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The Prophet	By : Tcharlatan Category: > Kyo/Kaoru Views: 1201 -:- 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, and do not profit from this work.

Chapter List
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February 5^th - 2:00 pm
Kyo’s legs shuffled weakly as he was escorted onto the elevator, stumbling with nearly every step. His head was bowed, hiding a rueful smile; if he was going back to Hideki, the man would almost certainly kill him this time. He would make sure the guards couldn’t stop him in time, and Kyo would die. At least then his secrets would remain safe, though the thought did little to settle his racing heart. Letting the men on either side of him support most of his weight, his mind drifted for the trip upstairs, and he never realized they were going up much higher than the usual two floors.
When the familiar bell chimed and the doors slid open, Kyo made it all the way out into the hall before he realized something was wrong and froze mid-step. He looked down. His bare feet were nestled deep in thick, beige carpet. The hall in front of the interrogation room was all pure white tile.
“Wha-… where am I?” he demanded, looking around. Walls painted with soft, comfortable colors, complemented by dark-stained wooden crown molding. Pictures on the walls, live plants potted in the corners. This looked like the inside of someone’s home.
“Boss wants to speak to you,” Akio replied, pushing him back into motion.
On his left, Masanori was grinning.
The blonde steeled himself, struggling to focus his hazy thoughts. He was finally going to learn whose custody he’d spent the last couple days in, and he refused to appear beaten down. Down at the end of the hall, Akio pulled open a wooden door and guided him through, shutting and locking it behind him.
A lot of information rushed into him at once, and he stood quietly in place while it all sunk in. He was in a bedroom – a large bed draped with silk blankets and half a dozen pillows; a nightstand on either side; a short, wide dresser; a large window; a solid wooden table with a matching chair – all done up in bold, masculine colors. The table had fully half of his attention on its own, solely for what sat on top of it. Half a dozen covered plates and bowls, steam drifting quietly from small vents in the tops, almost guaranteed to contain food. A single, pristine cigarette rested innocently by one of the bowls.
The other half of his attention was taken by the man standing in the center of the room, one hand adorned with dripping tattoos and subtle silver rings gripping the back of the desk chair lightly. The same height as Shinya with a far more masculine face and a bit more solid of a frame in a chic charcoal grey suit, this man wore authority like it was a comfortable winter jacket. Predatory eyes the color of dark chocolate stared down a slightly curved nose set between regally defined cheekbones. Kyo felt his heart skip a couple beats, and fought the instinct to cower just a little. For not being physically large, the man before him was deeply intimidating.
“Niikura,” Kyo whispered, the realization making him ill. “Kaoru Niikura.”
Thin lips parted in a pleased grin. “I’m glad we finally get to meet face to face, Mr. Nishimura. I’ve heard so much about you.”
The blonde’s mind swirled manically, everything he’d ever heard or read about the head of the Niikura family rushing to barrage him. Only a couple years older than himself, Kaoru had inherited his position from his uncle nearly eight years ago, and had only strengthened the already powerful organization despite his relative youth. He owned a larger chunk of Japan than any other mafia family, and he ran it with a skillful balance of a politician’s silver tongue and a dictator’s ruthless will.
“You can’t believe everything you hear,” he said cautiously, back pressing against the wooden door.
“I’ve come to trust these particular sources. Please, won’t you come in?” The older man beckoned.
Kyo didn’t budge so much as an inch, eyeing him warily.
“You know it’s highly unusual that anyone could hold out for as long as you have under Hideki’s… care. You must be remarkably devoted to Shinya Terachi.”
“What makes you think I have anything to do with anyone by that name?”
Kaoru nodded, moving around the chair to step towards his blonde captive. “It’s true; we picked up several young men matching your description before we found you. We couldn’t find a single photo suggesting your connection to the Terachi family. But you were the only one that came with a computer my best techs can’t crack open and who wasn’t begging to confess their life’s story after half an hour alone with Hideki. You are Tooru Nishimura, the Prophet of the Terachi family.”
Kyo dropped his head slightly. Of course, under closer scrutiny he couldn’t hope to pass as a simple office worker. If he’d been smarter, planned ahead better, perhaps he could have prepared a false life to confess for exactly this situation, set up his computer to launch onto a more banal false desktop. He just had honestly never believed anyone would find out about him, and it seemed horribly naïve now. Well, it was too late now. Kaoru came to a stop in front of him and he craned his neck to stare up at the man defiantly. His one good eye was sliding in and out of focus, and the door was most of what was holding him up, but still he stared.
