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Miwaku no Zakuro	By : Tcharlatan Category: > Kyo/Kaoru Views: 2861 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction. I do not personally know any of the members of Dir en grey, X Japan, or KISAKI, and do not profit from this work.

Chapter List
- 35
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- 37
Hot breath panted against Kyo’s cheek and he shuddered, revolted, as a slimy tongue ran over his face, collecting tears and the fresh blood dripping languidly from his newest wounds. He tried to turn his face away, but a blood-slicked hand grabbed him by the hair and pulled him back into place roughly, and he squeezed his eye shut in response, trembling. What else could he do? None of his attempts to fight back had done anything more than amuse his tormentor, spend all of his remaining energy, and exacerbate his ever-multiplying injuries. Soejima shifted and Kyo opened his eye again, the short blade held delicately between the older man’s fingers coming back into view once more. He whimpered, blood bubbling up from his tattered lips as he felt the wet steel press ever-so-lightly against his left eyebrow.
“No, no, no, no, please, no, no, n- AH!” A broken cry interrupted the blonde’s protests as the blade slid through his flesh again.
“You should thank me,” the older man purred, delighted. “I could just rip them out. But how could I mar such a lovely face any more than you already had with these filthy things?”
Soejima’s knife was impossibly sharp, and the cut it left behind was clean and precisely deep. As the curved barbell that had once rested over his eye clattered onto a tray beside his lip- and nose-rings, Kyo could only quiver and sob against the fresh pain. More blood poured out over his face, hot and thick, and Soejima came in again to lick it up, reveling in the heavy tremors wracking his plaything’s body. Maybe it was just the knowledge that the blonde was a treasure stolen from the man he hated most, or maybe it was simply for the desperate flavor of Kyo’s reactions, but it had been a long time since he’d anything quite so decadent beneath him.
“Nnnh, I love the way you scream, the way you taste, the way you shake,” he murmured, voice husky with want. “Makes me want to…”
Soejima’s looming form pulled back, and for a fleeting second, Kyo felt relief. Even a moment’s respite… He felt his restraints coming undone and cried out as he was roughly flipped onto his stomach, his lower half dragged off the table. There was a brief instant of struggle, where he tried to catch his weight on his good leg and push himself up off the table with his arms, but a hand between his shoulder blades slammed him back down, knocking his head against the steel and holding him in place bent over. He simply lay there, dazed, before he registered a vague sort of loosening of pressure around his body. Dread gripped him when he realized the remains of his pants had been cut away, and his rope harness was following suit.
Scrabbling frantically at the table underneath him, Kyo struggled to push free of the restrictive hand on his back. “No, NO! Y-you said-! You s-said you wouldn’t-!”
“I said I wouldn’t sully myself with Kaoru’s leftovers.”
Kyo had no idea what that meant until he managed to twist his head around enough to see Soejima drawing his gun. His eye went wide, horror sinking into his belly like a stone. “Oh gods…”
He panicked. He bucked and thrashed and cried, trying to drag himself away from his tormentor, desperate to avoid violation by the one object that terrified him the most. Soejima loved it, pressing his hips against his captive’s to hold the smaller man in place as his free hand fisted into golden hair once more. Flicking the safety off, he pressed the muzzle against bloody, torn lips, pushing even as Kyo fought to twist away.
“Nnnh!”
“Open up or I’ll blow your teeth out,” Soejima growled. “This is all the lube you’re getting.”
Kyo wept, eyes squeezing shut in fear. He forced himself to open his mouth and whimpered as the weapon was shoved in roughly. Soejima used a gun with a built-in silencer; the barrel was incredibly long, and the front edge scraped a path from the roof of his mouth all the way to the back of his throat, and even then he couldn’t fit the whole thing. But the man kept pressing and pressing, and Kyo was forced to open up his throat and swallow the end of the weapon or risk gagging on it. It tasted horrible, it hurt, it terrified him, and he felt like so much trash for having it in his mouth. He was deeply afraid of the twisting in his stomach – of vomiting in this moment – because he had no idea if it would make Soejima pull out or if the man would simply let him drown in it.
