Title: Kaged Animals Still Bite
Author: Lucifer Rosemaunt

Summary: Johnny's beginning to realize that he's more affected by Scorpion's absence than he'd like to think.
: Mortal Kombat, Konquest!verse
Pairing(s): Johnny/Scorpion
: language (b/c Johnny's kind of pissed), mentions of kinks (vaguely), masturbation, a whole new level of orgasm denial, pwp
Word Count
: 2,567
Rating: M

A/N: I'm so mad at these two for making these kinds of fics way too easy to write. Also, I should note that any and all Johnny/Scorpion fics are offshoots of my Konquest!verse because the movie's the only reason I would ship these two. (Not that you'd have to read Konquest to understand this pwp.)
Story note: I don't think it counts as Stockholm syndrome if the person doesn't actually have feelings other than lust for you.


The morning finds Johnny pacing in the cave he is forced to call home, prison, and afterlife. Today marks Day Eight – not of his captivity. No, he has long since lost the exact count of how many weeks or months might have passed since he last saw his friends or breathed his not-so-last breath. It has been a while. He cannot even rightly say that the sun rise and fall here coincide with Earth since he cannot be sure he is still in the Earthrealm. All he knows is that the start of this new day counts as the first complete week that his captor has not made an appearance. He has not seen nor heard from another living or non-living being in an entire week, and while Johnny loves his own company, he is starting to wonder if the stupid, fucking, yellow ninja who managed to ruin not only his life but also his afterlife has forgotten that he has a prisoner trapped in a cage in a cave somewhere in the middle of nowhere.

Sure, he has shelter from the elements and enough food and water to last quite a while if he is careful – well, even if he is not careful, but that is not the point. That is definitely not the point. The point is that up until now, Scorpion has not left him alone for more than two days before he is back to show his ugly mug, play house, order him around some more, and call him names. Oh, and the whole sexual harassment part that occurs with every encounter. Johnny would be hard pressed to forget that. Pun only mildly intended.

In fact, since the moment they settled into this cave, his life has become one continuous stream of… some sort of sexual deviancy marathon that would make the internet proud. The entire internet universe, every journal, kinkmeme, dashboard, forum, and chan would be satisfied for at least a whole month with all they manage to do. That is, all they managed to do up until a week ago.

He is not complaining about the sexual adventures stopping. He hated every moment of it, except for the few times that he hadn't – and he will never admit aloud to anyone that there had been some fantastic moments. But, never let it be said that Johnny Cage does not like orgasms. His body had been contorted, twisted, and punished in ways that he never considered possible or pleasurable. He does find some amusement in the fact that he has actually gotten more flexible in his time of imprisonment though. So, it is obviously not his fault that he is left in this current predicament.

Seven days mean that by now, his body feels relatively normal. There are no questionable areas that are maddeningly sore or muscles that have been weakened with abuse. There are no liquids seeping out of places that he should be old enough to control by now. He can move his jaw without it popping in protest and his throat is no longer sore from screaming. There are thankfully no whip-cum-riding crop lashes or rope burns. He might actually have the full range of motion of all his limbs.

The fact that he has taken to returning to his exercise regimen is a huge victory; however, there are only so many pushups, sit-ups, and katas he can do in a day. By now, his body is conditioned for stimulus, for attention, mainly for being touched. He might just be going mad from the lack of attention. It has gotten to the point that he wonders if he has done something wrong to warrant this inattentiveness, except Scorpion's punishments are usually more hands on than off; so, it cannot be some imagined slight.

What is worse – or better, Johnny can never be so sure – is that Scorpion has never actually… You know. Whipped it out. He touches and teases and rubs, but that hand snake of his has gotten further with Johnny than the ninja himself. He knows Scorpion has a dick. He has felt it on the crease of his ass, on his thigh, on his stomach and on the various other parts of his body when the other fighter straddles him in new and creative ways. That being said, he remembers having felt it on his face as well and has a pretty good idea of its size and girth.

