worse than a kiss, as Niegel began rubbing himself against Chrys' body. Through his clothes Chrys felt it, the budding johnson that was going to violate him. He grabbed hold of the blanket of the bed beneath him, balling up a portion of it in his fist. A comforting motion, but not one that would help him very much at the time.<br/><br/>Chrys wasn't sure how to feel about Niegel's declaration that likely, during it all his victim wouldn't be on his mind. On one hand it meant that the ordeal would be less intimate - but on the other, there was something more demeaning about being thought of as not Chrys, but as a body meant to be used as a canvas for painting Niegel's revenge on. He wouldn't pretend with himself; the rape might destroy him, he knew. His fear was bubbling over now, and he clutched onto his courage like a lifeline.<i>Something </i>came out of his mouth and he wasn't sure what.<br/><br/>"... I was nine when you were kidnapped. Just a kid. How long have you been planning to do this? Since I was nine? Ten? Eleven? Twelve? Will fucking me now really be enough," Chrys accused. "You're going to make me into another blonde guy with a scooped cheek. And your dick is hard for that, isn't it? What's next? Bashing me in the head until I'm dead You'd like that a lot, wouldn't you? My<i> dead</i>body. Just the way you like it, huh? How your captors liked it too.<i>Cold and tortured.</i>" His voice had crescendoed, until he was yelling. "<i>I know you're hard. You sick fuck."</i>