“That’s a good little banshee,” Soejima purred, grinding his clothed erection against his captive’s bare ass almost yearningly. “Suck on it.”
Shaking, Kyo’s mouth worked at the barrel of the gun, shuddering at Soejima’s hedonistic moan. When the business end of the weapon was thoroughly slicked with blood and saliva, and the sight of the blonde choking on it became too tempting to handle, Soejima pulled the gun out and stood up, licking his lips in anticipation. Kyo coughed and retched a little before crying out as his legs were kicked apart mercilessly, sending a sharp shock of pain stabbing out from his injured knee. The unforgiving steel pressed against his entrance and his mouth fell open in a scream he had no air left to voice, his back arching in wretched agony as the object was forced into him.
“Try not to kick around too much,” Soejima panted, his voice gone heavy and breathy with his excitement as he began to fuck his little toy with the gun, having to exert more pressure than he’d expected to get the weapon in and out of the constrictive passage. “I would hate for this thing to go off and cut our fun short.”
Kyo curled in on himself as much as he could, pressing against the table and wrapping his trembling arms tight around his head. He tried to hold as still as possible, petrified by the prospect of that gun going off inside of him, possibly paralyzing him or ripping him apart internally to die a slow, horrible death. But he was working himself into a fit of hyperventilation, gasping desperately between hysterical sobs, and every strained breath jolted his body perilously. This latest game of Soejima’s was less physically damaging than the others had been, but somehow more appalling; less about tangible pain, and more about violation, humiliation, and dominance. Kyo found himself too stricken by the act to do anything but cry. A very small part of him – a part that left him utterly terrified of himself – almost wished the gun would go off, and he would be allowed to die quickly.
“Nnnh, banshee…” Soejima moaned. He was obviously very near his peak, and the pleasure in his voice made Kyo sick. “You’re so tight… I can almost feel you tearing… it’s beautiful. Ahhh, if only there was some way to wash Niikura’s stink off of you, so I could feel you for myself.”
Kyo heard a zipper come undone and shook his head frantically against the table as the gun’s thrusting became more erratic, slamming deeper and deeper until blood trickled freely down his thighs. He heard a broken, wretched voice rasping “no, no, no” over and over again, and realized disjointedly that it was his own. Soejima wasn’t even bothering to hold him down anymore; his free hand gone to jerk himself off to the beat of Kyo’s sobbing pleas.
“Maybe… nnnh… flush you out with… ahhh… bleach, or… unh! boiling water… fuck!”
The gun went still and Kyo flinched as liquid heat spattered over his hip and butt. When it was removed completely, his leg collapsed from underneath him, sending him crashing to the floor in a disgraceful heap. He lay where he landed, weeping and trying to just breathe, as Soejima recollected himself overhead. At length, he heard the sound of the gun being set on the table, and his tormentor rustling around in the little tray of “tools” he kept nearby for his games.
“Yes, I think I like that idea… First though, we’ll take care of the bastard’s more tangible mark,” Soejima murmured.
Kyo felt a hand slide against his neck, and the weight of his collar being lifted. His eye snapped open, wide and panic-stricken, in the realization of what his captor was about to do. His collar – the physical manifestation of Kaoru’s claim on him, the first gift his master had ever given him – was going to be taken away. It wasn’t like he’d imagined it would be. It didn’t feel like he was being freed, it felt like he was being stripped; as if without that chain and its charm, he would be completely bare and completely vulnerable, and he would no longer belong to Kaoru. He would be without protection, without belonging, without the worth he’d so tenuously managed to garner.
It struck him in a place he didn’t know had existed within himself, and when he heard wire-cutters snap through the chain, that unstable core in him exploded. It felt like his mind and his body disconnected for a moment, and all that was left controlling him was a cornered animal beaten one too many times. Without even knowing what he was doing, he found himself flying off the floor; his fist lashing out to crash against Soejima’s stunned face as a shriek tore itself out of his throat. Soejima, having been crouching over him, was knocked back, and Kyo landed on him, screaming and beating the man manically with everything he had. It only lasted a few wild, hectic moments before a heavy boot came crashing into his side, knocking him off of his captor and sending him sprawling across the floor.
