
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/659007.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Toy_Soldiers_(1991)
  Relationship:
      Billy_Tepper/Joey_Trotta
  Character:
      Cala
  Additional Tags:
      Missing_Scene, Hurt/No_Comfort, Whipping, Non-Linear_Narrative
  Stats:
      Published: 2002-05-02 Words: 2143
****** Billy, Don't Be A Hero ******
by veronamay
Summary
     Billy Tepper is a smartass. Not the best characteristic to have when
     your school is being held hostage at gunpoint by a gang of crooks.
     Especially when you're pretty.
Billy huddled in his corner of the room and watched the others sleep. He'd
stopped crying a while back, and now his face was itchy, his throat raw and
dry. He wanted to go and clean up, but the thought of facing the guard in the
hallway was more than he could handle right now. So he sat there on the floor,
ignored the pain in his back, and tried not to think about anything.
For a guy who was supposedly so good at it, not thinking was really fucking
hard. Every time he looked around the room Billy was reminded of Joey. Every
time he closed his eyes he saw Cala's face.
Only three days ago the dean had been kicking his ass for selling vodka on
school grounds. It felt like years. Billy couldn't even remember why he'd done
it anymore.
"You really have no sense of discipline, do you?"
He flinched in pain, both remembered and immediate, and Cala's face swam in
front of his eyes again. Billy breathed a curse and hugged his knees close to
his chest, putting his head down and squeezing his eyes so tightly shut that he
saw stars.
He'd promised the dean and the FBI he could get everyone to safety. He had to
make a plan, hold up his end like he'd said he could ... but he couldn't focus.
Cala's face disappeared, replaced by Joey's, and Billy heard him asking, "What
am I up for tonight?"
He put his hand to his mouth and bit down hard to keep from screaming. Joey was
gone. Fucking gone, just like that. The principal said he'd been free to go and
he'd fucked it up. What a massive cosmic fucking joke. Billy ignored the fresh
tears running down his cheeks.
But he knew why. Joey wouldn't leave without the rest of them. Billy knew he'd
have done the same thing. It didn't stop him wanting to scream, though. What
good was nobility if it got you fucking killed?
Billy felt very young for the first time in years. Young and scared. "Yes, I'm
afraid," he'd said to Cala, and it was true. He felt like any plan he made to
catch the fuckers was only pissing into the wind. Cala was too organised, too
ruthless. He didn't have any scruples left, if he'd ever had them to begin
with. Billy knew he wasn't bluffing about the explosives. Cala was capable of
anything.
"I'm sorry ... I was in the shower, I didn't hear the bell ring--"
"He's wet."
"So he is." Cala’s hand caressing his wet head and neck.
"I'm sorry--" He was worried, but not panicking yet. They believed him.
"Come with me."
Billy never wanted to go to the principal's office again.
He'd been too scared not to go where he was led, too scared to do anything when
Cala forced him down over the desk and whipped him with a steel pointer. That
was okay. Billy knew it would’ve been stupid to fight back. But he couldn’t
reconcile the rest of it. He couldn’t even think about it. He just curled up
even more tightly into the corner and gasped for breath.
                                     * * *

The whipping didn’t really go on for all that long – it just felt like it. The
pain was bad enough to make him cry out, but he’d be damned if he’d let Cala
fuck with his head. It was just pain; he could ignore it. He could stay inside
his head and be safe, where Cala couldn’t touch him.
Eventually it stopped. For long moments the only sound in the room was their
labouring breaths. Billy distantly noticed that they were breathing in sync, as
though they were the same person, or if they were sharing one set of lungs. The
image struck him as funny and he tried to laugh. Pain lashed at him from nape
to buttocks and quickly discouraged the idea.
Cala put the makeshift crop down and moved around the desk, keeping one hand on
the back of Billy’s neck. Billy kept his eyes shut and concentrated on
breathing as evenly as he could. In … out … hold … in … out. He was okay. He
wasn’t going to die, not today, and not because of this greasy terrorist
wannabe. No fucking way.
His momentary reprieve was shattered by the movement of Cala’s hand. Slowly,
softly, as light as a feather it moved over his skin, avoiding the welts and
cuts on his back, gently drifting down to rest on his left hip. Billy realised
Cala was standing directly behind him; he nearly bolted upright as he felt his
legs being nudged apart. Just keep breathing, he thought, then went entirely
still as Cala moved to stand between his thighs.
Oh, Jesus.
Cala clenched his fingers briefly in the towel covering Billy’s hips, then
pulled it free and threw it to the floor. Billy shivered as gooseflesh broke
out on his bare skin. Cala ghosted his hand over Billy’s buttocks in a lover’s
caress.
“You are a handsome boy,” Cala breathed in his ear. He was leaning close behind
now; Billy could feel the fine linen of Cala’s shirt brush against the raw
flesh of his back. “Am I the only one who thinks so?” His breath was warm
against Billy’s neck. It was a familiar sensation, and he fought an instinctive
shudder that was equal parts pleasure and fear. Cala’s hold tightened on his
neck and he laughed softly. “You are no stranger to this, no?”
Billy tried to breathe. In … out … hold … in … out …
Cala pressed down hard on a deep cut on his shoulder, and Billy cried out
involuntarily. “Answer the question,” Cala ordered. “You have experience with
men? Yes or no.”
It was a moment before the pain receded enough for him to speak. “Yes,” he
spat, and tried very hard not to picture Joey’s face. Cala grunted approval and
moved his hand back to Billy’s neck, beginning a slow caress around his
collarbones and back again.
“Good,” Cala said after a moment. “Virgins bore me.”
Billy had no time to think. Cala leaned away; he felt a rush of air on his
buttocks and then a warm hand sliding across them and around his hip, heading
directly for his cock. What the fuck-— floated through his mind, and then
pleasure, mindless and intense, the more so for being unexpected. He was unable
to stop the groan that escaped his lips as his body reacted. Cala laughed again
and began to stroke his cock with long, smooth, practiced movements.
“You like this?” he asked conversationally, leaning over Billy’s back again to
nuzzle behind his ear. “How much have you corrupted yourself, William Tepper?
Do you like to fuck other boys? Perhaps be fucked by them … do you suck their
cocks with that pretty mouth of yours?”
Billy bit his lips and tasted blood. He could feel tears running down his
cheeks. It was impossible to fight the building pleasure inside him; Cala’s
hand moved surely on his cock while his voice filled Billy’s mind with images
of Joey and other guys, guys he’d checked out, guys he’d jerked off while
picturing on their backs, writhing on a sweaty bed while he used his mouth for
a better purpose than smart-assing the dean. He couldn’t stop his breathing
from speeding up or the blood from pounding in his veins as Cala quickened his
strokes, pushing him toward orgasm.
“Tell me, gringo,” said Cala harshly, biting the lobe of his ear sharply. “Do
you suck and fuck the other pretty boys in this pretty little school? Answer
me!”
“Yes!” Billy yelled, driven beyond his will to answer, tasting salt from his
tears as well as blood. Cala gave a strangled moan and moved his free hand from
the back of Billy’s neck. Then a new sensation intruded, and Billy gasped in
shock. Cold, hard metal chilled the skin between his buttocks, sliding
carefully up and down in a parody of fucking. Billy felt sick even as his hips
rolled instinctively against it. Cala never missed a stroke, working the gun’s
movements in counterpoint, not quite hard enough to hurt. Three, four, five
more strokes, and Billy gritted his teeth and jerked helplessly as he reached
orgasm, slumping down over the desk and panting for breath. He kept his eyes
tightly closed. He didn’t want to see anything.
Rustling movements told him Cala was retrieving the towel from the floor. A
moment later he felt its nubby texture against his sensitive skin as Cala
cleaned away his semen. He didn’t move; the feel of the gun was etched into his
memory. He didn’t want to get to know it any better than he already did.
                                     * * *