“My name is Kyo. And I’m still not begging.”
“Kyo, then. I don’t expect you to beg. I brought you up here for a friendly chat, and a meal.” Kaoru gestured to the table with one graceful hand.
Kyo hissed, eyes pulled into thin, dark golden slits. “And what makes you think I want anything from you?”
“Relax. You will not be harmed in this room unless you force my hand, and by the same token, you’ll be rewarded for good behavior. As for the other…” the older man smiled almost kindly, and Kyo was deeply unsettled, “Well, you are human. The instinct to survive is a strong one.”
“…What do you want?” the blonde demanded, uncertain.
Kaoru took a step back and held one hand out, indicating the center of the room. “Today, I’m simply getting to know you, but you have to get cleaned up before I will allow you to eat. You will stand there, under the light, and undress for me.”
Kyo bristled with panicked offence and swung a fist at the older man’s face, only to find it deftly caught in one thin hand. He cried out, furious, as he was spun and his arm wrenched up behind him, his back now pressed against Kaoru’s chest. Growling and jerking against the tight grip, the blonde found himself very securely restrained.
Cool lips brushed against his ear. “Settle yourself, little one. You may have hoped to goad Hideki into killing you, but you’ll find that my patience stretches much further than his. Mine is the only kindness you will find here, and it must be earned. I can make all of your pains go away; the hunger, the withdrawal, the exhaustion, the aches and bruises. You just have to play the game.”
Kyo remained tense for a moment, then relaxed begrudgingly. How much dignity could he afford to cling to in this place anyway? He was released abruptly, stumbling to the middle of the room, where he stood and glared back over his shoulder at the older man. Dark eyes watched him coldly, waiting. Facing forward, unwilling to look into those terrible eyes anymore, he crossed his arms in front of himself and gripped the bottom hem of his undershirt. Bruised muscles screaming in pain, exhausted bones dragging at every moment, he slowly removed the garment. The thin cloth was dropped to one side, and small hands went down to undo the button and fly of his already-loose trousers.
Kaoru watched, entranced, as centimeter after fascinating centimeter of toned, pale flesh was exposed, every bit colored extravagantly with bruises, welts, scars, and tattoos. He moved in to circle the younger man slowly, fingertips brushing over soft skin with a feather light touch. Kyo shivered, hands held with unusual modesty to cover himself, as cool fingers ran over his shoulder blades and drifted down to the middle of his back, where several long, old scars crossed clumsily over his skin.
“Hmm… what are these, now?” Kaoru murmured to himself, curious. He didn’t see the blonde shut his eyes.
The elder Terachi paced in front of his adopted son, eyes sharp. “What was on the card, Tooru?”
Kyo, still possessed of a small frame at thirteen years of age, was suspended from the ceiling by two chains attached to steel cuffs on his wrists. His best friend stood behind him, holding a long, thin band of leather that had been brought to bear on his naked back for the better part of half an hour. Certainly Shinya had become more skilled with the whip; the first such session he had torn up Kyo’s flesh with the thing and the blonde had nearly gone into shock from blood loss and pain before the doctors could stabilize him. The bandages hadn’t come off until weeks after, and he’d been informed that the wounds would leave scars.
The young man shook his head stubbornly, biting back tears. If he had gained anything from the ten years spent with his real father, it was an unhealthy level of pain tolerance. He would not disappoint the Terachis; last time they’d practiced, he‘d given up the contents of his secret cue card after only forty minutes. He had to do better if he was going to get the blessing to stand at Shinya‘s side. Kunio’s pleased grin made warmth flood his heart, even as the older man gave the signal for Shinya to resume the assault on his back.
Fingers, cool and smooth, drifted over a full lower lip. A bruised, graceful throat. An exquisitely tattooed skull on one elegant collar bone swirling into a blue butterfly on one leanly muscled arm. A flat, fluttering belly, muscles ever so faintly defined. A sharp hipbone, tracing the sinuous lines of the tiger stamped over it. A dimple in the gentle curve from back to rounded buttocks. The blonde balled his fists and wished for this humiliation to be over.
“My but you’re a decadent little thing, aren’t you?” Kaoru breathed approvingly.
Dark gold eyes snapped open to glare at the older man, thin shoulders shaking with rage at the deliberate power play.
“Through that door is the bathroom.” The older man pointed to a second wooden door. “A change of clothes is on the sink. Once you are cleaned up, you can eat.”
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The Prophet