Soejima was on his feet in the space of a single frantic heartbeat, his face gone dark red with fury as blood trickled from his nose and mouth. Kyo didn’t care. He simply lurched forward, grasping his discarded collar from the floor and clutching it in both hands desperately to his chest. And when a rain of blows came pouring down over him, fists and shoes slamming against him from what seemed like every direction, all he could do was curl up around his treasure and try to withstand the abuse. He needed his collar; its emblem and its claim of Kaoru’s ownership over him. If he could hold on to this – hold onto something – he could stave off the madness a little longer and keep his soul from shattering entirely.
At least holding on to this, if he died in this place – if the next time anyone saw him, he was nothing more than a pile of time-bleached, broken bones standing testament to a lifetime of downtrodden misery – maybe whoever found him would know that once upon a time, he had meant something to somebody.
~*~
Toshiya picked listlessly at his dinner, trying to be very subtle when he glanced worriedly over at Die. His lover wasn’t even pretending to eat, and he wondered if he should say something. They all knew the redhead had phases where he would stop eating, usually if something was bothering him, but it came from a place inside the man that none of them had ever really been able to touch. Toshiya was secure enough in his love of the older man to know that he hated those phases, just as he hated anything else that might threaten Die’s health or happiness, but he wasn’t secure enough in their relationship yet to know whether or not he had any place trying to push his lover to take better care of himself in these moments.
“Die… love…” he whispered, so softly he wasn’t even sure the redhead would hear it.
There was a brief pause before Die’s eyes flicked over to him, questioning behind the fall of red hiding his downturned face.
Toshiya gave an encouraging smile and nudged his lover’s hand towards his untouched chopsticks. “Please? Just a little?”
Die looked from Toshiya to their hands, looking utterly baffled, as though actually eating his dinner tonight had never even occurred to him. For a moment, it seemed as though he would refuse and sink back into his brooding, and Toshiya nudged a little harder, biting his lip. Stiffly, Die wrapped his fingers around the utensils. Peeking again at his blue-haired lover, taking in the painfully hopeful expression on the younger man’s face, he set himself to trying to eat at least some of his meal. He stalwartly refused to be in any way the source of Toshiya’s unhappiness if it was in his power to avoid it. So absorbed in one another, Toshiya and Die both missed Shinya’s look of surprise, or Kaoru’s tired smile.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you boys so put-out,” a smooth voice cut through the tension in the room, rather jarringly. “Don’t tell me you’ve given up already?”
All heads shot up, taking in the immaculately-dressed form leaning casually on the doorframe, a manila envelope held between two fingers. Toshiya perked significantly and Die and Shinya both smiled in exhausted optimism, though Shinya much more subtly. Kaoru so rarely consented to call on help from outside the family, too proud and too resentful of those who dismissed him because of his relative youth, so they were deeply gratified every time someone actually showed up when he did. Of course, they never really doubted that this particular ally would come to their aid.
“Yoshiki,” Kaoru breathed with obvious relief, standing to greet his guest. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
“Of course. Anything for my favorite piece of sewer trash, even if it means spending a few days in this filthy little shanty of yours.” Yoshiki inclined his head politely, smiling. “Please, don’t let me interrupt your meal; I’ve already eaten.”
Kaoru snorted and sat back in his chair. “What did Your Highness bring for me, besides pomp and arrogance?”
“Just your mail, my dear rat.” Yoshiki tossed the envelope to the younger man. “There was a courier outside trying to work up the courage to knock. Suffice to say, he never managed.”
Kaoru flipped open the envelope – noting that his guest had unsealed it already – and pulled out a single sheet of thick paper. What he saw made his face go dark with ill-contained rage, and he slammed the paper down onto the table. “Where is that fucking courier?!”
“Gone,” Yoshiki informed him coolly. “I sent him away so you wouldn’t kill him. There’s nothing he could have told us that this picture does not.”
