Netherworld 12: End Game Title: Netherworld Fandom: Galactik Football Characters: Rocket, Sinedd, Tia, D'Jok, Warren Rating: NC-17 Summary: Explicit non-con slash, Rocket x Sinedd. Rocket finishes what he started, but it doesn't feel like enough of a victory. Very, very dark.
Netherworld: End Game
Rocket stared down at Sinedd, the expanse of pale, scarred skin and tense muscles. It was strange, but now that he had Sinedd spread out in front of him like that, it was hard to know what the next move was. He knew what he wanted; what his body ached for, but how exactly to get it?
His fingers didn’t tremble as he undid the buttons of his shorts, but they were clumsy, and it took him longer than it should’ve to push his shorts down around his knees, then wriggle out of them. Clumsy, awkward, and his cock bobbed against his stomach, hitting it with a wet-sounding smack.
Sinedd had his face turned to the side. He wasn’t watching Rocket. He didn’t see the momentary flicker of pain that crossed Rocket’s face when Rocket had to grip the base of his own dick and squeeze hard, just to stop himself from coming too early.
Teeth gritted, Rocket grabbed Sinedd’s thighs and pushed them apart, thumbs digging hard into the moonshine-light skin stretched taut over muscles. There wasn’t any resistance. It felt like Sinedd had given up, except Sinedd didn’t give up. Rocket knew Sinedd too well to believe that it would be this easy.
“There’s slick in the bedside drawer.” Sinedd’s voice broke Rocket out of his distrustful reverie. It sounded hollow, not angry but empty, as if Sinedd had managed to bundle up everything that made him him and hide it somewhere far away from Rocket, where it would be safe no matter what happened to his body.
The idea of Sinedd escaping made Rocket angry. Goals were useless unless the goalkeeper was actually in the goal.
“Why should I use it?” Rocket pressed the head of his cock against Sinedd’s entrance, feeling the resistance from the small hole. It would never fit. It’d be like trying to thread a rope through the eye of a needle. Except it had to fit, because this was how guys fucked each other, right? Rocket almost wished for a moment that Sinedd was telling the truth about being experienced, because that might make this easier.
“It’ll hurt you too if you don’t.” Flat words, unemotional, still detached from the reality of what was happening. “Ever fucked Tia when she didn’t want it – oh, I forgot, she always wants you.” For a moment, the vicious mockery of the ‘always’ sounded like the old Sinedd, the one that’d fight and fight and fight even after losing, but then the hatred left and the words were once again as blank as if Sinedd was speaking about the weather. Practical. Pragmatic. A way of sparing himself additional pain, not cooperation. “Shove something dry into something tight and dry, and the friction makes it painful. You need to slick yourself up and stretch me.”
“I’m not sticking my fingers up your ass.” Rocket instantly said.
“Yeah. Just your cock.” A sneered word, and Sinedd turned his head to the other side so that he wouldn’t have to watch as Rocket stretched over him and opened the bedside drawer. Inside, there was a spare set of gloves, a bottle of lotion, a box of tissues and a black book of the sort that stored addresses. Rocket grabbed the lotion and squirted some into the palms of his hands, rubbing his hands together to heat it up, then rubbed it over his cock. It felt good. Warm, wet, and better than usual because Rocket knew that instead of just his own hands, he’d soon be buried inside something better.
“Sinedd.” He said the name out loud without thinking, and got no reaction, even as he shifted back to settle down between Sinedd’s legs, positioning himself. A flash of anger, and Rocket pressed in deliberately, letting just the head of his cock nudge against Sinedd’s entrance.
“Sinedd!” He wanted Sinedd to be looking at him. He wanted to see Sinedd’s eyes and the way that pain would make Sinedd’s face twist. Sinedd stayed stubbornly looking to the side, so with a snarl, Rocket grabbed his chin, yanking it to the front so that Sinedd had to look at him. His fingers were still slippery from the slick, but he dug his thumb in under Sinedd’s jaw, squeezing tightly, “Look at me.”
In response to that, Sinedd shut his eyes. Tightly.
Rocket wanted to snap Sinedd’s other ankle for disobeying but instead, he drew his lips back from his teeth and slammed into Sinedd’s body as deeply as he could, a strong thrust sending him halfway into the other boy. Sinedd was too tight to penetrate further, so Rocket rocked his hips down, then back, trying to ease his way into Sinedd and keep his eyes from crossing at how good it felt.
Sinedd’s eyes were still shut, but his hands were clenching tightly into the ties above his wrists, grabbing-pulling at them as if he had to move somehow to stop himself from screaming. His body jerked like a rag doll, limp and unresisting, teeth exposed and a low, stifled whine coming from the back of his throat for only a few seconds before he managed to make himself be quiet again.
“Yeah,” Rocket breathed slowly, forcing himself deeper into Sinedd, “Yeah, fuck, Sinedd.” Broken little fragments of thoughts and sentences. He’d won, he hadn’t won, the game wasn’t over, that had been match set and score and Sinedd wasn’t looking at him. Still.
Anger made Rocket set up a harsh, uneven thrusting rhythm, but it was triumph that made him watch Sinedd’s face, relishing this proof of his victory. His victory was as much the curl of Sinedd’s mouth as it was the tightness that gripped his cock; it was the way that Sinedd had to squeeze his eyes crinkled shut and grab the bindings that held him captive, and it was the physical sensation of having conquered Sinedd.
He’d stopped keeping track of the goals somewhere along the way. It didn’t matter. He’d won. He knew he’d won. He’d won in the Sphere, and now he’d won here, and Sinedd was his.
Victory. Victory. The word throbbed through Rocket like it had replaced his heartbeat.
This time, when Rocket lunged down and kissed Sinedd, Sinedd didn’t bite back. He was completely limp under Rocket as Rocket climaxed into him, spilling heat and triumph every ounce of rage out of him, losing his strength so fast that he collapsed on top of Sinedd, blacking out.
When the weight on top of him seemed to have no intention of moving anymore, Sinedd opened his eyes. He was sticky, he was sore, his ankle screamed bloody murder and Rocket was unconscious.
Nobody could’ve mistaken the twist of Sinedd’s lips for a smile; the blackness of his eyes put the Smog to shame.