Admittedly, he has only ever felt it through his pants. Johnny has never actually seen it, and he does have to wonder if it is some sort of undead ninja thing, like with his mask. If he takes of his pants, all that will be there is pelvic bone – a flaming pelvic bone that comes god-only-knows what. He laughs aloud at this thought often and now is no exception even as he palms himself through his own pants. It has to be a bad sign that he spends a lot of his time as the week has progressed thinking about another guy's junk.

It is just that he has been hard the past few days, painfully so, almost worryingly so. When this separation started, he had been able to will his erection down with hours of meditation and exercise but now, nothing works. It is like he is a teenager again, but worse because everything makes him hard. Everything: the sun rising, setting, or when he is awake and eating and sitting. Breathing is enough to get him to half-mast, and he tried to stop that just out of pure desperation. It only makes him lightheaded enough that he feels a memory of Scorpion's hand gripping his throat, and then he becomes harder than ever before.

It cannot be healthy to get as hard as quickly as he does and for so many times in a single day. His internal organs are probably being deprived of important blood flow with all of it pooling in his groin, and he always makes sure not to stand up too quickly in fear that he will pass out from lack of blood to his head – well, the correct head.

Only his pride and a lot of pent up defiance has helped him refuse to touch himself and deal with it. It is not as though he has never gone longer than a week without masturbating. He has and even longer without having sex. He simply refuses to believe that this ninja has messed him up completely. The only problem is that Johnny thinks that he probably has in more ways than one. While he had spent a good deal of his life checking out the fans who threw themselves at him and wondering who might be even hotter naked, he had other things to occupy his mind, like acting and fighting. Without those other distractions, all he can think about now is sex, sex and fighting, fighting during sex, but mostly just sex, and when he does think of escape, he always thinks of the sex with non-ninjas he will probably be having when he is finally free. It is all kinds of wrong and now whenever he thinks of Scorpion's term of endearment for him, "attendant," all he can really hear is "sex-slave."

A sound from the mouth of the cave draws his attention and Johnny is hard again. When no one makes an appearance, he considers attempting to meditate the erection away again. He has one knee on the bed before he gives up on that idea. His will is only so strong. He strips; his pants and underwear are off before he can even begin to feel guilty for what he is about to do. Grabbing the oil that he mentally calls the Netherrealm's KY Jelly from beneath his pillow, he squeezes out a liberal amount onto his hand. He ignores how the heat of it reminds him immediately of the ninja who uses it too often on him. He sighs when he finally touches himself. His people pleaser is already dripping pre-come; little Johnny is way too pleased with the attention, and he gladly starts to stroke himself at a rather quick pace.

There should be no way that he lasts longer than maybe a minute; he has resigned himself to that little embarrassment. It has been an entire week of sexual frustration and he can forgive himself that weakness as long as he just comes so that he can finally think of something other than sex. He bites his bottom lip because a litany of fuck yeah'sand yes's want to come tumbling out and he should not be enjoying this as much as he is. The warmth, the building pressure in his abdomen and groin rip groans from him regardless. A minute goes by, as do several others, and he is still just on that edge, on the edge but not nearly close enough to coming. He tightly squeezes his eyes shut, brows furrowed as he tries to will his body into that final release. He focuses on the feel of his hand as he thumbs the crown of his erection and his other hand tugs on his balls. His thighs strain. It feels good; he cannot deny that, but a tinge of irritation is beginning to creep in.

He needs a little more stimulation to push him over the edge. He can feel the pleasure building up to that climax, but no matter how tightly he grips or firmly he pumps himself, he cannot find that relief. He jerks his hips helplessly, hoping to help the process along. His body is covered in sweat, back sticking to the bed sheets. A wordless whine slips out as he tosses his head back, reaching for that part of his brain that knows what coming feels like, hoping to duplicate the memory, to push the memory into being, but nothing happens.