Derek mumbled in his sleep and kicked at some imagined bed hog. Across the
room, Billy jerked in reaction and felt every muscle in his body tense
instinctively against attack. His pulse whooshed heavily in his ears; sweat
broke out on his face, his pits, the small of his back, and the salt of it
stung the cuts there. Billy pressed back hard against the wall and tried not to
taste the sweat on his lips. The smell of it was enough to make him sick.
                                     * * *

Cala gave him plenty of time to recover. Too much time. Billy pretended he was
dead for as long as he possibly could, but that was a game for kids and he
wasn’t a kid anymore. So when Cala grabbed a fistful of his hair and raised him
up off the desk, Billy opened his eyes.
Cala still held the towel in his other hand. He dropped it back to the floor
and framed Billy’s face with ironically gentle fingers. Billy stared over his
shoulder at the door and thought about escape. It wasn’t even a remote
possibility – there was the gun on the desk and the guard in the hall – but he
felt less helpless by imagining what he’d do if by chance Cala got distracted.
He blinked and glanced at Cala’s face. The terrorist was fixated, staring at
him with fierce concentration. Billy opened his mouth to say something – he had
no idea what – and Cala moved then, and said, “Ah.”
Just that, nothing more. Then he slid his hands down to Billy’s shoulders and
pushed.
Billy didn’t think about Joey, or the fact that the towel on the floor was wet
with his semen, or that he’d always loved sucking cock. He thought about the
gun and the guard and slid to his knees.
Cala was silent for the next few minutes. He stiffened a little just toward the
end of it, but his hands never loosened their grip on Billy’s shoulders. Billy
understood then; this was the rest of the lesson. Fear something once and it
never goes away.
“Go,” said Cala, and Billy went.
                                     * * *

Joey found him in the dorm and helped him get dressed, though he didn’t try to
touch him. Billy didn’t speak. He just looked at Joey and went to brush his
teeth, and then they walked back outside to the quad.
Five minutes later Billy wondered if Cala had sensed something about him and
Joey. If he had, he was smarter than all the students and faculty combined,
because they’d been fucking for six months now and nobody else suspected. But
he didn’t say anything when Joey looked at him for confirmation, just nodded
that it was okay. He watched Joey walk back inside with the principal, obedient
to Cala’s orders, and felt scabs beginning to form on his back. Joey’s dark
hair shone in the midday sun.
Five minutes after that Joey was a lifeless lump of flesh lying on the front
steps in a rapidly spreading pool of blood. Billy saw Cala step over the body
like it was an abandoned newspaper. He was careful not to get the blood on his
shoes.
                                     * * *

The wall was chilly against his back. Joey’s sketchbook lay on the floor, open
to the page showing Cala’s face. Billy stared at it until his eyes burned; then
he closed them and turned his face into the corner.
When he looked around at the faces of his friends several minutes later he
wanted to laugh. They were asking him to save them. They wanted him to give
them a plan. He had never felt less capable in his life. He had nothing to
give. But they were still there, looking at him like he was the Second Coming,
and Joey was whispering the same thing in his mind. There wasn’t really
anything left to lose anymore, was there?
He could cause the fucker some pain, at least. Get a little of his own back.
Cala wasn’t the only one who knew how to mindfuck. Billy sat down, took a
breath, and began to speak.
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