
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/866196.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Gundam_00
  Relationship:
      Ali_al-Saachez/Setsuna_F._Seiei
  Character:
      Ali_al-Saachez, Setsuna_F._Seiei
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-11-30 Words: 1791
****** Child Soldier ******
by Narroch
Summary
     Child soldiers were the best, their lives cheaper than the bullets
     they fired.
Notes
     Wrote this back in '10 on fanfiction.net. Moved it over here to save
     it from the Purge of Filth.
Ali usually had enough money from his spoils of war to hire a night walker, or
sometimes his spoils of war werethat exact pleasure, forcefully taken without
an exchange. But this husk of a city had long since been burned out before he
and his roving band of jihad volunteer orphans came upon it; it had little to
offer besides shade from the unforgiving midday sun, and absolutely nothing in
the way of more carnal desires. Ali wasn't one to be needy, since he usually
took what he wanted before it got to this point, but recently the net had been
tightening in this region and people were fleeing from the country in droves,
the land was bleeding out from near constant warfare and the earth was
practically infertile from all the shells decimating it. There were no crops,
no water, no oil, and no women.
The families were always the first to go, wealthy ones were long gone, and even
the struggling middle class had given up and moved on. Only the poor famished
ones remained, and those were casually picked off by Ali's mental genocide so
he could ensnare the scarred survivors. Child soldiers were the best. They were
easy to recruit, easy to control, required no pay except an occasional glance
and smile to nourish their starved neglect and, best of all, they followed his
every direction without questioning. And if one ever did gain the courage, or
the age, to start to question him or his directions, child soldiers were also
easily expendable.
Bullets were cheap but their lives were cheaper still. The rebellious ones were
often jettisoned through violence, either pushed to the front of the lines in
the next attack or stoned to death by the other brainwashed children under
Ali's order. The rare boys that tried to fight against Ali himself were easily
bested, choked, and discarded. He would often burn their bodies for incurring
his wrath, the other children hanging back, covering their noses and mouths
with their tattered clothes to try and block the smell of sizzling human flesh.
Ali never needed to warn them what would happen if they disobeyed. The acrid
smell was tattooed into their collective senses, shocked into their systems so
that they could manage nothing more than a muted nod.
So when Ali's eyes sifted through his rag-tag army of castoffs and settled on
the shining ebony hair of a boy no older than eight, he knew the child would
obey his every word, despite how deranged the order might be. His face was
pinched with malnutrition and his startling scarlet eyes were already haunted
with the eerie fog of shell shock. He knew it wouldn't be long before this
particularly bloodthirsty soldier would break and join the others on the
smoldering refuse heap. Ali figured he could find more uses for his tool before
he hit snapping point and went rogue and became less than utilitarian.
Ali nodded at the boy, beckoning him with his eyes and the child scrambled over
quickly, grateful for any scrap of attention tossed his way. The other children
tracked his movement sullenly, pensive jealousy rimmed in their eyes. It was
easy to control them when their every childish thought was so transparent. They
thought this one boy was getting special treatment, being singled out for
something when Ali, as a rule, only ever addressed them as a collective.
Their petty ignorance tugged a wry smile from the normally impassive man. If
only they knew of the difference between a quick soothing gaze of
acknowledgment and an adult's predatory stare that lingered too long. They knew
nothing of the bubble of poison burning in his loins.
The boy staggered up to him, breathless, eyes shining despite the trauma they
had witnessed, and he drew him effortlessly into his tent with one strong arm.
Once inside the makeshift shelter, sweltering with the claustrophobic smell of
goat hide that he had been forced to use, Ali settled back and let his eyes
wander uninhibited, taking in the dirty yet unblemished flesh, the pouting lips
hanging full like ripened date plums, framed by a face still soft and round
with traces of baby fat despite the purely adult reality in which he lived in.
The child could almost be called pretty if it weren't for those strange
unblinking crimson eyes.
"Turn around and kneel." Ali ordered without preamble. To his credit, only a
small frown showed the boy's hesitation as his body complied immediately. Ali
gripped the back of his neck and pushed forward, slowly but powerfully, so he
ended up on his hands and knees. Neither one made a noise as his cloth belt was
brusquely yanked off nor as his pants were drawn down. Only a high pitched
whine escaped the child's lips as a calloused hand cupped his exposed rear; Ali
simply tightened his grip on the thin neck and it was the only warning the boy
needed. He fell silent once again, even as Ali drizzled strong-smelling liquid
between the child's legs.
