Chapter Text
“This is it?”
Consciousness comes back to Shiro slowly, in fragments of sound and sensation: the sluggish pounding of his heartbeat, the cool metal beneath him, the sharp chill of air on his bare skin. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth. He forces his eyes open, blinking against the harsh light, his body trying to flinch away from the source of the pain and being stopped short by the restraints holding him firmly in place. From the feeling of metal on skin he figures that he’s not only been stripped naked but tied down at the neck, wrists, hips and ankles, his legs spread apart by something attached to his knees. There's something else on his skin: small patches of metal, attached to what feels like wires.
“Yes, this is the one,” a voice says from somewhere behind Shiro. He can’t see them; can’t move at all. He breathes in deeply and tries to stay calm, tries to suppress the burn of humiliation at being on display like this before the enemy: it’s okay; he’s okay. He’s survived worse than this.
“A real fighter, this one,” says the first voice, “A human. Haven’t had one of those in a while. You still remember the procedure?” There’s a rustle of movement, and then a soft huff that might be a laugh from somewhere by Shiro’s feet, from the opposite end of whatever this room is--there’s nothing Earth-like about it, but from the sharp, antiseptic smell it could be some kind of lab. The press of fingers to his ankle has him jerking in his restraints, trying and failing to pull away. He bares his teeth, summons up enough saliva to speak.
“Get the frak away from me,” he snarls.
The subsequent burst of agony leaves him gasping for air, shaking in the aftermath of the stunning pain. The restraint on his neck must have some kind of electrical device attached to it. He tastes blood. There are teeth marks in his tongue.
“That’s better,” the first voice murmurs. The hand resumes its exploratory path, sliding over Shiro’s knee, his thigh, fingertips tracing over the rows of half-healed claw-marks on his hip from one of his early bouts in the Arena. Footsteps, as the owner of the second voice comes to stand beside Shiro. Another hand joins the first, the skin slightly ridged, like scales. A fingertip traces down the centre of Shiro’s chest, pausing to rub idly at his right nipple until it hardens under the stimulation. He tries to shift away again, and this time the burst of electricity goes on for twice as long, until black dots are flickering before his eyes.
It’s as the last aftershocks subside that a hand closes around his cock where it lies soft and vulnerable against his thigh. He’s in too much pain to do anything but shudder as three fingers curl around the smooth skin at the base, a thumb brushing over the foreskin before nudging it out of the way to rub at the newly-exposed head. The scrape of rough scales over sensitive skin draws out a ragged gasp from Shiro’s throat.
This isn’t--he hasn’t--no-one’s ever---and he’s groaning as the second hand slides down between his spread thighs and cups his balls, stroking over the soft weight of them until he can feel his cock twitch and begin to harden. He screws his eyes shut, tries to swallow down the bile in his throat and keep from struggling away; he’s not sure how many more shocks his weakened body can handle. If he’s going to get out of here he needs to be as healthy as possible, even if that means that---that---that he doesn’t resist and lets them get their sick Galra game over with. They're not hurting him. He can do this. He can do this.
The hand on his cock is now tugging at him in long, languid strokes interrupted by brief pauses as the thumb rubs at the tender skin just below the exposed head, where fluid is beginning to gather. He’s almost fully hard now, fattening under the Galras' ministrations. His throat feels tight, his skin flushed all over. He wants to curl up and cover himself. Wants them to get it over with. No, that’s not right, he wants them to stop. His heart is hammering in his chest. It’s taking everything he has to keep his hips from twitching.
On the next stroke the grip tightens, the tip of a claw scraping over the head of his cock. He chokes back a shout at the pleasure-pain of it, involuntarily shifting his hips away from their grip and getting another shock for his efforts.
"Keep it gentle," says the first voice when he finally comes out of it, twitching and shaking, and the grip comes back looser, resuming its slow rhythmic strokes from the base all the way to the very tip and back down again, drawing out bead after bead of precome until it begins to spill over. "These ones always need some coaxing in the early stages."
The second hand slides up from between his thighs, over his tensed abdomen to his chest. The first touch of a fingertip over his nipple has Shiro inhaling sharply; the touches are a lot more purposeful than before. First comes slow teasing circles traced around the left one, then the right, coaxing them into full hardness. Shiro jolts as the edge of a nail runs over the very tips of each before digging in and rubbing fiercely, the not-quite-pain soothed as each bud is rolled between thumb and forefinger before pulling lightly at them. When Shiro chokes on a moan, the touches grow more rough, the fingers alternating between hard pinches and soft strokes, until the flesh is all pinked up, a little swollen, his nipples two points of heat on his chest.
After a few minutes more the second hand returns to its position between his thighs and tugs gently at his balls, rolling them carefully in the palm before two fingers slide up behind them and press firmly at the skin there, rubbing and kneading at something that has bright sparks flashing before Shiro’s eyes. A groan escapes him before he can hold it back, because that feels so much, so, frak, so good; and he’d prepared himself for torture--he’d been trained to deal with torture--but this burning agonising not-torture is so much worse. The slide of the hand on his cock is slick with pre-come, his belly damp with it, and the touches on his balls and his perineum feel so good but it isn’t enough, he needs---he needs---
He grits his teeth against a moan at the loss of sensation as the hand on his balls pulls away, barely suppressing a sigh of relief as the fingers come back, and now they’re wet, they’re slick, and a finger is rubbing circles over his hole, coaxing it open with an obscene slick noise, teasing at his rim, and he can’t, frak, he can’t.