The others leaned in to look at the image as well. Toshiya covered his mouth with one hand, looking upset, and Die grimaced, moving to wrap an arm around his lover. Shinya pressed his lips together in a thin line, looking somewhat crestfallen. It was Kyo, covered in gore and strapped to a heavy steel table, screaming as Takashi Soejima knelt over him. It was impossible to tell what the man was doing over the blonde’s face, but everyone in the room knew Soejima well enough to know that it couldn’t be anything less than horrifying. Kyo looked entirely too small under the larger man, like a battered child, and it gave those looking at the picture an unfamiliar pang of guilt to see him that way.
“I should have known,” Shinya lamented, his voice soft. “After the Christmas party… anyone else would have just killed him.”
“Little brother…” Die murmured, looking crushed. He was supposed to protect his family, and now… He couldn’t help but feel like it would have been far better if Kyo had been killed, given the alternative.
“Oh gods,” Toshiya whispered helplessly. “It’s not… he’s… this isn’t supposed to happen to him! He’s just a companion, he’s not supposed to get hurt! Not like this!”
“I’m going to kill him,” Kaoru stated flatly. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”
“Kaoru, no!” Shinya begged. “We can’t! We’re too evenly matched against him!”
“We’d win.”
“Barely! And we’d lose a hell of a lot of our own people doing it!”
“Shinya’s right,” Yoshiki said. “A head-on war with Soejima would not end well for you.”
Kaoru lurched to his feet, furious. “IF YOU THINK I’M JUST GOING TO SIT HERE AND ALLOW-”
“Shut up, Niikura,” Yoshiki snapped.
Kaoru reeled back, startled. Toshiya, Shinya, and Die just gaped at Yoshiki, utterly stunned. The older blonde was hardly fazed, however; sternly meeting Kaoru’s stare dead-on.
“You are afforded a great many indulgences for your position in this family, but what you’re considering now is the same selfish, short-sighted bullshit that got your brother into trouble. You’ve only just barely managed to convince some of the other families that you aren’t as reckless as he was; do you really want to throw that all away? And besides, remember what I told you before? I’m certain he’s not working alone.”
Kaoru snarled and opened his mouth to respond, but Yoshiki cut him off again, his eyes bright with wicked intent.
“That being said, Soejima obviously doesn’t know that you know. Take another look at that picture. If he’d sent it on purpose, wouldn’t it be higher quality? Wouldn’t he be showcasing every last wound he’d inflicted? Wouldn’t he be facing the camera, challenging you? I’d bet damn good money that this picture is his partner’s doing, and he thinks he has more time to play. He isn’t ready.”
Kaoru’s mouth snapped shut, looking down at the picture again. In the expectant silence of the room, the others could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. The picture was blurry, in such poor resolution that it was likely taken with a cell phone. It was taken from some distance away, almost as if whoever had taken it had been peeking through the doorway at the time. Really, it was only clear enough to identify the two men in the room and a general impression of their facial expressions, but none of the gruesome details Soejima typically savored. Soejima himself looked entirely oblivious. When Kaoru’s face rose again, his cheeks held an excited flush, and his eyes were black with predatory thrill.
“He doesn’t know…”
“Given you two’s history, I imagine they’re expecting an all-out war directed at Soejima’s forces whenever he finishes his games with your pet. But you, of all people, know that there are much quieter, much more discrete ways to skin a cat,” Yoshiki purred. “Shinya and I can work on figuring out who his partner is; who tipped their hand. Toshiya can get the word out to your people throughout the city to hunker down and prepare to defend themselves should the assault come early. You have tonight, at the very least, to take your advantage like the opportunistic rat you are.”
“…You beautiful, brilliant piece of aristocratic shit!” Kaoru’s eyes snapped over to meet his best friend’s. “Die!”
Die straightened a bit, feeding off of his boss’ exhilaration as he realized just what Yoshiki was telling them. “Yeah, Kao?”
Kaoru ran a fond hand over his own forearm, where he had once worn a collection of his favorite poisoned needles. “I’m feeling a bit nostalgic. Would you care to join me on a walk this evening, just you and I?”
Die grinned viciously. “Fuck yes.”
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Miwaku no Zakuro