Ali at least had the consciousness to feel vaguely disgusted with himself for
what he was doing, but the drowsy heat made it hard to care beyond that. All he
knew was that a boy's small thighs, slippery with gun oil, were as good as any
woman he might find, and they were even betterthan a woman with the certain
knowledge that there were none of the latter to be had.
He sat up, leaned over the boy, who had now begun to tremble but still didn't
make a sound, and let his ripe erection slide gratefully between the thin space
of his clenched thighs. The boy's fingers gripped tightly into the prayer rug
that composed the floor of Ali's wretched temporary abode. The fabric was for
decorative purposes only of course, the rich pattern ransacked from a
believer's home and now splayed beneath sin without even the dignity of at
least being oriented toward Mecca.
Ali let his rhythm build slowly. It had been so long he knew it would end too
quickly if he pushed it. Letting both hands settle on the sharp hip bones,
small protruding reminders of hunger, Ali pressed the legs together to increase
the friction. His cock dragged wonderfully between them, soft and wet and tight
all at once, even the yielding texture of hairless prepubescent genitalia gave
him a deranged sort of pleasure.
As he rutted against the boy he began kneading the smell pert ass in front of
him, enjoying it's distinctly male tautness, evident in even a child. He pulled
the cheeks apart, they weren't even large enough to be called a handful, and
eyed the tight puckered hole appreciatively. Hips continuing to swivel idly,
Ali wondered if it would be possible to fit himself inside and pressed his
thumb against the opening to test it, using pure force to push the dry digit
into the impossibly tight channel. The boy finally made a noise, a sound
halfway between a sob and a muffled scream, and Ali decided he could at least
allow that much as he jerked his thumb in time with his thrusts, a stunted yet
painful echo.
Despite trying his best to hold back, Ali did not last long at all. The baby
soft thighs encasing his cock and the tempting, clenching vice around his
finger were firing off waves of pleasure made all the more intense by their
very taboo nature. He felt his peak swelling up within him and he began to
thrust animalistically, pulling his thumb out to grab the thighs with both
hands, gripping tight enough to leave stark bruises and shoving violently
enough to send the boy falling to brace himself on his elbows. He let out a
shuddering groan as he came, spilling himself in several long spurts onto the
holy carpet. The boy held himself rigid as his legs caught the edge of it.
Finally he pulled out with a sigh, tucking himself back into his robes and
making himself decent. He reclined and dragged the damp tangle of his hair back
off his face. The boy didn't move from his spot on the spoiled prayer rug, only
going so far as to sit up and lean back onto his heels so his long shirt slid
down to cover his damp rear. Ali noticed how he self-consciously kept his
thighs apart, not letting the slicked and dirtied surfaces touch. It was almost
cute.
"What's your name boy?" Ali asked once he was sated. It was payment for
services rendered; rather than money or food, he was giving the child something
just as valuable: individuality within his faceless war-mongering commune.
The boy jerked, as though waking up from a deep sleep, and turned around to
face Ali.
"Soran." He mumbled quietly, finally looking up to make eye contact. Ali
thought he saw something flash there in that moment, a sharp glint of
vindictiveness, but it was lost just as quickly as the boy submissively dropped
his eyes again. Still, Ali recognized even that briefest shimmer; it was the
look of a man wanting revenge, rather than a boy accepting abuse. No matter how
small it was Ali knew that resentment would fester and putrefy until it was
purged and cleansed through the fires of revenge. A hassle he simply didn't
want to deal with.
"Next time we engage, I want you to go with the older boys. You will have the
honor of fighting against the demonic mobile suits of our enemy."Ali responded
glibly. He turned and rustled through his bags.
"Here's your gun." Ali tossed the artillery at the Soran, watching him falter
to catch it with shaking arms, the weapon obviously far too large for his
trembling frame. "Use it wisely; you are now holding the righteous arm of god."
Ali stared him down, knowingly exuding alpha male vibes to make his point
clear. If Soran was going to shoot him, now was the time. But as he expected,
he had called Soran's bluff and watched smugly as the boy simply let his gaze
roll to the floor, cradling the weapon as though he truly believed it was
something divine.
"Now, get out of my tent." Ali ordered, continuing to stare nonplussed as Soran
struggled to pull up his pants with one hand while gripping the heavy gun with
the other. As the boy stumbled through the flap into the blinding sun Ali
wondered just how many vendettas he could engender and send out into the world
before one was finally strong enough to catch up with him. He smiled to
himself, feeling confident that Soran was one victim he wouldn't have to worry
about.
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