“Please,” he forces out, his voice sounding alien to his own ears,”Please don’t,” but his traitorous body is giving way and letting the finger inside him, and it's easing its way inside in rhythm with the slow pulls on his cock. Together it’s like nothing Shiro’s ever felt, discomfort and shock and pleasure all twisted up into one indescribable sensation, and he’s helpless to do anything but lie there and take it as they stroke his cock and work him open a little at a time.
Soon he’s ready enough for another finger, and then a third, gasping as the fingers brush over something inside that sends heat zinging up his spine, and he’s glad for the restraints that stop him from spreading his legs wider like some kind of Galra bitch, feeling the burn of humiliation wash over him in slow, sickening waves at how he must look, shameless, almost whining for it, and he wants them to stop and he wants them to keep going and if he could just get free, could just touch himself, get a hand on his nipples or his cock or his balls, no more teasing, because he’s so close, oh, oh, he’s gasping with it, each press of the fingers inside making his cock jerk and drool all over him, and his balls are drawing up and his fists clench tight and he closes his eyes---
And they stop. In an instant they’ve pulled away completely.
“Phase one complete,” says the first voice.
Shiro bites his lip to keep from begging--they can’t, they wouldn’t leave him like this, he has to, he needs to come--and tries to get the leverage to move his hips, to do something, anything. His balls feel almost painfully heavy, his cock impossibly swollen. If he could only get free, it wouldn’t take more than a touch to tip him over the edge.
A moment later the hands are back and he nearly sobs with relief, shuddering as their fingers brush over the over-sensitive skin of his sac--just a little bit more and he can, he can---and then something fastens around the base of his cock, another loop circling around his balls and pulling tight, too tight, and his cock jerks and spasms but it isn’t enough, he’s tied too tightly, the unrelenting pleasure beginning to tip over into not-quite-pain. A moment later something presses against his slick hole, feeling solid and a lot thicker than three fingers. It nudges past his rim, stretching him wide and then wider as it slides in and in until he can feel it settle deep inside him, the bumpy ridges of it scraping over that indescribable spot inside with every slight movement of his body. He shifts his hips, trying to curl away from the stimulation and nearly sobbing as the motion sends another jolt of unwanted pleasure right through him, his cock and balls too constricted to do anything but twitch helplessly.
“Please,” Shiro groans. His eyes are wet. He doesn’t even know what it is that he’s asking for.
It’s like they don’t even hear him.
“Phase two initiated,” says the second voice. The first voice makes a noise of affirmation. There’s a few seconds of movement and unidentifiable noises as various things are placed on what sounds like a table running parallel to Shiro's prone body.
After a few more jerks of his hips, testing, trying to see if he can get the thing inside him angled just right and get this whole thing over with, Shiro lays still, sweat-slick and panting. Soon the relentless ache between his legs begins to subside, his cock losing some of its painful hardness, twitching every so often when the thing inside him shifts and presses right up against that perfect spot, dragging groans out of him. He can feel the Galras' eyes on him, their voices silent. He wonders what they're thinking, whether this was all part of their plan or if the way his traitorous body responded delighted them so much they decided to draw the torment out. He closes his eyes and tries not to think at all.
By the time his cock is completely soft he's drifting on the edge of consciousness, barely aware, exhausted by his ordeal. So he isn't prepared for the sudden burst of sensation between his legs as the thing inside him begins to buzz and move, sliding right up against that spot again and again until he's hard and panting and please, frak, he can't, he can't do this again--
The buzzing stops, his constrained balls and cock twitching and jerking with the aftershocks of sensation. He barely heard the next words over the surge of his own pounding heartbeat.
"That looks like a good preliminary level to begin sequence," says the second voice. "Let's attach the primary apparatus."
The owner of the first voice shuffles closer. There's a quiet click, and then a hand is curling around the base of Shiro's cock, steadying it as some kind of tube slides down over it, the end of it settling about halfway down. It feels tight but not painfully so, just another layer of inexplicable constriction. Whatever its purpose, Shiro can imagine that it won't be good.
One of the Galra makes a noise of what might be satisfaction at the finished product: Shiro flushed and panting in his restraints, his legs spread open and his slicked-up hole stretched wide around the thing inside him, cock and balls swollen and red from being constrained, every minute shift of his body sending a shudder through him. His body is shaking in anticipation of the next unexpected jolt inside him, his nipples peaked and sore-looking. He wants it to be over. He's starting to realise that it's only just beginning.
Footsteps, and the owners of the voices are receding: they're leaving. They're going to leave him here like this. He wants to speak, wants to yell, his body gearing up for a fight, but then the thing inside him is buzzing again and he's sobbing as pleasure hits him in slow, battering waves, his cock twitching in its restraint and his chest heaving. He can't do anything, can't get free, can't come.
Can't do anything but lie there and wait for it to be over.