It all feels so Sisyphean, and he knows he is getting further from coming when he can think in more than two-syllable words. His mind is beginning to drift and he does not know how that is possible when all he has been thinking about for the past week is doing just this. He has been thinking about touching himself, but there was usually so much more, more than hands or more than just his hands. He grits his teeth when he realizes that he has been thinking about another body, a whispered voice by his ear, a mask pressed against his neck, an erection pressed against his thigh, rutting against him in obvious pleasure.

He uses one hand to rub his abdomen, blunt nails raking over the skin, leaving a white trail that quickly reddens. His breath quickens, so he repeats the action several more times, but that quickly grows old. Instead, he draws that hand up his chest and around his own neck to choke himself, willing his other hand to keep stroking even as black dots float in front of his vision. He thinks he has managed to find the right combination when the strength in his hand gives. He is left panting, choking on much needed air, but he is closer. He feels closer. Before his hands become completely responsive, he works two fingers into his own ass and is working on a third. His other oil- and come-slicked hand is jacking himself off like he is mad at his own dick because it must be pain that he needs to help him come and he is so much damn closer than he was before. He is so close that he can feel it at the base of the spine, and it must be the combination of the asphyxiation and the long wait because the room feels like it is spinning. There are pinpricks of light shooting off in random directions and his mouth is wide-open, body curled inward as he attempts to bring himself off. And, and… and he is getting tired.

That realization alone is almost devastating enough to make him give up because it feels like hours have passed since he started and life is not fair because he is still horny, hard, and close. But something is missing. He tries harder, tries to bend himself in half in order to reach his own prostate to abuse it the way he knows he likes, the way Scorpion knows he likes, but he cannot quite reach the right angle. And as hard as he tries, the room starts to settle down. He becomes more aware of the gradually cooling sweat on his skin, and he is only getting further and further away from coming despite how much his erection has yet to diminish.

When he finally does give up, he flings himself backwards on the bed, arms spread wide and legs splayed open because if he cants his hips just right he can apply pressure onto his tender hole. Both his wrists fucking hurt and he is desperate, crazed, still hard and half-convinced he is going to lose his balls at this rate.

"Attendant." Scorpion's eyes rake over him, and Johnny spits out half-hearted expletives because all it takes is a single word and a look to make a jolt of pleasure shoot to his groin.

He briefly wonders how long the ninja has been there watching him at the foot of the bed, but he is pissed off and too frustrated to do anything but glare and flip him off. He does not care that he is naked on the bed, legs spread with his ass oiled and ready like some whore. He wants to viciously tamp down on the small part of him excited at the ninja's arrival and to begin the arduous task of willing his erection away just to prove a point.

But before he can, Scorpion begins to remove his pants and Johnny is teased by tan skin and muscled abs leading to a bony hip. He is not even surprised when he finds himself pinned on the bed because of his inattentiveness. Scorpion has a hand clamped on each of his, their bodies aligned chest to chest. He presses low in the V of his legs to keep him from being able to kick him off, though the thought does not even occur to him. There is amusement in Scorpion's expression, and Johnny knows this is exactly what the ninja had been planning all along. So, as much as his wrists ache, he still struggles against his hold, though expectedly to no avail. He bucks beneath the too warm body but quickly stills when his erection brushes against skin. He glances down to see that yes, the ninja is still wearing his pants but it is low on his hips and could easily be pulled down if Johnny wrapped his legs around the other man's waist.

He is considering doing just that when Scorpion ducks his head, and the mask against his neck makes his hips roll up, a motion that Scorpion mirrors, grinding his own erection down. Stifling a moan, Johnny can feel his breath when he states, "It pleases me to see you've prepared yourself."

This one time, Johnny ignores his instinctive reaction to be contrary because he may be just as pleased himself by these turn of events.

He can always fight the ninja after he gets what he wants.


End ficlet

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!
Fic Review: Oh… wow. That was dirtier than I expected. And a lot of what I ended up settling with, word-wise, ended up being 'why not add that word here' sort of situations. I got to stop writing for these two because bad influence much?